The big sailor gave a grunt and lay to in an unsteady way, which convinced our heroes, unlearned as they were in such matters, that he wasn’t quite sober.
“What d’yer want ter go ter Templeton fur?” demanded he.
“We belong to the school, and we’ve got left behind.”
The sailor laughed an unsympathetic laugh and took his pipe out of his mouth.
“Yer belong to the school, do yer, and yer’ve lost yer way?”
“Yes; can you put us right?”
“Yes, I can put yer right,” said the brawny young salt, putting his pipe back between his lips. “What’ll yer stand?”
“We’ll give you a shilling,” said Dick.
“Yer will? Yer’ll give me a sovereign apiece, or I’ll bash yer!”
And he laid a hand on the arm of each of his victims, chuckling and smoking as he looked down on their puny efforts to escape.