The water was within less than a foot of the gunwale, and we were five or six miles from home.
"Help, help!" shouted Tony again, and this time we let it pass. Five out of our seven nets were aboard; we could not take the remaining two.
Another drifter came alongside and took in the sixth net.
"Come on! here's the seventh—the last."
"Can't take no more."
"Ther's on'y thees yer outside net. Casn' thee take thic?"
"Can't du it. We'm leaking now. Here's your headrope. Good-night."
Tony gave a gesture of despair. "What shall us du? Us can't take in much more.
"Hould yer row, an' haul!"
The last net was fuller than ever. We hauled in half of it. A punt came near. "Can 'ee take one net?" yelled Tony.