“What did he say?”
“That he wished you to get well, and come and catch some salmon.”
“Well, it isn’t my fault. I want to get well, don’t I? A fellow can’t want to lie here always, with his back getting sore. I say, do open the window.”
Max glanced at the window to make sure.
“It is open,” he said.
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is. Look!”
“Well, shut it, then. I hate to hear the sea.”
“I like it,” said Max, closing the sash.
“Yes, you miserable Cockneys always do. It gives one the horrors when you can’t go out. Is it high tide?”