“I know ye’ll be carryin’ the mail and in the divil’s own hurry, but we’re a little short of grub,” he explained when the steamer had come to a stop. “Our head steward doubts there’ll be oysters and ontrees enough for our seven o’clock dinner to-night, and if ye’ll stay hove-to for a half hour I’ll come under your lee and go aboard.”
“All right. But how will you carry the stuff?”
“Carry it, is it? Why, in the dory, to be sure.”
“What? Put a dory over to-day?”
“And why not?”
“She’ll swamp.”
“The divil she will.” They put the dory over. Coleman and Jerry got in it, rowed alongside, and climbed up the sea-ladder. Half-way up the Skipper looked back—there was a good bit of water in the dory. “Jerry, you’ll have to go down again and bail her out.” Which Jerry did, while the Skipper kept on to the steamer’s deck to negotiate.
“And what can I help you to?”