Page:Cruise of the Dry Dock.djvu/29

 don't get a move on and keep our section up.”

Caradoc came out of his muse, tossed his cigarette into the swirling water a few feet below him. “Impudent chap!” he snapped.

Madden laughed. “His trade is to get work out of men and it requires impudence.”

Caradoc grunted something, perhaps an assent. The two fell briskly to work and soon made an impression on the blank iron wall. At first the American chatted of this and that, rehearsing his own aimless ramblings as men will, but presently he observed that Smith was painting away and paying no attention to his partner's chatter.

“What's the worry, old man?” queried Madden lightly. “'Fraid the paint'll give out?”

“I presume they have sufficient paint,” answered Smith stiffly, as he flapped his brush across the bright head of a big rivet.

“Why—yes,” agreed Madden, a little taken aback, “but you look like you might be getting up a grouch at something—”

“About time to pull up, isn't it?” interrupted Smith.

The brusqueness in the speech grated on