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Billy laughed. "Come along as far as the clearin', Harry," he invited, "and play us a tune that'll cheer Maurice up, will you?" He contrasted her wretched bed on that cabin floor with her home bedchamber which he figured—he had never entered it; a room sweet-scented with the flowers of the creepers at the windows, white and fair in the apparel of a girl's bower of rest, elegant in its equipment as were all the rooms of the home of the Actons. "What!" Shipley and Sward started so forcibly that their heads came together with a bump. "So the old skinflint is goin' to give us his down apples, is he?" wheezed Shipley. "Well, he ain't givin' much, but we'll come over tonight and get 'em. It's a wonder the old hypocrite would let us gather 'em on Sunday night, ain't it, Benjamin?" he addressed his companion..
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"Oh, he'll soon get over it," laughed Billy. "We'll find him waitin' fer us farther on." "Pray, what is your ship, sir?" asked Captain Acton. "But I'm not hungry, Mr. Spencer," said Billy quickly. "Oh, look, Bill," said Maurice, "they're stoppin' at your place.".
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