"What's the ring-tail?" he demanded.

"It's a studdin'-s'l on the gaff of a fore-an'-aft, sail, sir. You
haven't got one on the Retriever, sir."

"Huh! You've been reading W. Clark Russell's sea yarns," the skipper
charged. "He was quite a pen-an'-paper sailor when it came to
square-rigged ships, but he didn't have much to say about six-masted
schooners. You see, they didn't build them in his day. Now then,
son, name the sticks on a six-legged schooner, and be sure and name
'em right."

"Fore, main, mizzen, spanker, jigger and driver, sir," Matt fired back
at him.

"Bully for you, my son. You're the third mate. Cappy Ricks allows me
the luxury of a third mate whenever I run across a young fellow that
appears to be worth a whoop in hell, so grab your duds, and go aft,
and don't bring any cockroaches with you. I'll dig up a bosun among
the squareheads."

"Thank you, sir."

"Name?"

"Mr. Peasley, sir."

Since he was no longer an A B., young Matt concluded he might as well
accord himself the respect due him as a ship's officer; so he tacked