“What is this ship?” I asked after a pause.
“She a’n’t a ship at all, my boy—she be a barque.”
“But what is she?”
“Why, a’n’t I told you she be a barque.”
“But what sort, I want to know?”
“Why, in course, a regular rigged barque—ye see if she were a ship the mizen-mast yonder ’ud be carryin’ squares’ls aloft, which she don’t do as ye see—therefore she’s a barque and not a ship.”
“But, Ben, I know all that, for you have already explained to me the difference between a ship and a barque. What I wish to ascertain is what kind of a vessel she is?”
“Oh! what kind; that’s what you’re after. Well, then, I should say a faster sailer never set figure-head to the sea; she’s got just one fault, she be a little too crank for my liking, and pitches too much in a swell. If she’s not kept in plenty o’ ballast, I won’t wonder to see them masts walk overboard one of these days.”
“You won’t be offended at me, Ben; all this you’ve told me before—it is not what I wish to know.”
“An what the old scratch do you want to know? Be hanged, my lad, if you don’t puzzle me.”