The Major was
disinclined to move, and although he guessed at the meaning of Meldon's
wink, he deliberately ignored it. Meldon winked again. Then he rose
to his feet, shook himself, and looked round him.
"I think, Major," he said, "that if we mean to catch any lobsters
to-day, we ought to be starting."
The Major grunted.
"Lobsters! Can we catch lobsters here?" said Miss King. "I should
like to help. I have never caught a lobster."
"It's not exactly a sport for ladies," said Meldon. "The lobster is an
ugly fish to tackle unless you are accustomed to him. Besides, we
shall have to take off our shoes and stockings."
"But I only mean to look on. I shouldn't run any risks."
She had in her mind at the moment a scene in her new novel into which
lobster fishing, as practised in the west of Ireland, might be
introduced with great effect. The idea that there was some risk about
the sport added to its value for her purpose. She foresaw the
possibility of vividly picturesque descriptions of bare-limbed,
sun-tanned muscular folk plunging among weedy rocks, or spattered with
yellow spume, staggering shorewards under a load of captured lobsters.
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