"Well, sir, it may and may not be strange. You see the western coast is more broken up, and there are more coves, and little bays, and little strands, and sharp rocks half covered, and so on, so that he might stave her in there, and yet manage to get ashore. I'm very sorry I can't remember what became of the punt."
"Never mind," said O'Brien. "Now, do you know the exact rise and fall of a neap tide at the Black Rock?"
"The exact rise and fall?"
"Yes; the exact rise of a neap tide from dead low water to the top of high water."
"I could not say to the inch, Mr. O'Brien."
"Well, to the foot. I don't want it to the inch; the foot will do."
The fisherman consulted his companion, who had not yet opened his mouth. After a muttered talk, the spokesman said:
"We wouldn't say to a foot, sir, if anything of consequence depended upon it."
"Fill up the measures again, John," said O'Brien, whose pint stood before him untasted. "There's no bet on it; you needn't be afraid. I'm only asking for information. I may be coming round here for the summer, and I just want to find out all I can. How much do you think?"
"Fourteen to sixteen feet."