"Nothin' queer about it."
"Ah-ha!" says the lad; "'tis wonderful queer!" He cocked his head an' peered at the skipper like an inquisitive bird. "Nobody never said nothin' like that t' me afore," says he. "What you wish I was your son for? Eh?"
"You is clever an' good enough, isn't you?"
"Maybe I is clever. Maybe I'm good, too. I'll not deny that I'm both. What I wants t' know, though, is what you wants me for?"
"I'd be proud o' you."
"What for?"
Skipper Harry lost patience.
"Don't pester me no more," says he. "I've no lad o' my own. That's reason enough."
The wee feller looked the skipper over from his shock o' red hair to his sea-boots, at leisure, an' turned doleful with pity.
"My duty, sir," says he. "I'm sore an' sorry for you."