"That's the way we catches Cape pigeons," said the man who had so cleverly saved his shipmate's life.
Jack begged him to explain.
"Why, young sir," he said, "it's simple enough. Near the Cape, you know, and up the 'Bique, the birds come sailing round astern of the ship to pick up the crumbs. Well, we just tie a line to a chunk o' wood and pitches it overboard. When a bird flies near it, we loosens the line like, and a turn of the wrist entangles him; then on board he comes straight off the reel."
In a hotel in one of the beautiful squares Jack dined that day in solitary grandeur.
When he went on board again, he told his adventures to his messmates.
"I say, little 'un," said Gribble, the assistant-paymaster, "you're getting on. I thought I was a bit of a liar myself, but— Steward, another cup o' tea."
"Well," said Jack, in a disheartened kind of way, "I don't see the value of truthfulness if one isn't to be believed."
"Bravo, Jack!" cried Dr. Reikie. "I believe you. What you have told us is doubtless true. The clever feat is scientifically possible; but, alas! to talk science to Gribble there is like throwing pearls before—"
"Before what, Mister Learned Scot?"
"Before— Steward, another cup of tea."