As he did this his companion made a quick leap back into the bows to seize the chain, when he had to put out an oar once more and paddle close up to the rock, the boat having been sent adrift by the force of the other’s leap.
“What a fellow you are, Pradelle!” he said, as he jumped on to a rock, and twisted the chain about a block.
“Very sorry, dear boy. Didn’t think of that.”
“No,” said the first sourly, “you didn’t.”
He was a well-knit manly fellow, singularly like his sister, while his companion, whom he had addressed as Pradelle, seemed to be his very opposite in every way, though on the whole better looking; in fact, his features were remarkably handsome, or would have been had they not been marred by his eyes, which were set close together, and gave him a shifty look.
“How are you, uncle? How do, Leslie!” said Harry, as he stood twirling a gold locket at the end of his chain, to receive a grunt from the fisherman, and a friendly nod from the young mine-owner. “So here you are then,” he continued; “we’ve been looking for you everywhere. You said you were going along the west walk.”
“Yes, but we saw uncle fishing, and came down to him.”
“Well, come along now.”
“Come? Where?”
“Come where? Why for a sail. Wind’s just right. Jump in.”