Sept. No, no, not exactly, March.
March. Sept., you’re a lucky dog. That’s just your luck. I might have been on the water a month without making such a haul as that.
Sept. Well, Father Gale, my little spinning Jenny, as you call her, has done good service to-day. Haven’t you a little better opinion of her?
John Gale. Sept., my boy, as March says, you’ve had a streak of luck. But don’t brag about that boat.
Sept. But I will, though. She is the fastest sailer on the coast; the neatest trimmed, and the cleanest built; and I’m proud of her. Hallo, Kitty, what’s the matter?
Kitty. Oh, dear, this is an awful world! Suppose Miss Kate should have been drowned,—and she would if it hadn’t been for me,—hurrying down stairs to tell—
March. After she had been saved. You’re a smart one, you are.
Kitty. I couldn’t help being late, could I? (Enter Mrs. Gale, R.)
Sept. Well, mother, all right, hey?
Mrs. Gale. Yes, Sept., all right. Come right here and kiss me. You’re a dear, good, noble— (hugging him).