“Why, Dick, what are you doing there?” cried the keen-looking man, who had come down the pier.
“Talking to the fishermen, father,” cried the boy, starting up. “I say, they’re going out to lay this line. May I go with them?”
His father hesitated a moment and glanced quickly to seaward before turning to Josh.
“Weather going to be fine?” he said in a quick way that indicated business more than command, though there was enough of the latter in his speech to make Josh answer readily:
“Going to be fine for a week;” and then confidentially, “We’ll take care on him.”
The stranger smiled.
“Yes, you can go, Dick; but take care of yourself. It does not take you long to make friends, young man. Come, Arthur, I’m going for a walk along the beach.”
“Can’t I go with Dick, papa?” said the boy addressed, in an ill-used tone.
“No; I should think three will be enough in a small boat; and besides—”
He said no more, but glanced in a half-amused way at his son’s costume, being himself in a loose suit of tweeds.