“Ah, I reckon the Captain knows what he’s about; there ain’t many like him to a mile,” remarked another man.
“You’re right there,” said old Cip de Musset, who had been sitting silently in a corner for some time. “He ain’t no crab, but I’d not let a lass o’ mine have much to do with him.”
“What do you mean?” said Hal, firing up and coming over from the doorway where he had been standing.
Old Gilbot began to laugh.
“Hark to th’ lad,” he gurgled. “One would think he loved her hisself.”
Hal turned away from the light before he spoke, and no one saw the deep flush which crept up over his features even to the roots of his hair, making his scalp tingle uncomfortably.
“We look after our wenches at the Ship, Master Gilbot,” he said hastily.
Gilbot nodded happily.
“Ay,” he said, “wesh do, wesh do!” And the talk continued.
Just as the clock by the chimney-piece struck the quarter steps were heard coming across the yard, and Black’erchief Dick, flanked by Blueneck and Habakkuk Coot, and backed by some nine or ten hardy ruffians, marched in at the door.