"I don't!" I said.

"There 'e is agen," he said.

We had reached the t'gallant rigging, and he was pointing up to the
royal yard.

"Ye're a fule, Quoin. That's what ye are."

The voice came from above. It was Jock's, and there was a burst of
laughter at Quoin's expense.

I could see Jock now. He was standing in the rigging, just below the
yard. He had gone straight away up, while the rest of us were mooning
over the top.

"Ye're a fule, Quoin," he said, again, "And I'm thinking the Second's
juist as saft."

He began to descend.

"Then there's no one?" I asked.

"Na'," he said, briefly.

As we reached the deck, the Second Mate ran down off the poop. He came
towards us, with an expectant air.

"You've got him?" he asked, confidently.