"What is it?"
"Where 're ye bound, mate?"
"For the ferry."
"Then stop an' drink, for the boat left two minutes since an' won't be back for another twenty."
Zeb hung on his heel for a couple of seconds. The sailor held out his mug with the friendliest air, his head thrown back and the left corner of his mouth screwed up into a smile.
"Thank 'ee," said Zeb, "I will; an' may the Lord judge 'atween us."
"There's many a way o' takin' a drink," the sailor said, staring at him; "but split me if yours ain't the rummiest I've run across."
"Oh, man, man," Zeb answered, "I wasn' thinkin' o' you!"
Back by the cliff's edge the hollibubber had finished his day's work and was shouldering his shovel to start for home, when he spied a dark figure coming eastwards along the track; and, putting up a hand to ward off the level rays of the sun, saw that it was the young man who had passed him at noonday. So he set down the shovel again, and waited.
Young Zeb came along with his head down. When he noticed the hollibubber standing in the path he started like a man caught in a theft.