"Where to?" asked Cynthia.
"Ashore, I guess," answered the Skipper. Most girls would have fainted.
"I'd better go below and pack my bag," said Cynthia. She turned to me condescendingly. "I'll give you something, Mr. Jones, if you choose to come."
Choose to come! I would have followed her to a much warmer interior. The cabin was close and stuffy. There were some cushioned seats on either side of the table, just too far from it to allow one to eat comfortably. The most of my bread dropped, between my knees and rolled away on the deck.
"What does he carry that ridiculous picture all around the world for?" I growled.
Cynthia turned and looked at the coloured picture of a falcon which hung in its frame at the end of the small cabin.
"Doesn't he look foolish? He's so out of drawing. He makes me seasick," said I.
"It is an excellent picture," said Cynthia.
"And a plain Yankee skipper coming to sea with a coat of arms and a motto. It's positively silly!"
"It belongs to him just as much as his name does. I can't see why he shouldn't bring it. It isn't a coat of arms, either. You can't say such things to me about the hooded hawk, Mr. Jones, though I am not a Schuyler exactly. But I have a great respect for the family."