For all that, he dawdled not a moment longer than he could help. Green had the worms ready.
“So you’re going for a day’s sport, are you?” said he. “It’s a good day, too, and the whiting ought to be plentiful off the rock.”
“I hope they will,” said Dick.
“They’ve been let alone the last week or two,” said the bait merchant, “since our chaps have been out in the deep, so you’ve a fair chance.”
“When will the boats be back?” asked Dick, rather nervously.
“We should have seen some of them this morning, but the wind’s dropped. Maybe it will be afternoon before they come in.”
“It’s always a great day when they come in, isn’t it?” asked the boy.
“Depends on the catch. When it’s a bad catch no one cares to see them back.”
Dick tried hard to keep down his next question, but it had a sort of fascination for him, and he could not smother it.
“I suppose,” said he in the most careless tones he could assume, “Tom White’s not likely to come back in a hurry?”