176 ALBACORA 



on the hull. Lou wanted three layers of plastic glass ap- 

 plied, and while coating presents no difficulties in dry, 

 temperate weather, this was winter and Wheeler's yards 

 were cold and damp. Even in the enclosed shop where 

 the Explorer was coming into being, electric heaters 

 could not ordinarily raise the temperature to seventy 

 degrees. 



One January day when we thought the Explorer was 

 almost ready to sail. Gene Wheeler telephoned to say 

 that he was stymied. "It's too damn cold," he an- 

 nounced to Lou, as I listened on an extension. "We 

 can't do it right. The plastic won't harden the way it 

 should." 



"Can't you get it on at all?" Lou asked. 



"Sure," Wheeler said, "but it won't go on right. 

 Maybe we can fix it so it looks okay, but when you get 

 down there, it's gonna start peeling off. Then you'll 

 blame us for a rotten job. I think I ought to stop until 

 summer." 



"But you can't! The fish won't wait and the scientists 

 won't wait and the Grace Line isn't going to wait," Lou 

 said. "We've got to think of something right now." 



"I can't think," Wheeler said. "This shop is colder 

 than Siberia." 



"Wait a minute," Lou said. "They get paint to stick 

 on cars in the winter." 



"Those plants are heated, Lou," Wheeler said. "It's 

 not the same." 



