Molly suddenly fell to dusting her brother’s coat with her handkerchief. “You’ve run against something white, Kirke. And so has Paul. They don’t keep their flour-barrels down there, I should hope.”
“No; that’s a stoker’s mark. One of the stokers drew a chalk-line around our waists and said we couldn’t go till we’d paid our fee.”
“A stupid joke, I should call it,” said Molly, for the chalk-mark was hard to remove.
“A pretty old joke,” responded the captain. “They always try it on visitors. I hope you took it in good part, boys?”
“Oh, yes, papa,” said Paul. “Each of us gave the man a dime.”
“And made money by it, too,” declared Kirke. “’Twas well worth a quarter to be let out of that hot hole.”
“I’d like some of the heat up here,” said Molly, her teeth chattering. “Miss Evans had to put away her writing and go below, her hands were so stiff.”
“She’s writing a story, Kirke, and she’ll read it to me sometime. She promised she would,” exclaimed Weezy, very proud of the notice she received from her new friend.
“We just met her at the foot of the companion-way with her tablet in her hand,” said Kirke.
“Yes,” added Paul, “and she was clutching that bag of hers, as usual. I believe she’s carrying diamonds in it.”