Haven't you come down here to see Number
One before he goes on to Birmingham?"
Horne Fisher answered, in a lower voice: "Yes; and I hope to be
lucky enough to catch him before dinner. He's got to see Sir Isaac
about something just afterward."
"Hullo!" exclaimed Harker. "Sir Isaac's finished his fishing. I
know he prides himself on getting up at sunrise and going in at
sunset."
The old man on the island had indeed risen to his feet, facing round
and showing a bush of gray beard with rather small, sunken features,
but fierce eyebrows and keen, choleric eyes. Carefully carrying his
fishing tackle, he was already making his way back to the mainland
across a bridge of flat stepping-stones a little way down the
shallow stream; then he veered round, coming toward his guests and
civilly saluting them. There were several fish in his basket and he
was in a good temper.
"Yes," he said, acknowledging Fisher's polite expression of
surprise, "I get up before anybody else in the house, I think. The
early bird catches the worm."
"Unfortunately," said Harker, "it is the early fish that catches the
worm."
"But the early man catches the fish," replied the old man, gruffly.
"But from what I hear, Sir Isaac, you are the late man, too,"
interposed Fisher.
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