his son, an' he hates favourin' folk. 'Guess you're kinder mad at
dad. I've been that way time an' again. But dad's a mighty jest
man; all the fleet says so."

"Looks like justice, this, don't it?" Harvey pointed to his
outraged nose.

"Thet's nothin'. Lets the shore blood outer you. Dad did it for
yer health. Say, though, I can't have dealin's with a man that
thinks me or dad or any one on the "We're Here's" a thief. We
ain't any common wharf-end crowd by any manner o' means. We're
fishermen, an' we've shipped together for six years an' more.
Don't you make any mistake on that! I told ye dad don't let me
swear. He calls 'em vain oaths, and pounds me; but ef I could say
what you said 'baout your pap an' his fixin's, I'd say that 'baout
your dollars. I dunno what was in your pockets when I dried your
kit, fer I didn't look to see; but I'd say, using the very same
words ez you used jest now, neither me nor dad - an' we was the
only two that teched you after you was brought aboard - knows
anythin' 'baout the money. Thet's my say. Naow?"

The bloodletting had certainly cleared Harvey's brain, and maybe
the loneliness of the sea had something to do with it. "That's all
right," he said. Then he looked down confusedly. "'Seems to me
that for a fellow just saved from drowning I haven't been over and
above grateful, Dan."

"Well, you was shook up and silly," said Dan. "Anyway, there was
only dad an' me aboard to see it. The cook he don't count."