Katy and Gertie had been busy all day with their own preparations for departure. Marian was helping them with their packing, because Mrs. Morton had her hands full with the lunch and Ernest’s clothes and trunk. Chicken Little vibrated between the two centers of interest. Jilly also assisted, contributing articles of her own when she caught the spirit of packing. Her mother rescued a cake of soap and one of her shoes, but after Katy and Gertie arrived at home, they discovered one of Jilly’s nighties reposing on top of their Sunday hats and her rag doll neatly wedged in a corner of their trunk. Ernest was not overlooked either. When he unpacked at Annapolis, his recently acquired New York roommate was decidedly amazed to see him draw forth a small, pink stocking from the upper tray and a little later, a soiled woolly sheep along with his shirts. Ernest found his explanations about a baby niece received rather incredulously until a choice packet containing half a doughnut, a much-mutilated peach, two green apples, and a mud pie appeared. Jilly had evidently prepared a lunch for her uncle. They both went off into rumbles of mirth over this remarkable 263exhibit and began a friendship which was destined to be enduring.
Jane’s boat ride scheme found favor, but Mrs. Morton declared they must put it off till after supper. They drove over and found the Captain smoking contentedly on the veranda.
“I was hoping you young people would come to-night,” he said, “though I intended going to the train to see you off in any event. I shall miss these young ladies sadly, and Ernest seems to belong to me a little, now that he has decided to be a sailor, too.”
“If I get in, I shall owe it to you, for I should never have thought of Annapolis if you hadn’t suggested it,” Ernest replied.
“Well, I trust I have not influenced you to a decision you will some day regret. You seem to me to have many of the qualifications for a naval officer.”
“Do you think he is sufficiently qualified to row the Chicken Little, Captain Clarke?” asked Jane suggestively.
The Captain’s eyes twinkled. “If he isn’t, I think Sherm is. We might let the one who gets there first prove his skill.”
The boys were not slow in acting upon this hint. They sprinted their best without waiting for a starter, and reached the skiff so exactly together that the question of precedence was still unsettled. The 264boys did not wait for an umpire. Ernest untied the boat and both attempted to fling themselves in with disastrous results. The Chicken Little had not been built for wrestling purposes. She tipped sufficiently to spill both boys into the creek. The water was shallow, but Sherm was wet well up to the waist, and Ernest, who had been pitched still farther out, was soaked from head to foot. They appeared ludicrously surprised and sheepish.
The girls and the Captain laughed most unfeelingly. But Chicken Little immediately began to consider the consequences.
“Poor Mother, she’ll have to dry that suit out and press it before it can be packed. It’s a blessed thing you didn’t wear your new suit as you wanted to, Ernest Morton.”