“’Bout done, arn’t yer, Tommy?” said the man who was mending the fire.
“Nay, keep the pitch hot, messmet,” said Tom. “I’ll just pay her over inside as soon as we’ve got her turned right again.”
“Then that’s going to be now, arn’t it, matey?” said the big fisherman.
“Yes,” said Tom, to Aleck’s great satisfaction. “Lend a hand, some on yer.”
The words seemed to galvanise the group into action, twice as many men offering to help as were needed, and in another few minutes, to the owner’s delight, the boat was turned over, with the iron-plated keel settling down in the fine shingle and the rough inner workmanship showing in the dim twilight.
“Now,” cried Tom, “just that drop o’ pitch. Power it in, messmet. That’s your sort. It’ll soon cool. Now, then, I’ll just stick a bit or two of board acrorst there, Master Aleck, to protect that pitch; and then we’ll say done.”
“And time it was done, Tom,” said Aleck, impatiently. “Look, you’ve tired everybody out!”
Tom looked round, and laughed softly.
“Yes,” he said, as he noted how to a man the fisher folk had begun to saunter away. “I see. They’ve been all on the fidget to go for the last half-hour.”
“And no wonder; but they might have waited a bit longer, to launch her.”