“You thought the joy might be too much for me?” she demanded.
Cheviot looked at her with the swift speculation in his eye of the man who is thinking: “Now, is she going to insist on quarreling with me?” “This is the lady I was talking to you about, Captain. Pretty cool of me having her up here without asking you! Miss Mar—Captain Gillies. Now, the least I can do is to take her down,” and, in spite of the captain’s gruff civility, that was what Cheviot proceeded to do. “Don Quixote’s signaling. Let’s go and see what’s up.”
Hildegarde had not perceived that the gaunt old person below was making any unusual demonstration. He was always waving his arms and addressing the multitude. “I’ve been rather afraid of that one,” she confided.
“Afraid? Then it’s only because you don’t know him. He’s the most interesting person on the ship.”
“No, my Blumpitty’s the most interesting.”
“Well, you show me your blumpitty and I’ll show you mine. Mine’s got an invention for pumping water for the placers.”
“Mine’s got something far more wonderful.”
“Don’t believe you. Wait till you know about Don Quixote’s ‘systems of windmills’; they’re the greatest ever. I don’t say his windmills will work at the mines; but they’ve gone without a let-up, straight through the North Pacific and the Bering Sea. Windmills all the morning. Windmills every night. You must have heard as you passed him on the deck, ‘Windmills,’ ‘Windmills.’ No? Well, come along.”
Rather nice to be “coming along” with Louis once more. It was going to make a difference in this expedition.
Hildegarde got a compliment to her seamanship out of the fantastic old Alabaman. “I’ve watched this young lady,” he informed Cheviot. “She’s as happy in a ‘norther’ as one o’ my windmills.” And he sent a rattling laugh after them as they two went down the swinging deck.