“In the dory, yes.”
“All right. Stand by and over they go.”
And the Skipper and Jerry stood by and took them as they came down and piled them all in the dory, to the wonder of all who saw. “And send the bill to the man I told you—he’s the owner. And ’twould be servin’ him no more than right if you charged him good and high, for a man that would ask men to go to sea in a circus vessel like this—sure he deserves no better.”
As they were about to push off, the steamer captain lowered down another case. “Of bouillon,” he said, “for yourself, Captain—for the nerve of you. And here’s for the boys to have a drink,” and tossed down a quart of whiskey.
“Thank ye kindly,” said Coleman, and he and Jerry pulled off.
From the steamer they watched them anxiously, expecting to see them swamped and lost. But not so. There is an art in managing a loaded dory in a heavy sea.
Their shipmates greeted them affectionately. “And I’ll begin with the bully soup, Skipper,” said the cook. “’Twill be the quickest made.”
And the cook did that, putting the twenty-four quarts into one immense boiler, and they finished it in the first rush. Then the Skipper drew the cork out of the bottle of whiskey.
“A nice man, that steamer captain,” said Coleman, “but not much judgment. ‘Tell the boys to have a drink on me,’ he says, and that same was good of him. But one quart among twenty-two men! Oh, Lord!”
“Lord forgive him,” said Jerry, “’tisn’t enough for an aggravation.”