No reply. Great industry with the paint-brush.
"Be going to sea then?"
"Iss intye! What did 'er think?"
The Little Russian went on doggedly with his work, and when he rose from his knees, there appeared complete, on the stern of his boat, in lanky, crooked white letters: Shooting Star of Seacombe.
"Be it true yu'm going to sea t'night, Harry?"
"Iss."
"What do 'ee 'spect to catch? Eh?"
No answer again. The Little Russian was hauling a couple of nets aboard.
"Who be going with 'ee?"
"Ol' Joe Barker an' 'Gustus Theodore."