"For the Sidi Jan this is a place not to be recommended. There is a smell, do you notice, especially at night—murk which rises from the fort ditch. And the vermin! His little skin is pitted with them!"
Landon moved irritably. He looked at his son. The men at the ropes were hauling again by now, and the small back was bent and the little arms tautened with efforts to emulate them. The first few meshes of a laden net appeared above the surface of the breakers.
Little John gave a squeal of delight, promptly deserted the toilers, and capered joyously down the beach. Scales began to shine silvern in the sun as the tangle of the nets rose slowly, but higher and yet higher. His voice rose in shrill outcry; he clapped his hands.
As the great bag of the net was hauled little by little up the shelving beach, he flung himself into the hurtle round the wriggling catch. The mackerel were there in their hundreds—in their thousands. He tripped and fell into the center of the heap of fishes, wriggling as they wriggled, and to little more purpose.
Muhammed rose, paced slowly forward, and plucked him into safety. But the child met his good offices with scorn.
"I wish to help; I wish to gather them up!" he cried petulantly. "I am going to be a fisherman. I shall take the yacht to the fishing grounds and catch millions—millions!"
"There must be a catching of a yacht first," said Muhammed, amiably. "Where wilt thou obtain it, little lord?"
Little John Aylmer turned puzzled eyes up to his questioner. Then he wheeled and pointed eastward towards the anchorage below the headland.
"It is there!" he explained. "Did he," he pointed towards his father, who still lay comfortably reclined in the shadow of the boat, "not send for it?"
Muhammed's eyes followed the direction of the child's hand. He stared, gave a sudden startled exclamation, and stared again, incredulously. The next moment he was back at his employer's side, twitching excitedly at the folds of his bournous.