“When they make a great noise, monsieur,” Deschamps concluded. “I have the headache,” he explained. “So bad and so often I have the headache, monsieur. I cannot bear the great noise they make. It is fearful. So I put them here, and I go to sleep, and they do not trouble me at all.”
“Is monsieur in earnest?” Archie asked.
Deschamps was flattered by this form of address from a young gentleman. “It is true,” he replied. “Compelled. That is the word. I am compelled to confine them here.”
“Let us return to the Newfoundlander,” said Archie.
“He is a pig,” Deschamps agreed, “and well worth looking at.” 163
When they came to the door of Skipper Bill’s cell, Archie was endeavouring to evolve a plan for having a word with him without exciting Deschamps’ suspicion. The jailer saved him the trouble.
“Monsieur is an American,” said Deschamps. “Will he not tell the pig of a Newfoundlander that he shall have no breakfast?”
“Skipper Bill,” said Archie, in English, “when I leave here you howl until your throat cracks.”
Bill o’ Burnt Bay nodded. “How’s the wind?” he asked.
“What does the pig of a Newfoundlander say?” Deschamps inquired.