"I know it," said Polly, bravely, raising her head; "and I won't—why Jasper Elyot King!" for then she saw Grandpapa and Phronsie and the steerage baby.
Jasper gave a halloo, and waved his hand, and Polly danced up and down and called, and waved her hands too. And Phronsie gave a little crow of delight. "See, Grandpapa, there they are; I want Polly—and Jasper, too." And old Mr. King whirled around. "O dear me! Come down, both of you," which command it did not take them long to obey.
"Well, I never did in all my life," ejaculated Mrs. Griswold, "see anything like that. Now if some people"—she didn't say "we"—"should do anything like that, 'twould be dreadfully erratic and queer. But those Kings can do anything," she added, with venom.
"It's pretty much so," assented Mr. Griswold, giving a lazy shake.
"Well, I'm going back to my chair if you've got through with me,
Louisa." And he sauntered off.
"Don't go, Reginald," begged his wife; "I haven't got a soul to talk to."
"Oh, well, you can talk to yourself," said her husband, "any woman can." But he paused a moment.
"Haven't those Pepper children got a good berth?" exclaimed Mrs. Griswold, unable to keep her eyes off from the small group below. "And their Mother Pepper, or Fisher, or whatever her name is—I declare it's just like a novel, the way I heard the story from Mrs. Vanderburgh about it all."
"And I wish you'd let me get back to my book, Louisa," exclaimed Mr.
Griswold, tartly, at the mention of the word "novel," beginning to look
longingly at his deserted steamer chair, "for it's precious little time
I get to read on shore. Seems as if I might have a little peace at sea."
"Do go back and read, then," said his wife, impatiently; "that's just like a man,—he can't talk of anything but business, or he must have his nose in a book."
"We men want to talk sense," growled her husband, turning off. But Mrs. Griswold was engrossed in her survey of Mr. King and the doings of his party, and either didn't hear or didn't care what was remarked outside of that interest.