“How was that?”
“This is how it was,” answered the skipper, bolting the mouthful, “you see the ‘Coffin’s’ not in a fit state for sea; she’s leaky all over, an’ there’s a plank under the starboard quarter, just abaft the cabin skylight, that has fairly struck work, caulk it and pitch it how you please, it won’t keep out the sea no longer, so when we was about to take in cargo, I wrote to Mr Stuart tellin’ him of it, an’ advisin’ repairs, but he wrote back, sayin’ it was very awk’ard at this time to delay that cargo, an’ askin’ if I couldn’t work the pumps as I had used to do, besides hintin’ that he thought I must be gettin’ timid as I grew old! You may be sure I didn’t think twice. Got the cargo aboard; up sail an’ away.
“Well, it was blowin’ a stiff nor’-wester when we got away, an’ we couldn’t have beat into port again if our lives depended on it. So I calls the crew aft, an’ told ’em how the matter stood. ‘Now, lads,’ says I, ‘to speak plain English, the sloop is sinkin’ so you had as well turn to an’ pump for yer lives, an’ I’ll show ye how.’ With that I off coat an’ set to work, an’ took my turn the whole voyage. But it was touch an’ go with us. We nigh sank in the harbour here, an’ I had to run her ashore to perwent her goin’ down in deep water. They’re patchin’ up the rotten plank at this minute, an’ if old Stuart won’t go in for a general overhaul, we’ll be ready for sea in a day or two, and you’ll have the pleasure o’ navigatin’ a lot o’ wrecked Roosians to London. Now, waiter, ahoy!—”
“Yessir.”
“Fetch me a pannikin o’ tea, for it’s dry work tellin’ a anikdot. You see, Gaff, I’m a reg’lar teetotaller—never go the length o’ coffee even without a doctor’s surtificate. Another cup, Susan?”
“No thank ’ee, father, I couldn’t.”
“Werry good. Now, Gaff, what’s the ’ticklers o’ your case. Time about’s fair play, you know.”
Gaff, feeling a gush of confidence come over him, and having ascertained that, in regard to secrecy, Susan was as “safe as the bank,” related the circumstances of the wreck, and his having left Emmie at her grandfather’s villa; the relation of all which caused Haco Barepoles to give vent to a series of low grunts and whistles, expressive of great surprise.
“Now,” said Gaff in conclusion, “there’s a land-shark, (by which I means a lawyer), in London what writes to me that there’s somethin’ I’ll hear of to my advantage if I calls on him.”
“Don’t go,” said Haco, stoutly, as he struck the table with his fist, causing the crockery to rattle again; “take the advice of an old friend, an’ don’t go. If you do, he’ll do you.”