But when at least the boom was thrashing overhead and the halyards had been made fast to their cleats, the fisherman again stood erect, peering distrustfully at the distant wall of cloud.
Then, in two breaths: "Can't do it," he decided; "not at the price."
"Why?" Kirkwood stared despairingly after the brigantine, that was already drawn far ahead.
At a loss completely, Kirkwood found no words. He dropped his head, considering.
"Not at the price," the sullen voice iterated; and he looked up to find the cunning gaze upon him.
"Five poun' I'll have--no less, for riskin' my life this day."
In silence the man unshipped the tiller and moved toward the cleats.
Kirkwood unbuttoned his coat and, freeing the chain from his waistcoat buttonholes, removed his watch.... As well abandon them altogether; he had designed to leave them as security for the two pounds, and had delayed stating the terms only for fear lest they be refused. Now, too late as ever, he recognized his error. But surely, he thought, it should be apparent even to that low intelligence that the timepiece alone was worth more than the boat itself.
"Will you take these?" he offered. "Take and keep them--only set me aboard that ship!"
Deliberately the fisherman weighed the watch and chain in his broad, hard palm, eyes narrowing to mere slits in his bronzed mask.
"Eighty pounds, together; the chain alone cost me twenty."
The shifty, covetous eyes ranged from the treasure in his hand to the threatening east. A puff of wind caught the sail and sent the boom athwartships, like a mighty flail. Both men ducked instinctively, to escape a braining.
"I'm telling you. If you've got eyes, you can see," retorted Kirkwood savagely, seeing that he had erred in telling the truth; the amount he had named was too great to be grasped at once by this crude, cupidous brain.
"How do I know?" the man repeated. Nevertheless he dropped watch and chain into his pocket, then with a meaning grimace extended again his horny, greedy palm.
A flush of rage blinded the young man. The knowledge that the _Alethea_ was minute by minute slipping beyond his reach seemed to madden him. White-lipped and ominously quiet he rose from his seat on the combing, as, without answer, the fisherman, crawling out on the overhand, began to haul in the dory.