“Going back to Callao, Capt’n?” said Lovibond.
“God knows, mate,” said Davy. “I’m like the seeding grass, blown here and there, and the Lord knows where; but maybe I’ll find land at last.”
“Capt’n, about the money?—dy’e owe me any grudge about that?” said Lovibond.
“Lord-a-massy! Grudge, is it?” said Davy. “Aw, no, man, no. The money was my mischief. It’s gone, and good luck to it.”
“But if I could show you a way to get it all back again, Capt’n——”
“Chut! I wouldn’t have it, and I wouldn’t stay. But, matey, if you could show me how to get back... the money isn’t the loss I’m... if I was as poor as ould Chalse-a-killey, and had to work my flesh.... I’d stay if I could get back....”
The whistle sounded from the funnel of the “Snaefell,” and the loud throbs of escaping steam echoed from the Head. Willie Quarrie ran in to say that the luggage was down at the ferry steps, and the ferryboat was coming over the harbor.
“Capt’n,” said Lovibond, “she must have injured you badly——”
“Injured me?” said Davy. “Wish she had! I wouldn’t go off to the world’s end if that was all betwixt us.”
“If she hasn’t, Capt’n,” said Lovi-bond, “you’re putting her in the way of it.”