"A what?" growled the man.
"A pirate, you know, sir; I've read all about them, and they has the jolliest kind of a life, takin' treasure ships and hidin' away the gold and di'monds on desert islands where there's no end of wonderful things, and then I've—"
"Shut up!" roared the skipper. "Of all the precious young fools I ever see, you're the biggest—far away. If them's the sort of yarns you spin, you'd never do no good aboard of the 'Mariar-Ann.' So hold your noise and be off with you. I'll be bound you're a runaway from home, and your mother 'll be comin' along lookin' for you presently."
"I haven't got a mother, but it's true I want to get away out of this. I'll do anything, everything you tell me if you'll take me to sea with you."
"Now look here, youngster," said the man, "I ain't goin' to get myself into a mess, not for nobody. Tell the truth—are you in hidin'?"
"Yes," said poor Tad.
"What have you been up to?"
"It's too long a story to tell here," replied the boy, peering about him distrustfully into the darkness. "Take me on board and I'll tell you all."
"Take you aboard and run the risk of bein' took up myself, for helpin' you away? Not if I know it! And now I think of it—" he added half to himself—"wasn't there some sort of notice up in the town about a lad wanted by the police? Here, Tim," he called to a man who was at work on the vessel. "What did you tell me you see wrote up at the station?" And the skipper turned his head to hear his mate's reply.
"There—you see, you young scamp," said the skipper, when—his suspicions confirmed—he turned once more to address Tad.