"I am still sure," returned Dubosc. "The ship will come. Only she cannot stay for us in one spot. She will be cruising to and fro until she intercepts us. We must wait."
"Ah, good! We must wait. And in the meantime, what? Fry here in the sacred heat with our tongues hanging out while you deal us drop by drop—hein?"
"Perhaps."
"But no!" The garroter clenched his hands. "Blood of God, there is no man big enough to feed me with a spoon!"
Fenayrou's chuckle came pat, as it had more than once, and Dubosc shrugged.
"You laugh!" cried Perroquet, turning in fury. "But how about this lascar of a captain that lets us put to sea unprovided? What? He thinks of everything, does he? He thinks of everything!... Sacred farceur—let me hear you laugh again!"
Somehow Fenayrou was not so minded.
"And now he bids us be reasonable," concluded The Parrot. "Tell that to the devils in hell. You and your cigarettes, too. Bah—comedian!"
"It is true," muttered Fenayrou, frowning. "A bad piece of work for a captain of runaways."