First time he got a squint of the sun he went as yaller as a
Swede turnip. 'It's all up with us, boys,' he said. 'My missus is
forty fathoms below. We've just sailed over York.' You see, he'd made
a mistake of a few degrees."
"Boyle," said Courtenay, severely, "what has come to you? Are you
actually making a joke?"
"I think I must have bin tongue-tied before, captain."
"Before what?"
"Before that lame duck in the fo'c'sle stuck his tobacco-cutter into my
jaw. I can talk like a prize parrot now--can't I, Miss Maxwell?"
Elsie was laughing, but she remembered the subject on which Boyle had
displayed his new-found power of speech; and human parrots are apt to
say too much.
"Please don't tell any more funny little stories," she cried, "or I
shall be putting dots in the wrong places."
"And causing us to waste time scandalously. Are you ready, Miss
Maxwell? Let me pin this compass card on the table. Use the parallel
ruler; regard each inch as a mile, and I'll do the rest by guesswork."
Courtenay took his binoculars, and went on to the bridge. He called
out the apparent distance of each landmark he could distinguish,
described it, and gave its true bearing.
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