“Now, Martin”--and a broken, rusted hook was snipped off and replaced with a new shiny one--“now, Martin, nobody knows better than you what _I_ think--you that c’n read a man’s mind ’most. The lad’s got as fine a face in a way as ever I looked at. Man, ’tis a beautiful face. But that’s the bother of it--’tis beauty, not strength in it. And comin’ down to facts, you know yourself, it’s no joke to be out in a dory with a man that can’t hold his end up. ’Tis thought of you we have, Martin. Did ever he haul a trawl or try to row a loaded dory agen a full tide out here?” For answer, Martin continued calmly to blow his puffs of smoke toward the deck-beams. “That means he never did, and I’m afraid, Martin, when it comes to it, that maybe he won’t be able to.” “Well, maybe he won’t,” echoed Martin placidly; “but whether he does or no, ’tisn’t Martin Carr will be the first to tell him he’s fallin’ short.” “But where did you pick him up, anyway, Martin?” “I didn’t have to pick him up. His father was a dory-mate of mine, nigh thirty year ago--as far back as the old _Aleutian_----” “The same _Aleutian_ that was lost with all hands afterward, Martin?” “The same. But this was some years before she was lost. This was when Jack Teevens, this boy’s father, was lost. And how? Tryin’ to save a shipmate. And I was the shipmate. Maybe some of you remember now?” “Coming across Western Bank one winter’s day, warn’t it, Martin?” “Aye, makin’ a passage--the old _Aleutian_ runnin’ before an easterly gale--everything on and staggerin’ under it. Jack was to the wheel--lashed. Me on watch for’ard, was standing foolish-like between the dories and the lee-rail. In a day-dream I must’ve been. By’n’by comes a big sea after her. I didn’t see it, but Jack to the wheel did. ‘Watch out, Martin!’ he hollers; but I was kind of slow, and when the sea hit her, away I went over the rail. Good as gone was I, but Jack casts off his life-line and comes jumpin’ to the waist to heave me something or other to keep me afloat. Comes another sea and heaves me back toward the vessel. I grabs a draw-bucket and the end of the throat halyards, which Jack had hove, just as a third sea comes. Well, in that third sea, which broke clean over her--she bein’ already hove most flat by the second sea--away goes Jack Teevens. I didn’t see him go. ’Twas when the gang came rushin’ on deck and hauled me aboard that they told me they could just make him out--away to looard he was--as he waved good-by afore he went down--down to stay. Lord in heaven, what a man he was! And to go at his age!” “’Twas hard. But he couldn’t’ve been such a young fellow, Martin?” “Let me see. Nineteen year ago that was. Nineteen from forty-eight--twenty-nine year he’d be that time. We were the one age.” “Lord, Martin, ’tisn’t possible you’re forty-eight year old?” “That’s what--forty-eight.” “Well, you don’t look it. Do you feel it?”