"Is this the correct fashion?" I inquired--a joke which passed muster
for very good humour; and I was squirted at no more on that occasion.
The chill had made me feel most miserable again, but I had found by
experience that the great thing was to keep my blood circulating, and
that rubbing-up the ship's brass answered this purpose exceedingly well.
I rubbed it so bright, that when the boatswain came to summon me to
dinner, he signified his approval in his own peculiar fashion, which
appeared to be that of an acknowledged wit.

"H'm!" said he, "I'll say that for ye, young shore-loafer, that you've
learnt that the best part of polishing-paste is elbow-grease. It wasn't
all _parley-voo_ and the pianner where you was at boarding-school!"

I said I hoped not, and laughed as respectfully as it becomes the small
to do at the jokes of the great.

But when I was fairly squatted in a corner of the forecastle, with my
plate on my lap, in friendly proximity to Alister, I received a far
worse shock than the ship's hose had given me. For under cover of the
sailors' talk (and they were even noisier at their dinner than at their
work) my comrade contrived to whisper in my ear, "The pilot is still on
board."

I got what comfort I could out of hearing the sail-maker praise Alister
as "an uncommon handy young chap," a compliment which he enforced by a
general appeal to some one to "give him" a lad that had been brought up
to make himself useful, and anybody else was welcome "for him" to fine
gentlemen with no learning but school learning. For this side attack on
me roused the boatswain to reproduce his jokes about elbow-grease