A mercenary man.  It is painful to see how rapidly the old simple spirit is dying out of our rural districts.  Twenty years ago a fisherman would have been charmed to do a little job like that for a screw of tobacco.

CHAPTER XI

THE BRAVE PRESERVER

I could have wished, during the next few days, that Mr. Harry Hawk’s attitude towards myself had not been so unctuously confidential and mysterious.  It was unnecessary, in my opinion, for him to grin meaningly when he met me in the street.  His sly wink when we passed each other on the Cob struck me as in indifferent taste.  The thing had been definitely arranged (ten shillings down and ten when it was over), and there was no need for any cloak and dark-lantern effects.  I objected strongly to being treated as the villain of a melodrama.  I was merely an ordinary well-meaning man, forced by circumstances into doing the work of Providence.  Mr. Hawk’s demeanour seemed to say, “We are two reckless scoundrels, but bless you, I won’t give away your guilty secret.”  The climax came one morning as I was going along the street towards the beach.  I was passing a dark doorway, when out shimmered Mr. Hawk as if he had been a spectre instead of the most substantial man within a radius of ten miles.

" ’St!” He whispered.

“Now look here, Hawk,” I said wrathfully, for the start he had given me had made me bite my tongue, “this has got to stop.  I refuse to be haunted in this way.  What is it now?”

“Mr. Derrick goes out this morning, zur.”

“Thank goodness for that,” I said.  “Get it over this morning, then, without fail.  I couldn’t stand another day of it.”

I went on to the Cob, where I sat down.  I was excited.  Deeds of great import must shortly be done.  I felt a little nervous.  It would never do to bungle the thing.  Suppose by some accident I were to drown the professor!  Or suppose that, after all, he contented himself with a mere formal expression of thanks, and refused to let bygones be bygones.  These things did not bear thinking of.

I got up and began to pace restlessly to and fro.

Presently from the farther end of the harbour there put off Mr. Hawk’s boat, bearing its precious cargo.  My mouth became dry with excitement.

Very slowly Mr. Hawk pulled round the end of the Cob, coming to a standstill some dozen yards from where I was performing my beat.  It was evidently here that the scene of the gallant rescue had been fixed.

My eyes were glued upon Mr. Hawk’s broad back.  Only when going in to bat at cricket have I experienced a similar feeling of suspense.  The boat lay almost motionless on the water.  I had never seen the sea smoother.  Little ripples plashed against the side of the Cob.