Klondyke's eyes began to shine.
In a few words and very simply, the Sailor told the story of the Island of San Pedro.
"I've sometimes thought since," was his conclusion, "that they were just guying me, knowing they could frighten me out of my wits."
"Of course they were," said Klondyke. "That's human nature. But you had rotten luck ever to come to sea. However, you are in smooth waters now. You'll never have to face the high seas again, my boy."
"I don't know that," said the Sailor, with a sudden sickness of the heart.
"No fear. The wicket's going to roll out plumb. You are the most wonderful chap I have ever met. Now I suppose we had better join the others."
They went upstairs and had a gay reception.
"I wish you would dance a hornpipe or something," said Silvia, "or cross talk as they did on the brigantine Excelsior, else we shall none of us believe that either of you have ever been before the mast at all."
"I tell you, Sailor, what we might do," said Klondyke. "If we can remember the words, we might give 'em that old chantey that was always so useful round the Horn. How does it go?"
Klondyke sat down at the piano and began to pick out the notes with one finger of each hand.