“What? Don’t they teach you at school what squid is?” said Josh sharply.
“No,” cried the boy.
“A mussy me!” said Josh in tones of disgust. “Then they ought to be ashamed of themselves.”
“But they don’t know,” said the boy impatiently. “I say, what is it?”
“Cuttle-fish,” said Will.
“Cut-tle-fish!” cried Dick. “Oh! I know what that is—all long legs and suckers, and got an ink-bag and a pen in its body.”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Will, laughing. “We call it squid. It makes a good tough bait, that don’t come off, and the fish like it.”
“Well, it is rum stuff,” cried Dick, picking up a piece and turning it over in his fingers. “Here, Taff, look!”
His brother screwed up his face with an aspect of disgust, and declined to touch the fishes’ bonne-bouche; but he looked at it eagerly all the same.
“I say, what do you catch?” said Dick, seating himself tailor-fashion on the deck opposite Will.