“Moy, eh?” cried Billy, with a grin, “that is a funny name, but there ain’t enough of it for my taste.”
The conversation was interrupted at this point by the superintendent, who, having been for many years in command of an East Indiaman, was styled “Captain.” He ordered the mate and men whose turn it was to be “relieved” to get into the tender along with the strangers. Soon afterwards the vessel steamed away over the glassy water, and Billy, who had taken a fancy to the big lamplighter, went up to him and said—
“Well, Dick Moy, where are we agoin’ to just now?”
Dick pointed to a black speck on the water, a considerable distance ahead of them.
“We’re agoin’ to that there buoy, to lift it and put down a noo un.”
“Oh, that’s a boy, is it? and are them there boys too?” asked Billy, looking round at the curious oval and conical cask-like things, of gigantic proportions, which lumbered the deck and filled the hold of the tender.
“Ay, they’re all buoys.”
“None of ’em girls?” inquired the urchin gravely.
“No, none of ’em,” replied Dick with equal gravity, for to him the joke was a very stale one.
“No? that’s stoopid now; I’d ’ave ’ad some of ’em girls for variety’s sake—wot’s the use of ’em?” asked the imp, who pretended ignorance, in order to draw out his burly companion.