"Oh, my aunt!" whispered Tab, giving Jack a nudge. "The President has very little idea that he's made all the way in the Merle he's likely to for one while."
The cutter ran smoothly along beside the float.
"In bows! Fend off, there!"
At the word the oars were unshipped, and a couple of sailors caught the rope which edged the staging. The cutter came to a stop. A seaman leaped out and held the boat, the officer sprang to the float and presented an arm for the President and his guests as they stepped to land.
"We'll be down at eleven," the President said to the officer. "If you want an hour or two ashore, there's some sort of a shindy going on opposite the post office, I believe—dance or something. Mind you're sharp on time for me, though."
"All right, sir. Eleven o'clock it is, sir," returned the officer, touching his cap deferentially as the three gentlemen turned away.
"Great Scott!" cried Jack into Tab's ear in an excited whisper. "Do you suppose the President's going to get rid of all those men for me himself? Was ever such luck!"
The boat still lay at the landing. The men began to discuss going ashore, and every word was easily audible to the two watchers in the balcony.
"I vote we go," quoth he with the boat-hook. "It ain't every day the old hunks gives us a chance to stretch a leg ashore."
"It'll be dry, Tom," spoke up one in the boat. "Ye won't get so much as a swig o' cider-water this side o' Bar Harbor."