“That’s what I was thinkin’ myself. For who are the dories?”
“Captain O’Donnell.”
“For the Colleen Bawn? A man’d think’d be a new vessel and not new dories he’d be gettin’—the old one’s that wracked apart. Red bottoms, yeller sides, and green gunnels—m’m—but they’ll be swell-lookin’ dories when you get ’em done, won’t they?”
“They’ll be the prettiest dories that was ever put aboard a trawler out of Gloucester,” said Dexter, appreciatively.
“I’ll bet. And he’ll be pleased with ’em, I know—’specially the green gunnels—and he ought t’ be along soon.”
“Who along soon?—not the Colleen Bawn?”
“Sure. She was comin’ around the Point just as I left Crow’s Nest.”
“No! Well, I’m glad,” breathed Dexter. “I’m glad he’s home again. And so’ll his wife be, too. There was that gale just after she left. His wife, I’ll bet, ain’t slept a wink since.”
Peter straddled the sheer of a broken topmast. “Whose wife, Dexter?—not meanin’ to be inquisitive.”
“Why, Jimmie Johnson’s. He’s on the Colleen this trip.”