Menhardoc | Page 2

after his fashion, for he never spoke much, by saying:
"Easy, mate, easy."
"Easy it is, Mike," sang rather than said Josh. "I know what I'm about.
The old un said I wasn't to spoil him, and I won't. He's one o' them soft
sort o' boys as is good stuff, like a new-bred net; but what do you do wi'
it, eh?"
"Bile it," growled old Mike, "Cutch or Gambier."
"Toe be sure," said Josh; "and I'm biling young Will in the hot water o'
adversitee along with the cutch o' worldly knowledge, and the gambier
o' fisherman's gumption, till he be tanned of a good moral, manly,
sensible brown. I know."
Then old Mike winked at Josh Helston, and Josh Helston winked
solemnly at old Mike Polree, who threw a couple of hake slung on a bit
of spun yarn over one shoulder, his strapped-together boots stuffed
with coarse worsted stockings, one on each side, over the other
shoulder, squirted a little tobacco juice into the harbour, and went off
barefoot over the steep stones to the cottage high up the cliff, muttering
to himself something about Pilchar' Will being a fine young chap all the
same.
"That's all nonsense about the Cornishmen being giants, Josh," said
Will, as he rapidly passed the long lengths of net through his hands, so
that they should lie smooth in the hold, ready for shooting again that
night without twist or tangle. "Old writers were very fond of stretching

men."
"Dessay they was," said Josh; "but they never stretched me. I often
wish I was ten inches longer."
"It wouldn't have made a better fellow of you, Josh," said Will, with a
merry twinkle in his eye.
"I dunno 'bout that," said Josh disparagingly; "I ain't much account,"
and he rubbed his nose viciously with the back of his hand, the result
being that he spread a few more scales upon his face.
"Why, you're the strongest man I know, Josh. You can throw anyone in
Peter Churchtown, and I feel like a baby when you grip hold of me."
Josh felt flattered, but he would not show it in the face of such a chance
for giving a lesson.
"Babby! And that's just what you are--a big soft, overgrown babby,
with no more muscle in you than a squid. I'd be ashamed o' myself, that
I would, if I was you."
"Can't help it, Josh," said the young fellow, wrinkling his sun-browned
forehead, and still turning the soft nets into filmy ropes by passing
them through his hands.
"Can't help it! Why, you ain't got no more spirit in you than a
pilchar'--no more'n one o' these as run its head through the net last night,
hung on by its gills and let itself die, whar it might ha' wriggled itself
out if it had had plenty o' pluck. If you don't take care, my lad, you'll
get a name for being a regular soft. I believe if one of the lads o' your
own size hit you, you'd cry."
"Perhaps I should, Josh, so I hope no one will hit me."
The lad thrust back his scarlet woollen cap, and bent down over the
brown nets so that his companion should not see his face; and as he
shook down the soft meshes, with the heap growing bigger and bigger,

so did the pile of silvery pilchards grow taller, as Josh growled to
himself and shook out the fish easily enough, for though the gills of the
herring-like fish acted as barbs to complete their arrowy form as they
darted through the sea, and kept them from swimming back, the hold
on the net was very frail, and they kept falling pat, pat, upon the deck
or in the well.
"After all I've done for you I don't want you to turn out a cur," growled
Josh at last.
"Well, was I a cur last night?" cried Will eagerly. "Mike said there was
a storm coming on, and that we'd better run in. Didn't I say, `let's stop
and shake out the fish,' as we hauled the nets?"
"Ay, but that's not very plucky," cried Josh, giving his face another rub
and placing some spangles under his right eye; "that's being foolhardy
and running risks with your craft, as no man ought to do as has charge
of a lugger and all her gear. Ah, you're a poor gallish sort o' lad, and it's
only a silly job to try and make a man of you."
It was quite early in the morning, and the sun was just showing over the
bold headland to play through the soft silvery mist that hung in patches
over the sea, which heaved and fell, ruddy orange where the sun
glanced upon the swell, and