"Larry, she's top-heavy."
"No, she ain't. It's ownly a sort of a thrick she's got. All she wants is practice."
Larry was Mr. Drake's hired man, and knew a little of everything, only he knew more about a horse than he did about any kind of sailing vessel.
"The boy's right, my hearty. She's more hamper than hull, and she's no ballast at all."
Rob and Larry looked behind them when they heard that. They had not heard him come along the sandy beach, they had been so busy, but there he was: a short, thin old man, with broad shoulders, dressed like a United States "man-o'-war" sailor, and with a wooden leg that was now punching its round toe deep into the sand.
"'Dade, sor," said Larry, "it's a good ship she is, av she wouldn't lie down that way."
"She's a ship, then? I'm glad to know that. It's a good sign for the boy that he's taken to ships. There's not many boys care for 'em nowadays."
"Why, of course it's a ship," said Rob, as he pulled his craft ashore and held her up to let the water drip from her wet sails. "Didn't you know what she was?"
"Old fellows like me don't know much nowadays. You've put in four masts, and a bowsprit at each end, and I couldn't tell just what she was."
"Oh," said Rob, "that's nothing. I saw a steamer with four masts the other day."