That was him, all over. He wanted me, so of course I must come. My feelin's in the matter didn't count at all. I run the Glide in as nigh the beach as I dared and then fetched her up into what little wind there was left.
"Ahoy there, Major," I sung out. "Is that you?"
"Hey?" he shouts. "Do you know—Why, I believe it's Snow! Is that you, Snow?"
"Yes, it's me," I hollers. "What in time are you doin' way over here?"
"Never mind what I'm doin'," he roared. "You come ashore here. I want you."
If I hadn't been so curious to know what he was doin', I'd have seen him in glory afore I ever thought of obeyin' an order from him; but I was curious. While I was considerin' the breeze give a final puff and died out altogether. That settled it. I might as well go ashore as stay aboard. I couldn't get anywhere without wind. So I hove anchor and dropped the mains'l.
"Come on!" he kept yellin'. "What are you waitin' for? Don't you hear me say I want you?"
I had on my long-legged rubber boots and the water wa'n't more'n up to my knees. When I got good and ready, I swung over the side and waded to the beach.
"Hello, Maje," I says, brisk and easy, "you ought not to holler like that. You'll bust a b'iler. Your face looks like a red-hot stove already."
He mopped his forehead. "Shut up, you old fool," says he. "Think I'm here to listen to a lecture about my face? You carry Mr. Shelton and me out to that boat of yours. We want you to sail us home."