She looked at him, and gave them.
“Don’t try to move,” he said in a softer voice. “It’s the easiest thing in the world to upset these toys. If you had taken a respectable ocean dory—I can’t see why they don’t provide them at the floats,” he complained, with the nervousness of an uneasy man. “I can manage perfectly where I am. Sit still, Miss Carruth!”
She did not look at him this time, but she sat still. He put about, and rowed steadily. For a few moments they did not exchange a word. Helen had an offended expression. She trailed her hand in the water with something like petulance. Bayard did not watch her.
Captain Hap crossed their course, rowing home in an old green dory full of small bait—pollock and tinkers. He eyed Bayard’s Harvard stroke with surprised admiration. He had seldom seen a person row like that. But he was too old a sailor to say so. As the minister swerved dexterously to starboard to free the painter of his tender from collision with the fisherman, Captain Hap gave utterance to but two words. These were:—
“Short chops!”
“Quite a sea, yes!” called Bayard cheerily.
Captain Hap scanned the keel-boat, the passenger, and the dory in tow, with discrimination.
“Lady shipwrecked?” he yelled, after some reflection.
“No, sir,” answered Helen, smiling in spite of herself; “captured by pirates.”
“Teach ye bet-ter!” howled Captain Hap. “Hadn’t oughter set out in short cho-ops! Hadn’t oughter set out in a craft like that nohow! They palm off them eggshells on boarders for bo-o-oats!”