"By all means," heartily replied Mr. Cochran. "It won't hurt you to know folks who don't care a rap for your money, and who are not looking for a chance to pull your leg. They preach a healthy gospel by just living along in their own way."
Arthur's mother mildly suggested that the dinner await David's return, but she was routed by the argument:
"That will be an excuse for another dinner. The more, the merrier."
Thereupon she offered her services as a partner in his plans, and between them they devised all manner of novel decorations and surprises. The thing which pleased them most was a lake of real water that extended the length of the dining table, and upon which floated two toy vessels. One of them was the model of a full-rigged sailing ship, the other of an ocean steamer, with a black star between her funnels. They were christened the Sea Witch and the Roanoke. For the bridge of the liner Arthur found a most dashing miniature captain in blue, who was tagged, in honor of the absent friend, "Captain David Downes."
The guests arrived fairly calm, but somewhat awed by their surroundings. Captain John, in his Sunday black, loomed like a benevolent Viking. His massive, clean-shaven face had lost its sea tan, but he was as fine a specimen of the American ship-master as could have been found in his almost vanished generation. Margaret, dressed in white, with a rose in her fair hair, was winsomely girlish, enjoying every moment of this red-letter night. Mr. Becket's rolling gait put the costly bric-a-brac in some danger, and he would insist on making side remarks to the servants, but Margaret was a skilful pilot, and steered him in safety to the haven of the dining-room.
"I don't quite figure out how it all happened," said Captain Bracewell, from his chair at Mrs. Cochran's right hand, "but we are all glad to be here, ma'am. Most of us have been saved by the Lord's grace from the perils of the deep. But the boy who fetched us all together is absent from us, and I move we drink his health standing."
While the company toasted the young able seaman of the Roanoke, Arthur cried:
"And here's to all ships and sailors, their sisters, sweethearts, and wives."
He glanced at Margaret with so mischievous a twinkle in his dancing eyes that she felt her cheek grow hot, for no reason at all, of course. Mr. Becket made a diversion, however, by pensively observing:
"There was a black-eyed senorita in Valparaiso. But she hasn't written me in eleven years, and I couldn't read it if she did. But I hereby drink to her most hearty."