But Dorothy knew and ran to meet him—“last but not least of all our company, good Cap’n Jack, Skipper of the Water Lily.”
Then she brought him to Aunt Betty and formally presented him, expressing by nods and smiles that she would “explain him” later on. Afterward, each and all were introduced to “our Captain,” at whom some stared rather rudely, Aurora even declining to acknowledge the presentation.
“Captain Hurry, we’re ready to embark. Is that the truly nautical way to speak? Because, you know, we long to be real sailors on this cruise and talk real sailor-talk. We cease to be ‘land lubbers’ from this instant. Kind Captain, lead ahead!” cried Dorothy, in a very gale of high spirits and running to help Aunt Betty on the way.
But there was no hurry about this skipper, except his name. With an air of vast importance and dignity he stalked to the end of the pier and scanned the face of the water, sluggishly moving to and fro. Then he pulled out a spy glass, somewhat damaged in appearance, and tried to adjust it to his eye. This was more difficult because the lens was broken; but the use of it, the old man reckoned, would be imposing on his untrained crew, and he had expended his last dollar—presented him by some old cronies—in the purchase of the thing at a junk shop by the waterside. Indeed, the Captain’s motions were so deliberate, and apparently, senseless, that Aunt Betty lost patience and indignantly demanded:
“Dorothy, who is this old humbug you’ve picked up? You quite forgot—or didn’t forget—to mention him when you named your guests.”
“No, Auntie, I didn’t forget. I kept him as a delightful surprise. I knew you’d feel so much safer with a real captain in charge.”
“Humph! Who told you he was a captain, or had ever been afloat?”
“Why—he did;” answered the girl, under her breath. “I—I met him on a car. He used to own a boat. He brought oysters to the city. I think it was a—a bugeye, some such name. Auntie, don’t you like him? I’m so sorry! because you said, you remember, that I might choose all to go and to have a real captain who’ll work for nothing but his ‘grub’—that’s food, he says——”
“That will do. For the present I won’t turn him off, but I think his management of the Water Lily will be brief. On a quiet craft—Don’t look so disappointed. I shall not hurt your skipper’s feelings though I’ll put up with no nonsense.”
At that moment the old man had decided to go aboard and leading the way with a gallant flourish of crutches, guided them into the cabin, or saloon, and made his little speech.