Twice Bought | Page 9

to
be fetched.
Paddy Flinders, who had a schoolboy tendency to stuff his various
pockets full of all sorts of miscellaneous articles, at once stepped
forward and handed the leader a piece of strong cod-line.
"There ye are, sor," said he.
"Just the thing, Paddy. Here, catch hold of this end of it an' haul."
"Yis, gineral," said the Irishman, in a tone and with a degree of alacrity
that caused a laugh from most of those who were looking on. Even the
"gineral" observed it, and remarked with a sardonic smile--
"You seem to be pleased to see your old chum in this fix, I think."
"Well now, gineral," returned Flinders, in an argumentative tone of
voice, "I can't exactly say that, sor, for I'm troubled with what ye may

call amiable weaknesses. Anyhow, I might see 'im in a worse fix."
"Well, you're like to see him in a worse fix if you live long enough,"
returned the leader. "Haul now on this knot. It'll puzzle him to undo
that. Lend me your knife."
Flinders drew his glittering bowie-knife from its sheath and handed it
to his leader, who cut off the superfluous cordage with it, after having
bound the prisoner's wrists behind his back in a sailor-like manner.
In returning the knife to its owner, Gashford, who was fond of a
practical joke, tossed it high in the air towards him with a "Here,
catch."
The keen glittering thing came twirling down, but to the surprise of all,
the Irishman caught it by the handle as deftly as though he had been a
trained juggler.
"Thank your gineralship," exclaimed Paddy, amid a shout of laughter
and applause, bowing low in mock reverence. As he rose he made a
wild flourish with the knife, uttered an Indian war-whoop, and cut a
caper.
In that flourish he managed to strike the cord that bound the prisoner,
and severed one turn of it. The barefaced audacity of the act (like that
of a juggler) caused it to pass unobserved. Even Tom, although he felt
the touch of the knife, was not aware of what had happened, for, of
course, a number of uncut turns of the cord still held his wrists
painfully tight.
"Now, lie down on your back," said Gashford, sternly, when the laugh
that Paddy had raised subsided.
Either the tone of this command, or the pain caused by his bonds,
roused Tom's anger, for he refused to obey.
"Lie down, ye spalpeen, whin the gineral bids ye," cried Flinders,
suddenly seizing his old friend by the collar and flinging him flat on his

back, in which act he managed to trip and fall on the top of him.
The opportunity was not a good one, nevertheless the energetic fellow
managed to whisper, "The rope's cut! Lie still!" in the very act of
falling.
"Well done, Paddy," exclaimed several of the laughing men, as Flinders
rose with a pretended look of discomfiture, and went towards the fire,
exclaiming--
"Niver mind, boys, I'll have me supper now. Hi! who's bin an' stole it
whin I was out on dooty? Oh! here it is all right. Now then, go to work,
an' whin the pipes is lighted I'll maybe sing ye a song, or tell ye a story
about ould Ireland."
CHAPTER THREE.
Obedient to orders, Tom Brixton lay perfectly still on his back, just
where he had fallen, wondering much whether the cord was really cut,
for he did not feel much relaxation of it or abatement of the pain. He
resolved, at any rate, to give no further cause for rough treatment, but
to await the issue of events as patiently as he could.
True to his promise, the Irishman after supper sang several songs,
which, if not characterised by sweetness of tone, were delivered with a
degree of vigour that seemed to make full amends in the estimation of
his hearers. After that he told a thrilling ghost story, which drew the
entire band of men round him. Paddy had a natural gift in the way of
relating ghost stories, for, besides the power of rapid and sustained
discourse, without hesitation or redundancy of words, he possessed a
vivid imagination, a rich fancy, a deep bass voice, an expressive
countenance, and a pair of large coal-black eyes, which, as one of the
Yankee diggers said, "would sartinly bore two holes in a blanket if he
only looked at it long enough."
We do not intend to inflict that ghost story on the reader. It is sufficient
to say that Paddy began it by exclaiming in a loud voice--"`Now or
niver, boys--now or niver.' That's what the ghost said."

"What's that you say, Paddy?" asked Gashford, leaving his own
separate and private fire, which he enjoyed with one or two chosen