The captain’s eyes closed quite up now—well, not quite, for a sharp flash came from out of the narrow slits as their owner chuckled softly and clapped his young passenger heartily upon the shoulder.
“And thank you, youngster,” he cried. “You and me’s going to be good friends, I see. No, my lad, there’s no brag in my make. I’ve got plenty of faults, including a bad temper; but sham was left out when I was made. But about the ‘Jason’: I did contrive her for river work.”
“So much the better,” said Sir Humphrey. “She draws little water, I suppose?”
“Bit too much, sir; but I didn’t mean that. I was alluding to her rig.”
“Indeed!” said Sir Humphrey.
“Why, you ought to have had her schooner-rigged,” said Brace sharply.
“Nay, I oughtn’t,” said the Skipper, screwing up his features more tightly. “Schooner wouldn’t do so well for these river waters. A brig’s best.”
“Why?” said Sir Humphrey.
“Square sails up aloft come in handiest. I’ve seen the Hightalians who do the fruit trade up the big rivers that run north from the Plate—La Plata, you call it. They sail up for months to go and buy oranges to bring down for Europe and the States. They use brigs with spars so long you’d think they’d topple their boats over. Do you know why?”
Brace shook his head.