“Very good, ma’am, there’s my hand on it,” cried the Captain, rising to take his leave. “I must say ‘good-night’ now; for, it’s getting late, and I ought to turn in early if you expect me to turn out to-morrow. Good-night, Miss Nell; good-night, Bob; come along, Dick!”
With which parting words, away he sailed homeward, not thinking that he had forgotten his game of cribbage with his fair hostess.
Strange to say, the old sailor never once recollected his customary diversion throughout the evening!
Chapter Nine.
A Rival Collector.
Nothing could have been better than the appearances of wind and weather next morning—that long-wished-for “to-morrow,” which had at last come, in spite of the Captain’s perpetual procrastination.
The bright sun was glowing in a clear blue sky overhead, that was unflecked by a single cloud, while a fresh breeze blowing from the westwards to prevent the air from becoming stagnant; and the barometer, at “set Fair,” made all prophets of evil, if such there were about, keep their lips tightly closed and say nothing to damp the spirits of the expectant voyagers.
“Hullo, Nell!” shouted Bob, drumming on the balustrade of the staircase outside his bedroom to attract her attention and rouse her up. “Are you awake yet?”