“Well, I don’t know,” said Amos, staring down at his section of conger eel, which he was carrying by a string. “Some folks seem to know a deal too much, Tom;” and, with a good-humoured nod, he followed the new-comer as if eager to see more of one who might be an adventurer, and the opener out of some great vein of tin or copper, till he saw him stop.
Geoffrey Trethick found that he was not the only one interested in the seine boat, for silvery mackerel meant silver coin to the fisher-folk of Carnac. The news had spread, and group after group began to assemble, and to note the progress of those shooting the net.
For, after rowing in various directions, as guided by the waving bushes on the point, the men in the boat had begun to pass their dark brown net rapidly over the stern, while those in the bows rowed steadily on, forming the arc of a circle, which was to enclose the fish; while these latter, having swum closer in, could now be seen to make the bright waters of the bay all a ripple of blue and silver sheen, with here and there a dash of pink and gold, as if the fish had left upon the surface the impress of their glowing sides.
It was an interesting sight to a stranger from town, and as Geoffrey Trethick watched he could hear the remarks of old hands around him canvassing the probability of the fish escaping, or the nets getting entangled among the rocks.
But the boat went steadily on, the men cautiously dipping their oars so as not to alarm the mackerel, and fathom after fathom of the piled-up brown stack of net glided into the sea, being passed out so skilfully that as the corks dotted the water the meshes stretched and fell softly down lower and lower till they formed a frail fence of umber thread in the bright waters of the calm bay, every fathom increasing the wall that was soon to encircle the shoal.
One dart of a frightened fish towards the unenclosed part, and away would have gone the whole school; but the mackerel seemed to be intent on playing near the surface, and the seine boat went on shaking out fathom after fathom of the net till seaward there was a half-circle of brown corks, ever increasing to three-quarters.
And now Geoffrey Trethick, who had become deeply interested, unaware of the fact that he was the chief object of attraction to the people on the cliff, saw for the first time that a small boat, managed by a couple of men, remained by the other end of the net, and that as the first boat came nearer towards making a circle, the lesser boat was put in motion.
These were the most anxious moments, and the little crowd upon the cliff seemed to hold its breath. Then as the dark dots that represented the corks were seen to have nearly joined, the two boats being in the open space, there was a bit of a cheer.
“Tchah! Fools!” said a harsh voice close to Trethick’s ear. “They have not caught them yet!”
Geoffrey turned, and found that the words proceeded from a little, withered, yellow-faced man, in a very old-fashioned dress. He was well-to-do, evidently, for a bunch of heavy gold seals hung from a black watch-ribbon, his Panama hat was of the finest quality, and there was something dapper and suggestive of the William the Fourth gentleman, in the blue coat, with gilt buttons, and neat drab trousers.
“I said, Tchah! Fools!” repeated the little man, on noticing Geoffrey’s inquiring gaze. “They have not got them yet!”
“Many a slip betwixt cup and lip, eh?” said Geoffrey, quietly. “Yes: one pull of the net over a rock—one blunder, and away goes the school; and that’s life?”
“You mean that’s your idea of life,” said Geoffrey. “No, I don’t, boy. I mean that’s life!”
“According to your view,” said Geoffrey, smiling.
“According to what it is,” said the old man, testily. “What the devil do you know of life, at your age?”
“Ah! that would take some telling,” replied Geoffrey. “You and I would have to argue that matter out.”
“Argue? Bah! Do I look a man with time to waste in argument?”
“Well, no; nor yet in getting out of temper, and calling people fools,” said Geoffrey, with a smile.
The old man thumped his thick malacca cane upon the stones, and stared aghast at the stranger who dared to speak to him in so free and contradictory a manner in a place where, after a fashion, he had been a kind of king.
“Here, you: Rumsey!” he cried, panting with anger and pointing at Geoffrey with his cane, as a fair, fresh-coloured man in grey tweed came slowly up; “who the devil is this fellow?”
“Don’t be cross, old gentleman,” said Geoffrey, laughing. “I will tell you my name if you like.”
“Confound your name, sir! What the deuce are you—a bagman?”
“No,” said Geoffrey; “but look,” he added quickly, as he pointed to the circle of nets. “What does that mean?”
“Ha, ha, ha! I told you so,” chuckled the old man, whose face underwent a complete change. “They’ve got on a rock, and the whole school has gone.”
“Poor fellows! What a disappointment,” said Geoffrey.
“Bah! A man must expect disappointments here. Rumsey, I’m horribly bilious this morning,” he continued, turning to the fresh-coloured man.
“Yes, so you seem,” was the reply; and Geoffrey smiled at the frank confession. “Exceeded your dose last night.”
“Dose?” said the old gentleman. “Hang it, man, don’t call a glass of spirits and water by the same name as your filthy drugs. Good-morning, boy! and don’t you laugh at me.”
Hooking the fresh-coloured man by the arm, he was moving off.
“Good-morning,” said Geoffrey, smiling. “But stop a moment. Perhaps you gentlemen can help me.”
“Come away, Rumsey!” cried the old fellow, with mock horror in his thin face. “He’s a book canvasser, or a collector for some confounded charity. Who the devil are you, sir; and what do you want?”
“Why, what a jolly old pepperbox you are!” cried Geoffrey, merrily. “Have you been out in India?”
“Yes, sir—I have been out in India,” cried the old man, turning yellow with anger once more. “Confounded puppy!” he muttered, thumping down his stick.
“I thought so,” replied Geoffrey, coolly; “I had an uncle just like you.”
“Confound your uncle, sir!” cried the choleric old man. “Hang it all, Rumsey, don’t you hear the fellow insulting me? Why don’t you knock him down, or poison him?”
“Have I the pleasure of addressing Dr. Rumsey?” said Geoffrey.
“That is my name,” said the fresh-coloured man, looking suspiciously at the speaker as one who seemed too lusty and well to be in his way.
“I am coming to live here, doctor,” said Geoffrey, in a free, frank way that seemed to set him at ease with those whom he had addressed. “I only came in by the coach this morning. Where can I get comfortable, inexpensive apartments—just a bed and sitting-room, you know? I have been asking everywhere, but there seems to be no such thing to be had.”
The doctor glanced at the old gentleman, and the old gentleman returned the look, following it up by poking Geoffrey in the side with his cane.
“Here, young fellow—you, sir! Who are your—what are you?” he exclaimed.
“Who am I, my unceremonious old friend, and what am I? Well, my name is Trethick, and I’m a mining engineer.”
“But