He indicated some distant objects which seemed to be floating between the barque and the ice-floe.
"Whales," replied Stevens. "Not right whales, though. Those are 'finners,' as we call them."
"Wrong whales, I suppose! Are 'finners,' then, 'sinners,'" asked Arthur in his most innocent tone.
"Not particularly, so far as I know," replied the mate,[!-- [Pg 56] --] laughing, "but they are no use to whalers, and so we only catch 'right whales,' d'ye see?"
"Then, is that a spout?" asked the lad, as a thin and steam-like vapour arose from the neighbourhood of the whales.
"Yes, that's a spout," was the reply, as the misty vapour vanished. "It looks different in books, don't it?"
"It does," said Arthur. "I think I'll go down now. The rolling is rather trying. Besides, Reginald is waiting."
"And Tom is expecting you to pay your 'footing,'" said the mate Stevens. "Got to fork out, sir, please."
So Arthur "forked out" as desired, and descended with a light head and a lighter pocket to warn his brother. Reginald, however, ascended boldly, and entered the barrel, which the top-man had vacated.
Reginald looked around him, and could hardly realise the position. The cold and mist he did not mind; the solitude appeared fearful! There he was, swaying about high above the deck, feeling as if he must fall into the sea when the barque rolled, or upon one of the tiny creatures which, foreshortened below him, moved on the deck. It was a giddy perch!