Dorothy was distressed. How much or how little this old captain of an oyster boat knew about this matter, he was evidently in earnest and angry with somebody—herself, apparently.
“If we had any papers, and we haven’t—who’d we show them to, anyway?”
Captain Hurry looked at her as if her ignorance were beyond belief. Then his good nature made him explain:
“What’s a wharf-master for, d’ye s’pose? When you hand ’em over I’ll see him an’ up anchor.”
But, at that moment, Mr. Carruthers himself appeared on the roof of the cabin, demanding:
“What’s up, Cap’n Jack? Why don’t you start—if it’s you who’s to manage this craft, as you claim? If you don’t cut loose pretty quick, my Elsa will get homesick and desert.”
The skipper rose to his feet, or his crutches, and retorted:
“Can’t clear port without my dockyments, an’ you know it! Where they at?”
“Safe in the locker meant for them, course. Young Barlow has all that are necessary and a safe keeper of them, too. Better give up this nonsense and let him go ahead. Easier for you, too, Cap’n, and everything’s all right. Good-bye, Miss Dorothy. I’ll slip off again without seeing Elsa, and you understand? If she gets too homesick for me, or is ill, or—anything happens, telegraph me from wherever you are and I’ll come fetch her. Good-bye.”
He was off the boat in an instant and very soon the Water Lily had begun her trip. The engineer, Mr. Stinson, was a busy man and made short work of Captain Hurry’s fussiness. He managed the start admirably, Jim and the other lads watching him closely, and each feeling perfectly capable of doing as much—or as little—as he. For it seemed so very simple; the turning of a crank here, another there, and the thing was done.