“Yes; it’s a long even bank of sand, all about the same depth, five or six fathoms; and the flat-fish lie here a good deal.”
“And the trawler can’t touch ’em, ’cause there’s a rock here and there as would stop their net.”
“I see,” said Dick dubiously. Then, determined to know all—“No, I don’t quite see,” he said. “I don’t know what you mean by the crawler.”
“Trawler, lad—trawler. I didn’t say crawler,” cried Josh. “A mussy me!” he added softly.
“Well, trawler, then. What’s a trawler?”
“Fore-an’-aft rig boat.”
“Oh, I say!” cried Dick merrily, “it’s all like Dutch to me. How am I to know what a fore-an’-aft rig boat is?”
“A mussy me!” groaned Josh, to Will’s great delight; “how your eddication have been neglected! Don’t you know what rig means?”
“Yes; the rigging of a ship.”
“Or a boat,” said Josh. “Well, don’t you know what fore-and-aft means?”