"Uncle Salters he thinks his quarter share's our canvas.

Dad's put this duckin' act up on him two trips runnin'.

Hi! That found him where he feeds." Uncle Salters had taken refuge by the foremast, but a wave slapped him over the knees.

Disko's face was as blank as the circle of the wheel.
"Guess she'd lie easier under stays'l, Salters," said Disko, as though he had seen nothing.
"Set your old kite, then," roared the victim through a cloud of spray; "only don't lay it to me if anything happens.

Penn, you go below right off an' git your coffee.