Hurry!" "There's three hundred fathom to each tub," Dan explained; "more'n enough to lay out tonight.

Ouch! 'Slipped up there, I did." He stuck his finger in his mouth.

"I tell you, Harve, there ain't money in Gloucester'u'd hire me to ship on a reg'lar trawler.

It may be progressive, but, barrin' that, it's the putterin'est, slimjammest business top of earth." "I don't know what this is, if 'tisn't regular trawling," said Harvey, sulkily.

"My fingers are all cut to frazzles." "Pshaw! This is jest one o' dad's blame experiments.