King o' the Beach Part 11

"That you're not. You're only fiddling about it like an old woman."

"Hor, hor!" laughed the man. "Like an old woman!"

"Will you fetch me a long fis.h.i.+ng-line?"

"No good now, sir; tide's going out."

"Never you mind about that. I want a line."

Bostock carefully placed the auger against one end of a plank, grunted twice over, and then began to turn the handle.

"Precious hard bit o' wood, sir."

"Are you going to fetch me that line, sir?" cried Carey.

"Bime-by, my lad."

"No, I want it now," cried Carey.

Bostock took the auger from the hole he had begun to make, and held it as if it was a hammer with which he was going to threaten the boy.

"Look ye here, my lad," he said, "do you know what the fish is like as comes into this lagoon?"

"Yes, of course I do; like fish," said Carey, angrily.

"Fish they is; but do you know how big some of 'em are?"

"No."

"Well, I do. There's some of 'em big enough to pull like donkeys. Now, jest s'pose as you hooks one."

"Well, suppose I do? We'll have it out, and you shall cook it. Doctor Kingsmead said it would be nice to have a bit of fresh fish."

"That's right enough, my lad; but let's go back to what I said. Suppose you hook one, what then?"

"Why, I should catch it."

"Not you, sir. You'd be a bit excited, and you'd pull, and the fish'd pull, and in about a brace o' shakes we should have your upper timbers, as the doctor's been taking so much trouble to mend, all knocked to pieces again. Now then, my lad, what have you got to say to that?"

Carey had nothing to say to it, so he lay back with his face puckered up, staring straight before him.

The old sailor used the auger as a hammer and tapped the end of one of the casks so that it sounded loudly.

"Now then, my lad," he cried, sharply, "aren't that true?"

"I suppose it is, Bob," said Carey, rather dolefully.

"That's right, my lad. You're getting right, and I want to see you quite right, and then you shall have a line half a mile long, if you like."

Carey was silent, and after giving him a nod the old sailor turned deliberately to his work, grunting slowly and laboriously over boring at the hole, and resting from time to time, while as the boy watched him a thought flashed into his head and gradually grew brighter and brighter till he could contain himself no longer, for the old sailor's actions seemed to be so contrary to all that the boy knew, and he felt that he had got hold of a clue.

"Look here, Bob," he said, "suppose--"

"Yes, sir," said the old sailor, for the boy stopped, and he was glad of the opportunity for resting. "I am supposing, sir; go on."

"I was going to say, suppose we knew that the _Chusan_ was breaking up under our feet; how long would it take you to finish that raft?"

"But she aren't a-breaking up under our feet, sir. You might take the old _Susan_ on lease for one-and-twenty year, and she'd be all solid at the end."

"But suppose she was going down, Bob."

"But she couldn't be going down, my lad," argued the old sailor; "she's got miles o' solid coral rock underneath her."

"Never mind what she has underneath her. I say, suppose she was sinking under our feet; how long would it take you to finish the raft so that we could get ash.o.r.e?"

"Well, 'bout five minutes," said the old fellow, with a grim smile.

"There, I knew it!" cried Carey, excitedly. "I knew it; and you're going on day after day regularly playing with the job for some reason of your own."

"Nay, nay, nay," cried the old fellow, picking up a nail, seizing a hammer, and driving away loudly.

"It isn't because you're lazy."

"Oh, I dunno, sir; there's no skipper now, and everything's to one's hand. I don't see why one should work too hard."

"That's all gammon, Bob," said Carey, sternly.

"Hark at him! Why, I never heard you talk that how afore, sir."

"You're dawdling on for some reason, Bob. You see, you owned that you could make the raft seaworthy in five minutes."

"Ay, ay, my lad, but then she'd only be rough. I'm going on polis.h.i.+ng like, and making her a raft to be proud on. I said so afore."

"That's all stuff and nonsense, Bob," cried Carey. "I know. Now tell the truth; you've some reason for being so long."

Bostock was silent, and he screwed up his mahogany-tinted face till he looked ten years older.

"Come, sir, speak the truth."

"Allus does," said the old fellow, gruffly.

"Let's have it then. Why are you spinning out this job so long and won't get it done?"

"Am I, sir--spinning it out like?"

"Yes, you know you are. Now, are you going to tell me why?"

"No, I aren't," growled the old fellow.