“Why, Mr. McGowan!” exclaimed Elizabeth, the color flooding her already rosy cheeks.
“Captain Pott!” cried Miss Splinter.
Mr. McGowan said nothing. He folded his hands behind him and looked foolish.
“I thought maybe a little company might liven up the trip,” observed the seaman, looking like a schoolboy who had sprung a surprise on his teacher. “Ain’t you going to welcome ’em? You’ll find their name on the roster, and they brought their grub with ’em.”
“This is a very delightful surprise,” faintly declared the minister.
Elizabeth looked troubled, and her discomfort did not add to the minister’s ease. She had been anything but cordial since the incident at her home when Mr. Fox had taken ill. He had not seen her since the fight. He feared that the interpretation placed on that 121 by her father had not bettered his standing.
“I didn’t go to bed last night right off, Mack, when I said I was going,” explained the Captain. “I went out and fixed up this little party for a sort of surprise to all hands. I stowed that ’ile in the boat-house on purpose so as I could get ashore without too many questions.”
“I trust that our going will make no difference.”
The minister’s embarrassment had grown painful. With a hopeless gesture he brought out a pair of black grimy hands. “Indeed, it will make a difference, Miss Fox, all the difference in the world. If the Captain had kept his engine cleaner I’d have been able to give you a more hearty welcome.”
The sight of the greasy hands broke the tension, and although Mr. McGowan cordially extended them neither young lady offered hers in return.