Other workmen sprang to help in passing the pipe up through the manhole and down over the side of the hull.  When Jack and Hal got the pipe up on their shoulders they staggered a bit under its weight.  But they were game, and started away with it.

“That’s a shame,” growled Mike O’brien.  “Boss, leave me go ’an be helpin’ the b’yes with that load.”

“Go ahead,” nodded Mr. Farnum.  O’brien went nimbly down the ladder, placing one of his own sturdy shoulders under the forward end of the pipe, while Benson got back with Hal Hastings at the other end.  In about three-quarters of an hour the trio were back, with the pipe cut to the right length, and with a new screw-thread cut at the shortened end.

“Now, you can demonstrate your own work, Benson,” laughed Mr. Farnum.  “Fit the pipe yourself, and call on the men for what help you want.”

At that, Joshua Owen folded his arms as he stepped back scowling.  Yet when the crew, under Jack’s direction, had finished fitting the pipe in place, not even this angered foreman dared say that it was not fitted properly.

The next work called for fitting some pipe-joints, and in this a red lead cement was used.  One of these joint-makings fell to Benson and Hal.

“Here’s yer cement,” muttered the scowling Dan Jaggers, passing a rough ball of the stuff to young Benson.

“Is this the best you have?” asked Jack, eyeing the cement with disfavor.

“Yes,” growled Dan, “and it’s plenty good enough.”

“I’d call it too dry,” replied Jack, quietly.

“Are you bossing this job all the way through?” demanded Joshua Owen, angrily, stepping forward.  “Mr. Farnum, Mr. Pollard, if these boys are to have charge of this work, I may as well stop.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Farnum, coining forward.

“This younker is grumbling about the red lead cement,” snapped the irate foreman.

“What’s the complaint, Benson?” asked the boatyard owner.

“No complaint, Mr. Farnum,” Jack answered, quickly.  “Only, I’ve got to make the joint fast with red lead cement, and it seemed to me that this stuff is too dry.  If I use it, it won’t fill out smoothly enough.  It’s dry and crumbly, and I’m afraid the joint would be very defective.”

“Nothing of the sort!” snapped Joshua Owen.  “Boy, you’ve no business trying to do a man’s work, anyway.  Give me that cement, and I’ll make the joint fast myself.”

“All right,” nodded Benson, stepping back.  He started to pass the chunk of cement to the foreman, but Mr. Farnum quickly took it from him, then cast a look upward.  Asa Partridge, the yard superintendent, a man past fifty, stood on the platform deck, looking down through the open manhole.

“Come down here, Mr. Partridge,” hailed the yard’s owner, while Joshua Owen’s scowl became deeper than ever.  “Mr. Partridge, Benson says this cement is too dry to make a joint tight with.  Owen says it isn’t.  Who wins the bet?” the owner finished, laughingly.