Dick shook his head.
“Oh! you’ll want a basket, and you must have a bucket of water. There’ll be lots of things you’ll like to look at that we should pitch overboard again.”
“You lend me a basket and a bucket then,” said Dick; “you shall have them back.”
“Right, my lad. You tell young Will there to get you what you want. We shall have the trawl aboard soon.”
It seemed to Dick almost an age, but at last the master turned his brown, good-humoured face to him and gave him a nod. At the same moment he shouted a few short orders, and Dick rushed to take a pull at the rope as he saw Josh and Will stand by.
“No, no, my lad; you and your brother look on,” cried the master good-temperedly.
Dick drew back and glanced at Arthur, whose face was as eager as his own. In fact, a great deal of his London indifference had disappeared of late, and the boy had been growing as natural as his brother.
It was a time of intense excitement though for them, and as they watched they saw a windlass turn, and up came the great trawl-irons and the beam, then, dripping and sparkling in the sun, the foot-rope of the trawl-net, and foot after foot emerged with nothing but dripping water.
“Why, they haven’t caught a fish,” cried Dick in a disappointed tone of voice.
“You wait till the bunt’s aboard,” growled Josh just then; and the bunt, as the tassel end of the great net night-cap was called, was hauled on board dripping, and containing something splashing, flapping, and full of life.