“S’pose yer afeerd o’ clim’in’ riggin’?”
“Divvle a bit!” replied Mick in a moment. “Oi’d cloimb in a jiffey; ounly the jintleman downstairs, faith, tould us all we wasn’t.”
This allusion to the ‘Jaunty’ silenced the incorrigible Larrikins for the nonce; though he sniggered at Mick saying ‘downstairs’ instead of below, as most landsmen do when new to board-ship life.
The next moment, however, Master Larrikins was at it again, trying to ‘take a rise out of me,’ Mick having thus discouraged his advances in that direction.
“You’ll be havin’ orful times when yer goes aloft,” he said, in a sort of awesome tone meant to frighten me. “I’ve bin up theer on the main crosstrees when yer jist couldn’t ’old yer ’air on yer ’ead, let alone ’oldin’ on with one ’and fur yerself and t’other for the Navy.”
“Stow that,” said I, laughing in his face. “Why, I’ve been up to the main truck of a line-o’-battle ship before to-day and am not afraid of climbing! I’m not strange to the sea, my smart chap, let me tell you. My father, though he’s a waterman now, is an old sailor, and has taught me pretty well all he learnt.”
“Aye, aye, that’s right enuff; but ’earin of it an’ a-seein’ it’s two different things. You jist wait till yer gets to sea and ain’t a-plying bark’ards and forruds in Porchmouth ’arbour. My stars, won’t yer be flummuxed then.”
“Don’t you believe it,” I retorted. “I’ve been to sea, I tell you, before to-day.”
“Oh aye, that’s right enuff; but there’s goin’ to sea, an’ goin’ to sea. Lor! Yer ’aven’t ever bin out in the Martin brig, have yer, now?”
“No, of course not,” I replied. “I’ve only just joined the service, I tell you.”