“And I was raised on salt water too,” Matt added seriously.
Cappy laughed.
“You're a Thomaston Peasley,” he declared, and shook hands. “Ever hear of Ethan Peasley back there?”
“He was my uncle, sir. He was drowned at sea.”
“He was a boyhood chum of mine, Matt. Permit me to present my daughter, Miss Florence.”
Miss Florence favored the captain with her most bewitching smile and nodded perkily. Matt held out his great hand, not realizing that a bow and a conventional “Delighted, I'm sure!” was the correct thing in Florry's set. Florry was about to accept his great paw when Cappy yelled:
“Don't take it, Florry! He'll squeeze your hand to jelly.”
“I won't,” Matt declared, embarrassed. “I might press it a little—”
“I know. You pressed mine a little, and if I live to be a thousand years old I'll never shake hands with you again.”
“I'll give her my finger then,” Matt declared, and forthwith held out his index finger, which Florry shook gravely.