"Poor woman - poor woman! When she has you back she'll forgit it
all, though. There's eight of us on the "We're Here", an' ef we
went back naow - it's more'n a thousand mile - we'd lose the
season. The men they wouldn't hev it, allowin' I was agreeable."

"But my father would make it all right."

"He'd try. I don't doubt he'd try," said Troop; "but a whole
season's catch is eight men's bread; an' you'll be better in your
health when you see him in the fall. Go forward an' help Dan. It's
ten an' a ha'af a month, ez I said, an', o' course, all f'und,
same ez the rest o' us."

"Do you mean I'm to clean pots and pans and things?" said Harvey.

"An' other things. You've no call to shout, young feller."

"I won't! My father will give you enough to buy this dirty little
fish-kettle" -- Harvey stamped on the deck - "ten times over, if
you take me to New York safe; and - and - you're in a hundred and
thirty by me, anyway."

"Ha-ow?" said Troop, the iron face darkening.

"How? You know how, well enough. On top of all that, you want me
to do menial work" - Harvey was very proud of that adjective -
"till the Fall. I tell you I will not. You hear?"

Troop regarded the top of the mainmast with deep interest for a
while, as Harvey harangued fiercely all around him.