“And now he’ll be obliged to go, Sep. Don’t let’s give him time to think, or he’s such an old woman he’ll back out.”
“But—”
“Get out! Don’t say but. There, we won’t go out far, only to the mouth there by the buoy, and we can catch plenty of fish without any trouble at all.”
I gave way—I couldn’t help it, and we two went on, so that when Bigley came with the baskets and lines we were waiting for them, and his scruples were nearly overcome.
“Think it will matter if we take the boat?” he said dubiously, for he evidently shared our longing to go.
I said no, I did not think it would, for we could clean it out after we had done fishing, and we had been boating so often with other people that I for one felt quite equal to the management of the little vessel.
But all the time there was a curious sensation of wrong-doing worrying me, and I wished that I had not been so ready to agree. It was as if I felt the impression of trouble that was coming; but I kept the feeling to myself.
“Well,” said Bigley, “I did mean to ask for leave.”
“Of course you did,” cried Bob Chowne; “but as your father is off you can’t. Come along, boys, and let’s get a good haul this time.”
He seized the bait-basket and made the shells of the mussels rattle as he trotted down towards where the little five-pointed anchor or grapnel lay on the beach, and began to haul in the boat.