"Oh! do go on with the ship," cried the Skipper impatiently. "But, I say, did you always do what your father told you, 'Jack'?"
"Nay, that I didn't, and wery sorry I am," said the big fellow, shaking his head. "That's the wust on it; we gets to be sorry for things when it's too late; and I'm wery much afeard, Master Bob, as this here gun'll make the 'Flash' a bit crank."
"What's crank?" asked the boy.
"What you shore-going folks calls top-heavy; and that either means cutting down her rigging——"
"No, I won't have the rigging touched," cried Bob.
"Well, it would be a mortal shame, seeing how she sails, but you wouldn't like her to capsize."
"No; of course not."
"Then, I tell you what: you must put some little bags o' shot in her hold, to act as ballast, and then she'll be all right."
Then, apparently satisfied with the boy's promise of amendment, "Jack Robinson," otherwise Tom Jeffs, worked away at the model, till the gun was fixed amidships, and the anchor swung to her bows, the cable having been knotted on, and the neatly coiled rings placed inside a little hatch in front.