Green laughed. He was no friend of the double-dealing mariner.
“Not if he knows who’s a-going to be down on the beach to welcome him. But, bless you, how’s he to know? The sooner he comes home and gets his right lodgings, the better, so say I. What do you say, young squire?”
The “young squire” did not exactly know what to say, and took up his can of worms to depart, with something like precipitation.
He found Cresswell and Freckleton waiting for him down at the boat. Until this moment he had never seen the Templeton Hermit, except occasionally at a distance; and he glanced with some curiosity at the face of the fellow who had beaten Pledge for the Bishop’s Scholarship. He didn’t altogether dislike him. The stolid face and bright black eyes of the Hermit made him a little uncomfortable, but there was an occasional twitch at the corners of his mouth, and a music, when he chose to use it, in his voice, which reconciled the junior to his presence, and even interested him in the disposal of his new patron’s good graces.
It didn’t take long to get “all aboard.” The precious worms were safely deposited in the hold, the three lines were stowed away under the seat, and the basket containing the sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs added ballast to the bows. Cresswell, who had an idea of doing things comfortably, had brought his ulster and made Freckleton bring his. The latter had armed himself also with a Shakespeare in case the fish didn’t bite; and three towels, knowingly produced by the whipper-in, added a further pleasant suggestion for whiling away a dull half-hour.
The calmness of the day and the absence of any sign of wind induced the party to vote the mast and sails a useless encumbrance, and they were accordingly left ashore, and a spare pair of oars taken in their place. The irony of fate left it to Dick’s lot to see the anchor was in proper trim and firmly secured—a task which he discharged with almost vicious solemnity.
“What time does the tide turn, Joe?” asked Cresswell of the boatman as they ran the boat down to the water.
“Half-past two about, mister. Yer’ll need to bring her in close ashore and give the Fiddle-sand a wide berth while the tide flows.”
“All right. Shove her off, Joe.”
They had a glorious day. The sea had scarcely a ripple, and the sky scarcely a cloud. The fish seemed to vie with one another in falling upon the bait. The view of Templeton from the sea was perfect, and the sharp outline of the Sprit Rock above them was grandeur itself.