Captain Bluntt was in excellent humor when he took his place at the head of the supper table.
“So you’re the young rascal,” he said to Paul, “who kept us waiting at Sydney.”
“Oh, I guess there wasn’t any great rush,” answered Paul, somewhat nettled. “We’re on a pleasure trip, and not trying to break a record.”
Captain Bluntt looked at him curiously for a moment under his shaggy eyebrows.
“Not much of a sailor, I guess, youngster. Well, you’ll learn something before you gets home. Got a wonderful lot to learn, too.”
Paul flushed angrily, and retorted impudently and boastfully:
“Oh, I don’t know. This isn’t my first yachting trip. I know a thing or two about sailing. Captains of yachts don’t usually tell the guests what they’re to do.”
“Yacht, eh?” And Captain Bluntt laughed good-naturedly. “Well, well, don’t get grumpy. No offence meant. No doubt you’re a great sailor; you look it. Yes, you look it!” Turning from Paul as from a child whose presence he had quite forgotten, he remarked:
“She’s off in fine style, Mr. Remington, fine style! And we’ll make a rare fine run, sir, if the weather holds. Yes, sir, if the weather holds!”