"How did you learn so much about it, Rex?" asked Peewee Hicks.
"Sailed in pretty near every kind of a one-man or two-man dish all around the seven seas," declared Kingdon airily. "From a catamaran to an outrigger, or an Esquimaux kaiak, yours truly has tempted Father Neptune."
"Wish to goodness you'd be really serious once in a while, Rex," grumbled Midkiff. "Never know whether you're dreaming or just plain fibbing."
"There!" ejaculated Red Phillips. "Some rap that, Old Grouch; right in the solar-plexus."
"But you surely have traveled, Kingdon?" put in Cloudman, who had come up from the low-roofed cabin to breathe.
"That used to be my middle name—before my father settled in Maine for the sake of mother's health, and went into the lumber game. Rexford Traveler Kingdon—that's me. Isn't it perfectly delightful to hear me boast like this? I'm so modest about it, what?"
"There's another sail over yonder," cried Peewee suddenly. "Is she heading in, too, Kingdon?"
"She's making a leg that way," announced the skipper. "Blackport Channel is narrow, but deep. We'll have to make about the same number of tacks as she'll make to get in. Another cat, too; but bigger than the Spoondrift."
"And a whole lot fancier," Red Phillips declared.
"See her canvas!" cried Peewee. "White as snow."