"Surely."
"Greg"—Balfe had opened the door—"how far up the beach to your cook's shack?"
"Oh, for Marie? A hundred yards that side."
"I'll look in there. Good night, Mr. Necker."
"Don't hurry away on my account, Mr. Balfe. I'd like you, or any friend of Mr. Welkie and his family, to hear what I have to say. It's a straight open-and-shut proposition I've got."
"Then we'll try to be back to hear some of it. Good-by for a while, then." The door closed behind him.
"Let's sit down, Mr. Necker."
"Thanks. And how did you leave that boy of yours?"
"In his little bed, with his pillow jammed up close to his window-screen, singing the 'Star-Spangled Banner' to himself and looking out on the lights of the fleet. He's afraid they'll steam away before he's seen his fill of them, and to-night he's not going to sleep till he hears taps, he says."
"It must be a great thing to have a boy like him, and to plan for his future and to look forward to what he'll be when he's grown up."