"Lewis," said the mate.
"Well," growled the skipper.
"This ship's going in the lace and brandy trade, and if so be as you're
sensible you can go with it as mate, d'ye hear?"
"An' s'pose I do; what about the lady?" inquired the captain.
"You and the lady'll have to get spliced," said the mate sternly. "Then
there'll be no tales told. A Scotch marriage is as good as any, and
we'll just lay off and put you ashore, and you can get tied up as right
as ninepence."
"Marry a coward like that?" demanded Miss Rumbolt, with spirit; "not if
I know it. Why, I'd sooner marry that old man at the helm."
"Old Bill's got three wives a'ready to my sartin knowledge," spoke up
one of the sailors. "The lady's got to marry Cap'n Lewis, so don't let's
have no fuss about it."
"I won't," said the lady, stamping violently.
The mutineers appeared to be in a dilemma, and, following the example of
the mate, scratched their heads thoughtfully.
"We thought you liked him," said the mate, at last, feebly.
"You had no business to think," said Miss Rumbolt. "You are bad men, and
you'll all be hung, every one of you; I shall come and see it." "The
cap'n's welcome to her for me," murmured the helmsman in a husky whisper
to the man next to him. "The vixen!"
"Very good," said the mate.
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