on the Quay. But whereas the dislike of
nine-tenths of Polpier was helpless as the toad's resentment of the
harrow--since the banker held the strings of sundry Fishing
Companies, and was a hard taskmaster--Un' Benny, with a few chosen
kinsmen, had preserved his independence.

"The kings o' the earth rise up together, sir," answered Un' Benny
very deliberately; "an' by consikence the little fishes take hidin'.
'Tis a poor look-out for our callin'--a wisht poor job altogether!
Fishers and apostles always stood in together, an' War's the
ruination o' both. What with the Gospel gone scat, an' no dividends
this side o' Christmas--"

"I asked you," interrupted Mr Pamphlett, "what that firing means, out
there? It's friendly, of course? A British battleship?"

"As to that," replied Un' Benny, slowly ruminating, "I wouldn' call
it _friendly_ in any man to let off a big-inch gun at anything.
That's not the word I'd choose. And I don't grant 'ee that there's
no danger because we men, as you call us"--here Un' Benny distributed
the emphasis delicately--"happen to be takin' it cool. But if you
ask my opinion, she's a first-class cruiser; an' you hit it off when
you asked, 'What's this firin' about?' 'Firin' about,' that's _of_
it, as I reckon; and aboard of her, belike, the boys that left us o'
Sunday, takin' a little practice to get their hands in. But there!
A guess is a guess; and if you're anxious about it, and'll step into
my boat, sir, we'll put out and make sure."

Mr Pamphlett ignored this proposal. He turned on the other men.
"It's a fine day, anyhow," he said; "and the wind turning
nor'-westerly. If sure she's only a cruiser at practice, why are you
fellows loafing in harbour?"

"As for _that_"--Un' Benny intercepted the question blandly--"they
can answer for their-selves, them that's under obligation to 'ee.
But you started on _me_, an' so I'll be polite an' lead off.
In th' first place, with all this tow-row, the fish be all gone to
bottom; there's not one'll take hook by day nor net by night.
An' next, with a parcel o' reservists pickin' up the gunnery they've
forgot, for a week or so the firin' is apt to be flippant. Yes, Mr
Pamphlett, you can go back to your business an' feel all the easier
in mind every time a bangin' great shell makes ye bob up an' down in
your chair. 'Tis a fine thing to stand here an' feel we've a Navy
protectin' us all; but don't send these poor fellows out to be
protected _too