“Bear a hand here, cook!” called Mayo.
But the man did not get off his stool.
“Bear a hand, I say! We've got to rig tackle and get this long-boat over.”
The schooner's spare boat was in chocks between the foremast and the main. Mayo noted that it was heaped full of spare cable and held the usual odds and ends of a clutter-box. He climbed in hastily and gave a hand to the girl to assist her over the rail.
“It will keep you out of the swash,” he advised her. “Sit there in the stern while I toss out this truck.”
But she did not sit down. She began to throw out such articles as her strength could manage.
Again Mayo hailed the cook, cursing him heartily.
“Oh, it ain't any use,” declared the man, with resignation. “We're goners.”
“We aren't gone till we go, you infernal turtle! Come here and pitch in.”
“I hain't got no heart left for anything. I never would have believed it. The Old Man going off and saving a lot of nigger sailors instead of me—after all the vittles I've fixed up for him. If that's the kind of gratitude there is in the world, I'm glad I'm going out of it. Me and the cat will go together. The cat's a friend, anyway.”