"Just this morning."
The old man drew closer. He was an odd figure, in the flopping straw hat, with oilskins much too big for him, and as he came up to the mouth of the cave he looked closely at the lads, then smiled and extended his hand.
"I'm Captain Royal," he announced. "You should have saluted, but I guess you didn't know."
To make up for this breach of etiquette, the boys saluted, and this appeared to gratify the old gentleman immensely.
"You're landlubbers, eh?"
"I suppose so," admitted Frank, with a smile.
"Well, we can't all be sailors. It isn't often people come to see me."
"Do you live here?" asked Joe, indicating the cave.
"This is where I live when I'm ashore. I'm resting up between cruises just now."
The old man sat down on the sand and fanned himself with the straw hat, for it was a warm morning and the sun was strong. The boys looked at him curiously. In spite of his garb, he did not look like a sea-faring man; his skin was tanned, it is true, but it was not the deep, mahogany tan of one who has lived for years in many climes. His voice was high-pitched and his expression was mild. But the boys were old enough to know that one cannot always judge by appearances.