"I'll see. If I can do so I'll run up the red flag on the staff. If you see that you may stop. If not, you will know we can't get away that trip. I've got to attend to my early canning, you know."
Captain Simms grumbled something outside the megaphone, that sounded something like, "Shoot the canning!"
"Good-bye," came two voices, sounding faint and far away on the soft night air, one being a woman's voice, the other the thin, childish treble of a little girl.
"Head on that bright light low down there," directed the skipper, with a last lingering look back toward his home. "That's the worst of this business. A fellow gets about a five-minute look at his home and family, once a month or so. I'd rather be sitting on my front porch to-night than steering a ship through this rocky river."
"Is that a light-house that I am steering for?"
"No; that's an inspector's cabin. Starboard some."
"Starboard some," repeated the helmsman.
"All ships have to report as they go by. You will hear him call when we get abreast. Those fellows never seem to sleep."
"It must be a lonely life for a man out there."