Penelon turned to his companions, and exchanged a few words with them.
“As for that, M. Morrel,” said he, again turning his quid, “as for that—”
“As for what?”
“The money.”
“Well—”
“Well, we all say that fifty francs will be enough for us at present, and that we will wait for the rest.”
“Thanks, my friends, thanks!” cried Morrel gratefully; “take it—take it; and if you can find another employer, enter his service; you are free to do so.”
These last words produced a prodigious effect on the seaman. Penelon nearly swallowed his quid; fortunately he recovered.
“What, M. Morrel!” said he in a low voice, “you send us away; you are then angry with us!”
“No, no,” said M. Morrel, “I am not angry, quite the contrary, and I do not send you away; but I have no more ships, and therefore I do not want any sailors.”
“No more ships!” returned Penelon; “well, then, you’ll build some; we’ll wait for you.”
“I have no money to build ships with, Penelon,” said the poor owner mournfully, “so I cannot accept your kind offer.”
“No more money? Then you must not pay us; we can scud, like the Pharaon , under bare poles.”