On that day he had aired his grievance among the fishermen, who sympathized with him, and, of course, had aired it in the public house.
There were plenty to stand treat, and Jem had drunk heavily.
At ten o'clock he emerged from the "Blue Lion", leaning upon Willie Sanderson's arm—or rather, supported by it—in that state which might be described as desperately intoxicated.
A small crowd of fishermen were round him, and they were all more or less hilarious or excited.
"Hold up!" said Willie to Jem, who was staggering about upon the big young fisherman's arm. "Hold up!"
"Here," said one of the others, the carrier, old Nat, coming forward, "I'll give you a hand with him. We'll take him down to my cottage and let him sleep there to-night. He's had a rare skinful."
Then he turned to the others and said:
"Willie and me 'ull take care of this chap. You get home quickly. There's work to do to-morrow, you know," he added, significantly.
The boys returned a hearty "Ay, ay," and, after an exchange of mutual and noisy adieus, turned down to their cottages by the beach.
Nat and Willie went straight on down the village street, at the end of which, and a little retired from the road, Nat's cottage lay.