“Again,” said the voice of Captain Greaves.
“Not coffee, but cocoa,” yelled the lad, and again the dog delivered a long howl.
“For the third time, if you please.”
“Not coffee, but cocoa!” shrieked the lad, and the accompanying howl of the dog rose to the key in which the boy pitched his voice, as though in excessive sympathy with the shouter.
A door forward was then opened, and the youth Jimmy came out. He stopped on seeing me, and cried out, “’Ere’s Mr. Fielding,” and then went on deck. Galloon bounded up to me, and while I caressed him Greaves, with his shirt sleeves turned up, and holding a hair-brush, looked out of his door, saw me, approached, and shook me heartily by the hand. I answered a few kind questions, and asked if there was anything in sight from the deck.
“Yes,” said he, “but nothing to be of any use to you. You can feel the heave. It blows fresh.”
“It is a very buoyant heave,” said I; “I should imagine you are at sea with a swept hold.”
He continued to brush his hair.
“Excuse me, is your lad Jimmy an idiot?”
“Not at all. Perhaps I know why you ask. You heard me and Galloon giving him a lesson just now. Jimmy Vinten is no idiot, but he wants a faculty, and Galloon and I are endeavoring to create it. He cannot distinguish dishes. He will put a bit of beef on the table and call it pudding. He’ll knock on my door and sing out, ‘The pork’s sarved,’ when he means pease soup. His memory is remarkable in other ways. Wait a minute, and we’ll go on deck together.”