Plash! plash! plash! plash!
He turned sharply, to see, about a hundred yards away, the figure of gaunt, grim-looking Dave standing up in his punt, and poling himself along by the dry rustling reeds, a grey-drab looking object in a grey-drab landscape.
Then, like a flash, came to the lad’s memory the engagement made to go liggering that day, and he wondered why it was that he did not feel more eager to have a day’s fishing for the pike.
Pee-wit! pee-wit! came from off the water in a low plaintive whistle, which Dick answered, and in a minute or two the decoy-man poled his boat ashore, smiling in his tight, dry way.
“Now, then, young mester,” he said, “I’ve got a straänge nice lot o’ bait and plenty o’ hooks and band, and it’s about as good a day for fishing as yow could have. Wheer’s young Tom o’ Grimsey?”
“At home, of course!” said Dick in a snappish way, which he wondered at himself.
“At home, o’ course?” said Dave quietly as he stood up in the boat resting upon the pole. “Why, he were to be here, ready.”
“How could he be ready after last night?” said Dick sharply.
Dave took off his fox-skin cap after letting his pole fall into the hollow of his arm, and scratched his head before uttering a low cachinnatory laugh that was not pleasant to the ear.
“Yow seem straänge and popped (put out of temper) this morning, young mester. Young Tom o’ Grimsey and you been hewing a bit of a fight?”