“That’s your father’s own boy, Eddie, but never mind me. What’s a mouthful of water to me that’s been without it seven days on end? It’s nothin’—nothin’ at all. Keep it for yourself and by’n’by drink it. It may mean a lot to you, for I know that already you’re wringin’ with the sweat. And you’re tired, too, aren’t you, lad?”
“A little, Martin.”
“Oh, but it’s the cruel work for you, boy. But what are you at now?”
“I was going to have a smoke.”
“Well, I wish you wouldn’t yet awhile, Eddie.”
“And why, Martin?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Tell me now—what’s wrong, Martin?”
“Well, we’re astray, lad—astray. Did you never hear what ’tis to be astray on the Banks? And now night’s ’most on us, and ’tis small use rowin’. The dories, last time I looked, were all points of the compass and the vessel standin’ after them—a strong tide and their lines parted, no doubt. I haven’t seen her for an hour or more now. We’ll be the last to be picked up, anyway. She’ll get to us by mornin’, no doubt.”