“He's handsome,” thought Florry. “What a beautiful tan on his throat! He looks anything but the brute he is. But he hasn't any manners. Oh, dear! He stands there like a graven image.”
Matt Peasley's hand came out of his pocket; off came his cap and he bowed slightly.
“I am Captain Peasley,” he said.
Cappy Ricks, leaning forward on the edge of his swivel chair, with head slightly bent, made a long appraisal of the young man over the rims of his spectacles.
“Ahem!” he said. “Huh! Harumph!” Ensued another terrible silence. Then: “Young scoundrel!” Cappy cried. “Infernal young scoundrel!”
“I accept the nomination,” said Matt dryly. “You'd never know me from my photograph, would you, sir? I'd know you from yours, though—in a minute!”
Miss Florry tittered audibly, thus drawing on herself the attention of the skipper, who was audacious enough to favor her with a solemn wink.
“None of your jokes with me, sir!” said Cappy severely.
“That's just what I say, sir; none of your jokes on me! Those green hides were absolutely indecent.”
“Matt, you're a fresh young fellow,” Cappy charged, struggling to suppress a smile.