Uncle Tom was at home, confined by his rheumatism and the doctor's orders. He greeted the boys gladly.
"Got your letter last night, Jim," said he, "and I can tell you it took a weight off my mind. Since I've been sick I've nigh fretted myself to death about Tarpaulin."
He groaned, and shifted himself painfully in his chair.
"Those twinges take me unexpected," he explained. "You see," returning to his subject, "all my gear's on the island, besides those fifty sheep. Quite a risk for a man with so little as I've got. You don't know how pleased I am that you fellows are going to be on deck there this summer. You're a good, husky lot--at least most of ye." He scanned Percy a trifle dubiously. "You'll have a fine time the next three months, and you'll make some money. Wish I could go down with ye!"
"Just as soon as we can arrange for our boats and stores," replied Jim.
"Good enough! You can be there to-night, slick as a whistle. Remember the _Barracouta_, that old power-sloop we've taken so many trips in? I've had her overhauled this spring and a new seven-and-a-half-horse engine put in her; her jibs and mainsail are in first-class shape. You'll find her at my mooring near the steamboat wharf. My Bucksport dory has just been pulled up on the ledges and painted. You'll need another boat besides, so I've arranged with Sammy Stinson to let you have his pea-pod. She'll do to lobster in. Now as to gear. You'll find over a hundred lobster-traps piled up on the sea-wall near my cabin, and there's six tubs of trawl in the fish-shed. Keep an account of whatever stuff you have to buy for repairs, and we can settle at the end of the season."
"What's the best way of handling our catch?"
"The fish you can split and salt and take over to Matinicus once a week. Your lobsters will sell easy to some smackman. Captain Ben Higgins comes east from Portland every week in the _Calista_; he's been in the habit of making Tarpaulin his next port of call after York Island. You'll find him square as a brick. Better buy your supplies at Matinicus; it's a strong twelve miles off, but that isn't a bad run in decent weather."
"Well, Uncle Tom," said Jim, "the next time we see each other, I hope you'll be feeling fit as a fiddle."