“No; we can’t take you,” said Josh grimly. “We should make you in such a mess you’d have to be washed.”
“There, Taff, I told you so,” cried Dick. “Why don’t you put on your flannels. I hate being dressed up at the sea-side!” he added to himself as his brother stalked impatiently away.
“There, now, he’s chuffy,” said Dick, half to himself. “Oh! I do wish he wasn’t so soon upset! Hi, Taff, old man, don’t go, I’m coming soon. He had a bad illness once, you know,” he said confidentially to Will; but his brother did not stop, walking slowly away along the pier, to be met by a tall, dark, keen-looking man of about forty who was coming from the inn.
“I say,” said Dick, who did not see the encounter at the shore end of the pier, “I should like to come with you to-night.”
“Why, you’d be sea-sick,” said Josh, laughing.
“Oh, no! I shouldn’t. I’ve been across the Channel eight times and not ill. I say, you’ll let me come?”
Will looked at Josh, who was turning the new wire binding of the gaff-hook into a file for the gentle rubbing of his nose.
“Shall we take him, Josh?” said Will.
“I don’t mind,” replied that worthy, “only he’ll get in a gashly mess.”
“I don’t mind,” said Dick. “Flannels will wash. I’ll put on my old ones, and—”