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He swung up his bar to reach over and deliver a sweeping blow, but he was over Jarette, who started up below the bar, and fired right in the big sailor's face, when he too went down, but not hit. The shock and the whizz of a bullet close to his ear had sufficed to stagger him, so that he tripped over Mr Preddle's prostrate body, and gave his head a sharp blow on the back.
The moment before he had been lying shivering in the bottom of the boat, but as I spoke he sprang up and cried in a high-pitched, hysterical voice that might have been Mr Preddle's "It isn't true, Miss Denning. I've been a treacherous coward and a beast, but I'd sooner die now than leave you to come to harm."
"Will they kill us and throw us overboard?" "No," I whispered through. "If they had meant that, they would have done it at once. But don't talk any more now." "Buzz, buzz, buzz." "What say?" "Buzz, talk, buzz, buzz." I opened my penknife, for I knew that the reason why Mr Preddle's words sounded so buzzy, was that a lot of little bits of wood were sticking up through the hole left by the gimlet.
"Going to have some breakfast?" I shouted. "Isn't it Mr Preddle's turn too?" "Yes," he squeaked, from over the other side; "I'm going too, but it's very hard work passing along here. Dale, my dear boy." "Yes, Mr Preddle." "I've had a look in at my place forward, and quite half the fish are dead."
You had better be friends, for it would hurt my feelings to have to set you afloat in an open boat with those brute bullies, Berriman and Brymer. Think it over, man. Your friend, Mr Preddle, is sure to join me, for I can find him a pond or a river in which to keep his fish." He backed out of the cabin, and the door was closed, while as we listened we heard the party move on to Mr Preddle's cabin.
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