“Ho! You’re precious cunning. But never you mind, my young sharpshooter. You be off while your shoes are good.”
“How dare you order me to go!” cried Gwyn, flushing. “I told you this was my father’s property.”
“No, you didn’t,” said the man, after giving a glance round. “You said it was yours. Consequently you must be a liar, for you tells two tales. Now be off, and don’t bother me.”
Joe looked inquiringly at Gwyn, and the silent question meant, “Hadn’t we better go and fetch your father?” But Gwyn felt upon his mettle, and he cried angrily,—
“No, it’s you who’ll have to be off. You’re on private grounds, and it’s all nonsense about fishing. I know what you are about.”
“Oh, do you?” said the man, sneeringly, as he looked sidewise at the lad, but went on busily all the same with his long line. “Well, what am I about, young clever shaver, if I’m not fishing?”
“You’re trespassing, as I told you; and whoever you are, you’ve no right to be doing that.”
“Anybody’s got a right to fish.”
“Yes, in the sea, but not on private grounds; so now be off at once.”
“And suppose I say I won’t,” said the man, menacingly.