The conversation was here interrupted by three taps on the deck above them, produced by the brogan of Pat Fegan.
Hatchie recognized the preconcerted signal, and, abruptly terminating his remarks, he leaped into the box, drew on the lid, and left Uncle Nathan to find his way out as best he could.
"Whisht, now," said Pat, whispering down the hatch. "Jump up, Mr. Binson!"
Uncle Nathan approached the hatchway, and endeavored to leap out, an effort which was assisted by Pat, who, rudely seizing him by the collar, jerked him out with a violence that threatened his bones with dissolution.
"How the divil did yous tumble in there?" screamed Pat, as two persons approached. "Are yous hurted?"
"A little," replied Uncle Nathan, perceiving the ruse of his coadjutor.
"I fear yous are. Thry are your legs broke?" continued Pat, whose energy of utterance gave a fair appearance to the deceit.
"Are you much hurt?" asked one of the persons who had by their presence disturbed the conference.
"Very little," replied Uncle Nathan, who really felt the uncomfortable effects of a knock on the knee he had received in his involuntary ascent from the hold.
"Bad luck to 't, but 'twas a wicked fall!" said Pat, fearful that his conscientious companion would expose the deceit.