“In the harbour?”
“Ay. That’s their lantern.”
“Look here, Perrow,” said Vine excitedly, as he held the man tightly by the arm, “you are going fishing?”
“Going to have a try, master.”
“And you will perhaps earn a pound a-piece.”
“If we are lucky. P’r’aps naught.”
“Perrow,” whispered the old man, with his lips close to the man’s face, “will you do me a service—a great service?”
“Sarvice, sir?—Ay, sure I will.”
“Then look here. Your boat would sail across to France?”
“To France?” said the great bluff fellow, with a chuckle. “Why didn’t some of our mates sail to Spain in a lugger a foot shorter than ours, and not so noo a boot! France, ay, or Spain either.”