the firrst thing ye got to do is to get this ship to sea. We'll talk of me arrum after that.”
“Oh, there's no such blooming hurry,” returned Wicks.
“When the next ship sails in, ye'll tell me stories!” retorted Mac.
“But there's nothing so unlikely in the world,” objected Carthew.
“Don't be deceivin' yourself,” said Mac. “If ye want a ship, divil a one'll look near ye in six year; but if ye don't, ye may take my word for ut, we'll have a squadron layin' here.”
“That's what I say,” cried Tommy; “that's what I call sense! Let's stock that whaleboat and be off.”
“And what will Captain Wicks be thinking of the whaleboat?” asked the Irishman.
“I don't think of it at all,” said Wicks. “We've a smart-looking brig under foot; that's all the whaleboat I want.”
“Excuse me!” cried Tommy. “That's childish talk. You've got a brig, to be sure, and what use is she? You daren't go anywhere in her. What port are you to sail for?”
“For the port of Davy Jones's Locker, my son,” replied the captain. “This brig's going to be lost at sea. I'll tell you where, too, and that's about forty miles to windward of Kauai. We're going to stay by her till she's down; and once the masts are under, she's the Flying Scud no more, and we never heard of such a brig; and it's the crew of the schooner Currency Lass that comes ashore in the boat, and takes the first chance to Sydney.”
“Captain dear, that's the first Christian word I've heard of ut!” cried Mac. “And now, just let me arrum be, jewel, and get the brig outside.”
“I'm as anxious as yourself, Mac,” returned Wicks;
