"When you own a boat," said Tom Platt, with severe eyes, "you can
walk. Till then, take all orders at the run. Once more - to make
sure!"

Harvey was in a glow with the exercise, and this last cut warmed
him thoroughly. Now, he was a singularly smart boy, the son of a
very clever man and a very sensitive woman, with a fine resolute
temper that systematic spoiling had nearly turned to mulish
obstinacy. He looked at the other men, and saw that even Dan did
not smile. It was evidently all in the day's work, though it hurt
abominably; so he swallowed the hint with a gulp and a gasp and a
grin. The same smartness that led him to take such advantage of
his mother made him very sure that no one on the boat, except,
maybe, Penn, would stand the least nonsense. One learns a great
deal from a mere tone. Long Jack called over half a dozen more
ropes, and Harvey danced over the deck like an eel at ebb-tide,
one eye on Tom Platt.

"Ver' good. Ver' good done," said Manuel. "After supper I show you
a little schooner I make, with all her ropes. So we shall learn."

"Fust-class fer - a passenger," said Dan. "Dad he's jest allowed
you'll be wuth your salt maybe 'fore you're draownded. Thet's a
heap fer dad. I'll learn you more our next watch together."

"Taller!" grunted Disko, peering through the fog as it smoked over
the bows. There was nothing to be seen ten feet beyond the surging
jib-boom, while alongside rolled the endless procession of solemn,
pale waves whispering and upping one to the other.