"Knocked off, eh, Percy? For how long?"
"For good, Dad!"
The millionaire suppressed a whistle; something had certainly struck Percy.
The next morning, his sturdy figure garbed in oilskins, he started out with his son and Jim for Clay Bank. He had to acknowledge that rising at midnight was a little early, even for a man accustomed to work as hard as he had always done.
Out on the shoal he was a silent but interested spectator while the trawl was being pulled and the fish taken aboard. An old swell was running, and he speedily discovered that seasickness was another thing his will could not master. That afternoon he watched Percy skilfully handle the splitting-knife and later do his part in baiting the trawl.
On the morning following he went out lobstering, and found as much to interest him as on the day before. Everything was new to him. He discovered that even a man experienced in big business can learn some things from boys. Soon his sleep at night was as sound as his son's.
He made a trip to Matinicus in the Barracouta, and talked prices with the superintendent of the fish-wharf and the proprietor of the general store.
"Have a bottle of lemon, Dad?" invited Percy.
Mr. Whittington was on the point of refusing; he did not care for soda. On second thought, however, he drank it soberly.
Percy appreciated his father's acceptance of the proffered courtesy.