“I know that all right,” said Breeze; “but who’s to marry me?”
“I don’t happen to be able to guess the leddie’s name,” said McCloud.
“D—n the lady! Who’s to marry me? That’s what I want to know,” roared the skipper.
“Why, the leddie will marry you, and you will marry the leddie to yourself, I presume. We are both married, O’Hara and me.”
The skipper sat glaring at his passengers, while he repeatedly damned the lady, the priests, the passengers, and all else connected with the affair.
“You infernal cross-checkered sea-lawyer, how can I marry myself? How can I marry myself and the girl too? Answer me that, sir,” and he glared at McCloud.
“Sure, ’tis aisy enough, a little bit av a thing loike that, sur,” said O’Hara. “Mac is right, an’ he has the lure strong an’ fast in his books foreninst th’ state-room.”
“I’ll get the law and read it to ye so ye may ken it, ye hard-headed sailor-man,” said McCloud, somewhat ruffled, and he started for the door. The skipper unlocked it and let him out, holding O’Hara as hostage against his return.
In a few minutes McCloud came back with several leather-covered books, and, seating himself, opened one of them and began his search for authority.
“Here it is,” he said, at length, while the skipper sat and looked curiously at him. “Here’s law for ye, an’ good law at that. Just as binding as any law ever writ.”