'What a lark!' Charlie exclaimed to Ping Wang. 'Shall we carry him down the garden, and pitch him in the duck-pond?'
'Show Skipper Drummond in,' Mr. Page said to the maid, and as she departed he continued, 'Now, you boys and Ping Wang, go into the conservatory, and wait there until I call you.'
Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang stepped into the conservatory, and seated themselves on a rustic bench, so that they could hear what the skipper said without being seen by him.
'Skipper Drummond, sir,' the maid said, as she reopened the door.
The bullying little skipper had evidently made a strong effort to look respectable. He was attired in a shiny black frock-coat, and had it not been for his brightly-coloured tie, one would have imagined that he was going to a funeral. In one hand he held a tall hat; in the other he carried two stiff-looking black gloves.
'Good evening, sir,' he said, as he stepped gingerly across the room, showing as much respect for the carpet as if it was newly-sown grass.
'Take a seat,' Mr. Page said, and he did so.
'I've come about the Sparrow-hawk, sir,' he said, endeavouring to appear more comfortable than he felt.
'Yes.'
'We've had a grand time, sir. Every voyage the Sparrow-hawk makes she improves. There is not a trawler in the North Sea catches more fish than the Sparrow-hawk. She's a beauty, sir; and every one in Grimsby and Hull knows it. Two of the big fleet-owners want to buy her.'