“Shut up, can’t yer?” exclaimed Wolfe’s companion to him, angrily. “Don’t you hear the police?”
But Wolfe only yelled the louder, and began to revile the police, and dare them to come and get him.
“We must cut for it,” said Hank Hoffer, for this was the name of Wolfe’s companion. “Grab him tight and run him. We’re pretty near there.”
Almost carrying Wolfe between them, the others hurried him along at such a pace as to quite take his breath away and put a stop to any further outcries.
As they reached the wharf Hank said, “Quick, now! let’s get him aboard this schooner. I belong here, and it’ll be all right. We’ll get him below, and put him in a bunk, where they’ll never notice him. Hurry, they’re coming!”
In the excitement of the moment Breeze did not stop to think whether this was a wise thing to do or not; and, only anxious to shield his friend from the consequences of his own folly, he blindly obeyed these instructions.
Wolfe stumbled on the deck of the schooner and fell, striking his head against the wheel. When they got him below he seemed stupid, and blood was flowing from a gash on his forehead.
“QUICK, NOW! LET’S GET HIM ABOARD THIS SCHOONER.”
Pulling forward a bucket of water, and handing Breeze a rag, Hank said, “You sponge him off, and keep him quiet while I go on deck and see whether the police have followed us down here or not.”