“Then you just won’t, my lad. But it do seem jolly and comf’table like. I feel as if I could sit down and whistle for hours. Now then, don’t you get that line tangled. I’ve laid it all in a hank ready to run out; and don’t ram them hooks in your fingers, because they’re hard to cut out. Now, you carry them and the shell o’ bait and I’ll carry you.”
“No, no; I’ll take off my shoes and socks, and tuck up my trousers.”
“Tucking up wouldn’t do. You’d have to take ’em off, and then you’d cut your feet on the sharp coral. You’re going to do what I sez.”
“I say, Bob, what an old tyrant you are! Just you wait till I get well and can do as I like.”
“All right, my lad; I’m waiting. Then you can do as you like, but you can’t yet. Here, you be off. None o’ them games, or I shall have to shoot you.”
“No, I shall,” said Carey.
“Nay, that you won’t,” growled the old sailor. “I’m not going to stand by while you fires that gun as’ll kick and upset your shoulder again.”
“Bother my shoulder!” cried Carey, impatiently, and he leaned back to gaze up at two beautiful grey and white gulls which for the last few minutes had been sailing gracefully round them and coming nearer and nearer, watching the two strangers curiously the while.
“They’re after the oysters, Bob,” said Carey.
“Yes, smells ’em, or sees ’em. Birds have got wonderful eyes and noses.”