“I thought London was a very beautiful place!” said Will as he tugged at his oar.
“Beautiful!” cried Dick; “why, it’s horrid. You can’t play a game of cricket without going out by rail; and as for seeing a bird, why, there isn’t anything but the old chiswicks—the sparrows, you know. Why, this is worth a hundred Londons. I say, what a big buoy!”
“Yes; that’s a dangerous rock there.”
“Can you see?”
“Oh, yes!” said Josh; “she’s only about five foot under water now,” and, giving an extra tug at his oar, he turned the boat’s head to a huge tub that was anchored close by the rock, and which looked like the cork-float likely to be used by the giant who bobbed for whales.
“Give’s your oar, Will, lad, and I’ll take her over the rock while you get ready a whiffing-line.”
He rowed close up to the great buoy, and then bade the visitor look down through the clear water.
“See her?” he said.
“Yes, quite plain,” cried Dick; “why, it’s all covered with long waving sea-weed, and—oh! quick! give me a fishing-line! I can see lots of fish!”
“Oh, they’re only wraaghs,” said Josh contemptuously. “Here, you wait till he’s got the whiff ready, and you shall ketch something better than that.”