And there they were, with Peter Hines, the paid man in charge of Crow's Nest, keeping a benevolent eye on them. Yarning, arguing, skylarking, advising Peter, and having fun with little Johnnie Duncan they were when I entered. Johnnie was the grandson of the head of the Duncan firm, a fine, clear-eyed boy, that nobody could help liking. He thought fishermen were the greatest people in the world. Whatever a fisherman did was all right to Johnnie. I had got all the news at Crow's Nest and was just thinking of moving along toward home when Tommie Clancy popped in. Of course that made a difference. I wasn't going to move while Clancy was around. "My soul, but here's where the real gentlemen are," he had to say first, and then, "Anybody seen Maurice to-day?" I told him I had, and where. "Anybody with him?" "Well, not with him exactly." I shook my head, and said nothing of Minnie Arkell, nor of Sam Hollis, although Clancy, looking at me, I could see, guessed that there was something else; and he might have asked me something more only for the crowd and little Johnnie Duncan. Johnnie was trying to climb up onto Clancy, and so Clancy, turning from me, took Johnnie up and gave him a toss that all but hit his head against the roof. "And how's she heading, Johnnie-boy?" and taking a seat stood Johnnie up beside him. "East-s'uth-east, and a fair, fair wind," answered Johnnie. "East-s'uth-east--my, but you said that fine. And a fair wind? Must be bound Georges Bank way. And how long will you hold that course?" "From Eastern Point--a hundred and thirty-five mile." "Yes--and then?" "Then you throw her up and heave the lead." "And heave the lead--sure enough. And then?" "And then, if you find you're clear of the North Shoal, you put her to the s'uth'ard and west'ard till you're in onto the Bank." "S'uth'ard and west'ard--that's the boy. Man, but I'll live to see you going to the Custom House and taking out your master's papers yet." "And can I join the Master Mariners then?" "That's what you can, and walk down Main Street with a swing to your shoulders, too. And now you're up on the Bank and twenty-five fathom of water and the right bottom--and you're a hand-liner, say, after cod--what then?" "Let go her chain and begin fishing." "And would you give her a short or a long string of cable?" "M-m--I'm not sure. A long string you'd hang on better, but a short scope and you could get out faster in case you were dragging and going onto the shoals. What would you do, Captain Clancy? You never told me that, did you?" "Well, it would depend, too, though handliners generally calculate on hanging on, blow how it will. But never mind that; suppose your anchor dragged or parted and into the shoal water you went in a gale, an easterly, say--and the bank right under your lee--wind sixty or seventy or eighty mile an hour--what would you do?" "Anchor not hold? M-m--Then I'd--give her the second one." "And if that dragged, too--or parted?"