“Oh it’s blow, blow, blow!
And to Davy’s locker we’ll go.
For a stormy night
Is my delight;
And I love the hail and snow!”
An instant later a short, stout man, with one eye, a grizzled beard, rather ragged clothes, the trousers of which he kept hitching up, while he rolled his lone optic around in a strange fashion, came out on the dock from the boathouse.
“What ho! my hearties!” he cried. “Avast, messmates!”
“Who are you?” asked Jerry.
“Salt Water Sam. A relic of the deep seas.”
“Glad to see you,” remarked Bob. The lads took the old man for a harmless character, and paid little attention to him. For a while Salt Water Sam regarded the boys with his one eye, and then, singing his verse once more, he walked off with a rolling gait.
“Old sailor,” said Ned. “I’d like to know him.”
“You’ll probably have a chance. He seems to make himself at home,” remarked Jerry.
For several days after this the boys only made short trips about the cove in their boat. They took Mrs. Hopkins out, and she enjoyed the little cruises very much. Jerry wanted to take her out on the ocean but she would not hear of it. She said she was afraid the boat would swamp.
“You’d ought to have been with us the other night,” said Jerry. “I guess that would have scared you.”