"Where?" said the man above me. "Where?"
I was looking up, for all that I was worth. I was conscious of a certain
sense of relief. "It is _real_ then," I said to myself. I screwed my
head round, and looked along the yards above us. Yet, still I could see
nothing; nothing except shadows and patches of light.
Down on deck, I caught the Second Mate's voice.
"Have you got him?" he was shouting.
"Not yet, Zur," sung out the lowest man on the lee side.
"We sees 'im, Sir," added Quoin.
"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.
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