“Oh, four or five miles,” replied Jack carelessly. “More than that, I suppose, if I had to. But after three miles your arms begin to get pretty stiff.”
“I guess mine would!” laughed Bee. “I’m going to try that short stroke of yours some day. Will you show it to me? I’ve never seen anyone row just like that before.”
“Doryman’s stroke,” replied Jack. “It doesn’t tire you like a long stroke. Many schooners ahead, Faith?”
“No, Jack, none, if you keep the way you’re headed. I can see the lantern on the landing now.”
On one of the fishing boats a sailor was playing on a concertina and singing. Jack stopped rowing a minute and they listened.
“That fellow can sing, can’t he?” said Bee.
“It’s Desco Benton, sis,” said Jack. “I’d know his voice if I heard it in a fog at sea.” He plied his oars again and soon the dory was in the shadows of the wharves and shipping. Cautiously Jack sent the boat toward the landing, worming in and out of the launches and sail-boats moored in the basin. Then they awoke Hal—he declared he hadn’t been asleep, but Bee told him he had snored all the way across—and presently the dory sidled up to the float, under the glow of the big lantern, and they said good-night.
It was arranged that Jack was to look over the launch in the morning and if possible fix it up so it could be brought back to town. If the task was beyond him he was to tow it over behind the Crystal Spring. “Anyhow,” he said, “I’ll be here at nine o’clock with her, Hal. You’d better be around then. Good-night!”
“Good-night, and thank you very much for everything, Jack.”
“Not forgetting the supper,” added Bee. “Nor the chart. Will you go with me, Herrick, and look for buried treasure?”