"What is it smells so sweet?" she asked.
"The land," said I.
"Yes, I know, of course. But I never smelled land so sweet as this before. Now, off Martin——"
"The wind has fallen light, Captain," said I.
"How monotonous you are," said Cynthia, "not to call it——"
"Damn the wind!" said the Skipper. He wet his finger in his mouth and held it up.
"Why don't you throw the cat overboard, and shoot an albatross?" questioned Cynthia, who was versed in sea lore.
"The cat was left behind at Martinique," replied the Skipper. "I guess with some of those girls Jones was hanging round, and any fool knows that no one ever saw an albatross in these waters."
"Well, please don't damn the wind, Uncle, while I'm on board." Cynthia spoke with some asperity, and turned her back squarely on me. "You know very well you promised Aunt Mary 'Zekel——"
"Damning the wind ain't anything; want a blow!" said the Skipper.