sympathiser.
“You was wrong; the wrongest kind o’ wrong! You take right hold an’ pitch in ’longside o’ me, or you’ll catch it, an’ I’ll catch it fer backin’ you up. Dad always gives me double helps ’cause I’m his son, an’ he hates favourin’ folk. ’Guess you’re kinder mad at dad. I’ve been that way time an’ again. But dad’s a mighty jest man; all the fleet says so.”
“Looks like justice, this, don’t it?” Harvey pointed to his outraged nose.
“Thet’s nothin’. Lets the shore blood outer you. Dad did it for yer health. Say, though, I can’t have dealin’s with a man that thinks me or dad or anyone on the We’re Here ’s a thief. We ain’t any common wharf-end crowd by any manner o’ means.
We’re fishermen, an’ we’ve shipped together for six years an’ more. Don’t you make any mistake on that ! I told ye dad don’t let me swear. He calls ’em vain oaths, and pounds me; but ef I could say what you said ’baout your pap an’ his fixin’s, I’d say that ’baout your dollars.
I dunno what was in your pockets when I dried your kit, fer I didn’t look to see; but I’d say, using the very same words ez you used jest now, neither me nor dad—an’ we was the only two that teched you after you was brought aboard—knows anythin’ ’baout the money. Thet’s my say. Naow?”
The bloodletting had certainly cleared Harvey’s brain, and maybe the loneliness of the sea had