on to him? An' then
he tips and busts into the skipper's house, wid the intention o'
t'iefing the money--an' where bes Foxey Jack Quinn this minute? The
saints only knows!--or maybe the divil could tell ye! An' there was Dick
Lynch. Dick ups an' crosses the skipper in the store, an' gets his head
broke. Nex', he raises a mutiny agin the skipper an' slips his knife
into a mate. Nex', he fills himself up wid rum an' sets out wid his
swilin'-gun to blow the skipper's head away! An' where bes Dick Lynch
this minute? Aye, where bes he! Tell me that, if ye kin--I don't know,
an' ye don't know, an' the skipper himself don't know. But the saints
knows!--or maybe it bes the divil himself could tell ye! Anyhow, all the
luck o' this harbor bes wid the skipper an' wid them as stands true wid
him. Aye, ye kin lay to that! His enemies blink out like a spark
floatin' up in the air. B'ys, stick wid the skipper! He feeds ye like
marchants. Already every man o' ye has more gold stored away nor ye ever
see afore in all yer life, an' come spring the skipper'll be freightin'
yer jewels, an' the cargo out o' the last wrack, north to St. John's,
an' sellin' 'em for ye. Would ye have salved 'em widout the skipper? No.
Would ye be able for to freight 'em to St. John's widout himself an' his
fore-an'-after? No. An' neither would ye be able to sell 'em even if ye
could freight 'em! Stand true to Black Dennis Nolan, b'ys, an' ye'll all
be fat an' rich as marchants, wid never the need to wet a line at the
fishin'."

Dick Lynch had gone away drunk; but not so drunk as to have forgotten
to take food and a blanket with him, and to stow away on his person his
share of the gold from the _Durham Castle_. His inflamed mind must have
held a doubt as to the certainty of meeting and disposing of the
skipper.

After the long spell of fine weather another "flurry" swirled out of the
west, and sent the men of Chance Along into their cabins, to eat and
drink and spin yarns and keep the fires roaring in the little, round
stoves and blackened chimneys. Throughout the first day of storm the
skipper sat by the stove in his kitchen, talking pleasantly enough to
Mother Nolan and Cormick, figuring on the plans for the church which
Father McQueen had left with him, but with never a question about Flora
Lockhart. He was something of a dissembler, was the skipper--when his
blood was cool. Mother Nolan spoke once of the girl, saying that the
loneliness of Chance Along wa