“Oh, you dear, stupid old land-sparrow! Don’t you see those wooden cages high above the forecastle?”
“I don’t know what the forecastle is; but do you mean those little platforms with fences round them?”
“Yes, those are the lookouts. There are five on this steamer,—I’ve counted,—and the mate has sent a sailor to each one to watch and sing out if there’s danger of our running into anything.”
“Ugh! I wouldn’t be in their places for a hundred dollars,” said Molly. “But Kirke would like it, you may depend. I never heard of such a boy! To think of the way he went down into that well to save Sing Wung!”
“Kirke is a noble little fellow,” returned Captain Bradstreet heartily, to Molly’s intense satisfaction. “And here he is now, coming aft, and Paul is behind him.”
Pauline flirted her handkerchief at the lads as her father spoke, and they walked across the wet deck toward her, Paul slipping once on the way and nearly falling.
“A miss is as good as a mile,” said his sister merrily, when he came up to her.
“Some misses are as good as two miles, if not better,” said Kirke, attempting to be witty and bowing with much gallantry first to Pauline and next to Molly. “Oh, girls, I tell you we’ve been having fun!”
“With what, Kirke?” they both inquired. “With shuffle-board?”
“No, no, not with shuffle-board, but with—well, you might call it ‘shovel-aboard,’ if you want to,” said Kirke, “dropping into” wit again; whereupon Paul chuckled and cried, “Pretty good, Kirke. You see we’ve been watching the men shovel coal into the furnace.”