“No, I thank you, Oliver,” said Mrs Donnithorne good-humouredly but firmly, “I side with Captain Dan; but I’ll be glad to see you fill your own.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Mr Donnithorne, “Molly’s sure to side with the opponent of her lawful lord, no matter who or what he be. Fill your own glass, boy, with what you like—cold water, an it please you—and let us drink the good old Cornish toast, ‘Fish, tin, and copper,’ our three staples, Oliver—the bone, muscle, and fat of the county.”
“Fish, tin, and copper,” echoed Captain Dan.
“In good sooth,” continued Mr Donnithorne, “I have often thought of turning teetotaller myself, but feared to do so lest my wife should take to drinking, just out of opposition. However, let that pass—and now, Oliver, open thy mouth, lad, and relate those surprising adventures of which you have given me a hint.”
“Indeed, uncle, I do not say they are very surprising, although, doubtless, somewhat new to one who has been bred, if not born, in comparatively quiet regions of the earth.”
Here Oliver related circumstantially to his wondering auditors the events which befell him after the time when he left his uncle in the lane—being interrupted only with an occasional exclamation—until he reached the part when he knocked down the man who had rescued him from the waves, when Mr Donnithorne interrupted him with an uncontrollable burst.
“Ha!” shouted the old gentleman; “what! knocked down the man who saved your life, nephew? Fie, fie! But you have not told us his name yet. What was it?”
“His comrades called him Jim, as I have said; and I think that he once referred to himself as Jim Cuttance, or something like that.”
“What say you, boy?” exclaimed Mr Donnithorne, pushing back his chair and gazing at his nephew in amazement. “Hast fought side by side with Jim Cuttance, and then knocked him down?”
“Indeed I have,” said Oliver, not quite sure whether his uncle regarded him as a hero or a fool.