“I can’t understand that,” replied I.
“The cause lies in our blood and bone,” rejoined my friend. “The impulse with us,” continued he, “is paramount—to follow the leader however wrong he may be in his example.”
“And what was the finish of this attack on Ned Adams?” inquired I.
“But for his lusty lungs for help,” replied Trimbush, “it might have gone hard with him. However, Will Sykes, Tom Holt, and Old Mark quickly made their appearance, and put an end to the fray with little difficulty. As for our new companion, we never saw him afterwards.”
“He was sent away, I suppose?” remarked I.
“Yes,” returned Trimbush, “to dance in the air with a hempen cord round his throttle.”
“And no wonder, either,” added I, “for such an offence.”
“Breaking up a whipper-in is certainly no joke,” said my companion. “But there was one picked as clean as ivory once, without any unpleasant interruption to the spread.”
“Gracious powers!” ejaculated I, “what do you mean?”
“Simply what I have said,” replied Trimbush, licking his jaws with a peculiar relish, and coolly adding, “I had a hand in the supper.”