Dock was a rough comforter; but he spoke such words of consolation as the occasion required and his vocabulary contained.
"It's jest my luck," repeated the miser. "Every other man in town might have walked over that plank, and it wouldn't gin away. I walked over that plank last night, and airly this morning. I see, when I stepped on to it, that somebody had been a movin' on it; but I didn't know the 'tother eend was only just ketched on to the rock."
"Who moved it?" asked Dock, rather disturbed by this suggestion of a suspicion.
"I don't know nothin' about it; but somebody's been a movin' on it, or it wouldn't a gin away under me, and let me down."
"But who could have moved the plank?" persisted Dock.
"I donno; the eend I stepped on was kinder hauled up."
"You say the plank was all right in the morning, when you went down?"
"Sartin it was. I went over it, and fixed the dory, ready to go arter dog-fish, arter breakfast."
"Well, the question is, Who has been down to the P'int since you went?"
"I donno; but I believe somebody's tryin' to kill me—that's what I believe."