“So near! We made sure we were outside the Sprit. How long have you been here?”
“Come here when the tide turned, we did,” said Tom, “with a boat full, and no mistake. Say, young gentlemen, you ain’t forgot the poor mariner that lost his boat, have yer? It’s cruel hard to lose your living and have to begin afresh.”
“If you mean you want a shilling for piloting us ashore,” said Cresswell, “here you are. Will you take us, or will your mate?”
Dick grew uncomfortable, and, under pretence of wanting to examine some of the fish on the floor of the lugger, he scrambled up the side, and got in.
“Come back, Dick; do you hear?” called Cresswell. “We must go back if one of those fellows will run us in. Will you come, Tom?”
Visions of the bar-parlour of the “Dolphin” hovered before Tom’s mind as he looked down at the speaker and the shilling that lay in his hand.
He was just about to consent, when he felt his arm nudged by Dick, who was crouching down over the fish at his feet.
“Tom White,” said the boy, looking up nervously, “don’t go ashore. They are going to arrest you for pawning that boat that didn’t belong to you. Tell your mate to see us ashore. There’s another shilling for you!”
Tom took his pipe out of his mouth and gaped at the boy. Then he slowly pocketed the shilling. Then he relieved himself of an oath. Then he called his mate—
“Jerry, see the squires ashore.”