forty pounds avoirdupois of coined gold, and close on two hundredweight of Chile silver! What! ain't that good enough to fetch a fleet? Do you mean to say that won't affect a ship's compass? Do you mean to tell me that the lookout won't turn to and smell it?” he cried.
Mac, who had no part nor lot in the bills, the forty pounds of gold, or the two hundredweight of silver, heard this with impatience, and fell into a bitter, choking laughter. “You'll see!” he said harshly. “You'll be glad to feed them bills into the fire before you're through with ut!” And he turned, passed by himself out of the ring of the firelight, and stood gazing seaward.
His speech and his departure extinguished instantly those sparks of better humour kindled by the dinner and the chest. The group fell again to an ill-favoured silence, and Hemstead began to touch the banjo, as was his habit of an evening. His repertory was small: the chords of Home, Sweet Home fell under his fingers; and when he had played the symphony, he instinctively raised up his voice. “Be it never so 'umble, there's no plyce like 'ome,” he sang. The last word was still upon his lips, when the instrument was snatched from him and dashed into the fire; and he turned with a cry to look into the furious countenance of Mac.
“I'll be damned if I stand this!” cried the captain, leaping up belligerent.
“I told ye I was a voilent man,” said Mac, with a movement of deprecation very surprising in one of his character. “Why don't he give me a chance then? Haven't we enough to bear the way we are?” And to the wonder and dismay of all, the man choked upon a sob. “It's ashamed of meself I am,” he said presently, his Irish accent twenty-fold increased. “I ask all your pardons for me voilence; and especially the little man's, who is a harmless crayture, and
