a splash. "What possest a farmer like you to set foot in a boat
beats me. You've nigh stove me all up."

"I am sorry, Mr. Salters. I came to sea on account of nervous
dyspepsia. You advised me, I think."

"You an' your nervis dyspepsy be drowned in the Whale-hole,"
roared Uncle Salters, a fat and tubly little man. "You're comin'
down on me ag'in. Did ye say forty-two or forty-five?"

"I've forgotten, Mr. Salters. Let's count."

"Don't see as it could be forty-five. I'm forty-five," said Uncle
Salters. "You count keerful, Penn."

Disko Troop came out of the cabin. "Salters, you pitch your fish
in naow at once," he said in the tone of authority.

"Don't spile the catch, dad," Dan murmured. "Them two are on'y
jest beginnin'."

"Mother av delight! He's forkin' them wan by wan," howled Long
Jack, as Uncle Salters got to work laboriously; the little man in
the other dory counting a line of notches on the gunwale.

"That was last week's catch," he said, looking up plaintively, his
forefinger where he had left off.

Manuel nudged Dan, who darted to the after-tackle, and, leaning
far overside, slipped the hook into the stern-rope as Manuel made