Alongside he comes in the Unity’s boat, steps aboard, and makes a polite leg to Captain Cornelisz, with any amount of sham sympathy in his eye.

“Dear, dear,” says he, “this is a very unfort’nit business for you, Cap’n What’s-your-name!  In time of war I s’pose such things must happen; but I can’t help feelin’ sorry for you,” says he.

“I was thinkin’ to reckon the damage at six hundred pounds,” says the Dutch skipper, meek as you please.

“Hey?” says Mr. Job.

“Well, sir, I likes to be reasonable; but it’s a question of missing the convoy, and under the circumstances—­case of illegal detention at the best—­you won’t consider six hundred pounds out of the way.  Of course,” says he, “I haven’t been allowed to study your lugger’s papers, so it may be flat piracy.  But if your skipper had taken the trouble to study mine—­”

“What in thunder is he telling about?” demanded Mr. Job.

“Only this, sir,” answered Captain Cornelisz, smiling very sweet, and pulling out his licence from his side-pocket, he read, “’And the said vessel has our protection while bearing any flag except the French, and notwithstanding the documents accompanying the said vessel and cargo may represent the same to be destined to any neutral or hostile port, or to whomsoever such property may appear to belong.’  The wording you see, sir, is very particular, and under the circumstances I can’t say less than six hundred pounds; but, of course, if you oblige me to take it to the courts, there’s your papers to be considered, which may raise the question of piracy.”

Just an hour later, when Mr. Job had returned to shore in the devil’s own temper to call a hasty meeting of his shareholders—­and Captain Hewitt along with him, with his tail between his Legs—­Captain Cornelisz raised the trap of the lazarette.

“I’m thinking a little fresh air’s no more than you deserve,” said he.

“But where are we, in this world?” asked Jacka.

“So well as I can learn, ’tis a place called Polperro.”

Jacka chuckled.  “Seen anything of a party called Job?”

“He’s to bring me six hundred pounds before morning,” answered the Dutchman, lighting his pipe.  “And see here—­I’m a fair-dealin’ man, and I own I owe you a good twenty of it.  You shall have it when you leave the ship, and I’ll chance making it right with the owners.”

“Very good of you, to be sure,” allowed Jacka.

“But that isn’t all.  I owe you something on my own account, and if there’s any small favour I can do you, in reason—­”

“Well, since you put it so friendly, I’d like an hour or so ashore.”

“Ashore?  What, to-night?”

“It’s my home, you see,” Jacka explained; “and my old woman lives there.”

“You don’t say so?  Well, you shall be put ashore as soon as you please.  Anything else?”

“I see’d a very pretty teapot and sugar basin in your cabin yestiddy.  I don’t know if you set any particular store by them; but if you don’t, my old woman’s terrible fond of china, and you can deduct it out of the twenty pounds, it you like.”