“Ecod!” the skipper declared. “’Twill make the doctor sad t’ know it!”
Skipper Tommy remembers that the clerk turned away, as if, for some strange reason, to get command of himself.
“That he will,” said the clerk.
“’Tis awful!” the skipper repeated. “I’ll get the schooner t’ sea this minute. She’s wonderful low in the water,” he mused, pulling at his nose; “but I’m thinkin’ the doctor would rather save a life than get a cargo o’ green fish t’ harbour.”
“Dying, tell him,” the clerk urged, smoothing his mouth with a lean hand. “Dying—and in terror of hell.”
“Afeared o’ hell?”
“Gone mad with fear of damnation.”
Skipper Tommy raised his hands. “That’s awful!” he muttered, with a sad shake of the head. “Tell that poor man the doctor will come. Tell un, oh, tell un,” he added, wringing his hands, “not t’ be afeared o’ hell!”
“Yes, yes!” the clerk exclaimed, impatiently. “Don’t forget the message. Jagger lies sick, and dying, and begging for help.”
Skipper Tommy made haste to the small boat, the while raising a cry for Timmie, who had gone about his own pleasure, the Lord knew where! And Timmie ran down the path, as fast as his sea-boots would go: but was intercepted by Jonas Jutt, who drew him into the lower fish-stage, as though in fear of observation, and there whispered the circumstances of the departure of the Trap and Seine.