“She ought to be fast, sir,” remarked Britton, critically.
Mr. Perkins laughed—not aloud, but in his silent, distinctly humorous way.
“She is fast, my lad, w’ich is a virtue in a ship if it ain’t in a woman. And in some other ways, besides, the ‘Flipper’ ain’t to be sneezed at. As for her age, she’s too shy to tell it, but I guess it entitles her to full respect.”
We now drew alongside, and climbed upon the deck, where my uncle was greeted by a tall, lank man who appeared to my curious eyes to be a good example of a living skeleton. His clothes covered his bones like bags, and so thin and drawn was his face that his expression was one of constant pain.
“Morn’n’, Cap’n,” said Uncle Naboth, although it was afternoon.
“Morn’n’, Mr. Perkins,” returned the other, in a sad voice. “Glad to see you back.”
“Here’s my nevvy, Sam Steele, whose father were part owner but got lost in a storm awhile ago.”
“Glad to see you, sir,” said the Captain, giving my hand a melancholy shake.
“An’ here’s Ned Britton, who once sailed with Cap’n Steele,” continued my uncle. “He’ll sign with us, Cap’n Gay, and I guess you’ll find him A No. 1.”
“Glad to see you, Britton,” repeated the Captain, in his dismal voice. If the lanky Captain was as glad to see us all as his words indicated, his expression fully contradicted the fact.