“That wastrel? Aw, tearing away, tearing away,” said Cæsar.
“Floating on the top of the tide, is he?” shouted Pete.
“Maybe so, but the devil is fishing where yonder fellow's swimming,” answered Cæsar.
“And the ould man—the Ballawhaine—still above the sod?” bawled Pete behind his hand.
“Yes, but failing, failing, failing,” shouted Cæsar. “The world's getting too heavy for the man. Debts here, and debts there, and debts everywhere.”
“Not much water in the harbour then, eh?” cried Pete.
“No, but down on the rocks already, if it's only myself that knows it,” shouted Cæsar.
When they had turned the Sulby Bridge, and come in sight of “The Manx Fairy,” Pete's excitement grew wild, and he leaped up from his seat and shouted above the wind like a man possessed.
“My gough, the very place! You've been thatching, though—yes, you have. The street! Holy sailor, there it is! Brownie at you still? Her heifer, is it? Get up, Molly! A taste of the whip'll do the mare no harm, sir. My sakes, here's ould Flora hobbling out to meet us. Got the rheumatics, has she? Set me down, Cæsar. Here we are, man. Lord alive, the smell of the cowhouse. That warm and damp, it's grand! What, don't you know me, Flo? Got your temper still, if you've lost your teeth? My sakes, the haggard! The same spot again! It's turf they're burning inside! And, my gracious, that's herrings roasting in their brine! Where's Grannie, though? Let's put a sight in, Cæsar. Well, well, aw well, aw well!”
Thus Pete came home, laughing, shouting, bawling, and bellowing above the tumult of the wind, which had risen by this time to the strength of a gale.