“I surely hate to be beat,” he admitted. “I can spring her plumb up lengthways, but her edges won’t bend into the frames.”
“Exactly. This isn’t a cod-fishing dory or a lobster punt. Take your plane and hollow the plank up the middle.”
After doing as he was instructed, Moran had not much trouble in fitting it into place.
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” he asked.
“I’ve known you some time,” Bethune answered with a grin. “There are people to whom you can’t show the easiest way until they’ve tried the hardest one and found it won’t do. It’s not their fault; I hold you can’t make a man responsible for his temperament—and it’s a point on which I speak feelingly, because my temperament has been my bane.”
“How d’you know these things, anyway? I mean about bending planks. You never allowed you’d been a boatbuilder.”
“Do you expect a man to exhibit all his talents? Here’s another tip. Don’t nail that plank home now. Leave it shored up until morning, and you’ll get it dead close then with a wedge or two. And now, if Jimmy hasn’t burned the grub, I think we’ll have supper.”
The meal might have been better, but Moran admitted that he had often eaten worse, and afterward they lay about on the shingle and lighted their pipes. Bethune, as usual, was the first to speak.
“The lumber, and the canvas Jimmy gets to work upon to-morrow, have emptied the treasury,” he remarked. “If we incur any further liabilities, there’s a strong probability of their not being met; but that gives the job an interest. Prudence is a cold-blooded quality, which no man of spirit has much use for. To help yourself may be good, but doing so consistently often makes it harder to help the other fellow.”
“When you have finished moralizing we’ll get to business,” Jimmy rejoined. “Though I’m a partner in the scheme, I know very little yet about the wreck you’re taking us up to look for. Try to be practical.”