“Plaisters, my lad.”
“Plaisters?”
“Ay; for sore hulls. A bit of thin board’s always handy off a coast where there’s rocks, and there’s many a time when, if the carpenter had had plenty of sticking-plaister for a vessel’s skin, a good ship could have been saved from going down. Nice place this. What a spot it would have been if it had been an island and the schooner had been wrecked!”
“What do you want the schooner wrecked for?” cried Poole.
“Me, sir? I don’t want the schooner wrecked. I only said if it had been, and because you young gents was talking the other day about being on a desolate island to play Robinson Crusoe for a bit.”
“Oh yes, I remember,” said Fitz.
“So do I, sir. It set me thinking about that chap a good deal. Some men do get chances in life. Just think of him! Why, that fellow had everything a chap could wish for. Aren’t talking too loud, are we, Mr Poole?”
“Oh no. No one could hear us whispering like this.”
“That’s right. I am glad you young gents come, for it was getting very unked and queer all alone. Quite cheers a fellow up. Set down, both on you.”
“Thanks, no,” said Fitz; “the ground’s too wet.”