unnecessary descriptions of sails and spars on the old Ohio .
“Niver mind fwhat he says; attind to me, Innocince. Tom Platt, this ballyhoo’s not the Ohio , an’ you’re mixing the bhoy bad.”
“He’ll be ruined for life, beginnin’ on a fore-an’-after this way,” Tom Platt pleaded. “Give him a chance to know a few leadin’ principles. Sailin’s an art, Harvey, as I’d show you if I had ye in the foretop o’ the—”
“I know ut. Ye’d talk him dead an’ cowld. Silince, Tom Platt! Now, after all I’ve said, how’d you reef the foresail, Harve? Take your time answerin’.”
“Haul that in,” said Harvey, pointing to leeward.
“Fwhat? The North Atlantuc?”
“No, the boom. Then run that rope you showed me back there—”
“That’s no way,” Tom Platt burst in.
“Quiet! He’s larnin’, an’