“But, never mind, Roy,” he would say, in allusion to his nocturnal life; “keeps people from seeing what a face I’ve got. Don’t look so bad to-day, does it?”
“Bad? no. It’s all right.”
“Oh, is it? I suppose it about matches Terry’s, and his is a pretty sight.”
During his week Syd was always expecting to be summoned by his father or the first lieutenant, but he encountered neither; they seemed to have forgotten his existence. So he read below a great deal of light, cheerful, edifying matter upon navigation—good yawning stuff, with plenty of geometry in it and mathematical calculations, seeing little of his messmates, who were on the whole pretty busy.
At night, though, he began to acquire a little practical seamanship, calling upon the bo’sun, a most willing teacher, to impart all he could take in, in these brief lessons, about the masts, yards, sails, stays, and ropes. He went aloft, and being eager and quick, picked up a vast amount of information of a useful kind, Barney knowing nothing that was not of utility.
“Never had no time for being polished, Master Syd,” he would say, “but lor me, what a treat it is to get back among the hemp and canvas! I never used to think when I was splicing a graft on a tree that I should come to splicing ’board ship again. When are you coming on deck again in the day-time?”
“Not till I look decent, Barney.”
“Beg pardon, sir.”
“Bo’sun, then.”
“Thankye, sir.”