But Maclean shook his head. "One of them took and sunk the Acandaga last month, sir, and she carried no contraband either."
"Russia will have to foot the bill for that."
"May be, sir. But Captain Tollis—as fine a chap as ever breathed, sir—has lost his ship, and the Lord knows if he'll ever get another."
"Are you trying to frighten me, Maclean?" asked Captain Brandon, stormily.
The mate shrugged his shoulders. "No, sir; but I am interested in this venture, and if the Saigon gets back all right to Liverpool I'm due to splice Mr. Keppel's niece, and the old gentleman, as you know, has promised me a ship."
"And hasn't it entered your thick skull that to return as you suggest would cost fifty pounds' worth of coal? How do you suppose old Kep would like that?"
"Better burn a few tons of coal than risk losing the Saigon, sir, and mark time till God knows when in a Russian prison."
Captain Brandon shut his mouth with a snap, and muttered something about Scottish caution that was distinctly uncomplimentary to the Caledonian race. Then, to signify the end of the argument, he strode to the ladder, and prepared to descend. Maclean, however, was of an equally stubborn character. "About the course, sir?" he demanded, touching his cap with ironical deference.
"Carry on!" snarled the captain, and he forthwith disappeared.
Two hours afterward Hugh Maclean knocked at the door of the captain's cabin, and was hoarsely bidden enter. Captain Brandon was seated before a bottle of whisky, which was scarce half full.