“My, but you are wet!” exclaimed Katy. “Oughtn’t you to go right home and change?”
“Come with me into the house, boys. I think Wing and I can fix you up.” The Captain cut a laugh in the middle to offer aid.
The lads were so ludicrously crestfallen; they were doubly comical.
Wing, fortunately, had a good fire in the kitchen and soon had their wet garments steaming before it, while the Captain hunted out dry clothes for them. Some spirit of mischief prompted him to array Ernest in an old uniform of his own, with amazing 265results, for Ernest was considerably slimmer than the older man, and fully two inches taller. The ample blue coat with its gold braid hung on him as on a clothes rack. The sleeves were so short they left a generous expanse of wrist in view, and the trousers struck him well above the ankle.
The Captain saluted him ceremoniously, chuckling at the boy’s absurd appearance. The girls were openly hilarious.
Chicken Little struck an attitude. “Behold the future admiral! Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to introduce Admiral Morton, of whose distinguished exploits you have often heard. His recent feat of capsizing the enemy’s frigate single-handed, has never been equalled in the annals of our glorious navy.”
She was not permitted to finish this speech undisturbed. Ernest had chased her half way round the house before she got the last words out.
He clapped his hand firmly over her mouth to restrain her from further eloquence.
Jane struggled helplessly. “Katy–say, Katy, come–help—”
Katy, nothing loath, flung herself on Ernest from the rear and the three had a joyous tussle, with honors on the side of the future admiral, till Sherm, who had been a little slower in dressing than Ernest, came out the front door.