“Can you leave this?” “It’s my dinner-time, sir.” “Come on, then. I shall be very much obliged to you. Isn’t this more exciting than selling woollen shirts?” “Yes, sir. Indeed. But shirts are useful things, sir.” “I deny that. They are pernicious things. They are always getting dirty, and then some poor wretch with an immortal soul must scrub them in hot water. They are always losing their buttons, and then other poor wretches have to make new ones and sew them on again. They are always wearing out, and then other poor wretches have to begin the silly game again by penning up a few sheep and cutting their wool away.” By this time they were outside the door. “Come, Olivia,” he said carelessly. “We must walk to the docks. You will be tired to death before you get there.” “Oh no I shan’t,” she answered. “I love walking.” “Give me that package,” he replied. “Now,” he continued to the shopman, “walk as though we were seeing the sights. Oh. Here’s a butcher’s shop. Now my captain would never forgive me if I came aboard without a leg of mutton.” He bought a leg of mutton, handed it to the shopman to carry, and sauntered on. “You must have your jest, I see, sir,” said the shopman. “Oh yes, if I swing for it,” replied the captain, quoting from a popular broadside, which had contained the biography of a pirate. “Hadn’t we better walk a little faster, sir?” said the shopman. He had no desire to be caught; he was not used to excitements. “Olivia,” said Captain Margaret, paying no attention to his new acquaintance, but continuing to saunter leisurely, “when we get on board I expect you’ll find your husband up and about.” “Yes,” she answered. “I ought not to have left him for so long. I’ve hardly seen him for days.” He had spoken so that the shopman might make no allusions to the Salcombe affair, casting out a reference to Stukeley’s crime. She had answered with some little, half-acknowledged wish to pique him. “To-night,” said Margaret, “in the cabin, we’ll all hold a council of war to decide our doings on the Main.” “Yes,” she answered. “And when we get there we shall remember the council. Things will look very different there.” “Here. You’ve been talking to Cammock.” “He’s so amusing,” she answered. Sauntering in this way, talking nonsense and trifling, they arrived at the boat-builder’s creek which then did duty for a dock. Their boat lay off at a little distance; the hands were lying on their oars. Captain Margaret hailed her; she put in. He handed Olivia into the sternsheets. Mrs. Inigo, well used to boats from her childhood, stepped into the bows. The stroke oar arranged the parcels and placed the leg of mutton behind the backboard. Captain Margaret turned to the shopman, and walked a few steps with him out of ear-shot of the boat. He glanced up the anchorage to see if any armed boat was putting off. “Don’t wait, sir,” said the shopman. “Lord, sir, think of the risk. Why don’t you go, sir? It’s frightfully dangerous, sir.”