"Come! Queeck!" he shouted to the boy who owned the bundle and who now
hesitated on the dock. It was a good fifteen feet to the deck of the
sloop, and he could not reach the steel stay by which he must descend.
"Now! One, two, three!" the Frenchman counted good-naturedly, after the
manner of captains when their crews are short-handed.
The boy swung his body into space and gripped the rigging. A moment later
he struck the deck, his hands tingling warmly from the friction.
"Kid, dis is ze new sailor. I make your acquaintance." French Pete
smirked and bowed, and stood aside. "Mistaire Sho Bronson," he added
as an afterthought.
The two boys regarded each other silently for a moment. They were evidently
about the same age, though the stranger looked the heartier and stronger
of the two. 'Frisco Kid put out his hand, and they shook.
"So you 're thinking of tackling the water, eh?" he said.
Joe Bronson nodded and glanced curiously about him before answering:
"Yes; I think the bay life will suit me for a while, and then, when I 've
got used to it, I 'm going to sea in the forecastle."
"In the what?"
"In the forecastle--the place where the sailors live," he explained,
flushing and feeling doubtful of his pronunciation.
"Oh, the fo'c'sle. Know anything about going to sea?"
"Yes--no; that is, except what I 've read.
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