“’Alf of it between the three of you,” promised the master-mind of the confederacy. “I can hafford to be generous. It only cost me three-and-six.”
“Brummagem?” next inquired Mr. Clark.
“Oh, no,” denied Mr. Dobb, flippantly. “Real native Hindian work—that’s why I give such a ’igh price for it.”
“And Sinnett’s going to pay fifteeen quid for it?” raptly cried Mr. Clark. “Oh, ’appy day! A dozen times ’ave I ferried ’im across, and never so much as a a’penny for a tip! And then ’e ’ad the sauce to say that the fare ought to be less at low tide, because the distance ain’t so far!”
“Never mind,” said Mr. Dobb, “everything comes to ’im ’oo don’t mind laying low for a bit. What’s ’is ’ouse of call, do you know?”
“The ‘Flag and Pennant’ yonder, when ’e ain’t trying to play billiards at the ‘Royal William.’”
“Another thing,” mentioned Mr. Dobb. “’Ave you got any old scars or wounds on you?”
“There’s this old cut on the back of my ’and, what I done that night I was shaving in the fo’c’sle when Alf Runnett come down and tickled me, playful, because ’is gal ’ad gone off with some one else.”
“Just right,” said Mr. Dobb, examining the cicatrice; and forthwith adopted a preceptory attitude towards the stout ferryman.
Mr. Clark, at the end of ten minutes of instruction, asked a few questions to dispel one or two uncertainties of mind, and then professed a complete trust in his ability to carry out Mr. Dobb’s directions. Mr. Dobb, after satisfying himself by something in the nature of a rehearsal that Mr. Clark’s confidence was well founded, then passed on for the purpose of seeking an interview of connective interest with Mr. Joseph Tridge, fourth member of the confederacy established long ago in the bowels of the inglorious “Jane Gladys.”