And Kiddiwee lisped, “You’re the beautifullest whale of all the whales, you are!”
And the Whale was so overcome by all this praise, that he dived beneath the waves to hide his blushes.
A gentle breeze sprang up, and the old bed sailed merrily over the waves with her cargo of happy adventurers.
They were sailing so fast that Coppertop felt sure that they would catch the West Wind before he blew away to his home in Africa.
Tibbs climbed up one of the posts—or “masts,” as he called them—to keep a look-out for land ahead. And Kiddiwee steered the ship with a large piece of seaweed.
“We shall be there in almost no time at this rate,” said Coppertop gleefully, watching the foaming trail they were leaving behind.
“Will you?” cried a spiteful voice in her ear, as a little gust of wind shot by.
Coppertop shivered! It sounded unpleasantly like the Clerk of the Weather.
“Will you?” came the voice again. And this time it arose to a scream. And a sharp gust of wind lashed the sea-spray in her face.
“Storm brewing!” called out Tibbs, from the masthead. “Furl the sails!”