"You said you'd tell us what that was," Sam suggested carelessly, and the old man replied with a merry laugh:
"That part of the story will come in reg'lar order, but not till I've wore the edge off my appetite, for it makes a man feel mighty sharkish to pull the greater part of the way from Southport to Apple Island."
"Why didn't you wait till mornin', same's you figgered on?"
"Wa'al, I'd got through with the business concernin' Eliakim Doak, an' somehow—I can't rightly say why—it seemed as if I was needed here, so I made sail. P'rhaps it was lucky I did, for that stepfather of yourn had let himself drop inter a bit of temper."
"Temper!" Tom repeated with a laugh. "He was boilin' mad, that's what ailed him, an' ready for all kinds of trouble. Couldn't you use the dory's sail?"
"None to speak of, lad, none to speak of. A dory makes more leeway than headway, when it comes to standin' up agin the wind, so after foolin' 'round with the canvas for a spell I took to the oars. Time was when I didn't mind a pull from here to the Port, but now it seems like a longish job. This meat smells good, eh?"
"That's what it does!" Tom replied emphatically. "I haven't had anythin' to eat but fish for so long that it seems like I must be growin' fins."
"Wa'al, we've got plenty of time to enjoy this, 'cause we won't need to pull pots till well toward noon. Jest take a squint outside, an' see if Eliakim is still nestlin' in the sand."
"He isn't on the beach, an' the dory has disappeared, so I reckon he's on board the 'Sally,'" Sam reported after a brief survey of the shore.
"We'll hope he's got sense enough left to give Apple Island a wide berth in the future, for I've made up my mind that he shan't hang round here makin' trouble. The time has come when, if my plan is to amount to anythin', I've got to stick up for all the rights the law allows. I reckon you lads may as well fall to, for the meat is cooked, an' I've got two loaves of baker's bread to go with it, sayin' nothin' of these pertaters what are browned to a turn."