"Sixty would like to clear us off the slate, if he could. I shouldn't wonder if he was counting on saving this cargo for himself. It's an illegal cargo, if I know one when I see it, and the old shark is playing a ticklish game."
"Downsent ain'd in id, I bed you. He vouldn't do anyt'ing underhand for nodding. Vy dit dot Sixdy feller lie like vat he dit?"
"He wanted to get us out of New Orleans, I guess, and he thought that was the easiest way to do it. What do you think of that girl now, matey?"
"I vas tisabbointed in Miss Harris," acknowledged Carl, regretfully. "I vould nefer haf t'ought she vas dot kindt. She says t'ings dot vasn't der trut', like her uncle."
"It was all cut and spliced. We tumbled into the bight of the rope like a lot of swabs, and Sixty pulled his snare tight. If the submarine hadn't been handily by, Matt might have drowned."
"Und oof der wreck hatn't peen close around, ve vould haf done der same. I dell you, Tick, ve vas all in luck—aldough I ain'd saying but vat der luck mighdt be pedder as vat it iss. I hope no shtorm vill come undil anodder poat sails py und bicks us oop."
"I can't understand that," muttered Dick, his eyes on the schooner.
"Vat's going on?" asked Carl.
"They've taken Sixty and the three with him aboard and the craft is making a slant in this direction. That doesn't look as though she was going to haul away."
"Some fellers are vorking in der bow oof der schooner," observed Carl. "Vat are dose fellers aboudt?"