"That's right! Old Ben Talbot never gave a boy bad counsel yet."
"And the ship, sir?"
"Well, the ship's a barque, and a beauty she is. About eight hundred tons, and although not quite a clipper, she'll make up in strength what she'll lack in speed.
"A whaler she was," he continued, "but we have given her a rare cleaning. She's as sweet now as a nut. Double-skinned is she, and the bows all between the bends are solid teak, shod in front with iron. But you shall see her as soon as we haul out of dock."
"I'm taking two mates; both have passed and own certificates. You, Duncan, shall be acting third mate, and Conal I'll rate as auxiliary. You haven't neglected your studies, have you?"
"No, sir, and both myself and Conal mean to go in for our first exam, as soon as we get to London."
"Bravo! But I won't hinder you longer. Frank shall stay on with you a bit, and I expect you all to come and dine with me to-night at my hotel. Can you?"
"All but me," said Conal. This wasn't quite grammatical, but it was truth. "One of us must be ship-keeper."
"That's right. Never shirk your duty for anyone or anything. Do you remember the eulogy on Tom Bowling--when stark and stiff?"
And the pure and manly voice in which Talbot sang a verse of Dibdin's celebrated song, proved that, though this true sailor was over fifty, he was as hale and strong and hearty as many young fellows of twenty. Ay, and ten times more so, for at the present time thousands of lads ruin their health at schools--and not from study either.