“Well, it’s a pretty difficult thing to do unless you’re a regular ship’s carpenter,” admitted Tony. “It’ll pass, for the present, but some day soon, when I have time, I’ll fix it properly for you.”
The boys cut the belaying-pins out of oak, and then little remained for them to do until the expert services of Tony had been called in. The most important part of his share was to place in her again the sloop’s old discarded mast, a good, serviceable spar which towered to a height of thirty-five feet.
“It’s as high as anything you could want,” said Tony. “That mast did service in her for two years, till Mr. Farnham got the notion into his head that he wanted a bigger spread of canvas on her. Lucky for you lads this mast wasn’t five or ten feet longer, or I should have used it in another boat long ago.”
“What about a mains’l and a jib, Dad?” suggested George. “You’ve got plenty of junk lying around in the shed. May we use what we need?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, son,” replied Tony. “I could have fixed you up, perhaps, with some rags of sails that aren’t any particular good, but I don’t know that I’m specially anxious to have you two blowing about outside the breakwater, depending on rags. You might be all right with them, but it isn’t wise to take any chances in a sailing-vessel. Now, I have a couple of sails that would just about fit this sloop after a mite of alteration. They’re not new, and they’re not junk. I could get about fifteen dollars for them this summer, but if you’d like to take them and pay me after you’ve earned the money with your ferry, you can have them for ten. What do you say?”
“Why, that’s great!” said Jack. “Thank you ever so much.”
“All right. Call it a deal. Now, there’s a block or two you’ll have to scare up, and halyards and mast-hoops. You can’t go half an inch away from shore on a sailing-trip without all these things. Mast-hoops you needn’t worry about. There are plenty of old ones kicking about here. On a pinch I might even rake out a couple of blocks. They mayn’t be just the size you ought to have for elegance, but you’ll get by with them. I don’t see how you can manage without buying halyards, though. You’ll want—oh, about four hundred feet or so of fifteen-thread manila. I can’t afford to give you good manila rope. It costs money.”
“I have three dollars left,” put in Jack.
“Well, well, you won’t get enough new manila to fit your little ship out with that, but I dare say I can find enough second-hand halyards for three dollars to give you a start. If you’ll give me a hand I’ll have a peek at those sails now.”
The jib which Tony produced fitted the Sea-Lark perfectly, but the mainsail had three sets of reef-points, and it needed to be cut away at the single reef. This operation took the whole of a Saturday to accomplish, for there was a considerable amount of sewing to do, and neither Jack nor his companion proved to be quick with the cumbersome sailmaker’s needle. Meanwhile, however, the mast had been stepped, and at last the sloop was really beginning to look like her old self. Halyards were rove, blocks put into position, a new wire jib-stay rigged from the top of the mast to the end of the bowsprit, and a bobstay had to be furnished. Then a coat of paint was spread over the deck and the rest of the woodwork. When the last detail in the refitting of the Sea-Lark had been attended to and the paint was dry, Tony Santo, after a final survey which could hardly have been more thorough had the sloop been a government war-ship about to depart on her speed trials, declared that she was as sound as a bell and fit to weather a young hurricane.