“Yes, I does, an’ I’ve long suspected him. Whether he was boastin’ or not I can’t tell, an’ it do seem strange that he should boast of it to the young parson—leastwise, unless it was done to spite him. But now mark me, Pat Stiver, I’ll bring that old sinner to his marrow-bones before long, and make him disgorge too, if he hain’t spent it all. I give you leave to make an Irish stew o’ my carcase if I don’t. Ay, ay, sir!”
The concluding words of Bob Lumsden’s speech were in reply to an order from Skipper Lockley to haul the boat alongside. In a few minutes more the mission ship was forsaken by her strange Sabbath congregation, and left with all the fleet around her floating quietly on the tranquil sea.
Chapter Eleven.
A Consultation, a Feast, and a Plot.
There was—probably still is—a coffee-tavern in Gorleston where, in a cleanly, cheerful room, a retired fisherman and his wife, of temperance principles, supplied people with those hot liquids which are said to cheer without inebriating.
Here, by appointment, two friends met to discuss matters of grave importance. One was Bob Lumsden, the other his friend and admirer Pat Stiver. Having asked for and obtained two large cups of coffee and two slices of buttered bread for some ridiculously small sum of money, they retired to the most distant corner of the room, and, turning their backs on the counter, began their discussion in low tones.
Being early in the day, the room had no occupants but themselves and the fisherman’s wife, who busied herself in cleaning and arranging plates, cups, and saucers, etcetera, for expected visitors.
“Pat,” said Bob, sipping his coffee with an appreciative air, “I’ve turned a total abstainer.”