I laughed; but there was no use in being surprised at anything Uncle Naboth did.
“I’ve got a whole empty cabin—second mate’s.”
“All right. When do we sail?”
“Three o’clock, Uncle Naboth—sharp.”
“Very good.”
He turned and ambled away toward the town, and, rather thoughtfully, I entered my boat and was rowed out to the Gladys H.
CHAPTER III
THE MOIT CONVERTIBLE AUTOMOBILE
The flat-boat came alongside within the hour. On it was a big object covered with soiled canvas and tied ’round and ’round with cords like a package from the grocer. Beside it stood Moit, motionless until the barge made fast and Ned Britton—who at my request had ordered the windlass made ready—had the tackle lowered to hoist it aboard.
Then the inventor directed his men in a clear-headed, composed way that made the task easy enough. The big bundle appeared not so heavy as it looked, and swung up without much strain on the tackle.
I found a place for it just abaft the forecastle, where it would not interfere with the sailors in working the ship. In a brief space of time Duncan Moit had screwed hooks in the planking and lashed his bulky contrivance so firmly to the deck that no ordinary pitch or roll of the ship could possibly affect its security.