He had not seen the boat leave the shore, where his men had gone to obtain stores, and, taking advantage of its being at the harbour, Gellow had stepped in, had himself rowed on board, and, walking along the deck giving the little crew a supercilious look, he had gone down to where Glyddyr was seated, and addressed him.
“What do you want?” was the reply, delivered in a surly voice.
“What do I want? Why, as the little ragged boy said in Punch, ‘heverythink.’ In my case, specially money.”
Glyddyr made an impatient movement.
“Oh, it’s a fact, dear boy. Times have not been rosy lately, and I’ve got low in the banking account. So, as my dear old friend Glyddyr has had his little slice of luck, I said I’d run down and tap him.”
“What do you mean—what slice of luck?”
“The wind that blows no one any good, dear boy; but the ill wind must have blown you a lot of good.”
“What do you mean?”
“What did you put on her?”
“Nothing.”