“Steady, there!” he said. “Don’t try to go too fast. You’re not out to make a record. Not too hard with the mallet, or you may do more harm than good. That’s the style!”
As the tide had receded it had left the vessel canting over on her starboard side, and Tony had told the repair gang to take one seam at a time, working from stem to stern as far as possible, for the Sea-Lark was high and dry only at low water.
“Now I guess you’re all right, and I’ll leave you to it,” said Tony at length. “How long are you going to keep it up?”
“Till supper-time,” replied Jack, tapping away industriously with the mallet in his right hand, while with his left he held up the small iron which rammed the oakum home.
“You’ll be wanting some paint for this boat soon,” said Tony, with a mysterious smile. “Now, if you keep on with what you’re doing till it’s time to knock off for supper, I’ll—I’ll make you a present of all the paint you need.”
Jack, wondering what the joke was, turned to the boat-builder.
“Do you mean that?” he asked. “What’s the catch?”
“You’ll find out,” replied Tony. “What does that mallet weigh?”
“About four pounds,” guessed Jack.
“Three and a half,” said Tony. “And what does that other little thing—the iron—weigh?”