“Any news to-night, Mr. Quay le?”
“Is it yourself, Capt'n? If you've none, I've none. It's independent young rovers like you for newses, not poor ould chaps tied to the harbour-post same as a ship's cable. I was hearing you, though. You'd a power of music in the everin' yonder. Fine doings up at Ballure, seemingly.”
“Nothing fresh with yourself then, Daniel? No?”
“Except that I am middling sick of these late sailings, and the sooner they're building us a breakwater the better. If the young Deemster will get that for us, he'll do.”
They were nearing a lamp at the corner of the marketplace.
“It's like you know the young Ballawhaine crossed with the boat to-night? Something wrong, with the ould man, they're telling me. But boy, veen, what's come of your hat at all?”
“My hat?” said Pete, groping about his head. “Oh, my hat? Blown off on the pier, of coorse.”
“'Deed, man! Not much wind either. You'll be for home and the young wife, eh, Capt'n?”
“Must be,” said Pete, with an empty laugh. And the harbour-master, who was a bachelor, laughed more heartily, and added——
“You married men are like Adam, you've lost the rib of your liberty, but you've got a warm little woman to your side instead.”