“But—”
“This way, sir.”
“Must I—must I get down?—that small boat!”
Kenneth stared at the pallid-looking youth, who stood shrinking back, almost in wonder, as the visitor clung to the gangway rail, and gazed in horror at the boat dancing in the foaming water.
“Ketch hold.”
“All right.”
There was the rapid passing down of luggage—portmanteau, hat-box, bag, gun-case, sheaf of fishing-rods, and bale of wrappers; and, as Scood secured these, Kenneth held out his hand.
“Come along,” he said. “It’s all right.”
“But—”
“Look sharp, sir, please; we can’t stop all day.”