“I’m in need of a man aboard this here craft,” Bill o’ Burnt Bay went on; “an’ as there’s none t’ be had in this harbour I’m thinkin’ of addin’ you two boys up an’ callin’ the answer t’ the sum a man.”
“Wisht you would, Skipper Bill,” said Jimmie.
“Two halves makes a whole,” Bill mused, scratching his head in doubt. “Leastwise, so I was teached.”
“They teach it in school,” said Jimmie.
Billy Topsail grinned delightedly.
“Well,” Bill declared, at last, “I’ll take you, no matter what comes of it, for there’s nothing else I can do.”
It wasn’t quite complimentary; but the boys didn’t mind.
When the First Venture made St. John’s it was still early enough in the spring of the year for small craft to be at sea. When she was ready to depart on the return voyage to Ruddy Cove, the days were days of changeable weather, of wind and snow, of fog and rain, of unseasonable intervals of quiet sunshine. The predictions of the wiseacres were not to be trusted; and, at any rate, every forecast was made with a wag of the head that implied a large mental reservation. At sea it was better to proceed with caution. To be prepared for emergencies––to expect the worst and to be ready for it––was the part of plain common sense. And Skipper Bill o’ Burnt Bay was well aware of this. 92