“Blow me hif she ain’t makin’ sail,” exclaimed Mitchell.
“Good night, Jack!” said Ray with a startled look. “Then it’s all up with me.”
“Hup, say ye, hall hup. Huh, blime ’e hif t’ hole Betsy Hanne can’t make ’Ood Hisland afore that air wessel, seein’ as ’ow we got a mile start wi’ them, blime ’e I’ll sink ’er, that’s what I’ll do.”
“Can you beat her, Mr. Mitchell? Can you?” asked Ray almost tearfully, putting his hand on the old man’s shoulder.
“I’ll go fer t’ show ’e hif ye want me to,” said the lobsterman as he spat over the side.
“Well, goodness help me if you don’t,” said Ray, “for if Uncle Vance ever gets his hands on me again he’ll certainly make me pay for running away.”
“Why now, ’ow’s this? ’Tis yer uncle ye’re a-runnin’ awi’ from?” queried Mitchell, as he shifted the tiller and took in about a foot of the sheet, to make the mainsail draw better.
“Yes, that’s who he is,” said Ray bitterly. “He’s my uncle and a fine uncle he’s been to me. Thrashed the life out of me as long as I’ve known him and made things generally miserable for me. Aw—hang it, I get so unhappy thinking about the way he treated me that I could almost be a baby over it, I guess,” said Ray, swallowing hard.
“Tut, tut, don’t take hit s’ard, me lad; ye don’t need t’ talk habout hit hif ’e don’t want t’,” said the kind-hearted old lobsterman as he cast a watchful eye aloft to see that there were no wrinkles in the peak.
“I’m mighty glad I ran away from him,” said Ray, “though sometimes I worry over whether I did right or not. You see, he’s my only relative and I’ve cut loose from him entirely. Folks says that when a lad shifts around without any grown folks to lean upon he’s liable to become a ‘good-for-nothing,’ as my uncle says. Yet, for all, I’ve been a heap more comfortable since I ran away from him,” he concluded doggedly.