"De matter, Monsieur Jeremie," replied Renard in honeyed tones, "is dat dis poor boy did run away from his kind master, and now he come back, and all weel be well again."
"Never, never!" cried Tad. "Don't believe him, please, captain! He's the awfullest liar that ever was. Please, sir, look at me; don't you call to mind a boy you picked up in a open boat at sea, and how good you was to me? You wanted me to go back with you to England, and I'd near made up my mind to it, when old Foxy here come down with Phil Bates, and coaxed me into goin' along of him. And after that, me and my chum was starved and beaten and ill-treated, and at last, roust of all, we—"
"Weel you be quaite, Edouard?" hissed Renard, giving the boy's arm a violent jerk. "If you hold not your peace," he added in a whisper, "I weel keel you."
"I remember you very well, Teddie Poole," said Jeremiah. "So you don't want to return to the man's service, eh?"
"No, sir, no indeed!" cried Tad. "Save me from him! Do save me, captain!"
The bluff, good-humoured face looked very grave and stern as Jeremiah Jackson turned once more to Renard.
"Unhand that lad, Renard!" he said.
"Ma foi! And why, Monsieur Jeremie?" inquired Foxy. "You have not de right to say, 'Do dis and dat.'"
"It's no use bullyin' and blusterin', you parley-vooin' scoundrel!" said Jackson stoutly. "Unhand that lad, or I'll tell the world here what I know. If once all Granville heard that you—"
"Enough! Hush, oh hush, Monsieur Jeremie, mine good, dear friend!" whispered Renard, looking round furtively to see if Jackson's rather too plain speaking had been overheard. "It is one leetle joke; say notting more. I am only delight to do you oblige, and if you desire dat I let go dis cheeile, behold I cede heem widout unpleasant. Good morning, Edouard; bon jour to you too, Monsieur Jeremie."