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Your seaweed's great, and you knew it by heart before you painted it that I'll swear to, but your sleeper there would never lie in the line of it as you have him. Reflect: the sea must float the light weed after it could move him no more. He should be stogged in the sand nearer the sea." Brady, however, contested this criticism, and so the talk wore on until the men separated.
"He can play a little of 'The Rosary' with one finger." Jimmy shook his head. "No; we shall have to cut out the soft music. But the rest's all right. Look here." He squatted in the sand. "This stone is the girl. This bit of seaweed's the child. This nutshell is Freddie. Dialogue leading up to child's line. Child speaks like, 'Boofer lady, does 'oo love dadda? Business of outstretched hands.
"Then you apply about twenty tons of seaweed to the acre for corn?" "Yes, but some use less and some more; probably that's about an average. Hauling seaweed's a big job and a bad job.
There's something wrong or you wouldn't be so deucedly evasive. Out with it!" "Well, your sailor's not dead." Brady roared with laughter. "Man! the poor devil's been in the water a week!" "Not he. 'Tis a mistake in nine painted corpses out of ten. If you want to paint a drowned man, wait till you've seen one close. That sailor in the seaweed's asleep.
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