“Well, you see he was choking me and—I guess I found the top of the piano stool,” said Jack.
“I thinks as ’ow ’e’s lucky ye didn’t ’ave a mind t’ ’it ’im wi’ t’ pianner hinstid. T’ seat made an’ hawful dint as ’twas,” said Old Mitchell dryly, as he shifted the tiller a little to draw the Betsy Anne into her course.
“Hello, Mr. Mitchell,” said Jack, turning toward the lobsterman whom he could discern but dimly through the mist which had thickened considerably. “Say, are you going to take us to Hood Island?”
“’Eavens no, leastwise not t’night,” said the one-legged mariner as he spat over the side of the boat. “Won’t t’morrer do jest as well?”
“No, no, you can’t go back to-night. T’ trip is too long and dangerous. Stay at my house and let English here take you back in the morning,” said Warden Williams.
“Thank ’e, Warden, but I ain’t ’customed t’ leave t’ Betsy Hanne hin a strange port. I’ll stick by t’ craft, though t’ boys kin go ’ome wi’ ye. There ain’t beddin’ ’nough aboard fer three, anyway,” said Mitchell.
“All right,” consented Jack, “only I’m very much afraid Mr. Warner and our friends at the camp will be worried about us. I really don’t feel much like going back before I get some sleep, though. I’m about all in.”
“So am I,” said Ray with a yawn.
“Well, we’ll raise t’ pier head-lights at t’ Pool in a few minutes now and then as soon as we git our prisoners in t’ lockup we can all tumble into bed. I calc-late that— Hi, Mitchell, look out there— Them lights there— Quick! It’s a boat—she’ll run us down! Where’s that fish horn!”
Warden Williams grasped a long tin horn and began to blow furiously.