"Come below, Mr. Castleport, sir. You'll have a bracer?" the genial sailing-master asked. "Nasty night, ain't it?"
"It is that," Jack agreed, "but I'm in hopes there'll be a change soon."
And smiling at the thought how truly the words expressed his secret intent, he followed the worthy Camper below.
Chapter Three IT BLOWS SOUTHEAST
The saloon of the Merle was a spacious cabin, paneled in Cuban cedar. Along both sides ran transoms cushioned in dark green corduroy, which contrasted pleasantly with the red of the woodwork. On either side of the companion-way were big closets, the doors of which, framing large mirrors, opened forward against the after ends of the transoms. Both to port and to starboard the cabin was lined with lockers for flags, charts, and bottles, except where the recessed bookcases came in the middle. Large nickeled Argand lamps to port and starboard on the for'ard bulkhead illuminated the interior. Sheathed in cedar, the butt of the schooner's mainmast stood in the fore part of the saloon; and aft from it ran a mahogany table around which were placed some comfortable-looking chairs. All in all, the impression of power and grace which one received from regarding the outside of the Merle was equaled by the feeling of comfort, and, indeed, almost of luxury, one had upon viewing her below decks.
It was in this pleasant retreat that Jack had settled himself in less than a minute after his arrival on the yacht. The good skipper, who had kept an almost fatherly eye on the youth ever since he was old enough to "fist a rope," sat uneasily on the edge of the divan on the port side. Jack, sprawled out on the opposite transom, lit a cigarette, and looked up at the skylight.
"My aunt! But I'm glad to be aboard again," he declared. "How is everything? What sort of a run down did you have?"