Mr. Parker decided upon a hamburger. Food, especially the steaming hot coffee, revived the drooping spirits of the trio. Even Jack thawed slightly in his attitude toward Sally.
Sipping the brew from a thick China mug, Penny’s gaze roved curiously about the lounge. The room was poorly furnished, with an ancient red carpet and wicker chairs. Passengers were absorbed with newspapers, their fretful children, or the River Queen’s supply of ancient magazines.
The lounge however, was scrupulously clean, and every fixture had been polished until it shone like gold. Sam Barker, whose father before him had sailed a river boat, was an able, efficient captain, one of the best and most respected on the waterfront.
Attached to an overhead beam near the food bar, swung an ancient brass lantern. The body was hexagonal in shape, its panes of glass protected by bars of metal. A two-part ornamental turret was covered with a hood from which was attached the suspending ring.
“That lantern came from an old whaling boat nearly a century ago,” Sally explained. “For many years it was kept in the Country Club as a curio. Then two seasons ago, it was offered as a trophy in the annual Hat Island sailboat race held here.”
“I won the lantern the first year,” Jack contributed. He pointed to his name and the date engraved on the trophy’s base.
“The second year, I upset the apple cart by winning,” Sally added with a grin. “The race next week will decide who keeps the lantern permanently.”
“Providing it isn’t stolen first!” Jack cut in pointedly. “Sally, why must you be so stubborn about hanging it here on the River Queen? Every Tom, Dick, and Harry rides this old tub.”
“Don’t call the River Queen a tub,” drawled Sally, her tone warning him he had gone far enough. “And as for our passengers—”
“What I mean,” Jack corrected hastily, “is that you can’t vouch for the honesty of every person who rides this ferry.”