“Oh, I—well, that’s different. I always wanted to. And you’re doin’ it just because—because you’re mad.”
“Never mind why I’m doing it,” went on the captain. “You get dressed and get busy.”
Without daring to make further protests, the boy complied. At the earliest moment, however, he went into the house and almost immediately Mrs. Anderson appeared with a skillet in her hand. Rushing down the path to the boathouse, she cried:
“Charles Anderson, you’ll do no such thing.”
Her husband, already bolting on the bird-tail rudder frame, looked up in surprise.
“Do you mean to tell me you think you’re goin’ sailin’ off in the sky in that thing?”
“I haven’t told you anything of the sort,” answered the captain somewhat meekly.
“Well, are you?”
“I—I—”