"An' what might that be, avic?" Terence demanded.

"I want you to steal the ship back from them, Terence."

"Very well, Michael. 'Tis not a small thing ye ask me to do, but the
divil a more willin' man could ye find to ask. Have ye figured out the
plan av campaign? Sure what wit' the suddenness av it all I'm all in a
shweat wit' excitement."

"You may be cold enough before morning, Terry, my boy."

"Bad luck to you, Michael! Dyin' is wan thing I cannot afford to do,
although be the same token they tell me ould Ricks has a kind shpot in
the heart av him for the widow an' the orphan--particularly av thim
that dies in his service! As I say, I cannot afford to get kilt, but
in back av that ag'in I cannot afford to lose the best job I ever had.
An' afther all, 'tis a poor man that won't fight for a fine, kind
gentleman--"

"Damn the fine, kind gentleman! It serves him right for letting us get
into this fix. He can afford the loss of the ship, but you and I,
Terence Reardon, cannot afford the loss of our honor and self-respect.
For the sake of the blood that's in us we can't afford to let a lot of
Dutchmen steal our ship and cargo."

"Whist!" Reardon warned. "Hurry up. Me crew is comin' below ag'in."

"Make it a point to pass by my state-room window after dark. You'll
find a scrap of paper on the sill. Help yourself to it."