The men of the _Vulcan_ were that. We are
nothing but painters----"
"Oh, that's a quibble--nothing but a quibble!" objected Caradoc.
"Well, anyway, I think there is a rule that if a crew rescue their own
craft under circumstances of extreme peril, they come in as salvors.
I'll look it up in Malone's books when we get back."
At that moment their ears caught a cheering from the dock, which came to
them as a small sound almost lost over the immense flat sea. Greer
paused in his work to wave a hand, which was extremely sociable for him.
The men bunched on the forward pontoon, waved and shouted at the little
boat. As the noise grew louder, questions shaped themselves in the
uproar.
"W'ot did ye make of 'er?" "Was there anywan aboard?" "W'ot ship is
she?" "Can we git a berth hoff this bloomin' dock?"
Madden held up his hands for silence and shouted a reply.
"We have a meal for you--a dinner!"
A great shouting and cheering broke out at this. It is strange how much
more pressing is the small need of a dinner than the large need of a
rescue. The mystery of the schooner was overlooked in a sight of the
plates and victuals.
"Oh, look, there it is--bread and meat!" "And, say, ain't that fish?"
"And that goose or something!"
Eager hands reached down as Madden and Caradoc handed up the platters.
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