Utterly taken aback, Macavoy could only stare, puffing in his beard, and
drawing in his legs, which had been spread out at angles. He looked from
Wiley to the impassive Pierre. "Buccaneers, you callus," Wiley went on;
"well, we'll have no more of that, or there'll be trouble at Fort
O'Angel."
"Ah, sure y'are only jokin'," said Macavoy, "for I love ye, ye
scoundrels. It's only me fun."
"For fun like that you'll pay, ruffian!" said Hatchett, bringing down
his fist on the table with a bang.
Macavoy stood up. He looked confounded, but there was nothing of the
coward in his face. "Oh, well," said he, "I'll be goin', for ye've got
y'r teeth all raspin'."
As he went the two men laughed after him mockingly. "Wind like a bag,"
said Hatchett. "Bone like a marrow-fat pea," added Wiley.
Macavoy was at the door, but at that he turned. "If ye care to sail
agin' that wind, an' gnaw on that bone, I'd not be sayin' you no."
"Will to-night do--at sunset?" said Wiley.
"Bedad, then, me b'ys, sunset'll do--an' not more than two at a time," he
added softly, all the roar gone from his throat. Then he went out,
followed by Pierre.
Hatchett and Wiley looked at each other and laughed a little confusedly.
"What's that he said?" muttered Wiley. "Not more than two at a time,
was it?"
"That was it. I don't know that it's what we bargained for, after all."
He looked round on the other settlers present, who had been awed by the
childlike, earnest note in Macavoy's last words.
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