Mirwin slaps a lid on the basket full of squirming rats, ties it down with a quick twist of frayed rope he picked up on the docks, muttering to himself, "Lucky timing, my children, that fire. I have so many more of you now than I'd hoped to catch today!" He looks up with alarm as the dripping wet Anton reaches the shore. Cowering in apparent terror at the cutlass-wielding apparition, Mirwin prostrates himself and cries out, "O, great lord! I beg of you, do not take a poor beggar's dinner!"
