Part 16 (1/2)

”Well, sir,” replied the boy, with intense gravity, ”that depends on whether yer fine-hart edication has bin sufficiently attended to; but I've no objection to give you the benefit o' my adwice if you gits into difficulties.”

A loud laugh greeted this remark, and Billy, smiling with condescension, said he was gratified by their approval.

A few minutes sufficed to bring them alongside the buoy, which was one of the largest size, shaped like a cone, and painted in alternate stripes of white and black. It rose high above the heads of the men when they stood up beside it in the boat. It was made of timber, had a wooden ring round it near the water, and bore evidence of having received many a rude buffet from s.h.i.+ps pa.s.sing in the dark.

”A nice little buoy this,” said Billy, looking at it with the eye and air of a connoisseur; ”wot's its name?”

”The North Goodwin; can't 'ee read? don't 'ee see its name up there on its side, in letters as long as yerself?” said Jack Shales, as he stirred up the paint in one of the pots.

”Ah, to be sure; well, it might have bin named the Uncommon Good-win,”

said Billy, ”for it seems to have seen rough service, and to have stood it well. Come, boys, look alive, mix yer colours an' go to work; England expecks every man, you know, for to do his dooty.”

”Wot a bag of impudence it is!” said d.i.c.k Moy, catching the ring-bolt on the top of the buoy with the boat-hook, and holding the boat as close to it as possible, while his mates dipped their brushes in the black and white paint respectively, and began to work with the energy of men who know that their opportunity may be cut short at any moment by a sudden squall or increasing swell.

Indeed, calm though the water was, there was enough of undulation to render the process of painting one of some difficulty, for, besides the impossibility of keeping the boat steady, d.i.c.k Moy found that all his strength could not avail to prevent the artists being drawn suddenly away beyond reach of their object, and as suddenly thrown against it, so that their hands and faces came frequently into contact with the wet paint, and gave them a piebald appearance.

For some time Billy contented himself with looking on and chaffing the men, diversifying the amus.e.m.e.nt by an occasional skirmish with Stanley, who had armed himself with a brush, and was busy helping.

”It's raither heavy work, sir, to do all the judgment business by myself;” he said. ”There's that feller Shales, as don't know how a straight line should be draw'd. Couldn't ye lend me your brush, Jack?

or p'raps d.i.c.k Moy will lend me his beard, as he don't seem to be usin'

it just now.”

”Here, d.i.c.k,” cried Stanley, giving up his brush, ”you've had enough of the holding-on business; come, I'll relieve you.”

”Ay, that's your sort,” said Billy; ”muscle to the boat-'ook, an' brains to the brush.”

”Hold on tight, sir,” cried Shales, as the boat gave a heavy lurch away from the buoy, while the three painters stood leaning as far over the gunwale as was consistent with safety, and stretching their arms and brushes towards the object of their solicitude.

Stanley exerted himself powerfully; a reactionary swell helped him too much, and next moment the three men went, heads, hands, and brushes, plunging against the buoy!

”Och! morther!” cried Jerry, one of whose black hands had been forced against a white stripe, and left its imprint there. ”Look at that, now!”

”All right,” cried Shales, das.h.i.+ng a streak of white over the spot.

”There's no preventing it,” said Stanley, apologetically, yet laughing in spite of himself.

”I say, Jack, this is 'igh art, this is,” observed Moy, as he drew back to take another dip, ”but I'm free to confess that I'd raither go courtin' the girls than painting the buoys.”

”Oh! d.i.c.k, you borrowed that from me,” cried Billy; ”for shame, sir!”

”Well, well,” observed Jerry, ”it's many a time I've held on to a painter, but I niver thought to become wan. What would ye call this now--a landscape or a portrait?”

”I would call it a marine piece,” said Stanley.

”How much, sir?” asked d.i.c.k Moy, who had got upon the wooden ring of the buoy, and was standing thereon attempting, but not very successfully, to paint in that position.

”A mareeny-piece, you noodle,” cried Billy; ”don't ye onderstand the genel'm'n wot's a sittin' on judgment on 'ee? A mareeny-piece is a piece o' mareeny or striped kaliko, w'ich is all the same, and wery poor stuff it is too. Come, I'll stand it no longer. I hold ye in sich contempt that I _must_ look down on 'ee.”

So saying, the active little fellow seized the boat-hook, and swung himself lightly on the buoy, the top of which he gained after a severe scramble, amid the indignant shouts of the men.