Hal laughed with him and then discussed with Anny and Sue the various arrangements for the reception of the visitors. Having settled everything to their satisfaction they joined the group about the fire, where the talk was still running on the Spaniard.
“Wonderful fighter,” one man was saying. “Oh, a wonderful fighter, take my word for it.”
“Ah, you’re right,” said another. “I saw him kill a man with a knife throw one time. From right the other side of the room it was. That was in a house in Brest, in ’59,” he added reminiscently.
“How old do you reckon him?” said the first man curiously. “I’ve not known him more’n a year or so.”
“Well,” the other man’s tone was dubious. “He says he’s thirty and I shouldn’t say more. No, I shouldn’t say so much—though it’s wonderful the way he manages them foreign dogs he mans his brig with.”
Hal joined in the conversation.
“They’re a rough lot, I expect,” he said.
The men round the fire laughed.
“You’re right there, lad,” said one. “Keep your eye on the rum and lasses to-night. Wonderful rough lot they are,” he added. “Oh, wonderful rough!”
Hal flushed.