“Yes, it would be handy, if we could catch any fish; but we usen’t to get a great many—not enough to live on—in the old days at home.”
“Not often,” said Dyke. “I say, it is tough.”
“Well, yes. A well-beaten-out piece would not make a bad shoe sole, little un. But about that fishing? It would take a great many of those sticklebacks you always would fish for with a worm to make a dish.”
“Well, they used to bite, and that’s more than your carp would, Joe. Why, you only used to catch about one a month.”
“But, then, look at the size. One did make a dish.”
“Yes, of only head and bones. Ugh! I’d rather eat biltong.”
Emson laughed good-humouredly.
“Well,” he said, “we can’t go fishing without we make a hundred miles’ journey, so we can’t get fish. How would a lion steak eat?”
“Worse than a cut out of the poor old goblin’s breast. But, I say, are we to go and skin that old savage to-night?”
“I’ll go with Jack, and do it, if you’re tired.”