“You’ll have to. There’s a whole lot of measurements we’ll need; and it’s got to be done just right, you know.”
“Fire away,” was Jack’s eager reply.
“Wal,” said Jim, reflectively, walking out on deck, “we can’t do the work here. That tree over there is just about in the right place; an’ here’s the block an’ tackle. We’ll pass a rope ’round the whole shootin’ match. Ye’re a strong-lookin’ lot, an’ it won’t take long.”
“You bet it won’t,” said Bob Somers.
Ropes were quickly untied. Then the boys set vigorously to work with long sweeps, and soon succeeded in propelling the unwieldy boat toward a shelving beach.
With Jim’s aid, the heavy block and tackle was rigged to the tree, the rope passed around the house-boat, and the five took hold.
“A long pull, a strong pull, an’ a pull all together,” commanded Jim. “Let ’er go!”
They tugged and pulled, while the perspiration poured from them in streams, and, after long and earnest efforts, the stern of the “Gray Gull” was drawn up upon the beach.
“Now, what’s to be done?” cried Jack.
But it was several moments before Jim felt capable of replying. He sighed, rubbed his aching muscles, and at length said, with exasperating slowness, “You see that there stern-post in the middle? Wal, a hole’s got to be bored in it for the shaft.”