"I say, Lieutenant," says old Beer, whose son owed Treluddra fifty pounds at that moment, "fair's fair. You mind your Coastguard, and we'm mind our trade. We'm free fishermen, by charter and right; you'm not our master, and you shall know it."
"Know it?" says the Lieutenant, foaming.
"Iss; you put your head inside my presences, and I'll split mun open, if I be hanged for it."
"You split my head open?"
"Iss, by—." And the old grey-bearded sea-king set his arms akimbo.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, for Heaven's sake!" cries poor Headley, "this is really going too far. Gentlemen, the vestry is adjourned!"
"Best thing too! oughtn't never to have been called," says one and another.
And some one, as he went out, muttered something about "interloping strange doctors, colloquies with popish curates," which was answered by a—"Put 'mun in the quay pule," from Treluddra.
Tom stepped up to Treluddra instantly, "What were you so kind as to say, sir?"
Treluddra turned very pale. "I didn't say nought."