“Sure!  Sure!” said Salters, wagging his head.  “All baound to make mistakes, an’ I tell you two boys here thet after you’ve made a mistake—­ye don’t make fewer’n a hundred a day—­the next best thing’s to own up to it like men.”

Long Jack winked one tremendous wink that embraced all hands except Disko and Salters, and the incident was closed.

Then they made berth after berth to the northward, the dories out almost every day, running along the east edge of the Grand Bank in thirty- to forty-fathom water, and fishing steadily.

It was here Harvey first met the squid, who is one of the best cod-baits, but uncertain in his moods.  They were waked out of their bunks one black night by yells of “Squid O!” from Salters, and for an hour and a half every soul aboard hung over his squid-jig—­a piece of lead painted red and armed at the lower end with a circle of pins bent backward like half-opened umbrella ribs.  The squid—­for some unknown reason—­likes, and wraps himself round, this thing, and is hauled up ere he can escape from the pins.  But as he leaves his home he squirts first water and next ink into his captor’s face; and it was curious to see the men weaving their heads from side to side to dodge the shot.  They were as black as sweeps when the flurry ended; but a pile of fresh squid lay on the deck, and the large cod thinks very well of a little shiny piece of squid tentacle at the tip of a clam-baited hook.  Next day they caught many fish, and met the Carrie Pitman, to whom they shouted their luck, and she wanted to trade—­seven cod for one fair-sized squid; but Disko would not agree at the price, and the Carrie dropped sullenly to leeward and anchored half a mile away, in the hope of striking on to some for herself.

Disco said nothing till after supper, when he sent Dan and Manuel out to buoy the ‘We’re Here’s’ cable and announced his intention of turning in with the broad-axe.  Dan naturally repeated these remarks to the dory from the Carrie, who wanted to know why they were buoying their cable, since they were not on rocky bottom.

“Dad sez he wouldn’t trust a ferryboat within five mile o’ you,” Dan howled cheerfully.

“Why don’t he git out, then?  Who’s hinderin’?” said the other.

“‘Cause you’ve jest the same ez lee-bowed him, an’ he don’t take that from any boat, not to speak o’ sech a driftin’ gurry-butt as you be.”

“She ain’t driftin’ any this trip,” said the man angrily, for the Carrie Pitman had an unsavory reputation for breaking her ground-tackle.

“Then haow d’you make berths?” said Dan.  “It’s her best p’int o’ sailin’.  An’ ef she’s quit driftin’, what in thunder are you doin’ with a new jib-boom?” That shot went home.

“Hey, you Portugoosy organ-grinder, take your monkey back to Gloucester.  Go back to school, Dan Troop,” was the answer.

“0-ver-alls! 0-ver-alls!” yelled Dan, who knew that one of the Carrie’s crew had worked in an overall factory the winter before.