“No!” said the man behind the door.
Back to the table lurched Captain Downs. He pounded down his fist. “That settles it with me!” Then he poised his big hand on the edge of the table-cover. “I was ready to tip one way or the other and it needed only a little push. I have tipped.” Down came the palm flat on the table-cloth with final and decisive firmness. “Young man,” he informed Bradish, “there's an extra stateroom, there, off this dining-saloon. You take it!”
“What can I tell my father?” wailed the girl, the fire of her determination suddenly quenched by sobbing helplessness.
“You can tell him that I temporarily adopted you as my daughter at three bells on this particular evening, and I'll go to him and back you up if it becomes necessary.” He opened the door leading aft and bowed. “Now, you trot along to your stateroom, sissy!”
After hesitating a few moments she hurried away. The skipper locked the door and slipped the key into his pocket.
“Do you think I'm going to—” began Bradish, angrily.
“I ain't wasting any thoughts on you, sir. I'm saving 'em all for the Drusilla M. Alden just now.”
The craft's plunging roll gave evidence that the sea was making. At that instant the first mate came down a few steps of the forward companionway, entering through the coach-house door.
“She's breezing up fresh from east'ard, sir!” he reported.
“So I've judged from the way this sheathing is talking up. I'll be on deck at once, Mr. Dodge.”