“Yes, of course. Didn’t you see us coming to you before?”
“Me, sir? No, I didn’t know as you wanted me,” and he seemed to draw himself up for defence.
“Well, we do,” said Gwyn. “We want to have out the seine to-night; the tide will fit, and there have been mullet about.”
“Oh, that’s it, sir,” said the man, who seemed much relieved. “Here, keep off with you,” he growled, “my legs aren’t roast meat.”
“Come here, Grip!” cried Gwyn. “To heel, sir! I wish you two would be better friends.”
“’Taren’t my fault, sir; it’s Grip. He’s always nasty again’ me.”
“Well, never mind the dog. What time will you be off duty to-night?”
“Five, sir.”
“That will do. See that the net is ready. I’ll speak to the others. We’ll be down there at five—no, half-past, because of tea.”
“I’ll be there, sir,” said Dinass; and the boys went off, with the man watching them till the door swung close after them. “Nay, my legs aren’t roast meat, but,” he continued, as he glanced towards the molten metal still glowing, “it would soon be roast dog if I had my chance.”