The seaman looked round at his son, and the boy burst out laughing once again.
"It 'ud be a rum start for a vyage at this time o' night, with half a gale from the sou'-west. I never heard tell o' sich a thing!"
"Look here," said Ezra, bending forward and emphasizing his words with his uplifted hand, "we've set our minds on going, and we don't mind paying for the fancy. The sooner we start the better pleased we shall be. Name your price. If you won't take us, there are many in Claxton that will."
"Well, it be a cruel bad night to be sure," the fisherman answered. "Like as not we'd get the boat knocked about, an' maybe have her riggin' damaged. We've been a-fresh paintin' of her too, and that would be spoiled. It's a powerful long way, and then there's the gettin' back. It means the loss of two or three days' work, and there's plenty of fish on the coast now, and a good market for them."
"Would thirty pounds pay you?" asked Ezra.
The sum was considerably more than the fisherman would have ventured to ask. The very magnificence of it, however, encouraged him to hope that more might be forthcoming.
"Five-and-thirty wouldn't pay me for the loss and trouble," he said; "forbye the damage to the boat."
"Say forty, then," said Ezra. "It's rather much to pay for a freak of this sort, but we won't haggle over a pound or two."
The old seaman scratched his head as though uncertain whether to take this blessing which the gods had sent or to hold out for more.
Ezra solved the matter by springing to his feet. "Come on to Claxton, father," he cried. "We'll get what we want there."