And now, alas! the gate of man’s Free-will was creaking on its hinges. No created power above or below could have moved that gate save the power of David Bright himself.
“Shove out the boat!” shouted the miserable man, with a fierceness of expression and tone that there was no misunderstanding. Poor Billy understood it well enough.
“Oh! no, father! Don’t do it father!” he cried in an entreating voice; but already the little boat was dancing on the waves alongside, with John Gunter in her.
“Jump in, Luke,” said Joe Davidson, hastily, for he was anxious that at least one trusty man should be of the party.
Luke jumped in at once, and was instantly followed by Billy. The painter was cast off, and they pulled towards the floating grog-shop.
The tempter received them with a hearty salute.
“Cheap spirits an’ cheap baccy!” said John Gunter, as he sat on the rail of the Coper drinking the one and smoking the other, “that’s what I likes, an’ plenty of both.”
“That’s so, John,” returned David Bright, who sat beside him, and, having already drained several bumpers of the fiery fluid, had quite got over his troubles. “You an’ I are of the same mind, John; nevertheless you’re a great sulky-faced humbug for all that!”
“What d’ee mean by that?” demanded Gunter, who was becoming rapidly drunk and quarrelsome.
“What do I mean? why, I mean that you’re the best man in the smack, out o’ sight, an’ it’s a rare pity that your mother hasn’t got half-a-dozen more like you. If she had I’d man the Evening Star with your whole family. Here, give us a hold o’ your grapplin’-iron, old man.”