I laughed aloud. “Very well,” I said. “I am agreeable.”
“You're agreeable! What do you mean by that? This ain't no laughin' matter, I'll tell you that.”
I laughed again. “I don't care what you tell me,” I observed. “And if you will take us somewhere ashore—to the lock-up or anywhere else—I shall be much obliged.”
The occupant of the dory seemed to be puzzled. He leaned forward once more.
“What sort of talk is that?” he demanded. “Where's my lobsters? . . . Hey! What? I swan to man, I believe one of ye's a woman! Have the females turned thieves, too?”
“I don't know. See here, my friend, my name is Paine, and I'm the only lobster aboard this craft. This lady and I belong in Denboro. My launch has run out of gasolene and we have been drifting about the bay since five o'clock. Now, for heaven's sake, don't talk any more, but take us to the lock-up and be quick about it.”
The unknown paid no attention to my entreaty. Instead he leaned still further over the Comfort's rail. The dory careened until I expected to see her capsize.
“I swan to man!” he muttered. “I swan to man! 'Tain't possible I'm mistook!”
“It scarcely seems possible, I admit. But I'm afraid it is true.”
I heard the club fall with a clatter.