“But you don’t know how horribly tiresome it is,” cried Carey, who was growing more and more exasperated. “Look here, haven’t you promised me time after time that you’d have a fishing-line ready for me so that I could hold it when the tide came in and get a few fish?”
“To be sure I did,” said Bostock, coolly.
“Then why don’t you do it?”
“Look ye here, my lad, you are getting better, you know, and that’s what makes you so rusty.”
“Anyone would get rusty, doing nothing day after day. Now then, Bob, I’ll stand no more nonsense. You get the fishing-line directly. Do you hear?”
“Oh, yes, my lad, I hear. You spoke loud enough.”
“Then why don’t you go and get one?”
“’Cause I’m busy making a raft.”
“That you’re not. You’re only fiddling about it like an old woman.”
“Hor, hor!” laughed the man. “Like an old woman!”