“Ah?” said I, somewhat enlightened. “Is that their style?”
“Yes, indeed: let them get a fellow in a tight place once, as we are now, and they’ll pile it on—no telling how high.—Hurry, carpenter.”
The steamer reached us at last, crossed our stern, and with a graceful curve, came round on our port side, within hailing distance.
“Good morning,” said the captain of the little steamer—the Wm. Fletcher—who stood in the pilot-house.
“Good morning,” returned Captain Collins.
“Where are you from?” asked the steamer captain, looking curiously at the blank place where the Brewster’s name ought to have been.
“San Francisco,” responded Captain Collins.
“What vessel?”
This was a stunner, and Collins, after hesitating a moment, pretended not to have heard, and said:
“How do the Highlands bear from here?”