e I had last seen the stuff in, and showed Tom about what
was wanted.

"But that'll cut him off at each end," objected Tom, looking at Old Dibs
like he was measuring him for a coffin, "and you know yourself six foot
six is the most we can allow."

"Oh, I don't mind shortening up a bit," said Old Dibs, laying down to
show how easy it might be done, and eager to be accommodating.

"And I'd propose chicken wire instead of net," says I to Tom, noticing
how the old gentleman bulked outboard. "He's putting a strain on that
worse nor a live shark."

Tom said he thought so, too, and him and I put in half a day making the
platform over, while Old Dibs crossed over to the graveyard and fluted
away the rest of the afternoon. We waited for the full moon before
getting it into the tree, for daytime was out of the question, and Tom
and I managed it very well, and to both our satisfaction. The tropic
moon is a whale of a moon, and you can almost see to read by it, and it
wasn't the want of light that bothered us any. The trouble was more to
get it level and lash it proper with zinc wire. But we finished it up in
style, with a second coat of green paint everywhere except the bottom,
and, though I do say it myself, it was as snug a little crow's nest, and
as comfortable and strong, as though it had been made by people
regularly in the business. We rigged the tackle, too, and tried out the
Manila rope with the boatswain's chair, and would have sent up Old Dibs
on a trial trip if we hadn't feared he'd never make another. So we let
it go at that, he paying us one hundred dollars for our trouble, and
expressing himself mighty well pleased.

I reckon perhaps he was, for we fixed up the attic, too, and had
everything in train so that there wouldn't be no hitch when the time
come. Tom got kind of sore waiting for it, for after having put so much
work into the thing he naturally wanted to see it used, and it galled
him to wait and wait, with nothing doing. But Old Dibs took it more
cheerful, and minded a good deal less about its being wasted; and as the
months run on, he seemed to think he was out of the woods, and perked up
wonderful.

Not that he wasn't careful, of course, or that Iosefo let down on the
preaching; for nobody could be sure what day or what minute the pinch
mightn't come. He grew quite familiar with the attic part of it,
scooting up there whenever we raised a sail, and remaining for days at a
time when a ship was in port