CHAPTER V.
That was the first of many talks with Dan, who told Harvey why he would transfer his dory's name to the imaginary Burgess-modelled haddocker.
Harvey heard a good deal about the real Hattie at Gloucester; saw a lock of her hair--which Dan, finding fair words of no avail, had "hooked" as she sat in front of him at school that winter--and a photograph.

Hattie was about fourteen years old, with an awful contempt for boys, and had been trampling on Dan's heart through the winter.

All this was revealed under oath of solemn secrecy on moonlit decks, in the dead dark, or in choking fog; the whining wheel behind them, the climbing deck before, and without, the unresting, clamorous sea.

Once, of course, as the boys came to know each other, there was a fight, which raged from bow to stern till Penn came up and separated them, but promised not to tell Disko, who thought fighting on watch rather worse than sleeping.

Harvey was no match for Dan physically, but it says a great deal for his new training that he took his defeat and did not try to get even with his conqueror by underhand methods.
That was after he had been cured of a string of boils between his elbows and wrists, where the wet jersey and oilskins cut into the flesh.