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"None waster, sir! Wast is the werry vord for it." "Do you think this is a case of suicide or murder?" enquired Anthony. "Can't say, sir. But somevun's allvays bein' murdered, murderin' or goin' for to murder somevun, somevere or t'other." "Sounds cheery!" murmured Anthony. "Do you catch many murderers?" "Pretty fair, sir, pretty fair.
For half a minute the skipper was mad enough to kill the unconscious sailor with his hands and feet; but Mother Nolan and Mary Kavanagh together were equal to the task of holding him and bringing him to a glimmering of reason. Mother Nolan's tongue did not spare him, even as her fingers had not spared poor, loyal Bill Brennen's whiskers. "Would ye be murderin' him?" she cried.
McGuffey looked, and his face went whiter than the foaming breakers beyond which he could see the Maggie II, under full sail, headed for the open sea. The small boat had been picked up, and there was no doubt that at her present rate of speed the schooner would be hull down on the horizon by sunset. "The murderin' hound," whispered McGuffey, and sagged down on the sands.
"No matter now, Cannie; I haven't time to bestow upon the murdering ruffian: I have my eye on him, however, and so have others. Indeed, I'm rather inclined to think the hemp has already grown that will hang him. What dress had he on?" "Why, sir, he had on a whitish frieze coat, wid big brown buttons; but there could be no mistakin' the size of his murderin' red whiskers."
I reckon that sundown will about see the last of this hooker; but by that time yonder brig 'll be pretty nigh out of sight, and we shall have a chance to get away in the boats, which, for a wonder, them murderin' thieves forgot to damage." "There is no hope, you think, of saving the schooner, if all of us who are able were to go below and lend you a hand?" said I.
They both are right proud o' their names, too, because they air white names, ye see. Now when time comes fer a fire, Blast Yore Hide an' Dang Yore Eyes, they fight hit out between 'em which gits the wood. I don't study none over that, ma'am." Molly Wingate rose so ruffled that, like an angered hen, she seemed twice her size. "You old heathen!" she exclaimed. "You old murderin' lazy heathen man!
"Have I, though!" said the man, setting down the food on a small deal table that stood at the head of the bedstead; "don't think it, my man; your time's up in another two hours hallo! where got ye the dog?" "It came in with me last night to keep me company, I fancy, which is more than the human dogs o' this murderin' place had the civility to do."
Mebbe it's straight, an' mebbe it ain't. Some years ago Benson made a trip over the river to buy mescal an' other drinks. He'll sneak over there once in a while. An' as I get it he run across a gang of greasers with some gringo prisoners. I don't know, but I reckon there was some barterin', perhaps murderin'. Anyway, Benson fetched the girl back. She was more dead than alive.
And I'm thinkin' that's where they've taken Chet Bullard, and never again will he hold a ship like 'twas in the hollow of his hand, and him settin' it down like a feather! "And: 'Fly back home! he says to me. I can do it, too; thanks to his teachin'. But fly back and leave that bhoy in the hands of those murderin' devils! 'tis little he knows the Irish!"
"Bless my soul!" she cried, "who's been a murderin' of you, child?" She thought he was in company with the two men; and they had been ill-treating him. "I can't get any work, ma'am, so I don't want much to eat. Now I think of it, I believe it was the gladness of seeing an old friend again, and not the hunger, that made me feel so queer all at once."
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