“Pooh! I could have made it in half the time.”
“Ah, you think so, my lad, just the same as I might think I could ha’ mended your broken colly bone. But I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t offer to, and of course I don’t want the doctor to meddle with my work.”
“It’s horrible to watch you,” said Carey, pettishly. “I get sick of seeing you.”
“Do you, now?” said Bostock, smiling; but he shook his head. “Not you, my lad; you only say so. You’re getting better; that’s what’s the matter with you.”
“Pish!” ejaculated the boy, contemptuously. “There, drive in a few more nails to make all fast, and then it’ll be done.”
“Done, sir? Not it,” said the old man, walking slowly round the cumbrous construction. “I’ve been thinking that I shall put in two more casks, one on each side.”
“What!” cried Carey, angrily. “Why, that’ll take you another fortnight.”
“Nay, nay,” said the old sailor, coolly; “not a fortnight; say a week or ten days.”
“And it will make it heavier too. I don’t believe you can launch it as it is.”
“Not launch it?” said Bostock, tapping the casks at the four angles, one after another, with the handle of the auger, and being apparently so well satisfied with the drum-like tones that he worked round once more. “Oh, yes, I can get her launched easy enough with a rope through a block and the stern capstan. There won’t be no trouble about that.”