“Pull hard!” cried Andy Racer.
“Pull hard yourself,” retorted his brother.
“We’ve all got to pull for all we’re worth if we want to get that whale before someone else does,” added Bob Trent. They were all three in the old captain’s big boat—the one in which Bob had been out clamming when he sighted the wounded whale, and hastened to shore with the news.
“Do you think anyone else would want it?” asked Frank, as he labored at the heavy oars. There was room for the trio of lads to handle sweeps.
“Sure, most anyone would want a whale,” replied Bob. “It’ll be worth a lot of money to the fertilizer factory, and then there’s the oil.”
“Then there’s the whalebone,” put in Andy eagerly. “We ought to get a lot of money for that.”
“This kind of a whale doesn’t have the sort of bone that is valuable, I believe,” suggested Frank. “It’s only for the oil that they’re hunted. But still, if we can get this one we ought to knock out a pretty penny.”
“If there was a lump of ambergris in it we’d all be millionaires!” exclaimed Andy eagerly.
“Well, of course ambergris is said to be found in dead whales,” admitted Frank, as he cast a look over his shoulder to observe their course, “but our whale isn’t dead yet.”
“And maybe we won’t get it after all,” went on Bob. “Have you seen him spout lately?”