The packthread cracked. “His hands are free! He’s loose!” cried the least of the boys, and ran away, whilst Archer leaped up, and seizing hold of Fisher with a powerful grasp, sternly demanded “What he meant by this?”
“Ask my party,” said Fisher, terrified; “they set me on; ask my party.”
“Your party!” cried Archer, with a look of ineffable contempt; “you reptile!—your party? Can such a thing as you have a party?”
“To be sure!” said Fisher, settling his collar, which Archer in his surprise had let go; “to be sure! Why not? Any man who chooses it may have a party as well as yourself, I suppose. I have nine Fishermen.”
At these words, spoken with much sullen importance, Archer, in spite of his vexation, could not help laughing. “Fishermen!” cried he, “Fishermen!”
“And why not Fishermen as well as Archers?” cried they. “One party is just as good as another; it is only a question which can get the upper hand; and we had your hands tied just now.”
“That’s right, Townsend,” said Archer, “laugh on, my boy! Friend or foe, it’s all the same to you. I know how to value your friendship now. You are a mighty good fellow when the sun shines; but let a storm come, and how you slink away!”
At this instant, Archer felt the difference between a good companion and a good friend, a difference which some people do not discover till late in life.
“Have I no friend?—no real friend amongst you all? And could ye stand by, and see my hands tied behind me like a thief’s? What signifies such a party—all mute?”
“We want something to eat,” answered the Fishermen. “What signifies such a party, indeed? and such a manager, who can do nothing for one?”