So that was all right, and we went on deck again, and Catty took the glasses from under the cushion of the bench across the bridge, and we spent the rest of the afternoon watching the Porpoise, but there wasn’t much to see. About six o’clock we saw the power dinghy snort ashore and come back with Mr. House, and then everybody went below, and so did we when Rameses III called supper.
When we had filled up we went to wait for our cat to come after us, and pretty soon she came along and slid right up to the jacob’s ladder while Naboth did a war dance on one foot an squalled like all git out for fear our paint would be scratched.
“Hey, you lop-eyed sperm whale, where d’ye think your a-goin’ in that laundry tub, eh? What d’ye think this is—a fish wharf? Sheer off!... Sheer off! If you put a scratch onto my paint as long as a pin and as thick as a hair, I’ll board ye, b’gum. I’ll board ye and I’ll keel-haul ye, and chaw ye and spit ye into the water fer eels to eat.... Yea-a-a-a-a.” He got out that last holler just as the cat touched the foot of the stairs as gentle as a bird lighting.
Rameses III poked his head out of the galley window. “What’s a-goin’ on?” says he. “What’s the argument? Where’s all the trouble? Be I needed?”
“You’re needed to keep your mouth shet,” says Naboth. But just then Catty slid by him and down the ladder and I followed. We stepped into the cat and in a second the tide was carrying us off.
“Yay! Whoa there? Where you a-goin’? Come back here,” yelled Naboth; but Catty just grinned and says, “We’re off to catch a night-blooming sunfish, Naboth. See you later.”
The young man at the tiller was grinning all over. “Nice, gentle, house-broke, soft-spoke sailorman, that,” says he.
“His bark’s worse than his bite,” says Catty.
“Most is,” says he, as if his saying it settled the matter for good and all. “Now where?” says he.
“Up the bay, and kind of skirmish around,” says Catty.