"It might have been worse than drowning; but I don't think it has--I don't think it has.

If it hasn't, I haven't enough to pay Troop, that's all; and I don't think it has." Morning brought a fresh sea breeze through the windows, the "Constance" was side-tracked among freight-cars at Gloucester, and Harvey had gone to his business.
"Then he'll fall overboard again and be drowned," the mother said bitterly.
"We'll go and look, ready to throw him a rope in case.

You've never seen him working for his bread," said the father.
"What nonsense! As if any one expected--" "Well, the man that hired him did.

He's about right, too." They went down between the stores full of fishermen's oilskins to Wouverman's wharf, where the "We're Here" rode high, her Bank flag still flying, all hands busy as beavers in the glorious morning light.
Disko stood by the main hatch superintending Manuel, Penn, and Uncle Salters at the tackle.

Dan was swinging the loaded baskets inboard as Long Jack and Tom Platt filled them, and Harvey, with a notebook, represented the skipper's interests before the clerk of the scales on the salt-sprinkled wharf-edge.
"Ready!" cried the voices below.