“Yes, when I like to try for some vish. Don’t ketch me going for a zailor.”
“Will you give me your word that you will leave the fish alone?”
“Nay; but I’ll shake hands with you, master. You zaved my life, and I zaved yourn, so we’re square over that business.”
“You insolent dog!” cried Nic. “Then I’ll go straight to the Justice.”
“Nay; you go and put on zome dry clothes. It don’t hurt me, but you’ll ketch cold, my lad. Look here, you want me to zay I won’t take no more zammon.”
“Yes.”
“Then I won’t zay it. There’s about twenty of us means to have as many fish out o’ the river as we like, and if anybody, keepers or what not, comes and interveres with us we’ll pitch ’em in the river; and they may get out themzelves, for I’m not going in after they. Understand that, master?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Then don’t you set any one to meddle with us, or there may be mischief done, for my mates aren’t such vools as me. Going to give me a noo steel hook?”
“No, you scoundrel!”