de Radisson, with the lights at play
under his brows.
"Hang me if I know how long that would be," laughed Gillam, half-puzzled,
half-pleased with the Frenchman's darting wits.
"Ben," begins M. Radisson, tapping the lace ruffle of Gillam's sleeve,
"you must not fire those guns!"
"No?" questions Gillam.
"My officers are swashing young blades! What with the marines and the
common soldiers and my own guard, 'tis all I can manage to keep the
rascals in hand! They must not know you are here!"
Gillam muttered something of a treaty of truce for the winter.
M. Radisson shook his head.
"I have scarce the support to do as I will," he protests.
Young Gillam swore such coolness was scurvy treatment for an old friend.
"Old friend," laughed Radisson afterward. "Did the cub's hangdog of a
father not offer a thousand pounds for my head on the end of a pikestaff?"
But with Ben he played the game out.
"The season is too far advanced for you to _escape_," says he with soft
emphasis.
"'Tis why I want a treaty," answers the sailor.
"Come, then," laughs the Frenchman, "now--as to terms----"
"Name them," says Gillam.
"If you don't wish to be discovered----"
"I don't wish to be discovered!"
"If you don't wish to be discovered don't run up a flag!"
"One," says Gillam.
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