"Just the thing," Captain Westfield declared. "I like the sweet salty smell of it. I'll bring some up from the beach, and clean up the house too, that's my job."
"We had ought to have some kind of a fireplace to cook on," Charley continued. "It's a little trouble to build one, but there's lots of rock on the beach and it hadn't ought to take very long."
"Dis nigger's goin' to 'tend to dat," announced Chris. "I'se de cook an' I knows jes' what kind ob oven I wants. I'se goin' to see if I can't find something to eat too. We ain't got but mighty little grub left an' we best save it all we can."
"Well, Walter and I will try to manage the rest of the work, then. Come on, Walt, we have got to build a small dock and racks for our nets."
There was plenty of driftwood on the beach and with proper tools the two boys would have taken but a short time to complete their tasks, but the only implements they possessed were their sheath knives.
"This is a case where necessity has got to be the mother of invention," Charley observed. "Let's pick out our driftwood as near of the same length as we can, that will save some cutting which would be an almost impossible job without saw or axe. We had better tackle the dock job first because it's the hardest. Let's see—we will want six stout pieces for posts, three others for cross pieces, and a lot of planks for the top."
Although the driftwood was plentiful, it took the boys some time to find just what they wanted and carry it all to the place they had decided to have their wharf.
"Now comes the hardest part of the job," Charley announced, as they dumped their last load on the sand. "That is to get our posts set. I don't see any way to do but get overboard and work them down by hand."
"Here goes, then," said Walter, beginning to shed his clothing.