"It's not a very hard thing to do," said Benjamin stiffly, speaking for the first time since their meeting. "Most anybody could catch mackerel for a while—it's the sticking to it that counts."
He turned abruptly and went back to his boat. He could not force himself to talk civilly to the stranger, with that newly born demon of distrust gnawing at his heart.
"I think I'll go out," he said. "It's freshening up. I shouldn't wonder if the mackerel schooled soon."
"I'll go, too, then," said Mr. Murray. "Hi, up there! Leon and Pete! Hi, I say!"
Two more French Canadians came running down from the Murray fish-house, where they had been enjoying a siesta. They fished in the Murray boat. A good deal of friendly rivalry as to catch went on between the two boats, while Leon and Mosey Louis were bitter enemies on their own personal account.
"Think you'll try it, Frank?" shouted Mr. Murray.
"Well, not this afternoon," was the answer. "It's rather hot. I'll see what it is like tomorrow."
The boats were quickly launched and glided out from the shadow of the cliffs. Benjamin stood at his mast. Mary Stella came down to the water's edge and waved her hand gaily.
"Good luck to you and the best catch of the season," she called out.
Benjamin waved his hat in response. His jealousy was forgotten for the moment and he felt that he had been churlish to Braithwaite.