“Yes, very,” said Penelly dryly.
“Good swimmer, too.”
“Yes,” replied Penelly.
“Narrow ’scape for him, though, poor lad. Lucky thing we saw that the nets was overboard in time. If I was him I’d just give Zekle Wynn there the very biggest hiding he ever had in his life, that I would. He ain’t content with doing a thing wrong, but he ain’t man enough to own it. I haven’t patience with such ways!”
Penelly did not speak, and Zekle remained silent, but he was evidently moved to indignation at what had been said, for he kept lifting his big oar and chopping it down in the water as if he were trying to take off the master’s head.
The buoy outside the harbour was reached, however, directly after, and as soon as the oars were laid in all hands were busy for the next two hours shaking out and landing mackerel ready for basketing and sending across country to catch the early morning train.
It was soon known all over Carn Du that Harry Paul had had a very narrow escape from drowning, and knot after knot of fishermen discussed the matter and joined in blaming Zekle Wynn for letting the net trail overboard.
“Still, he must have been a foolish sort of a creature to go and swim right into a tangle o’ net,” said the man who always had his hands in his pockets.
“Not he,” said old Tom Genna; “Harry Paul’s too clever a swimmer to go and do such a thing as that.”
“Here’s Zekle Wynn,” cried another eagerly, for such an event caused plenty of excitement, and was seized upon with avidity. “Hi! Zekle! it was you as left the net trailing, warn’t it?”