“Ay,” he said, “but she’s trying it.”
“But I tell thee, lad,” Ben’s voice rose shrilly, “’tis impossible. Why, down there in the fleet there ain’t no more ’an four feet o’ water when the tide’s like this.”
“Ay,” said Hal. “I know there ain’t, but she’s trying it,” he added stubbornly.
“Why, so she be.” Ben Farran put the glass at last safely to his eye and spoke in amazement. “But she won’t do it,” he added with a certain enjoyment. “She can’t do it. There’s only one man as I’ve heard of who’d try it,” he continued, “and it ain’t likely to be him at this time o’ day.”
“Ah!” said Hal, “and who’s that?”
“Dick Delfazio—him as they call Black’erchief Dick—but it ain’t likely to be him, as I said.”
Hal nodded.
“I’ve heard of him,” he said. “Lands his stuff at the Victory, don’t he?”
The old man grunted.