“How d’ye do, Mr. Dunn,” said Captain Elisha.
“Have you two met before?” asked Sylvester in astonishment.
“Yes. I had the pleasure of assisting in the welcoming salute when our seafarin’ friend come aboard. How was that, Captain? Some nautical class to that remark?”
“Yup. You done fust rate, considerin’ how recent you shipped.”
“Thanks. Overwhelmed, I’m sure.” Then, with a look of languid amusement at the pair, “What is this—a meeting of the Board of Naval Affairs? Have you bought a yacht, Sylvester?”
“No.” The lawyer’s tone was sharp.
“Humph! Well, take my advice and don’t. Yachts are all right, to have a good time on, but they cost like the devil to keep up. An auto is bad enough. By the way, Sylvester, did you hear about my running over the Irishman this morning?”
“Running over?” repeated the captain, aghast. “You didn’t run over nobody, I hope.”
“Well, I came devilish near it. Ha! ha! You see, the old tarrier was crossing Saint Nicholas Avenue, with a big market basket full of provisions—the family dinner, I suppose. By Jove, the household appetites must be good ones. It was slippery as the mischief, I was running the car, and I tried to go between the fellow and the curb. It would have been a decent bit of steering if I’d made it. But—ha! ha!—by Jove, you know, I didn’t. I skidded. The man himself managed to hop out of the way, but his foot slipped, and down he went. Most ridiculous thing you ever saw. And the street! ’Pon my word it was paved with eatables.”
Sylvester, plainly annoyed, did not reply. But Captain Elisha’s concern was evident.