We can't go to sea like this. What'll
we do?"
"Supposing," cried old Blodgett, sarcastically, "supposing you row back to
Salem. It's only three thousand miles or more. You'll find it a pleasant
voyage, I'm sure, and you'd ought to run into enough Ladronesers and Malays
to make it interesting along the way."
"Ain't we human?" Kipping whined, as if trying to wring pity from even
Blodgett. "Ain't you going at least to give us a keg o' water and some
bread?"
"If you're not out of gunshot in five minutes," Roger cried, "I'll train
the long gun and blow you clean out of water."
Without more ado they rowed slowly away, growing smaller and smaller, until
at last they passed out of sight round the point.
"Ah me," sighed Neddie Benson, "I'm glad they're gone. It's funny Falk
ain't quite a light man nor yet a real dark man."
"_Gone_!" Davie repeated ominously. "_I_ wish they was gone." He looked up
at the furled sails. "They ain't--and neither is we."
"There's work to be done," said Roger, "and we must be about it. Leave the
nets as they are. Stack the muskets in the waist, pile the pikes handy by
the deckhouse, and all lay aft. We'd best have a few words together before
we begin.
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