He reached the quay, with its few tiny cottages, and brown nets spread about to dry in the sun, and walking up and down, grumbling, regarded with jaundiced eye a few small smacks which lay in the harbour, and two or three crusted amphibians lounging aimlessly about.
“Mornin’, Mr. Boom,” said a stalwart youth in sea-boots, appearing suddenly over the edge of the quay from his boat.
“Mornin’, Dick,” said Mr. Boom affably; “just goin’ off?”
“’Bout an hour’s time,” said the other: “Miss Boom well, sir?”
“She’s a’ right,” said Mr. Boom; “me an’ her ’ve just had a few words. She picked up something off the floor what she said was a cake o’ mud off my heel. Said she wouldn’t have it,” continued Mr. Boom, his voice rising. “My own floor too. Swep’ it up off the floor with a dustpan and brush, and held it in front of me to look at.”
Dick Tarrell gave a grunt which might mean anything—Mr. Boom took it for sympathy.
“I called her old maid,” he said with gusto; “‘you’re a fidgety old maid,’ I said. You should ha’ seen her look. Do you know what I think, Dick?”
“Not exactly,” said Tarrell cautiously.
“I b’leeve she’s that savage that she’d take the first man that asked her,” said the other triumphantly; “she’s sitting up there at the door of the cottage, all by herself.”
Tarrell sighed.