“We can put back.”
“Can we?”
“I’ll soon see,” said the agent, and marched across to Morgan Leroux.
“Well,” said she, “have you done discussing poor Morgan?”
“Will you tell us,” returned Brandon, wisely disregarding the question, “what you—what we are to do?”
“It’s me that should ask you, I think,” said Morgan, placidly. “Here’s your ship. What are you going to do with her?”
“My ship?”
“I said I was going to get you a ship; well, now I’ve done it, haven’t I? You don’t seem weighed down with gratitude.”
“But I am grateful,” cried Pomfrett, eagerly. “I think you’re wonderful. But what troubles me,” he added, in a burst, “is what—where—how I can serve you,” he ended, lamely.
“Will you take me to England?”