"Will the Polly be here to-night?" he added. "Your son's coming, isn't he?"
"Yes; but you won't see him to-night, nor to-morrow, not till this is over. You won't catch old Ambrose out in this weather" (Captain Ambrose Farguson sailed the Polly). "He'll stick his nose in the basin some'er's and hang on for a spell. I thought he'd try to make the inlet, and I 'spected Bart here to-night till I saw the glass when I got up. Ye can't fool Ambrose—he knows. Be two or three days now 'fore Bart comes," he added, a look of disappointment shadowing his face.
Archie kept on to the house, and the captain, after another sweep around, turned on his heel and reentered the sitting-room.
"Green!"
"Yes, captain." The surfman was on his feet in an instant, his ears wide open.
"I wish you and Fogarty would look over those new Costons and see if they're all right. And, Polhemus, perhaps you'd better overhaul them cork jackets; some o' them straps seemed kind o' awkward on practice yesterday—they ought to slip on easier; guess they're considerable dried out and a little mite stiff."
Green nodded his head in respectful assent and left the room. Polhemus, at the mention of his name, had dropped his chair legs to the floor; he had finished his game of dominoes and had been tilted back against the wall, awaiting the dinner-hour.
"It's goin' to blow a livin' gale o' wind, Polhemus," the captain continued; "that's what it's goin' to do. Ye kin see it yerself. There she comes now!"
As he spoke the windows on the sea side of the house rattled as if shaken by the hand of a man and as quickly stopped.
"Them puffs are jest the tootin' of her horn—" this with a jerk of his head toward the windows. "I tell ye, it looks ugly!"