Vince might have been speaking to the tub upon which his fellow-prisoner
was seated, for all the movement made.
"Michael Ladelle, Esquire, of the Mount," said Vince; and there was a
good-humoured look in his eyes, which twinkled merrily; but the other
did not stir.
"Ladle, then," cried Vince; but without effect,--Mike was still gazing
at the sand before him.
"I say, don't be such a sulky old Punch. Why don't you speak? I want
to talk to you about getting away. Mike--Ladle--I say, you did hurt
when you hit out at me. I shall have to pay you that back!"
No answer.
"Look here: aren't you going to say you're sorry for it and shake
hands?"