Morton tried to help his sister, but she smiled at him sadly as she endeavoured to rise, and he turned to Fisherman Dick.
“Come, Dick,” he said, “we used to be good friends and fishermen together.”
“Ay, lad, ay, so we did,” said the rough fellow, with a smile.
“Then will you not help me now I am in such trouble?”
“Ay, lad, I’d like to; but I don’t see how I can.”
“Dick Miggles, you’re a coward,” cried Morton. “When I was a boy—”
“Nay, nay, Master Mort’n, take that back again. No coward.”
“Yes: a coward,” cried Morton angrily. “When I was a lad, how many times did I know about cargoes being run, and your house being crammed with spirits and tobacco and lace and silk?”
“How many times, my lad?”
“Yes, how many times? Wasn’t I always true to you as a mate I fished with?”