"We're on a derelict," reported Dick.
"Vat iss a terelick?"
"It's a wreck that failed to go to the bottom. Having a cargo that floats, it stays on the surface, a menace to every craft that happens to be in its vicinity."
"T'anks. Iss preakfast retty, Tick?"
"We'll have to find something for breakfast before we can get it ready. It was a stroke of luck that laid us aboard the derelict. We smashed into her, in the dark, and it couldn't have happened once in a thousand times. Fortune has taken a turn with us."
Carl got up unsteadily, leaned against the side of the house behind him and looked over the cheerless prospect.
"Meppy fortune has dook some durns," he muttered, "aber she ditn't shtrain herseluf any. Vat sort oof a terelick iss dis?"
"She's a brig."
"Vat's a prig?"
"A two-masted, square-rigged vessel. Both masts are gone."