“And you?” he asked of Harry. And when she had told him: “Well, that’s all right then. We sail Saturday morning.”
“What do you mean?” cried Harry.
“Why, that you must be my guests, Miss Emery, the whole lot and parcel of you. I’ll get you to New York Sunday morning, and that ought to be soon enough for any one. You’ve never sailed under the skull and cross-bones before, I’ll wager, and here’s your chance. So pack up your duds to-morrow and come aboard bright and early Saturday morning. And it’s, Hey for the pirate’s life!”
“Oh, wouldn’t that be glorious!” cried Harry. “Do you suppose we could?”
“Of course we can,” said Roy stoutly. “And we’ll do it. And we’re awfully much obliged, Mr. Cole. It’ll be fine!”
“That’s settled then,” answered the artist. “To-morrow we’ll get in our stores and prepare to slip anchor.”
“Bully!” cried Chub. “I’ve always wanted to be a pirate.”
“So have I,” declared Harry quite seriously. “Oh, dear, what time is it, please, somebody?”
It was after ten and Harry scurried around for her things. Roy brought the canoe alongside and Harry was helped into it, her precious deed and her presents in her lap. Then Roy and Chub followed and lifted their paddles.
“Good night, Mr. Cole,” said Harry. “I’ve had a perfectly splendid time. And I can’t tell you how much I like my picture.”