forward on the word. Little Penn bent above his square deep-sea
reel and the tangled cod-lines; Manuel lay down full length on the
deck, and Dan dropped into the hold, where Harvey heard him
banging casks with a hammer.

"Salt," he said, returning. "Soon as we're through supper we git
to dressing-down. You'll pitch to dad. Tom Platt an' dad they stow
together, an' you'll hear 'em arguin'. We're second ha'af, you an'
me an' Manuel an' Penn - the youth an' beauty o' the boat."

"What's the good of that?" said Harvey. "I'm hungry."

"They'll be through in a minute. Sniff! She smells good to-night.
Dad ships a good cook ef he do suffer with his brother. It's a
full catch today, ain't it?" He pointed at the pens piled high
with cod. "What water did ye hev, Manuel?"

"Twenty-fife father," said the Portuguese, sleepily. "They strike
on good an' queek. Some day I show you, Harvey."

The moon was beginning to walk on the still sea before the elder
men came aft. The cook had no need to cry "second half." Dan and
Manuel were down the hatch and at table ere Tom Platt, last and
most deliberate of the elders, had finished wiping his mouth with
the back of his hand. Harvey followed Penn, and sat down before a
tin pan of cod's tongues and sounds, mixed with scraps of pork and
fried potato, a loaf of hot bread, and some black and powerful
coffee. Hungry as they were, they waited while "Pennsylvania"
solemnly asked a blessing. Then they stoked in silence till Dan
drew breath over his tin cup and demanded of Harvey how he felt.