“An’ what could you do with land?” demanded Buxley in a tone of scorn, “a man that’s ploughed nothing but salt water all his life.”
This was greeted with a laugh and “That’s so.” “He’s only sowed wild oats as yet.” “Pitch into him, Buckie.”
Malines was fast losing temper under the little man’s caustic remarks, but succeeded in restraining himself, and went on:—
“It’s quite plain that the island is too small to let every man have an equal bit of land, so I propose that it should be divided among those who have strength and knowledge to work it, and—”
“You ain’t one o’ them,” shouted the irate tailor.
“Come, come, Buxley—let him speak,” said Joe Binney, “fair play, ye know. That’s what you sticks up for, ain’t it? Let ’im speak.”
“Anyhow,” continued Malines, sharply, “I mean to keep the bit o’ ground I’ve staked off whether you like it or no—”
“An’ so do I,” cried Welsh, who was what may be styled a growly man.
“Sure, an’ so does myself,” said Teddy Malone, “for I’ve staked off a bit about six feet long an’ two broad, to plant mesilf in whin I give up the ghost.”
This mild pleasantry seemed to calm a little the rising wrath of contending parties, much to Dominick’s satisfaction, for he was exceedingly anxious to keep in the background and avoid interference. During the week that had passed, he had more than once been forced to have sharp words with Malines, and felt that if he was to act as a peacemaker—which he earnestly wished to do—he must avoid quarrelling with him if possible.