Mr. Armitage anxiously awaited their verdict, so did several of the crew, but Roche, Flemming, and Rayburn were sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion.
"It is a bad business," declared one of the Frenchmen. "We have not the material for executing repairs here. It will be necessary to proceed up to Rouen, where, at the chantier of Declos et Cie., the work can be executed in a proper manner. Meanwhile we ourselves will stop the leak temporarily, so that your little vessel will, with safety, make the passage to Rouen."
He was as good as his word. Procuring some white lead, canvas, and a sheet of zinc, he contrived to patch up the gaping planks, so that they no longer let in the water; for, when the Olivette was launched again, it was as tight as a boat could be.
When Mr. Armitage asked for the bill, the little Frenchman shrugged his shoulders.
"I am but a poor man, monsieur," said the latter, "and these are hard times. Nevertheless, I, who have been a sailor, would not gain my bread by overcharging foreign sailormen in difficulties. It is but a small thing that we have done, monsieur, merely a matter of white lead and canvas. I therefore charge you twenty francs."
The Scoutmaster looked at him in astonishment. Allowing for the present value of the franc, the cost was a little over ten shillings. Mentally he contrasted the sum with the extortionate bills for shipwright's work on the other side of the English Channel, and he no longer wondered why the British merchant ships cross over to French ports to be "reconditioned".
He paid up willingly, adding five francs as a pourboire, and, with the wreckage of the dinghy hoisted on deck, the Olivette resumed her eventful pilgrimage.