When he ruminated upon these things he ground his teeth and pressed his thin lips together. It was all Linsky’s doing. He had Linsky safe below, however. It would be strange indeed if this fact did not turn out to have interesting consequences; but there would be time enough later on to deal with that.
The presence of the British officer was of more immediate importance. The O’Mahony walked again past the capstan, and looked his prisoner over askance. He was a tall man, well on in the thirties, slender, yet with athletic shoulders; his close-cropped hair and short moustache were of the color of flax; his face and neck were weather-beaten and browned. The face was a good one, with shapely features and a straightforward expression, albeit, seen now at its worst, under a scowl and the smear of the rags. After much hesitation The O’Mahony finally made up his mind to speak, and walked around to confront the officer with an amiable nod.
“S’pose you’re jest mad through an’ through at bein’ grabbed that _way_ an’ tied up like a calf goin’ to market, an’ run out in that sort o’ style,” he said, in a cheerfully confidential tone. “I know _I’d_ be jest bilin’! But I hope you don’t bear no malice. It _had_ to be done, an’ done that way, too! You kin see that yourself.”
The Englishman looked up with surly brevity of glance at the speaker, and then contemptuously turned his face away. He said never a word.
“One thing I’m sorry for: It _was_ pritty rough to have your mouth stuffed with gun-wipers; but, really, there wasn’t anything else handy, and time was pressin’. Now what d’ye say to havin’ a drink--jest to rense the taste out o’ your mouth?”
The officer kept his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. His lips twitched under the mustache with a movement that might signify temptation, but more probably reflected an impulse to tell his questioner to go to the devil. Whichever it was he said nothing.
The O’Mahony spoke again, with the least suspicion of acerbity in his tone.
“See here,” he said; “don’t flatter yourself that I’m worryin’ much whether you take a drink or not; an’ I’m not a man that’s much given to takin’ slack from anybody, whether they wear shoulder-straps or not. You’re my pris’ner. I took you--took you myself, an’ let you have a good lively rassle for your money. It wasn’t jest open an’ aboveboard, p’r’aps, but then you was layin’ there with your men hid, dependin’ on a sneak an’ a traitor to deliver me an’ my fellows into your hands. So it’s as broad as ’tis long. Only I don’t want to make it especially rough for you, an’ I thought I’d offer you a drink, an’ have a talk with you about what’s to be done next. But if you’re too mad to talk or drink, either, why, I kin wait till you cool down.”