I looked up. A boy several years younger than myself stood near me. He was thin and pale, and his eyes had a frightened look.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I'm Polly Jones," he replied.
"Polly Jones," I repeated. "That's a girl's name."
"'Tain't my right name. They used to call me Phil at home, but the sailors all call me Polly here, because they say I act like a girl."
"What do you do on board?" I asked with some curiosity.
"I'm the cabin boy and the cook's help. What are you?"
"I don't know what I am yet. I didn't come on board of my own free will."
"You didn't?" Phil Jones's eyes opened to their widest. "You don't look like a sailor."
"Come down here," said I. "I want to have a talk with you."