“Eh? So I have. Got him, too,” said the old man, striking and playing his fish just as if he were angling in fresh water. “Thumper.”
“What pleasure can it give you to say such unpleasant things, uncle?” continued the girl.
“Truths always are unpleasant,” said the old man, laughing. “Don’t bother me, there’s a shoal off the point now, and I shall get some fish.”
“Why you have all you want now, uncle.”
“Rubbish! Shall get a few shillings’ worth to sell Mother Perrow.”
“Poor Uncle Luke!” said the girl with mock solemnity; “obliged to fish for his living.”
“Better than idling and doing nothing. I like to do it, and—There he is again. Don’t talk.”
He hooked and landed another fine bass from the shoal which had come up with the tide that ran like a millstream off the point, when as he placed the fish in the basket he raised his eyes.
“Yah! Go back and look after your men. I thought that would be it. Maddy, look at her cheeks.”
“Oh, uncle, if I did not know you to be the best and dearest of—”