they left—'twon't be more'n another three months naow 'fore they'll be comin' back. What might be your interest in 'em?"
"Well," said Varge frankly, "I wanted to make a trip on one of the boats."
"Did you naow!" ejaculated the old fellow, screwing up his eyes and regarding Varge critically. "Well, they sometimes takes 'em for a consideration, but you don't look nohow run down. What would it be naow—lungs?"
"Oh, no," said Varge smiling. "I believe my lungs are sound enough—sound enough so that I counted on working my way."
The mender of nets shook his head judicially.
"Mostly," said he, "they starts in as boys, 'baout ten or there'baouts, an' by 'baout the time they're thinkin' o' gettin' married they get to be some handy aboard."
Varge's eyes shifted from the old fisherman and fixed on a sail where, the sun striking full upon it, it lay glistening white far out over the water. A keen sense of disappointment was upon him. He had never questioned the feasibility of the plan—he had imagined that the coming and going of the schooners was a matter of almost daily occurrence.
The old fisherman put an added damper upon his hopes.
"Know anything 'baout slittin' or packin' or, most of all, doryin'?" he inquired, his jaws wagging busily upon his tobacco.
"No," admitted Varge, a little dully; "I'm afraid I don't."
