"Yes! He sounds a little erratic, though," I replied.
The music stopped and the gentle splash of the oars took its place. From the shore came the sound of a sudden burst of human cries in the still night air, and then the sharp yelp-yelp of a dog.
Then more music—quick and rollicking—of the "hi-tiddly-hi-ti!" variety. It lasted for about a minute and was immediately succeeded by a man's deep laugh.
Silence again. A star winked here and there, and presently a bright yellow light sprang out of the ship's side, casting a moon-like image on the water.
"How peaceful!" I thought.
Once more the concertina spoke to us—but with a different, steadier and surer voice than before.
"Ah! This is the real Captain Morgan!" I said to Croft. "But the other. . . . I wouldn't be surprised if the old sinner hasn't been teaching Molly to play!"
We were now within about a hundred yards of the ship's side and I could see the silhouette of Molly's pretty little girlish head moving swiftly hither and thither as if she were dancing. Snatches of song also came from her lips—half-remembered lines and phrases, little animal-like grunts of joy, weird hummings. . . .
"Ho! . . . Ho! . . . That fas-cin-a-ting,
Ju-ust so glide,
It's a tum-tum tum-tum tum-tum. . . .
Ju-ust so slide,
There's a rumor that the Puma do-oes it now,
Monkeys have taken to it . . . la-da-da-dah-dee
do it . . . !"
The deliciously cool sea air, the lapping of the water against our boat, a swaying lantern on "The Pilgrim Father," the hushed stillness of Nature, and the great gray shroud of mist creeping down on us from the horizon, all imparted to the scene a vague dream-like quality. Molly became a nymph, a will-o'-the-wisp, a sprite. Youth indeed! What nonsense this business of rejuvenation was compared with the care-free ecstasy of those who were young in soul! What a terrible mockery of the real joy of life were we instituting in that awful hospital for the aged at Windhuk!