“Capital, Bostock,” said the doctor. “It floats splendidly, but will it bear all three?”
“Will it bear all three, sir? Yes, and a ton o’ stuff as well. Here, just you wait a minute.”
He ran and got hold of the rope, hauled the raft alongside, and made it fast, before sliding down on to the raft, where he repeated his hornpipe performance, the buoyant framework rising and falling a little, but seeming as safe as could be.
“There,” he cried, shouting up breathlessly to those looking out from the gangway; “it seems to me that she’s far safer than any boat I could make, and you can pole her, or row her, or put up a sail, and go anywhere on her; but, you know, I don’t say as she’ll be fast. No; I don’t say that.”
“You ought to be proud of your work, Bob,” cried Carey, laughing.
“Proud on her, sir? I just am. Them tubs are good uns; no fear o’ them leaking for years.”
“Leaking for years, Carey,” said the doctor, in a low tone of voice; “he speaks as if he were quite settled down to staying here.”
“Well, it will be nice,” said the boy. “I mean,” he added, hastily, “for a month or two, for, of course, we expect to be fetched away soon.”
“Yes,” said the doctor; “of course we expect to be fetched away soon.”
The doctor turned away and went down into the cabin, leaving the boy looking after him.