“Na.”
Thorpe was seized with an idea.
“Here!” he cried. “See that boulder over there? I want to ship that to Mackinaw City by freight on this boat.”
The Scotchman's eyes twinkled appreciatively.
“I'm dootin' ye hae th' freight-bill from the office,” he objected simply.
“See here,” replied Thorpe, “I've just got to get that boat. It's worth twenty dollars to me, and I'll square it with the captain. There's your twenty.”
The Scotchman deliberated, looking aslant at the ground and thoughtfully oiling a cylinder with a greasy rag.
“It'll na be a matter of life and death?” he asked hopefully. “She aye stops for life and death.”
“No,” replied Thorpe reluctantly. Then with an explosion, “Yes, by God, it is! If I don't make that boat, I'll kill YOU.”
The Scotchman chuckled and pocketed the money. “I'm dootin' that's in order,” he replied. “I'll no be party to any such proceedin's. I'm goin' noo for a fresh pail of watter,” he remarked, pausing at the door, “but as a wee item of information: yander's th' wheestle rope; and a mon wheestles one short and one long for th' boat.”