ith you."

"I don't want to sell them," said Maurice. "I'll give them to you."

His voice and accent, his refusal to barter, betrayed the fact that he
was a gentleman.

"I guess," said the captain, "that you're an aristocrat, a British
aristocrat, too proud to take the money of the men who whipped you in
the States. That's so."

"I'm an Irish gentleman," said Maurice.

"Well, Mr. Irish Gentleman, if you're too darned aristocratic to trade,
I'll give you a present of a case of good Virginia, and you may give
me a present of your fish. I'd call it a swap, but if that turns
your stomach I'll let you call it a mutual present, an expression of
international goodwill."

"Fling him up the fish, Neal," said Maurice.

Then another man appeared beside the captain on the quarter-deck. He was
not a seafaring man. He was lean and yellow, and had keen grey eyes. His
face seemed in some way familiar to Neal, though he could not recollect
having ever seen the man before.

"Yon are the Causeway cliffs," he said, "and yon's Pleaskin Head, and
the islands we passed are the Skerries?"

"You know this coast," said Neal.

"I knew this coast, young man, before your mother had the dandling of
you. I know it now, though it's five and twenty years since I set foot
on it. But that's not the question. What I want to know is this. Can you
put me ashore? I could do well if you land me at the Causeway. I'd make
shift with my bag if you put me out at Port Ballin-trae. I don't want to
be going on to Glasgow just for the pleasure of coming back again."

"I'll land you at the Black Rock under Run-kerry," said Maurice, "if
you can pull an oar. The wind's rising, and I've no mind to carry idle
passengers."

"I can pull an oar," said the stranger.

"I guess he can pull enough to break your back, young man," said the
captain. "He's an American citizen, and he's been engaged in whipping
your British army. I guess an American citizen can lick a darned
aristocrat at pulling an oar same as he did at shooting off guns."

"Shut your damned mouth," said Maurice, suddenly angry, "or I'll leave
you to land your passenger yourself and see how you like beating the
bottom out of your brig against our rocks. You'll find an Irish rock
harder than your Yankee wood."

The passenger fetched a small hand-bag and lowered it into the boat.
Under a shower of jibes from the captain, Maurice and Neal pushed off
and started for the row home against the wind.