“Now then, my lad,” he cried, sharply, “aren’t that true?”
“I suppose it is, Bob,” said Carey, rather dolefully.
“That’s right, my lad. You’re getting right, and I want to see you quite right, and then you shall have a line half a mile long, if you like.”
Carey was silent, and after giving him a nod the old sailor turned deliberately to his work, grunting slowly and laboriously over boring at the hole, and resting from time to time, while as the boy watched him a thought flashed into his head and gradually grew brighter and brighter till he could contain himself no longer, for the old sailor’s actions seemed to be so contrary to all that the boy knew, and he felt that he had got hold of a clue.
“Look here, Bob,” he said, “suppose—”
“Yes, sir,” said the old sailor, for the boy stopped, and he was glad of the opportunity for resting. “I am supposing, sir; go on.”
“I was going to say, suppose we knew that the Chusan was breaking up under our feet; how long would it take you to finish that raft?”
“But she aren’t a-breaking up under our feet, sir. You might take the old Susan on lease for one-and-twenty year, and she’d be all solid at the end.”
“But suppose she was going down, Bob.”
“But she couldn’t be going down, my lad,” argued the old sailor; “she’s got miles o’ solid coral rock underneath her.”