The man looked up and signalled in answer. A couple of our sailors went to throw him a rope as he brought his craft alongside. He had come, so he slowly explained in his soft, slow, almost unintelligible Highland dialect, with fresh eggs and butter, hoping to effect a sale. The steward was summoned, and bargaining began. I listened and looked on, amused and interested, and I presently suggested to the captain that it might be as well to ask this man if he too had seen the yacht whose movements appeared so baffling and inexplicable. The captain at once took the hint.
"Say, Donald," he began, invitingly—"did you see the big yacht that came in last night about ten o'clock?"
"Ou ay!" was the slow answer—"But my name's no Tonald,—it's just
Jamie."
Captain Derrick laughed jovially.
"Beg pardon! Jamie, then! Did you see the yacht?"
"Ou ay! I've seen her mony a day. She's a real shentleman."
I smiled.
"The yacht?"
Jamie looked up at me.
"Ah, my leddy, ye'll pe makin' a fule o' Jamie wi' a glance like a sun-sparkle on the sea! Jamie's no fule wi' the right sort, an' the yacht is a shentleman, an' the shentleman's the yacht, for it's the shentleman that pays whateffer."