best p'int o'
sailin'. An' ef she's quit driftin', what in thunder are you doin' with
a new jib-boom?" That shot went home.

"Hey, you Portugoosy organ-grinder, take your monkey back to
Gloucester. Go back to school, Dan Troop," was the answer.

"O-ver-alls! O-ver-alls!" yelled Dan, who knew that one of the _Carrie's_
crew had worked in an overall factory the winter before.

"Shrimp! Gloucester shrimp! Git aout, you Novy!"

To call a Gloucester man a Nova Scotian is not well received. Dan
answered in kind.

"Novy yourself, ye Scrabble-towners! ye Chatham wreckers! Git aout with
your brick in your stockin'!" And the forces separated, but Chatham
had the worst of it.

"I knew haow 'twould be," said Disko. "She's drawed the wind raound
already. Some one oughter put a deesist on thet packet. She'll snore
till midnight, an' jest when we're gettin' our sleep she'll strike
adrift. Good job we ain't crowded with craft hereaways. But I ain't
goin' to up anchor fer Chatham. She may hold."

The wind, which had hauled round, rose at sundown and blew steadily.
There was not enough sea, though, to disturb even a dory's tackle, but
the _Carrie Pitman_ was a law unto herself. At the end of the boys' watch
they heard the crack-crack-crack of a huge muzzle-loading revolver
aboard her.

"Glory, glory, hallelujah!" sung Dan. "Here she comes, Dad; butt-end
first, walkin' in her sleep same's she done on 'Queereau."

Had she been any other boat Disko would have taken his chances, but now
he cut the cable as the _Carrie Pitman_, with all the North Atlantic to
play in, lurched down directly upon them. The _We're Here_, under jib
and riding-sail, gave her no more room than was absolutely
necessary,--Disko did not wish to spend a week hunting for his
cable,--but scuttled up into the wind as the _Carrie_ passed within easy
hail, a silent and angry boat, at the mercy of a raking broadside of
Bank chaff.

"Good evenin'," said Disko, raising his head-gear, "an' haow does your
garden grow?"

"Go to Ohio an' hire a mule," said Uncle Salters. "We don't want no
farmers here."

"Will I lend YOU my dory-anchor?" cried Long Jack.

"Unship your rudder an' stick it in the mud," bawled Tom Platt.

"Say!" Dan's voice rose shrill and high, as he stood on the wheel-box.
"Sa-ay! Is there a strike in the o-ver-all factory; or hev they hired
girls, ye Shackamaxons?"

"Veer out the tiller-lines," cried Harvey, "and nail 'em to the
bottom!" That w