"That's a good age. Wish I was. I'm one and twenty."
The Sailor thought he looked more.
"I'm a lot more in some things," said Ginger. "But at football I shall not be one and twenty until the middle o' Janawerry."
The Sailor was a little out of his depth. There was a subtlety about Ginger that went far beyond anything he had ever met. Even Klondyke, great man as he was, seemed a mere child by comparison with this forcible thinker.
"Nineteen is just the age," said Ginger, "to learn to chuck yerself about. But I dare say you know how to do that, having follered the sea."
"I can climb a bit," the Sailor admitted with great modesty.
"Can yer jump?"
The Sailor could jump a bit too.
"Could you throw yerself at the ball like a rattlesnake if you see it fizzing for the fur corner o' the net?"
The Sailor's modesty could not hazard an opinion on a matter of such technical complexity.