But the lads fell back as, with a smile full of the contempt he felt, Aleck pressed forward, marched through them with his hands in his pockets, and smiled more broadly as he heard from below a growling shout of warning from the sailor announcing what he would do if the boys didn’t mind, the result being that they followed the well-grown lad at a little distance all along the pier, throwing after him not bad fish and fragments, which would, if well-aimed, have sullied the lad’s clothes, but what an Irishman would have called dirty words, mingled with threats about what they would give him one of these fine days. The feud was high between the Rockabie boys and the bright active young lad from the Den, for no further reason than has already been stated, and the dislike had increased greatly during the past year, though it had never culminated in any encounter worse than the throwing of foul missiles after the boat when it was pushed off for home.
Perhaps it was something in the air which made the Rockabie boys more pugnacious and their threats more dire. Possibly they may have felt more deeply stung by the contempt of Aleck, who strode carelessly along the rough stone pier, whistling softly, with his hands in his pockets, till he reached the slope and began to ascend towards where the fishermen leaned in a row over the rail, just as if after a soaking night they had hung themselves out in the sun to dry.
And now it was that the boys hung back and Aleck felt that he could afford to pay no heed to the young scrubs who followed him, for there were plenty of hearty hails and friendly smiles to greet him from the rough seamen.
“Morn’, Master Aleck.”
“Morn’, sir. How’s the cap’n?” from another.
Then: “Like a flat fish to take back with you, master? I’ve got a nice brill. I’ll put him in your boat.”
And directly after a big broad fellow detached himself from the rail to sidle up with: “Say, Master Aleck, would you mind asking the cap’n to let me have another little bottle o’ them iles he gives me for my showther? It’s getting bad again.”
“You shall have it, Joney,” cried Aleck.
“Thankye, sir. No hurry, sir. Just put the bottle in yer pocket nex’ time you come over, and that’ll do.”
Aleck went on up town, as it was called,—and the men hung themselves a little more over the rail and growled at the boys who were following the visitor, to “be off,” and to “get out of that; now,” with the result that they still followed the lad and watched him, flattening their noses against the panes of the fishing-tackle shop window, and following him again when he came out to visit one or two other places of business, till all the lad’s self-set commissions were executed, and he turned to retrace his steps to the harbour.