It is a bad plan on shipboard to ask questions of officers when they are busy, and Steve had been to sea long enough to learn this. On the other hand, it is a good thing, not only at sea, but through life, to investigate as much as possible for yourself, and correct any errors into which you fall as you learn more. "Bought wit is better than taught wit," the old moralist wrote; and he was quite right, for the things taught us are too often forgotten, while those which we have bought at the cost of a good deal of puzzling and study fix themselves firmly in the mind. So, as soon as the tub was left standing on the deck, and he could conveniently do so, Steve walked up and began to examine it, noting principally that about half-way down there was a broad ledge half round the inside. "To brew something, I suppose," said Steve to himself. "They'll lay the yeast, or whatever it is they use, on that ledge. Some kind of drink, I suppose, to keep the men warm when we get up into the ice." He had another good look round after thrusting his head inside the iron rail, upon which a board was placed to slide, and then noted something else which quite upset his theory. At that moment the shock-headed boy came up from the hold, with a bundle of what seemed to be stout oaken laths under his arm. "What have you got there, Watty?" "Wud--pieces o' wud." "What for?" "I dunno." "Oh, you are a clever one!" cried Steve, turning away impatiently, for the sour-looking sailor with the brown mark at the corner of his lip came up from below, where he had been to fetch a bunch of tar-twine. "Here, Andrew," said Steve eagerly, "what are they going to make in that tub?" "Make, Meester Young?" said the man, turning to gaze thoughtfully at the cask. "Observations." "Now, no gammon. Tell me!" The man wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and spread his face into a dry kind of grin, just as if something hurt him, and he was smiling to show people that he did not mind. "Observations," he said again. Steve gave him an angry look. "Don't you make stupid observations." Andrew McByle of Ballachulish, a well-tanned Scottish whaler, "went off": that is to say, he did not leave the spot on the deck where he stood talking to Steve Young, but he went off like a clock or some other piece of machinery; for he suddenly gave a jerk, and made a peculiar noise inside somewhere about the throat, accompanied by some singular contortions of the face. Steve pressed close up to him, for he had seen the contortions before. "Look here, Andy," he whispered, "do you want me to kick you?" "Na, Mr Stevin." "Then don't you laugh at me when I ask you questions. Every one isn't so precious clever as you are; and look here, Watty Links, if you dare to grin at me I'll punch your head. Now then, Andy, what is it?" "Dinna ca' me Andy, my laddie, and she'll tell ye. My name's Andra." "Very well then, Andra. What's the tub for?" "The craw's-nest."