"Then there wasn't a fight, after all?" chimed in the girl. "I'm so glad."
"I told you there would be no battle," replied Stranleigh. "Here are camp-stool and easel, quite intact."
"Thank you very much. Did you bring my drawing-block? Oh, yes, there it is under your arm. Why, your knuckles are bleeding!"
"So they are. I hadn't noticed it. But that's nothing. I just gave him a biff under the ear, and got a scratch in doing it. And now, miss, I want this picture."
"Oh, the picture is ruined. Let me draw you one worth while, and I'll very gladly send it to you if you'll give me your address."
"My address is Tom Pitts, Pebblesdale-on-Sea."
"Oh, I thought you were a Londoner?"
"I am a fisherman, madam."
"Yes, with rod and line."
"Oh, no; I am quarter owner of the Laughing Jane, as staunch a fishing boat as ever put out to sea, and sometimes my share in the catch is as much as four pounds a week."
"I wish I did so well. Of course, you don't work on your fishing boat—that is, you don't haul in nets, and that sort of thing."
"Indeed, I do. You can't make four pounds a week and sit idly on the beach. You look as if you didn't believe that; but, you see, it's Bank Holiday, and I'm up in London for the day, and
