"Certainly! The arrangement is that you up anchor and away inside—seventy-nine minutes," with a glance at his watch.
"I guess you'll pay for this 'fore you're done, mister. I'm an American citizen."
"Sorry to hear it."
"And an American citizen don't stand bein' fired out like this and no reasons given—not by a long sight!"
"There are our reasons," said Blair, pointing to the heavy sleepers, "and there are yours," and he pointed to the half-emptied case of rum. "Seventy-eight minutes more!"
The American citizen looked him over for a moment but found no hope of amelioration in his face.
"Well, I'm——" and he turned to the door and whistled shrilly to his ship, and presently a boat came slouchily across to the shore.
"Carry them things aboard," he ordered, and saw it done, and then followed his men into the boat.
Then he stood up in the stern and delivered himself luridly on missionaries in general, and on this new kind, as represented by Blair and Cathie, in particular.
"You'll hear of me again, my sons, sure as my name's Hartford Crawley. Yes, by thunder, you will, and don't you forget it!" was his valediction with threatening fist, and they could hear him cursing all the way to the ship.