“Nothing to-day,” he said, with a smile. “Mrs. Anderson is the easiest-going woman in the world. But, when she breaks out as she did to-day, I don’t want to cross her. We’ll put the car back into the shop, and—well, we might try a sail until the storm is over.”
“There’s someone out already,” remarked the almost disconsolate boy, pointing toward a speck of sail far down the river.
Captain Anderson looked and led the way to the boathouse. Unbolting the part of the rudder frame he had already attached, he and Andy carried the light frame into the shop.
“Something like a pallbearer,” remarked the captain. “Maybe our sail will cheer us up.”
Before he left the shop, he took down his binoculars, and had a squint up and down the river.
“Looks like Lars Nilsen’s Frieda from St. Sebastian,” commented the captain, indicating the boat in sight.
Ten minutes later the man and the boy had rowed out to the anchored Valkaria, and were hoisting the sail, when Captain Anderson noticed that the boat in the river had come about and was making for his pier.
“It is Nilsen,” said the captain, “and he’s comin’ in. Hang on to the mooring till we see what he wants.”
As the Frieda approached the pier, it could be seen that, besides the man sailing the boat, a young man was aboard. By his side, in the stern, lay a traveling bag. The passenger had a smooth but somewhat tanned face, and he wore a stiff-brimmed light-colored soft hat such as are common in the far west.
Captain Anderson sang out a greeting to the skipper of the little craft and, the moment its nose touched the pier, the young man, bag in hand, sprang on the dock.