That, too, was loaded to its very
edge, and took its way slowly out beneath their eyes. The sixth took its
place after its fellows.
For a moment or two the sweating men ceased in their work, and stood
wiping their faces or leaning against the dock wall, talking in low
whispers.
Cleek and Dollops stood at the quayside, listening to the water lapping
against the iron girders, and straining their eyes to catch a last
glimpse of the fleet of fishing boats. Of a sudden from out the blackness
others appeared. Old Black Whiskers gave a muttered order, and like a
well-drilled army the men were ready again, this time flocking to the
side of the quay as the boats rode up, and waiting for them,
empty-handed. Cleek turned to the nearest one, and spoke in a low-toned
voice.
"What now, matey? I'm new at this gyme."
"Oh--unloadin'. Usual thing. Faulty gauge. Don't never seem as though the
factory kin get the proper gauge fer those tubin's. All the time I bin
'ere--nigh on to two years--it's bin the same. Every lot goes out, some
comes back again with a complaint.
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