Rodd gave him a quick jerk of the head as he went on climbing the ratlines as quickly as he could, forgetting all about the heat and the silvery glare of the piercing sunshine.
He was not long mounting to the sailor’s side, seating himself on the opposite side of the mast.
“Now then,” he cried, as he shuffled into his place; “let me look.”
“All right, sir. Ketch hold,” replied the sailor stolidly. “You’ll do it; your eyes are so much younger and sharper than mine.”
“None of your gammon, Joe!” cried the boy sharply, as he focussed the glass to suit his eyes, while with one arm embracing the butt of the main-topgallant-mast he held the tube steadily to his eye, asking for guidance the while.
“Now then,” he said; “whereabouts?”
“Right straight ahead, sir. You can’t miss it if it’s there, for it stretches away as far as you like to left and right!”
“Why, there’s no land, Joe.”
“Not looking down low enough, sir, perhaps. It aren’t right up in the sky.”
“Well, who’s looking up in the sky?” cried Rodd irritably.—“I am looking right down to the horizon line.”