Now it was that Bully
Nathan had telegraphed to his New York owners for permission to remain
in port over Sunday. Then again, Bully was on the point of being
dismissed his ship for not taking full advantage of a puff of nor'-west
wind that came and went on Thursday night.
. . . The _Flint_ was short of men! . . . The Flint had a full crew
aboard! Rumours and rumours! "All sorts o' talk," said the butcher;
"but I know this fer certain--she's got all her stores aboard. Gosh!
I guess--she--has! I don't like to wish nobody no harm, byes, but I
hope Bully Nathan's first chop 'll choke him, fer th' way he done me
over the beef! . . . Scorch 'im!"
In the forenoon we dropped the gig and put out for practice. Old Burke
and the mate came after us in the dinghy, the old man shouting
instruction and encouragement through his megaphone as we rowed a
course or spurted hard for a furious three minutes. Others were out on
the same ploy, and the backwaters of the Bay had each a lash of oars to
stir their tideless depths. Near us the green boat of the _Rickmers_
thrashed up and down in style. Time and again we drew across--"just
for a friendly spurt"--but the "Dutchies" were not giving anything
away, and sheered off as we approached.
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