“Well, then, all’s fair, mother.”
“No, all’s foul, boy; look how it’s tangled.”
“Still, I say, all’s fair, mother, for it is but fair to give the fish one or two chances to get away, and that’s just what I’ve done; and now, father, I’ll settle your affair to your own satisfaction, as I have mother’s.”
“That will be queer satisfaction, Tom, I guess; but let’s hear what you have to say.”
“Then, father, it seems that you’re no boat-builder, but you want people to fancy that you are—a’n’t that the question?”
“Why, ’tis something like it, Tom, but I do nobody no harm.”
“Certainly not; it’s only the boats which will suffer. Now, get a large board, with ‘Boats built to order, and boats repaired, by Tom Beazeley.’ You know if any man is fool enough to order a boat, that’s his concern; you didn’t say you’re a boat-builder, although you have no objection to try your hand.”
“What do you say Jacob?” said old Tom, appealing to me.
“I think that Tom has given very good advice, and I would follow it.”
“Ah! Tom has a head,” said Mrs Beazeley, fondly. “Tom, let go my net again, will you? What a boy you are! Now touch it again if you dare,” and Mrs Beazeley took up a little poker from the fire-place and shook it at him.