She joined me within ten minutes, and began chatting happily about everything around us.
I noticed that the course had been shifted westward during the night, which brought us closer by the wind, and our leeward rail was gurgling to a smart angle of heel. It was fine sailing.
“Oh, look!” cried the girl. “The mist is lifting.” She pointed to starboard, a bit forward of our beam. “Captain Stevens,” and she trotted over to him, “what lighthouse is that?”
“You’ve a quick eye, Miss Stella,” replied Stevens. “It’s Montauk Point.”
She clapped her hands delightedly.
“And haven’t they wireless there?”
“To be sure they have. If the fog lifts a little more you’ll be able to see the apparatus.”
“Then let’s communicate with them! Won’t that be fun? You’re the operator yourself, aren’t you, captain?”
“Yes,” the little man answered slowly, “but I’m afraid we can’t do much talking with our own instrument, Miss Stella. You see, we broke it on the way to Portland.”
“Oh, well, then we can’t, of course,” she said, in disappointment.