Carthew stepped across and wrung him by the hand. “I'll never forget this,” he said.
“And what are ye going to do with the Highway boy and the plumber?” inquired Mac, in a low tone of voice. “They've both wan, ye see.”
“That's true!” said Carthew aloud. “Amalu and Hemstead, count your winnings; Tommy and I pay that.”
It was carried without speech: the pair glad enough to receive their winnings, it mattered not from whence; and Tommy, who had lost about five hundred pounds, delighted with the compromise.
“And how about Mac?” asked Hemstead. “Is he to lose all?”
“I beg your pardon, plumber. I'm sure ye mean well,” returned the Irishman, “but you'd better shut your face, for I'm not that kind of a man. If I t'ought I had wan that money fair, there's never a soul here could get it from me. But I t'ought it was in fun; that was my mistake, ye see; and there's no man big enough upon this island to give a present to my mother's son. So there's my opinion to ye, plumber, and you can put it in your pockut till required.”
“Well, I will say, Mac, you're a gentleman,” said Carthew, as he helped him to shovel back his winnings into the treasure chest.
“Divil a fear of it, sir! a drunken sailor-man,” said Mac.
The captain had sat somewhile with his face in his hands; now he rose mechanically, shaking and stumbling like a drunkard after a debauch. But as he rose, his face was altered, and his voice rang out over the isle, “Sail, ho!”
All turned at the cry, and there, in the wild light of the morning, heading straight for Midway Reef, was the brig Flying Scud of Hull.
