“Skipper says so,” replied Zekle grimly, as he took out some tobacco and made himself a pill to chew.
“You’re a pretty sort of a chap,” said another; “why, you’ll be running the lugger on the rocks next.”
“Shouldn’t wonder,” said Zekle.
“Well,” said Tom Genna, “if I was Harry Paul, I’d knock you down with the first thing I could get hold of, capstan-bar or boat-hook, or anything.”
“Ah, that’s what our old man said!” replied Zekle coolly.
“You ought to be ashamed o’ yourself, Zekle Wynn, that you ought, and I wouldn’t sail in the same boat with you.”
“No, it wouldn’t be safe,” said Zekle dryly.
“Yes, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said someone else angrily. “I don’t like Harry Paul, for he’s a regular coward—chap as hasn’t had courage to take the big dive as yet; but that’s no reason he should be drowned by a fellow who can’t manage a drift-net no better than to leave half on it trailing overboard.”
“Well, if you come to that,” said Tom Genna, who was an authority in the place, “I think it was the skipper’s dooty to ha’ seen that his nets was all in the boat, and not leave it to a fellow like Zekle Wynn here, who don’t seem to have so much brains as a boy.”
“Quite right!” said Zekle, “quite right!”