A room with a view

Terry stared. That didn't sound like English at all, but some foreign language. A bit.

"I'm Terry Button," he said carefully. "We's in the same ship, Fingers'n me." He indicated the towel-wrapped Fingers as he spoke, to make it clear who he meant. "Who're you, then?"

Why was he talking slowly like that? It was like he was talking to a child or a stupid person, or a foreigner, or something of the like. Davy's fuse kindled, but the gunpowder wasn't quite touched off yet; first he'd sort out what the lad was trying to say. "Ah'm Davy Weaver," he answered easily, "an' Ah'm no' a daftie so ye've ne need te taak leik tha', man."

The other boy had come wandering in. Fingers grinned. "He's harf daft, I thinks," he told Button. "Knows this place though!"

He swiped his dripping nose with a soft fold of the towel. Heavenly. That's what this was.