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"Gee whitticker!" gasped Billy, "you must been havin' an argument with a mule. Who give you that black eye an' split lip, Anse?" It was sure that neither the spirit nor the inspiration of the genius of the famous Kitty O'Hara was far distant from her child when this sweet and astonishing young creature executed the above feat of dramatic gymnastics and delivered the words just recorded. "I could swear to one of them as the Superb," said Captain Acton, who had also taken a prolonged view of the ships through his glass. "She is a slow sailer. I know that she is rotten to the core for want of a dockyard. If I am not greatly mistaken, her stun-sail booms are lashed to the yards, and she is the only one with stun-sails set, which means that her rotting keel marks the pace for the rest. Hoist our colours! We'll chance it.".

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"Gee! Bill, I could'a knocked your head off fer makin' me help drive ol' Junefly home but now I see you knowed what you was doin'. Holy smoke! I wish't I was as smart as you." Softly the last note died, and then the player emerged from the grove. He was little and bent. He wore a ragged suit of corduroys and a battered felt hat with a red feather stuck jauntily in its band. His face was small, dark, and unshaven. In one grimy hand he carried a small demijohn. Arriving opposite Caleb, he lifted his battered hat and bowed low as a courtier would do. He sat down upon his chest, folded his arms and sank into thought. Had he needed a motto for his reflections he might have found one in the Duke of Gloster's speech: "Canin'? Me? Whatfer?".