“Didn’t you hear me telling you, sir? Pay attention, and give me some more ham. Yes; I’d been up to the flagstaff and was walking along by the side of the combe, so as to come back home through the wood path, when there was that great lazy scoundrel, Burge, over from the town with a long staff and a hook, and I was just in time to see him land a good twelve-pound salmon out of the pool—one of that half-dozen that have been lying there this fortnight past waiting for enough water to run up higher.”
“Did you speak to him, father?”
“Speak to him, sir!” cried the Captain. “I let him have a broadside.”
“What did he say, father?”
“Laughed at me—the scoundrel! Safe on the other side; and I had to stand still and see him carry off the beautiful fish.”
“The insolent dog!” cried Nic.
“Yes; I wish I was as young and strong and active as you, boy. I’d have gone down somehow, waded the river, and pushed the scoundrel in.”
He looked at his father and smiled.
“But I would, my boy: I was in such a fit of temper. Why can’t the rascals leave me and mine alone?”
“Like salmon, I suppose, father,” said the young man.