“Keel ’aul me, listen at ’im. ’E says as ’ow ’e’s friend ’ere ain’t nuvver seen a lobster pot. O-ho-ho, a likely story, young feller, O-ho-ho.”
“It’s true, though,” insisted Jack. “We are friends of Captain Eli. Why, that’s his dory we have been using.”
“Listen at ’im now, listen. ’E says as ’ow that’s Cap’n Eli’s dory when Cap’n Eli’s dory is brown painted,” mused the old tar.
“Pooh, you don’t use your eyes,” exploded Ray in disgust. “Can’t you see that that dory has just been repainted green.”
“As fer my a-usin’ my heyes, mebby I does an’ then agin’ mebby I don’t. Me not bein’ a man give for to arger enny, I won’t say ‘Ay’ ner ‘Nay.’ But I say, say I, hif that air his Cap’n Eli’s dory painted green, why t’ on’y way as two o’ the bloomines’ lobster piruts as ever was come by hit is they come by hit crooked, same has they comes by ever’thing else. Cap’n Eli ain’t goin’ for t’ lend his dory as is painted brown to two o’ t’ crookedest lobster stealers as was ever fit for to walk t’ plank, blime me. Go for t’ conterdick that will ’e,” answered the fisherman with finality.
“Oh, pshaw, what’s the use of arguing with him,” said Jack in disgust.
“Right an’ so, right an’ so. Hit ain’t no use for t’ argey wi’ me. Save hit all for t’ bloomin’ warden. ’Es paid for t’ argey, ’e is, an’ argey ’e will, that’s sartin’.”
“I hope he’s easier to convince than our friend with the peg leg here. But I guess he will. I’ve been to Austin’s Pool before with Uncle Vance and they all seem civilized there at least,” said Ray to Jack, under his breath.
Again the three lapsed into silence while the _Betsy Anne_ slipped away on a long port reach. Hood Island dropped behind rapidly, and off the starboard bow Jack and Ray could see a thin gray speck on the horizon which they concluded must be the mainland.
“How long does it take this craft of yours to make Austin’s Pool or wherever it is you are taking us?” demanded Jack of the skipper a little later when the _Betsy Anne_ had come about and started on a starboard tack.
“Has soon’s any craft o’ ’er size kin make hit,” was the lobsterman’s ambiguous reply.
“Huh, that’s definite,” muttered the lad from Vermont.
“Well, then I shud say as ’ow she’d make hit soon enough for Warden Williams to lock two capital lobster piruts hup before supper,” added the fisherman.