“It’s I, Mr. Johnson—Jack Herrick. I want to borrow one of your dories,” explained Jack.
“Help yourself,” was the hearty response. “And get a good pair o’ oars. There’s some of ’em sort o’ mean, Jack.”
Soon they were seated in a dory, Hal in the bow, Jack at the oars and Faith and Bee together facing him. A few strokes sent them into deep water and Jack settled down to the long pull ahead.
“If you see anything, Faith, just sing out,” he instructed. “I’ll make for the town landing, Hal. It’s easier to find than some of the other wharves. Will that be all right?”
“Dandy,” replied Hal from the bow. “If you don’t hear from me again, wake me up when we get there, Jack.”
“This,” remarked Bee, stretching himself comfortably and colliding with Jack’s feet, “is what I call fine. A sailor’s life for me every time! ‘Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum!’ O, you Hal!”
“What?” asked Hal sleepily from the other end of the boat.
“Wake up, you lazy beggar, and hear the birdies sing! This is no time for slumber. Look at all the pretty little stars, and the pretty little lights! Smell the—the—what-do-you-call it—the ozone!”
“That’s the fish wharves you smell,” laughed Jack.
“Can’t help it; I like it; and I prefer to call it ozone. Get the ozone effect, Hal?”