“An’ a corkscrew?”
“It’s here.”
“Then we’ve just what the doctor ordered: not this doctor—make no mistake o’ that. An’ them sons o’ sea cooks, forrard there, haven’t yet found a duplicate key to my locker. Wonderful! wonderful!”
The crew grinned, and put their backs into every stroke, for they knew “the old man” meant that they shouldn’t go dry.
“I’m the Pilot o’ this here port, eh?”
“Most certainly,” said the doctor.
“An’ Harbour Master, in a manner o’ speaking?”
“That’s so.”
“And captain o’ this here boat?”
They were hugging the shore of the island, where the strength of the incoming tide began to be felt in the narrow tortuous channel. The bluff old Pilot put the steering-oar to port, and brought his boat round to starboard, in order to keep her out of the strongest part of the current.