"Wha' d'ye git under-runnin' yer trawl, Kellum?" one asked finally, between puffs.
"Nothin' but hakes and skates," answered a sad-faced little old man, whom Archer recognized as the dulse-gatherer of the night before. Back into his yellow-stained beard he thrust his pipe, like a stopper to his mouth.
"I seen him knockin' 'em off," said a young man, with a loud, empty laugh. Then conversation flagged.
"The' must 'a' been thirty-five bar'ls in the Grab- All to-night," said the first speaker. "She did n't hold a tubful o' herrin' last tide. They 're comin' in, I tell ye."
"Thirty-five berrils!" twanged a Yankee voice. "They was forty in that wyre if they was a fish. They 're thick as fiddlers in Tophet."
"Well," replied the other peaceably, "we 'll git some more this flood, spudgin', anyway." Silence fell again.
"Cap'n Kellum, you was sayin'," ventured another, as if resuming a debate which Archer had interrupted, "you was sayin' that the Regina had a centreboard. Now
