About nine o'clock we hauled in for not more than nine dozen of fish. The sea-fire glimmered on the rising net, glittered in the boat, and then, with an almost painful suddenness, snuffed out. "They be so full as eggs," said John every minute or two, holding out fish to Tony, who felt them and answered, "Iss, they'm no scanters [spawned or undersized fish]. They bain't here alone."
Nets inboard, we rowed a little east of another boat, to shoot a second time. John said, "Hoist the sail, can't 'ee." Tony said, "What's the need?"
Before eleven we were foul of the other boat's nets and had again to haul in. Tony puffed and panted with the double weight; John disentangled the mesh and swore.
"If we'd a-hoisted the sail..." he grumbled.
"There wasn't no need if we'd a-pulled a bit farther."
"What's the good o' pulling yer arms out?"
"I knowed where to go, on'y yu said we was far enough."
"No I didn't!"
"S'thee think I don' know where to shute a fleet o' nets?"
"Well, we'm foul, anyhow."