“You pretend you don’t like them?”
“Nothing of the sort; I worship them. But I believe in variety, and prefer to carry a light heart from one port to another.”
“How does variety affect your pocket?”
“Very conveniently. I admire only respectable girls, and they never know me long enough to prove expensive. Hello, what’s up now?”
As the second mate made this exclamation, he turned his eyes to what seemed to be an object of speculation to many on board. It was trailing along the water a considerable distance ahead, and was as yet somewhat difficult to distinguish. On the bridge the mate was also exercising his mind about it.
“I can’t make the thing out,” he said to the man at the wheel. “It can’t be a boat of any sort; and yet, what else would you expect to see scudding on the water before the wind like that? Here, have a look, Greenaway; your eyes can see further than mine.”
Greenaway did as he was bid, and, after careful observation, remarked quietly, “It’s a dismasted balloon, sir, and there are some fellows hanging on to the rigging.”
“A dismasted balloon! What the deuce do you mean?”
“Well, sir, I mean what I say. She’s dismasted. Leastways, her sail’s flopping about anyhow, and doesn’t help her a bit. I reckon it’s about time them fellows took to their boats. If they don’t they’ll soon be exploring Davy Jones’s locker.”
“I always knew you to be a blamed fool, Greenaway; but, hang me, if you don’t get worse. What makes you call the thing a balloon?”