“But for such luxuriance of growth here all must have been barren stone.”
“Barren till it disintegrated in the course of time, and, by the action of the sun, rain, and air, became transformed into the most fertile of soil. Why, Lane, you ought to know these things. Look there, how every root is at work breaking up the rock to which it clings, and in whose crevices the plants and trees take root, grow to maturity, die, and add their decaying matter to the soil, which is ever growing deeper and more rich.”
“Hear, hear,” growled Wriggs in a low tone, and Panton frowned, but smiled directly after as he saw the sailor’s intent looks.
“Well, do you understand, Wriggs?” he cried.
“Not quite exactly, sir,” said the man. “Some on it, sir; and it makes me and my mate feel that it’s grand like to know as much as you gents do.”
“Ay, ay,” cried Smith, taking off his hat and waving it about as he spoke. “Billy Wriggs is right, sir. It is grand to find you gents with all your bags o’ tricks ready for everything: Mr Drew with his piles o’ blottin’-paper to suck all the joost outer the leaves and flowers, and Mr Lane here, with his stuff as keeps the skins looking as good as if they were alive, and, last o’ hall, you with your hammer—ay, that’s it!—and your myklescrope and bottle o’ stuff as you puts on a bit o’ stone to make it fizzle and tell yer what kind it is. It’s fine, sir, it’s fine, and it makes us two think what a couple o’ stoopid, common sailors we are, don’t it, Billy?”
“Ay, Tommy, it do, but yer see we had to go as boys afore the mast, and never had no chances o’ turning out scholards.”
“But you turned out a couple of first class sailors,” said Oliver warmly, “and as good and faithful helpmates as travellers could wish to have at their backs. We couldn’t have succeeded without you.”
“So long, sir, as their legs don’t want to run away with ’em, eh, messmate?” said Smith with a comical look at Wriggs.
“Ay, they was a bit weak and wankle that day,” said Wriggs, chuckling.