“That may be right, grandfather, dearest, when you’re really shipping sailors, but when you’re only taking a lot of land lubbers, you have to explain things to them by degrees, or they’ll run away.”
“And how about yourself?” The Admiral reached down, and pulled at the long, brown curls that were tied loosely at the nape of his shipmate’s neck. “Does the commodore of the yacht club know the difference between a skip jack and a cat boat?”
“Maybe she doesn’t now,” responded the commodore stoutly, “but she will. Just you wait, and see. And anyway,” she added in a softer tone, with one of her quick side glances of coaxing merriment, “if she doesn’t, she’ll have her consort handy, right over on the hotel veranda.”
CHAPTER IV
FITTING OUT
The following week was filled with what Aunty Welcome called “doings and makings.” Every day found some of the girls at Glenwood, or Polly making diplomatic visits around to the various families, winning over fathers and mothers to the project. And she did not go unprepared, nor unarmed. Not Polly. Whenever Polly took up a new plan in earnest, she went at it thoroughly, and gave it a complete overhauling before she accepted it herself. Mrs. Lee was the hardest of the mothers to win over, perhaps because Isabel herself viewed Lost Island rather doubtfully.
“Do you think it is quite safe, Polly?” asked Mrs. Lee for the twentieth time, as Polly sat beside her on the long, cool veranda at the Lee home. “Isabel cannot swim a stroke, and I am half afraid to trust you girls around the sea. Does the Admiral really approve?”
“Yes, indeed, he does, Mrs. Lee. He says he cannot think of any better way for us girls to spend vacation after the winter at the Hall. It will mean the sea air, and bathing, and plenty of exercise. I think Isabel really needs a change. She took her mathematics quite hard this year.”
Mrs. Lee smiled at the flushed, eager face bending towards her. Twenty years back, when she had been a girl like Polly, she could remember just such an eager, happy face at Glenwood, the Admiral’s only boy, Phil, Polly’s father. Even with four sisters to spoil him, he had remained the same frank, chivalrous character all his life.
“Polly, you’re a splendid pleader,” she said. “I suppose I shall have to let Isabel go. Shall you go by rail or steamer?”