“He means,” said Anthea, with gentle politeness, “that we never can remember your name. I know it’s Mr De Something.”
“When I was your age I was called Jimmy,” he said timidly. “Would you mind? I should feel more at home in a dream like this if I—Anything that made me seem more like one of you.”
“Thank you—Jimmy,” said Anthea with an effort. It seemed such a cheek to be saying Jimmy to a grown-up man. “Jimmy, dear,” she added, with no effort at all. Jimmy smiled and looked pleased.
But now the ship was made fast, and the Captain had time to notice other things. He came towards them, and he was dressed in the best of all possible dresses for the seafaring life.
“What are you doing here?” he asked rather fiercely. “Do you come to bless or to curse?”
“To bless, of course,” said Cyril. “I’m sorry if it annoys you, but we’re here by magic. We come from the land of the sun-rising,” he went on explanatorily.
“I see,” said the Captain; no one had expected that he would. “I didn’t notice at first, but of course I hope you’re a good omen. It’s needed. And this,” he pointed to the learned gentleman, “your slave, I presume?”
“Not at all,” said Anthea; “he’s a very great man. A sage, don’t they call it? And we want to see all your beautiful city, and your temples and things, and then we shall go back, and he will tell his friend, and his friend will write a book about it.”
“What,” asked the Captain, fingering a rope, “is a book?”
“A record—something written, or,” she added hastily, remembering the Babylonian writing, “or engraved.”