“I have commanded a fishing-steamer, sir.”
“On top of it all you gave him three whistles—regular fishing-boat manners, eh?”
Captain Mayo straightened and his face and eyes expressed the spirit of a Yankee skipper who knew that he was right.
“I say,” insisted Marston, “that you saluted him.”
“And I say, sir, that he cross-signaled, an offense that has lost masters their licenses. When I was pinched I gave him three whistles to say that my engines were going full speed astern. If Mr. Beveridge had looked farther in that book he might have found that rule, too!”
“When I looked up at the bridge, here, you were waving your hand to him—three whistles and a hand-wave! You can't deny that you were saluting!”
“I was shaking my fist at him, sir.”
Within himself Captain Mayo was frankly wondering because the owner of the Olenia was displaying all this heat. He remembered the taunt from the pilot-house of the Conomo and understood vaguely that there were depths in the affair which he had not fathomed. But he was in no mood to atone vicariously for the offenders aboard the Conomo.
“If I could have found a New York captain who knew the short cuts along this coast I could have had some decency and dignity on board my yacht. I'm even forgetting my own sense of what is proper—out here wasting words and time in this fashion. You're all of the same breed, you down-easters!”
“I am quite sure you can find a New York captain—” began Mayo.