thet way, Harve. Short’s the trick, because no sea’s ever dead still, an’ the swells’ll—”
Crack! The loom of the oar kicked Harvey under the chin and knocked him backwards.
“That was what I was goin’ to say. I hed to learn too, but I wasn’t more than eight years old when I got my schoolin’.”
Harvey regained his seat with aching jaws and a frown.
“No good gettin’ mad at things, Dad says. It’s our own fault ef we can’t handle ’em, he says. Le’s try here. Manuel’ll give us the water.”
The “Portugee” was rocking fully a mile away, but when Dan upended an oar he waved his left arm three times.
“Thirty fathom,” said Dan, stringing a salt clam on to the hook. “Over with the doughboys. Bait same’s I do, Harvey, an’ don’t