went on beyond the lagoon till the other men came running in.
"Fish, hell! Tobacco juice, hell! I'm a man, you silly blighter, and it's a man she needs, not a chalky-faced—what the hell's your business, anyhow?"
"Teaching school."
"Teaching school, eh? Is that a man's job? You'd be no more to her than a toe-rag. Ho, you fellers here's a white-livered schoolmaster wants to marry my gal!"
"Your geerl," snarled Kirke, digging his bony elbow into the fisherman's stomach. "You must think she's badly off."
"Friends—friends! Don't let us quarrel at such a moment," beseeched Mr. Mayberry. "Let us pick out the most suitable man—regardless of age—and send him over to the maid. See, two of the women are starting across in a boat to fetch him. At least, it appears that way to me. Now, let us choose the best—"
"I'll put a head on him—" growled Fergussen.
"Do you mean me?" asked Kirke.
"Yes, I mean you."
"Ah, I'd like to see you."
But their voices were drowned in a cheer, half-welcoming, half-threatening, as the faces of the two young women who rowed the boat now became recognizable. Mrs. Jessop had picked out these two to approach the men for good reasons. Nannie Wilcox, the stouter and older, was the daughter of Tom Wilcox the baker, a jolly girl and a favourite with all the men whom she had served in the little ice-cream parlour behind the shop. Always good-humoured and ready to chaff a customer, it was hard for the men to believe that she had taken part in such a cruel persecution as they had just witnessed, without deep provocation. The truth was that Nannie
