Bob came over, and letting his tools down with a clatter he hitched up the knees of his moleskins and sat down on one heel.
“What are yer—why—doin’ on the slate, Isley?” said he, taking out an old clay pipe and lighting it.
“Sums,” said Isley.
Bob puffed away at his pipe a moment.
“’Tain’t no use!” he said, sitting down on the clay and drawing his knees up. “Edication’s a failyer.”
“Listen at ’im!” exclaimed the boy. “D’yer mean ter say it ain’t no use learnin’ readin’ and writin’ and sums?”
“Isley!”
“Right, father.”
The boy went to the windlass and let the bucket down. Bob offered to help him wind up, but Isley, proud of showing his strength to his friend, insisted on winding by himself.
“You’ll be—why—a strong man some day, Isley,” said Bob, landing the bucket.