“Zo shall I, then,” shouted the man. “It was only tit for tat. You zent me in first.”
“Yes; and I caught you first hooking our salmon, sir.”
“Tchah! much my zammon as your own, master. Vish comes out of the zea for everybody as likes to catch them.”
“Not on my father’s estate,” cried Nic. “You’ve been warned times enough.”
“Ay, I’ve heerd a lot o’ talk, master; but me and my mates mean to have a vish or two whenever we wants ’em. You’ll never miss ’em.”
“Look here, Pete Burge,” cried Nic; “I don’t want to be too hard upon you, because I suppose you fished me out of the pool after throwing me in.”
“Well, you’ve no call to grumble, master,” said the man, grinning good-humouredly. “You did just the zame.”
“And,” continued Nic, shouting himself hoarse, so as to be heard, and paying no heed to the man’s words, “if you faithfully promise me that you’ll never come and poach on my father’s part of the river again, I’ll look over all this, and not have you before the Justices.”
“How are you going to get me avore the Justice, Master Nic?” said the man, with a merry laugh.
“Send the constable, sir.”