“Never mind what she has underneath her. I say, suppose she was sinking under our feet; how long would it take you to finish the raft so that we could get ashore?”
“Well, ’bout five minutes,” said the old fellow, with a grim smile.
“There, I knew it!” cried Carey, excitedly. “I knew it; and you’re going on day after day regularly playing with the job for some reason of your own.”
“Nay, nay, nay,” cried the old fellow, picking up a nail, seizing a hammer, and driving away loudly.
“It isn’t because you’re lazy.”
“Oh, I dunno, sir; there’s no skipper now, and everything’s to one’s hand. I don’t see why one should work too hard.”
“That’s all gammon, Bob,” said Carey, sternly.
“Hark at him! Why, I never heard you talk that how afore, sir.”
“You’re dawdling on for some reason, Bob. You see, you owned that you could make the raft seaworthy in five minutes.”
“Ay, ay, my lad, but then she’d only be rough. I’m going on polishing like, and making her a raft to be proud on. I said so afore.”