She's only got a fores'l and a jib, and the jib's only a little one that used to belong to a thirty-foot sloop.

Her anchor's gone, and I wouldn't trust her main topmast to carry anything bigger'n a handkerchief, nor that in a breeze no more powerful than a canary bird's breath.

And, as I told you, it would take a tide like a flood to float her.

No, she's no good, and never will be; but," with a sigh, "I get a little fun fussin' over her." "Er--by the way," he added, a little later, "of course you won't mention to nobody what I told you about--about my bein' a fishin' skipper once.

Not that anybody ever comes here for you to mention it to, but I wouldn't want.