"Ay," chuckled Dick, "we'll make hay of St. Mary's, set fire to the rick, and then off to sea again with wives for us all!"
"A merry jest. You would have made your fortune as a clown, Dick."
"The trouble is I have your fortune to make, too, Ralph, and you're too much of the damned fine gentleman for me, and find my ways over rough."
"Keep to the point, my friends, keep to the point," interrupted Claiborne. "'Tis a rallying cry we want. Now what say you to 'God and the Parliament'?"
A soft voice from Richard Ingle's right answered, "Think you not 'twere as well to leave the name of God out of the business? Considering the nature of the matter in hand, is it not just possible that He might take offence?"
"Faith, I believe you're right for once, Ralph!" cried Richard Ingle, with a certain generosity, not detecting the sarcasm underlying his brother's words. "For my part, I think that cry too tame. I would like better 'The devil take the Brents!' or 'To Hell with the Calverts!'"
"All save one!" murmured Ralph under his breath. Aloud he said, "Let 'Ingle!' be our cry. 'Tis short and sharp and sufficient."
"So let it be!" assented Richard; "but were it not well to have badges on the arm besides the cry, that we may know each other by them when the growing dawn gives light enough to see?"
"'Tis a good thought," said Claiborne. "I have a roll of green cloth which can be swiftly torn into bands; but I know not if 'tis enough to go round among so many."
"I will be answerable for mine own," said Ralph Ingle, putting his hand to the breast of his jerkin and drawing out a green ribbon of watered silk.