After that, and a good warming-up and drying out of wet clothes, they went on deck and turned to as if it was canoeing on the Charles River they were. They coaxed the Celestine along, always with an eye to her weak side. And the wind came fair, and the first thing they knew—no more than a couple of days more of careful night and day work it was—they found themselves abreast of Boston lightship. And here a tug bore down and hailed them.
“You’re lookin’ in bad shape. Will I heave a line aboard?”
“Will you? I don’t know. How much to the wharf?”
“Oh, about five hundred dollars, I guess.”
“You guess, do you? Well, I’ll make a guess you won’t.”
“Well, what d’y’ say to two fifty?”
“No, nor one fifty—nor a single fifty, nor the half of fifty. We’ve beat two hundred and odd mile this way, and I cal’late we can make ten mile more to the dock.”
“Come two hundred miles in that rig?”
A tug bore down and hailed them.