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"Lower a boat, Captain Weaver! Lower a boat!" he shouted, losing his habitual gentlemanlike coolness and calm in the overwhelming sensations of that moment. "Bear a hand now! Be quick! It is the lady for whom we have been chasing the Minorca. Quick, I say!" He stamped his foot. "Mercies on us!" cried the amazed deacon, clutching the fence for support. "Whose voice was that? You heard it, men. Whose was it?" "Hello," Anson accosted. "Goin' to school?".
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"Did you observe Mr Greyquill," continued[Pg 114] the Admiral, "on the wharf behind a little crowd of people viewing the ship under his lifted hand? He was there when you came on deck." Billy chuckled. "Then you got my message off of Croaker, Maurice?" "Humph," said the deacon, "Joe Scraff may be right at that. Maybe it would be just as well if we kept our own counsel in this matter, brothers. Tomorrow mornin', early, let each of us prepare his offerin' and depart fer the lake. We'll meet there and make what distribution of our gifts as seems fair to them cheats—I mean them poor misguided fishermen," he corrected hurriedly. "I'm a little 'ard of 'earing," was the answer, and the picturesque old man put his hand to his ear shellwise..
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