“That,” says he, “is for us to find out.”
A little while afterward Mr. Browning said he was going ashore to telephone, and asked if we didn’t want to go along, which we did. We used the little dinghy, and hauled her up on the club float. Then we walked up the dock to the clubhouse, and the steward met us and made us welcome. Mr. Browning went inside to telephone, while we sat on the porch. Pretty soon he came out again, and said he would have to go down to New Bedford on some business, and that we could go along if we wanted to, but Catty says, “Thanks, but I guess we better stay here where we can keep an eye on the yacht. Kind of an int’resting place, this is, and I’d like to hang around and see what’s to be seen.”
“All right,” says Mr. Browning. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Now what?” says I, when Mr. Browning had gone.
Catty pointed and there was a dinghy coming in from the Porpoise. It rowed up to the float and Mr. House stepped ashore and walked up toward the clubhouse. Right then Catty pulled the chart out of his pocket and pretended like he was studying it hard. When Mr. House came up the steps Catty looked up and says, “Good afternoon,” and Mr. House spoke back as pleasant as pie.
“Fine day,” says he, stopping and looking us over. “Bully harbor. Live here, you boys?”
“No,” says Catty, “we live aboard a yacht. Just came in. There she lies.”
“Um....” says Mr. House, “the Albatross, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Who owns her? We’ve seen her quite a bit on this cruise.”