There was a bellow and a bump alongside.

Manuel and Dan raced to the hooks of the dory-tackle; Long Jack and Tom Platt arrived on deck together, it seemed, one half the North Atlantic at their backs, and the dory followed them in the air, landing with a clatter.
"Nary snarl," said Tom Platt, as he dripped.

"Danny, you'll do yet." "The pleasure av your comp'ny to the banquit," said Long Jack, squelching the water from his boots as he capered like an elephant and stuck an oilskinned arm into Harvey's face.

"We do be condescending to honour the second half wid our presence." And off they all four rolled to supper, where Harvey stuffed himself to the brim on fish-chowder and fried pies, and fell fast asleep just as Manuel produced from a locker a lovely two-foot model of the Lucy Holmes, his first boat, and was going to show Harvey the ropes.

Harvey never even twiddled his fingers as Penn pushed him into his bunk.
"It must be a sad thing--a very sad thing," said Penn, watching the boy's face, "for his mother and his father, who think he is dead.