“What the dooce?” exclaimed Henfrey, sotto voce.

“You — all — right thur?” asked Mr. Hall, sharply, again.

The Vicar’s voice answered with a curious jerking intonation: “Quite ri-right. Please don’t — interrupt.”

“Odd!” said Mr. Henfrey.

“Odd!” said Mr. Hall.

“Says, ‘Don’t interrupt,’” said Henfrey.

“I heerd’n,” said Hall.

“And a sniff,” said Henfrey.

They remained listening. The conversation was rapid and subdued. “I can’t,” said Mr. Bunting, his voice rising; “I tell you, sir, I will not.”

“What was that?” asked Henfrey.

“Says he wi’ nart,” said Hall. “Warn’t speaking to us, wuz he?”

“Disgraceful!” said Mr. Bunting, within.

“‘Disgraceful,’” said Mr. Henfrey. “I heard it — distinct.”

“Who’s that speaking now?” asked Henfrey.

“Mr. Cuss, I s’pose,” said Hall. “Can you hear — anything?”

Silence. The sounds within indistinct and perplexing.

“Sounds like throwing the table-cloth about,” said Hall.

Mrs. Hall appeared behind the bar. Hall made gestures of silence and invitation. This aroused Mrs. Hall’s wifely opposition. “What yer listenin’ there for, Hall?” she asked. “Ain’t you nothin’ better to do — busy day like this?”

Hall tried to convey everything by grimaces and dumb show, but Mrs. Hall was obdurate. She raised her voice. voice So Hall and Henfrey, rather crestfallen, tiptoed back to the bar, gesticulating to explain to her.

At first she refused to see anything in what they had heard at all. Then she insisted on Hall keeping silence, while Henfrey told her his story. She was inclined to think the whole business nonsense — perhaps they were just moving the furniture about. “I heerd’n say ‘disgraceful’; that I did,” said Hall.

“I heerd that, Mrs. Hall,” said Henfrey.

“Like as not — ” began Mrs. Hall.

“Hsh!” said Mr. Teddy Henfrey. “Didn’t I hear the window?”

“What window?” asked Mrs. Hall.

“Parlour window,” said Henfrey.

Everyone stood listening intently. Mrs. Hall’s eyes, directed straight before her, saw without seeing the brilliant oblong of the inn door, the road white and vivid, and Huxter’s shop-front blistering in the June sun. Abruptly Huxter’s door opened and Huxter appeared, eyes staring with excitement, arms gesticulating. “Yap!” cried Huxter. “Stop thief!” and he ran obliquely across the oblong towards the yard gates, and vanished.

Simultaneously came a tumult from the parlour, and a sound of windows being closed.

Hall, Henfrey, and the human contents of the tap rushed out at once pell-mell into the street. They saw someone whisk round the corner towards the road, and Mr. Huxter executing a complicated leap in the air that ended on his face and shoulder. Down the street people were standing astonished or running towards them.

“Captain Smollett,” began the doctor with a smile, “did ever you hear the fable of the mountain and the mouse? You’ll excuse me, I dare say, but you remind me of that fable. When you came in here, I’ll stake my wig, you meant more than this.”

“Doctor,” said the captain, “you are smart. When I came in here I meant to get discharged. I had no thought that Mr. Trelawney would hear a word.”

“No more I would,” cried the squire. “Had Livesey not been here I should have seen you to the deuce. As it is, I have heard you. I will do as you desire, but I think the worse of you.”

“That’s as you please, sir,” said the captain. “You’ll find I do my duty.”

And with that he took his leave.

“Trelawney,” said the doctor, “contrary to all my notions, I believed you have managed to get two honest men on board with you—that man and John Silver.”

“Silver, if you like,” cried the squire; “but as for that intolerable humbug, I declare I think his conduct unmanly, unsailorly, and downright un–English.”

“Well,” says the doctor, “we shall see.”

When we came on deck, the men had begun already to take out the arms and powder, yo–ho–ing at their work, while the captain and Mr. Arrow stood by superintending.

The new arrangement was quite to my liking. The whole schooner had been overhauled; six berths had been made astern out of what had been the after–part of the main hold; and this set of cabins was only joined to the galley and forecastle by a sparred passage on the port side. It had been originally meant that the captain, Mr. Arrow, Hunter, Joyce, the doctor, and the squire were to occupy these six berths. Now Redruth and I were to get two of them and Mr. Arrow and the captain were to sleep on deck in the companion, which had been enlarged on each side till you might almost have called it a round–house. Very low it was still, of course; but there was room to swing two hammocks, and even the mate seemed pleased with the arrangement. Even he, perhaps, had been doubtful as to the crew, but that is only guess, for as you shall hear, we had not long the benefit of his opinion.

We were all hard at work, changing the powder and the berths, when the last man or two, and Long John along with them, came off in a shore–boat.

The cook came up the side like a monkey for cleverness, and as soon as he saw what was doing, “So ho, mates!” says he. “What’s this?”

“We’re a–changing of the powder, Jack,” answers one.

“Why, by the powers,” cried Long John, “if we do, we’ll miss the morning tide!”

“My orders!” said the captain shortly. “You may go below, my man. Hands will want supper.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” answered the cook, and touching his forelock, he disappeared at once in the direction of his galley.