"The old dear!" said Marjorie. "Isn't he pathetic? He looks thoroughly happy!"
Dinshaw stood with his hands on the bulwark, and looked down at the tug, his head askew like an observant fowl.
"Don't scratch the paint!" he shouted to the patron of the tug. "Mind what ye're at!"
"Paint!" laughed Locke. "Couldn't hurt that paint with a crowbar."
"Glad to see ye in good time, Mr. Locke," called Jarrow, and then stepped back to escape the smoke from the tug's funnel, calling to Peth to see that the ladder was put over.
After a deal of fussing and bawling on the part of the tug's crew, she was nestled alongside the schooner, and Jarrow was at the rail to assist them over the side.
"I told ye I'd go," said Dinshaw, proudly, taking off his cap to Marjorie as she jumped down to the deck. "This lady knows, and she wanted to go to my island. Thank ye, ma'am! Good mornin'."
"Indeed I do want to go," laughed Marjorie. "And I hope we'll find your island, too, captain."
"Thank ye, ma'am. We'll find it right enough," and with a hasty bow he waddled forward importantly, to oversee the getting of the anchor and the passing of the towing hawser.
But the tug remained alongside after Locke and Trask had climbed over into the waist and the baggage was transferred by Doc Bird.