“It’s the Licensed Poet!” cried Harry.
Billy turned suddenly at sound of the voice, dropped can and knife, and whipped his right hand quickly behind him. Then he recognized his visitors and laughed apologetically.
“I didn’t hear you coming,” he explained. He greeted Harry with a gallant bow, expressed his pleasure at meeting the Doctor again, and nodded to Chub. “You find me immersed in household duties,” he went on lightly. “I was just about to prepare my frugal repast.” As there was nothing edible in sight save bread, butter, and the contents of the tin can, the others thought the adjective well chosen.
“Well, don’t let us disturb you,” said the Doctor. He glanced about the beach and the underbrush. “But you surely don’t sleep here without any cover?” he asked.
“No, I sleep aboard the boat,” answered Billy, nodding to the Minerva, which rocked gently in the current with her nose imbedded in the sand. “She’s not very large, but I manage to keep pretty comfortable in her. I cook on board, too, sometimes, but when it’s possible I like to build my fire outdoors. Perhaps you’d like to see my private yacht?” he added smilingly. The Doctor hesitated, but Harry was already scrambling over the bow, and so the others followed. There wasn’t much to see; just the tiny cockpit and, beyond, a rather dim cabin lighted by the sun which streamed through a few round ports. There was a bunk on one side, made ready for the night, a small stove at the apex of the space and, on the other side, a bench. There was a small clock above the stove, a few hooks which held clothing, a wash-basin and bucket of water, a few books on a small shelf, a pair of shoes and a valise under the bunk, and some cooking things in a tiny cupboard above the bench.
The middle of the cabin was taken up by the center-board and the Poet pointed out a shelf which was made to fit over the center-board box and serve as a table. But there was one other thing which aroused Chub’s curiosity. On the bench just where the light from the hatchway fell upon it, was a pocket map spread out. Thinking that it was a sailing chart, Chub leaned over to examine it. It proved, however, to be a map of the country thereabouts, and the words Silver Cove stared him in the face. The map had been ruled with pencil into squares about half an inch each way and many of these squares had been filled in with pencil strokes until the map around the words Silver Cove was checkered with dark spaces. Chub had time to see no more, for Billy Noon reached past him and, taking the map, deftly folded it and tossed it carelessly on top of the few books, inviting them to be seated. But they had seen all there was to be seen and so they filed out on to deck again, Harry declaring ecstatically that it must be beautiful to live in a boat, and asking Billy how he managed to sail it when he was asleep. She and Chub found themselves back on the sand before the others and she seized the opportunity to whisper hurriedly in Chub’s ear.
“Let’s ask him to supper,” she said. “Shall we?” And seeing his hesitation, she added: “Why, he hasn’t a thing to eat! Just look, Chub!” And Chub looked and relented.
And so the Licensed Poet was invited and he accepted instantly. They waited while he gathered his few things together and returned them to the Minerva, closing and locking the hatch after him. Then he drew on his coat and the four went on. Presently Chub found himself walking beside Billy, Harry and her father having lost ground because it was necessary that the former should see the view from Gull Point.
“Say,” asked Chub suddenly, “what were you reaching for when we came up?”
Billy darted a swift glance at him. Then he answered: