“Wal, might ha’ been worse,” said the master, giving his head a scratch; “but there goes your dollars, mister, for a new stick.”
“I’ll pay for it,” said Gunson, quickly. “Could you rig up the broken spar afresh?”
“Guess I’m going to try.”
“Do you think they could hear us on the schooner if we all shouted together?”
“No, I don’t, my lad. If I had, I would have opened my mouth to onced. Here, let me come by; them two’s going to sleep. I want to fix that stick up again. I won’t be able to give the schooner a tow this time. He’s beat me, but I’ll do it yet.”
He set to work getting out the broken stump, which was standing jagged above the thwart, and looked at it thoughtfully.
“Make a nice bit o’ firewood for the old woman,” he said, as he laid it down forward before beginning to examine the broken end of the mast.
“Guess yew arn’t got such a thing as a saw in your pocket, hev you, either on yew?” he continued, with a grim smile. “Not yew! One never has got what one wants in one’s pocket. Lend a hand here, Elim, never mind about them stays. Don’t shove: them sharp ends ’ll go through the bottom. If they do, one of you youngsters ’ll hev to putt your leg through the hole to keep the water out. Now, Zeke, never mind the sail. Hyste away.”
Between them they raised the broken mast, which was now about three feet shorter, tightened the ropes, and, just as the schooner was coming back on the next tack, to pass us about half a mile away, the master said—
“They ought to see as we’re in trouble, but I ’spect they’re nearly all asleep. Here, all on yew be ready, and when I cry, hail! open your shoulders, and all together give ’em a good ahoy! Not yet, mind—not till I speak. Lot o’ little footy squeaks arn’t no good; we must have a big shout. Guess we shan’t haul up the sail till we’ve tried whether they’ll lay to.”