Mighty pretty model, too, but I guess Enoch he never done it fer no sacrifice; an' the way I take it is--" There were the makings of an hour-long discussion of the kind that fishermen love, where the talk runs in shouting circles and no one proves anything at the end, had not Dan struck up this cheerful rhyme: "Up jumped the mackerel with his striped back.
Reef in the mainsail, and haul on the tack; For it's windy weather--" Here Long Jack joined in: "And it's blowy weather; When the winds begin to blow, pipe all hands together!" Dan went on, with a cautious look at Tom Plait, holding the accordion low in the bunk: "Up jumped the cod with his chuckle-head, Went to the main-chains to heave at the lead; For it's windy weather," etc.
Tom Platt seemed to be hunting for something.

Dan crouched lower, but sang louder: "Up jumped the flounder that swims to the ground.
Chuckle-head! Chuckle-head! Mind where ye sound!" Tom Platt's huge rubber boot whirled across the fo'c'sle and caught Dan's uplifted arm.

There was war between the man and the boy ever since Dan had discovered that the mere whistling of that tune would make him angry as he heaved the lead.
"Thought I'd fetch yer," said Dan, returning the gift with precision.
"Ef you don't like my music, git out your fiddle.

I ain't goin' to lie here all day an' listen to you an' Long Jack arguin' 'baout candles.
Fiddle, Tom Platt; or I'll learn Harve here the tune!" Tom Platt leaned down to a locker and brought up an old white fiddle.
Manuel's eye glistened, and from somewhere behind the pawl-post he drew out a tiny, guitar-like thing with wire strings, which he called a _machette_.
"'Tis a concert," said Long Jack, beaming through the smoke.

"A reg'lar Boston concert." There was a burst of spray as the hatch opened, and Disko, in yellow oilskins, descended.
"Ye're just in time, Disko.