“Yes, sir,” replied George, meekly touching his cap.
“How old are you?” This, brusquely, as befitting a fearsome master mariner.
“Fifteen, sir.”
“Umph! Pretty young for my class of trade. What’s your rating?”
“Chief mate, sir.”
“Got your certificate?”
“I left it at home, sir.”
“Umph! Very careless of you. Well, you want to sail with me, eh? What about the compass? Can you box it?”
“I’m a pretty fair boxer, sir.”