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Patrick's piper that played the last snake out of Ireland! some of these garbies are getting blue around the gills already." "Laugh at them," commanded Whistler. "We're Americans. We ought not to have a superstitious bone in our bodies." "Arrah!" grunted Frenchy. "I don't know rightly that it's me bones that are superstitious. But that 'tick-tock' gives me the creeps, just the same."
They've been stalkin' Tom's chickens," supplied Waffles, the champion poker player of the outfit. Tom Lee's chickens could whip anything of their kind for miles around and were reverenced accordingly. "Sho! Is that so?" Asked Frenchy with mild incredulity, such a state of affairs being deplorable.
"'Orrid," agreed the Frenchman, smiling amicably. "You was ver' near buried, eh?" "Yes," said the trader thoughtfully. "I suppose anyone 'ud say you saved my life, Frenchy." "Yea," replied the other. "Exactly," said Mills. "Well there's my hand for you, Frenchy. You done me a good turn. I'll do as much for you one of these days." "Eh?" said the Frenchman as he shook hands.
If he "got mad" he was to be regarded as not sufficiently well acquainted for banter and he was at once in hot water; if he took it good-naturedly he was one of the crowd in spirit; but in either case he didn't get his hat without begging or fighting for it. This was a recognized custom among the O-Bar-O outfit and was not intended as an insult. Frenchy grabbed at the empty air and arose.
"And I'd have won on my Frenchy, your excellency," said Lavrushka from behind, alluding to his shabby cart horse, "only I didn't wish to mortify you." They rode at a footpace to the barn, where a large crowd of peasants was standing. Some of the men bared their heads, others stared at the new arrivals without doffing their caps.
"Why," he said, "you are suffering from something else besides your wound. My men will bring some wine. I see you have water here. You are faint. There, let me place you more comfortably. That's better. I'll see to your wound soon. And you, my friend," he continued, turning to Punch, who started and shook his head. "No parly Frenchy," he said. "Never mind," continued the smuggler.
You wait a bit, old man, if you're so precious anxious to get yourself made sore. Frenchy won't forget us for gammoning him, and pretending to be on his side." "I ain't hankshus to be made sore, Bob, old matey," growled Barney; "it's a kind o' nat'ral feeling in me to make him sore, and I'm going to do it if I gets half a chance." "All right then, Mr Brymer 'll see as you has one, I dessay."
"We'd ought ter be gettin' handy," roared the latter to Frenchy, who nodded back, turning towards us his dripping, bearded face, for an instant. Suddenly he extended his arm. "Me see. To port!" he shouted. Dimly, veiled by the fog curtain, of ghostly outline, a jutting cliff appeared and Sammy luffed slightly.
"State of affairs is, that all the orficers and you the doctor, along with the passengers, is prisoners, and Frenchy Jarette's skipper of the Burgh Castle, with that there rat of a 'prentice or middy, or whatever he calls hisself, first mate." "But where are we going?" said Mr Frewen. "Nobody knows but Frenchy, and there is times when I think he don't know.
While the whole ship's company was watching the imitation periscope Frenchy and Ikey had slipped overboard through the ash-chute, the real submarine might have torpedoed the Kennebunk. The score of each gun crew was transmitted to Washington by favor of the auxiliary steamer which towed the target, and she disappeared coastward just at sunset.