After breakfast the three white men went down into the cabin.
“I’ve come to set your arm,” said the captain.
“I beg your pardon, captain,” replied Mac; “but the firrst thing ye got to do is to get this ship to sea. We’ll talk of me arrum after that.”
“O, there’s no such blooming hurry,” returned Wicks.
“When the next ship sails in ye’ll tell me stories!” retorted Mac.
“But there’s nothing so unlikely in the world,” objected Carthew.
“Don’t be deceivin’ yourself,” said Mac. “If ye want a ship, divil a one’ll look near ye in six year; but if ye don’t, ye may take my word for ut, we’ll have a squadron layin’ here.”
“That’s what I say,” cried Tommy; “that’s what I call sense! Let’s stock that whaleboat and be off.”
“And what will Captain Wicks be thinking of the whaleboat?” asked the Irishman.
“I don’t think of it at all,” said Wicks. “We’ve a smart-looking brig under foot; that’s all the whaleboat I want.”