"You'll not regret it, sir. We'll be true to the death, Captain Blythe," the Irishman promised, his white lips trembling.
After Alderson's turn at the wheel came mine. Evelyn presently joined me in the pilot-house.
"When shall we get ashore?" she asked me.
We were at the time, I remember, passing Taboga Island.
"Not till morning. We'll have to be inspected. To-night we'll lie in the harbor."
"How is your hand?" she asked, glancing at my bruised fingers.
I flashed a look quickly at her.
"My hand! Oh, it's all right now."
"Jimmie's is better, too," she said quietly.
In the language of my boyhood I was up a stump. So I played for time.