It was a full week before the last of the calking was done, and Tony, after a careful inspection, declared it to be perfectly satisfactory. He added a touch here and there where a little more oakum was needed, and then provided a bucket of tar and a brush, telling Jack to daub her hull over completely, beneath the water-line.
Although still far from being finished, the Sea-Lark began to assume the part of a real boat in Jack’s estimation. She was no longer the leaky old sieve which he and George had played on through two summers. He was realizing, for the first time in his life, the real satisfaction which comes from conscientious labor. The calking of those leaks in the seams had been done with infinite care and at the cost of many an ache and pain. His hands were blistered and calloused from work to which he was not accustomed, but it was with a growing sense of pride in his handiwork that he viewed the sloop. At times he was a little impatient, for the days were rushing past and June was fast approaching, but nevertheless he did not shirk any of the harder toil which he might have left half done. It was his firm determination that the boat should be as satisfactory as he could make her. Nor, despite his joking, was George Santo inclined to skip the less pleasant portions of their task.
After the bottom of the sloop had been tarred, and the whole of the deck and cabin scrubbed, Jack, on the advice of Cap’n Crumbie, invested in a bundle of sandpaper, and another three days were spent scraping and smoothing down the woodwork, which had become roughened in places by long exposure. Cap’n Crumbie walked from the wharf to see how they were getting on with the Sea-Lark, and Jack took him into consultation on the pressing subject of paint.
The watchman meditatively ran a stubby forefinger through his whiskers.
“Aye, she’s bleached for fair,” he said. “She won’t sail no better with paint on her woodwork, but she’ll look a world different. As you say, though, paint’s expensive, and it’ll take a tidy bit to give her even one thin coat.”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be the best kind of paint, Cap’n,” Jack said. “If only I could get hold of some old stuff, it would do. I’m not so very particular about the color.”
“I’ve got it!” cried the watchman, suddenly, beaming. “You go up and see Dan Staples, the house-painter. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll fix you up all right. I remember now they’ve got a tub up there where they throw all the old dried-up skins and bits of waste paint, same as they do in all paint shops. It won’t cost you much. I guess he’ll be able to let you have all you want for about a dollar. It’ll be a bit o’ trouble, but as you ain’t too particular about the color, you couldn’t get anything better to suit you. Put it in an old pan and melt it over a fire. Then strain it, and you’ll have as good paint as you’d want. Maybe it’ll be reddish, or maybe it’ll be grayish; and maybe you won’t be able to find a name for it; but that won’t break your heart, huh?”
“That’s fine!” said Jack. “I’ll go up and see him now.”
The captain of the Sea-Lark found Mr. Staples in his workshop, and when Jack explained his mission the painter filled a generously sized can with scraps and skins out of the tub, for which Jack paid him fifty cents.
The rest of the afternoon was devoted to the task of melting this down over a small stove in the boat-yard, and after straining it the boys found they had many pounds of a brownish-colored paint, a little nondescript as to hue, perhaps, but nevertheless, as Cap’n Crumbie had prophesied, perfectly good paint. The tarring along the sides of the sloop below the water-line had been finished off evenly, and the boys now proceeded to slap a coat of the Staples mixture from the top of the black line to the top of the low rail which ran the full length of the Sea-Lark’s deck; and by the time this had been accomplished the sloop was indeed transformed into something of her old glory. Jack would have turned next to the painting of the cabin and the deck itself, but here Tony wisely interfered.