“Gunnels up? What, now? Why, Eddie, when you’ve seen it as I’ve seen it! But _’tis_ growin’ a bit more rough--isn’t it? Have a care for some of those seas. That oar in the becket astern, have an eye to that, and when you notice a bad sea comin’, just give the oar a little flirt--so--and put her head or stern to it, whichever’s handiest. It’ll save a capsizin’ some day, maybe. And now ’tis time to begin haulin’. The signal’s been to the peak some time now, but I like to give ’em a good set myself. I c’n make up the time on the haulin’. But we’ll begin now, and do you coil, boy. Here we go, four tubs of line--a mile and a half of a trawl to haul. ’Tis the rare appetite it’ll give us; and when----” “Isn’t the vessel rather far away, Martin?” “Let me see. Where is she now? Oh, yes. She is a bit away, but it must be the lee dories have gone adrift. Let’s see who’s in the lee dory. That’ll be--let me see, now-- Jethro and Eben. Eben’s a good man, but Jethro’s not much of a man in a dory--big enough, but not much use.” “And I guess he’s not the only useless man out here to-day.” “Hush, boy, hush. What kind of talk is that?” “It’s true. Don’t I know that I could no more haul trawls in this sea than---- Why? A mile and a half of trawl to be hauled, and don’t I know that as your dory-mate I ought to haul half of it? And will I? Could I, even if you’d allow me, Martin? Oh, yes--about as well as I could winch in the vessel’s anchor alone. Don’t I know what it means--a man that can’t do his share out here? It means that one of the crew is eating his share of grub and by and by will get his share of the stock, and yet who is no more use in a dory than the painter when the dory’s aboard, and no more use aboard the vessel itself than the spare anchor with the vessel in harbor. Don’t I know, Martin?” “Eddie, listen to me. You talk again like that, and sure’s my name’s Martin Carr I’ll take the privilege of your father’s friend and bat the jaw of you. I will, boy, much as I like you. And let me tell you, ’tis dory agen dory out here, and our dory’ll bring her share of fish aboard this night.” “This night? Will we get aboard this night, do you think, Martin?” Martin looked about him--looked long about him, but said only, “Is there a drop of water left in the bottle, Eddie?” “About half a mugful.” “Half a mugful? Well, keep that by you, and by’n’by you’ll have it to drink--not now.” “I’ll save it for you, Martin.” “That’s your father’s own boy, Eddie, but never mind me. What’s a mouthful of water to me that’s been without it seven days on end? It’s nothin’--nothin’ at all. Keep it for yourself and by’n’by drink it. It may mean a lot to you, for I know that already you’re wringin’ with the sweat. And you’re tired, too, aren’t you, lad?” “A little, Martin.” “Oh, but it’s the cruel work for you, boy. But what are you at now?” “I was going to have a smoke.” “Well, I wish you wouldn’t yet awhile, Eddie.” “And why, Martin?” “I’ll tell you later.”