“Ahoy!” called a voice in deep, soft tones from above. “Who’s below?”
Father and son glanced up to see the head and shoulders of a burly man leaning over the glistening rail. Skippy saw Toby stiffen determinedly.
“Ol’ Flint aboard?” he asked.
“Yeah,” the man answered suppressing a yawn. “He’s in his cabin amidships. Lookin’ for him?”
“Yeah.”
“Move the kicker aft an’ come aboard. Old man was talkin’ with Mr. Skinner when I come on duty two hours ago. His light’s still on so he’s readin’ likely.”
The little boat moved aft with hardly a splash and the next moment Toby was scrambling up the ladder. Skippy listened intently as his father set foot on the Apollyon’s deck.
“Want me to tell him he’s got a caller?” the man suddenly asked.
“Nope. Thanks jest the same,” Toby was saying. “I even got half an idee that mebbe he expects me.”
“Awright, buddy,” said the man heartily. “You’ll find him ’midships like I told you. There where the little light is.”