“May she never be less,” added the gaunt First Officer, who spent his days ashore watching the growth of a new Doraine and his nights on board with the failing master of the older one.
And in the rare old port from the Captain's locker they pledged the radiant bride.
“A long voyage and a merry one!” cried Mr. Codge, the purser, as he drained his goblet dry.
Mr. Furman Nicholas Chizler bowed very gravely to the lady on the Captain's right, and then to the one at his left.
“What care we which way we sail so long as the wind's behind us?” quoth he.
BOOK THREE
CHAPTER I.
In the far-off Northland it is winter again,—the winter of 1919-20. Trigger Island is bright and clean with the furbishings of summer. It is January,—January without its coat of white,—January as green as the tender gourd.