"Blow 'em up, eh, Nat?
And you seem to be a young man of education, Nat.

How did you happen to make a mistake in your count?
Haven't you twelve men aboard your sloop instead of eight, Nat?
Aren't there twelve, instead of eight?
Eh, Nat ?" "The devil take you!" cried Captain Plum, leaping suddenly to his feet, his face flaming red.

"Yes, I have got twelve men and I've got a gun in tarpaulin and I've got five barrels of gunpowder! But how in the name of Kingdom-Come did you find it out ?" Obadiah Price came around the end of the table and stood so close to Captain Plum that a person ten feet away could not have heard him when he spoke.
"I know more than that, Nat," he whispered.

"Listen! A little while ago--say two weeks back--you were becalmed off the head of Beaver Island, and one dark night you were boarded by two boat-loads of men who made you and your crew prisoners, robbed you of everything you had,--and the next day you went back to Chicago.

Eh ?" Nathaniel stood speechless.
"And you made up your mind the pirates were Mormons, enlisted some of your friends, armed your ship--and you're back here to make us settle.
Isn't it so, Nat ?" The little old man was rubbing his hands eagerly, excitedly.
"You tried to get the revenue cutter _Michigan_ to come down with you, but they wouldn't--ho, ho, they wouldn't! One of our friends in Chicago sent quick word ahead of you to tell me all about it, and--Strang, the king, doesn't know!" He spoke the last words in intense earnestness.
Then, suddenly, he held out his hand.
"Young man, will you shake hands with me?
Will you shake hands ?--and then we will go to St.James!" Captain Plum thrust out a hand and the old man gripped it.