“Here we are, sir,” Sue exclaimed, as they came up, breathlessly. “Polly wouldn’t wait for us. She wanted to meet you first of all, so we let her.”
“Let me?” repeated Polly, but the girls wouldn’t allow her to finish.
“You don’t know how she orders us around,” Ruth added.
“Does she?” The Admiral leaned back his head, and laughed in his deep, hearty fashion. “And I am afraid I cannot do a thing about it. She’s the Commodore, you understand, and if I had my choice between a kingship and a commodore’s berth, for real sovereignty, I’d choose the berth. Where’s the Doctor?”
The girls caught their breath, and their eyes fairly shone with interest and subdued excitement. Polly laid her hands on the Admiral’s shoulders.
“Grandfather dear,” she exclaimed, solemnly, “do you know him?”
“Oh, but he’s a smuggler,” added Ted, mischievously. “He’s just disguised as a doctor of something.”
“And he’s addicted to orange marmalade something terrible, Aunty Welcome says,” Kate put in.
“But he’s got the finest Chili sauce over in the cave you ever tasted, grandfather,” Polly concluded.
“Now, wait one moment, and let me catch my breath.” The Admiral put out his hands to defend himself, as the girls all clustered around him, each one eager to tell about the mystery of Smugglers’ Isle. “I mean Penrhyn Parmelee Smith of Washington, D. C.”