To the average person this would have sounded like the wildest insanity. But not to Captain Obed Bangs of East Wellmouth. The captain sprang from the truck and held out his hand.
“Johnnie Kendrick!” he shouted. “It's Johnnie Kendrick, I do believe! Well, I swan to man!”
The young man laughed, and, seizing the captain's hand, shook it heartily.
“I am glad you do,” he said. “If you hadn't swanned to man I should have been afraid there was more change in Captain Obed Bangs than I cared to see. Captain Obed, how are you?”
Captain Obed shook his head. “I—I—” he stammered. “Well, I cal'late my timbers are fairly strong if they can stand a shock like this. Johnnie Kendrick, of all folks in the world!”
“The very same, Captain.”
“And you knew me right off! Well done for you, John! Why, it's all of twenty odd year since you used to set on a nail keg in my boathouse and tease me into singing the Dreadnought chanty. I remember that. Good land! I ought to remember the only critter on earth that ever ASKED me to sing. Ho! ho! but you was a little towheaded shaver then; and now look at you! What are you doin' away down here?”
John Kendrick shook his head. “I don't know that I'm quite sure myself, Captain,” he said. “I have some suspicions, of course, but they may not be confirmed. First of all I'm going over to East Wellmouth; so just excuse me a minute while I speak to the driver of the bus.”
He was hurrying away, but his companion caught his arm.
“Heave to, John!” he ordered. “I've got a horse and a buggy here myself, such as they are, and unless you're dead sot on bookin' passage in Winnie S.'s—what did you call it?—bust—I'd be mighty glad to have you make the trip along with me. No, no. 'Twon't be any trouble. Come on!”