Men guessed his age at fifty-five, but they were ten years out in their reckoning; for John had numbered only forty-five summers, and was as tough and muscular as ever he had been--although not quite so elastic.
John Buzzby stood on the pier of the sea-port town of Grayton watching the active operations of the crew of a whaling-ship which was on the point of starting for the ice-bound seas of the Frozen Regions, and making sundry remarks to a stout, fair-haired boy of fifteen, who stood by his side gazing at the ship with an expression of deep sadness.
"She's a trim-built craft and a good sea-boat, I'll be bound, Master Fred," observed the sailor; "but she's too small by half, accordin' to my notions, and I _have_ seen a few whalers in my day.

Them bow-timbers, too, are scarce thick enough for goin' bump agin the ice o' Davis' Straits.

Howsom'iver, I've seen worse craft drivin' a good trade in the Polar Seas." "She's a first-rate craft in all respects; and you have too high an opinion of your own judgment," replied the youth indignantly.

"Do you suppose that my father, who is an older man than yourself and as good a sailor, would buy a ship, and fit her out, and go off to the whale-fishery in her, if he did not think her a good one ?" "Ah! Master Fred, you're a chip of the old block--neck or nothing--carry on all sail till you tear the masts out of her! Reef the t'gallant sails of your temper, boy, and don't run foul of an old man who has been all but a wet-nurse to ye--taught ye to walk, and swim, and pull an oar, and build ships, and has hauled ye out o' the sea when ye fell in--from the time ye could barely stump along on two legs, lookin' like as if ye was more nor half-seas-over." "Well, Buzzby," replied the boy, laughing, "if you've been all that to me, I think you _have_ been a _wet_-nurse too! But why do you run down my father's ship?
Do you think I'm going to stand that?
No! not even from you, old boy." "Hallo! youngster," shouted a voice from the deck of the vessel in question, "run up and tell your father we're all ready, and if he don't make haste he'll lose the tide, so he will, and that'll make us have to start on a Friday, it will, an' that'll not do for me, nohow it won't; so make sail and look sharp about it, do--won't you ?" "What a tongue he's got!" remarked Buzzby.

"Before I'd go to sea with a first mate who jawed like that I'd be a landsman.