"'I look to you to retrieve it,' says he. 'I look to you to
reimburse me! 'Fore God, why are ye not cast off? Are ye dawdlin'
in dock for a purpose?'
"'What odds, McRimmon?' says Bell. 'We'll be a day behind the fair
at Liverpool. The Grotkau's got all the freight that might ha' been
ours an' the Lammergeyer's.' McRimmon laughed an' chuckled - the
pairfect eemage o' senile dementia. Ye ken his eyebrows wark up an'
down like a gorilla's.
"'Ye're under sealed orders,' said he, tee-heein' an' scratchin'
himself. 'Yon's they' - to be opened seriatim.
"Says Bell, shufflin' the envelopes when the auld man had gone
ashore: 'We're to creep round a' the south coast, standin' in for
orders his weather, too. There's no question o' his lunacy now.'
"Well, we buttocked the auld Kite along - vara bad weather we made
- standin' in all alongside for telegraphic orders, which are the
curse o' skippers. Syne we made over to Holyhead, an' Bell opened
the last envelope for the last instructions. I was wi' him in the
cuddy, an' he threw it over to me, cryin': 'Did ye ever know the
like, Mac?'
"I'll no say what McRimmon had written, but he was far from mad.
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