Uncle Paul lowered the glass as he spoke, and turned his eyes thoughtfully upon his nephew, who had uttered a low peculiar sound.
“Of being sea-sick, uncle?” Uncle Paul smiled.
“I suppose that’s what you call retaliation, young gentleman. Well, no, sir, I’m not afraid of that—at least, not much. I remember the first time I crossed the Channel that I was very ill, and every time I have been at sea since I have always felt that it would be unwise to boast; but I think both you and I can make our voyage without being troubled in that way. But we won’t boast, Pickle, for, as they say, we will not holloa till we are out of the wood. Let me see; isn’t there an old proverb something about a man not boasting till he taketh off his armour?”
“I think so, uncle, but I cannot recollect the words.”
“Well, I don’t want any armour, my boy, but I do want a well-found schooner—a new one if I can get it; if not, one that will stand a thorough examination; and I don’t know that such a boat’s to be got just now it’s wanted. There are plenty of ramshackle old things lying about here, but I want everything spick-and-span ready for the extra fitting out I shall give her. Copper-fastened, quick-sailing, roomy, and with good cabin accommodation so that we can have a big workshop for the men who help us, and a sort of study and museum for ourselves. Now, Pickle, where shall we have to go to find such a craft? Portsmouth—London? What about Southampton?”
“Southampton. Yes. Some fine yacht, uncle.”
“No, boy. She’d be all mast and sails. Do well for a coaster, but I want an ocean-going craft, one that will bear some knocking about. A cargo boat whose hold one could partition off for stores. Now then?”
There was silence for about a minute, and then Uncle Paul spoke again.
“There, out with it, boy, at once. Don’t waste time. Say you don’t know.”
“But I think I do know, uncle,” cried the boy.