His task seemed a hopeless one, but he tackled it as if he enjoyed it.

His brown hands worked with a will.

He was plainly one to make the best of things, and not to be lightly discouraged--a man of resolution, as the coxswain of the Spear Point lifeboat needed to be.
After ten minutes of unremitting toil he very suddenly ceased to whistle and sent a brisk hail across the stretch of sand that intervened between himself and the solitary fisherman on the edge of the boat.
"Hi--Rufus--Rufus--ahoy!" The fiery red head turned in his direction without either alacrity or interest.

The fixed eyes came out of their trance-like study and took in the blue-jerseyed, energetic figure that worked so actively at the knotted hemp.

There was something rather wonderful about those eyes.
They were of the deep, intense blue of a spirit-fed flame--the blue of the ocean when a storm broods below the horizon.
He made no verbal answer to the hail; only after a moment or two he got slowly to his feet and began leisurely to cross the sand.
The older man did not watch his progress.