idling.

"As shair's daith, he's gotten his e'e on that fore-tops'l sheet. Ah
telt ye; Ah telt ye!" Houston was looking aft. "Spit oan yer hauns,
lauds! He's seen it. We're gaun tae ha'e anither bit prayer for th'
owners!"

The Mate had come off the poop, and was standing amidships staring
steadily aloft.

"Keep 'oor eyes off that tops'l sheet, I tell 'oo," said Welsh John
angrily. "He can't see it unless he comes forra'd; if he sees 'oo
lookin', it's forra'd he'll be, soon, indeed!"

There were perhaps a couple of links of slack in the tops'l sheet, a
small matter, but quite enough to call for the watch tackle--on a
Sunday. The crisis passed; it was a small matter on the main that had
called him down, and soon a 'prentice boy was mounting the rigging with
ropeyarns in his hand, to tell the buntlines what he thought of
them--and of the Mate.

Bo'sun Hicks was finishing off a pair of 'shackles,' sailor handles for
Munro's sea-chest--a simple bit of recreation for a Sunday afternoon.
They were elaborate affairs of four stranded 'turks-heads' and double
rose knots, and showed several distinct varieties of 'coach whipping.'
One that was finished was being passed round an admiring circle of
shipmates, and Hicks, working at the other, was feigning a great
indifference to their criticisms of his work.

"Di--zy, Di--zy, gimme yer awnswer, do," he sang with feeling, as he
twisted the pliant yarns.

"Mind ye, 'm not sayin' as them ain't fine shackles"--Granger was ever
the one to strike a jarring note--"As fine a shackles as ever I see;
but there was a Dutchman, wot I was shipmates with in th'
_Ruddy-mantus_, o' London, as _could_ turn 'em out! Wire 'earts, 'e
made 'em, an' stuffin', an' made up o' round sinnet an' dimon'
'itchin'! Prime! W'y! Look a here! If ye was t' see one ov 'is
shackles on th' hend ov a chest--all painted up an' smooth like--ye
couldn't 'elp a liftin' ov it, jest t' try th' grip; an' it 'ud come
nat'ral t' th' 'and, jes' like a good knife. Them wos shackles as 'e
made, an'----"

"Ho, yus! Shackles, wos they? An' them ain't no shackles wot 'm
a-finishin' of? No bloomin' fear! Them's garters f'r bally dancers,
ain't they? Or nose rings for Sullimans, or ----, or ----. 'Ere!"
Hicks threw aside the unfinished shackle and advanced threateningly on
his critic.

"'Ere! 'Oo th' 'ell are ye gettin' at, anywye? D'ye siy as I cawn't
make as good a shackles as any bloomin' Dutchman wot