“Keeping it back so as not to go till I’m well enough to go too. That’s why,” said Carey, and he looked at the old sailor searchingly, and tried to catch his eye, the one that was open, the other being close shut. But it was impossible, for Bostock made believe to have great difficulty in hitting that nail exactly on the head, and hammered away with all his might.
“Now then, are you going to own it, sir?” cried Carey.
Bostock gave seven or eight final blows with the hammer as if he were performing on an old-fashioned knocker, and finished off with a final bang, before turning round, and with both eyes open now he said defiantly:
“Own up, sir? No, I aren’t, but there, she’s finished now.”
“Quite ready to go into the water?” said Carey.
“Yes,” said the old fellow, bluntly; “she’d bear us and a load o’ bricks if we had ’em.”
“And that’s why you’ve kept her back,” said Carey, half-mockingly, but with a choking sensation in his throat—due to weakness perhaps.
“I aren’t going to say naught,” said the old fellow, gruffly.
“But you haven’t polished her.”
“No; I aren’t,” said Bostock, and he began to gather up his tools.