Wise Jan Pettigrew puffed and blew upon his pipe with such swelling importance, that finally he choked and went off into a fit of coughing which threatened to end him once for all. For he was but loosely hung together, of bilious complexion, and with a weak, hollow chest. But all the time of his coughing he was struggling to tell something which pleased him, choking at once with laughter and with the reek which had gone the wrong way when Scarlett tickled his vanity with flattering words.
"Oo-hoo," he cried, chokingly, "and the cream of the joke—oo-hoo—is that the captain, being a widower, is sure to fall in love with the lass himself. And at Poole town, when his madcap daughter comes aboard at Branksea, as she ever does, I warrant it that she makes the fur to fly. Would that I had been there to see! 'Twill be a rare lillibullero! She'll pipe up Bob's-a-dying!"
Wat's eyes gleamed like a flame, but Scarlett darted a side-look under his brows at him, so swift and fierce that he started back and was silent. "For the love of God," the look said, "hold your fool's tongue and let me finish what I have begun."
"Master Jan Pettigrew," quoth Scarlett, still more seductively, "you are a man after my own heart. Fain would I go a little cruise, as it might be for pleasure, with a man of your wit and discretion. I tell thee what—Captain Smith cannot be back for a long season. Now we two are anxious to go on a little pleasure-trip to England. There is a mast in the boat. The wind and weather are fair. We have both of us got good Dutch guilders in our pouches. You, like other brave campaigners, have, I doubt not, both sore need of such and a bonny young lass of your own in Poole, or elsewhere, to spend them upon. Why should not we three put the boat's head towards England this fine brisk night, with the wind in our quarter, and boldly steer our way thither? Would it not surprise Captain Smith greatly and make much for your advancement if he should see his long-boat come sailing in after him safe and sound? And how famous would Master Jan Pettigrew be then! Why, every coastwise ship-master would be eager to give him a fine vessel to command, on the strength of such a deed of seamanship!—while all the maids would go wild for his favor, and the home-staying lads would run crazy for very green envy for him."
As Scarlett spoke the pursing of Jan Pettigrew's mouth gradually slackened and the corners widened, till his countenance became in truth a finely open one—most like that of the monk-fish when he lies at the bottom of the sea with his jaws wide for sticklebacks and codlings to venture within. At the picture of his triumphant return his dull eyes glistened, and when Scarlett spoke of his fortune among the maids, he slid down from the boat and slapped his thigh.
"Ods fegs, I'll risk it—I have more than half a mind. But"—he scratched his head and hesitated—"the provisions for such a cruise—they will cost much?"
He looked cunningly at Scarlett, who motioned with his hand behind him to Wat. Lochinvar slid an arm about his waist and undid his belt, from which he took a couple of gold pieces. These he put into Scarlett's beckoning palm.
"The provisions, sayest thou?" quoth Scarlett, deftly jerking one of these into his pocket. "Have no care for that. Here is one piece of gold for you—go into the village of Lis and buy whatever may be necessary for our voyage. And," he continued, "there is no need to tell a man of the understanding of Jan Pettigrew that, when talking to the yokels of Lis, we are only going a little voyage to the Banks to catch the saith and limber-cod."
Scarlett rubbed his finger along the side of his nose with such contagious cunning that Jan also rubbed his and leered back at him in as knowing a manner.
"Trust Wise Jan," he said; "not a word shall they know from me—I am as deep in counsel as a draw-well. There is no bucket can draw aught from my mind unless my will be the rope to pull it up withal."