“And heroes get recognition from—from the government—don’t they?” She could hardly speak coherently, she was so excited.
“Sometimes, sometimes,” said Captain Quiller. “But here we are, and here’s Pete a-waitin’. Here you are Pete!” he called out lustily as they drew up in the heavy sand to reach the lighthouse landing. “Here’s you oil. Needin’ it bad, ain’t yer?”
“She’s jest a-flickerin’,” called back Pete. “’Bout ready to flicker out too. Where’s your can?”
“Right here. There you be,” declared the captain, handing out the oil can. “An’ if it hadn’t been for friend Nicky, we’d never have got it, neither.”
But Pete had grasped the handle of the oil can and was going towards the tower, without showing the least interest in what Captain Quiller was saying. All he wanted was the oil and he had got that.
The lighthouse was one of those built upon land—upon a strip of land that extended into the sea like a peninsula. On the end of this strip a tower was built of lattice work construction, and from the top of this tower The Light could be seen far enough out at sea to save mariners from the sand strips that would easily ground their craft.
“No use invitin’ you in jest now, I suppose,” Captain Quiller remarked politely, “and I suppose you’re goin’ to take young Nick home, ain’t y’u?”
“I SUPPOSE YOU’RE GOIN’ TO TAKE NICK HOME, AIN’T Y’U?” CAPTAIN QUILLER REMARKED.
“Certainly we are,” both Cara and Babs exclaimed. Then Babs said with a little laugh, “We’ve been taking Nicky home all day, it seems to me.”