At the landing Jack turned the launch over to her owner and scrambled back to the Crystal Spring. “I haven’t had any lunch yet,” he said, “so I’ll have to get busy. You and your friend come over in the launch some time and see me, Hal. I’m usually around after four, and most all day on Sunday.”
“We will,” Hal replied, “and I’m awfully much obliged for everything you’ve done, Jack. Hope I’ll be able to pay you back some day.”
“Oh, that’s nothing; glad I could do it,” answered Jack as he hauled in the sheet. “Hope she’ll go all right, Hal. So long.”
The others waved to him from the float as the Crystal Spring poked her blunt nose harborward and then turned to climb the hill to Hal’s home and luncheon. In the afternoon they installed the anchor in the locker forward under the gasoline tank, fixed the new lanterns where they belonged, stowed a patent fog-horn and a box compass under one of the seats and then went out for a spin. Bee wanted to learn how to steer and Hal gave him the wheel, but not until they were out of the press of boats in the harbor. Bee had one or two narrow escapes from running into the sea-wall, but by the time they were over the bar he had learned the knack of it. Meanwhile Hal sought to acquaint himself with the mechanism of his engine, slowing it down, stopping it and starting again until Bee protested that the engine would get peeved and refuse to go at all. But fortunately nothing like that happened and they went down the shore beyond The Lump, turned seaward there and headed toward Popple Head and the lighthouse. It was a fine day, with plenty of bright sunlight and a brisk southwesterly breeze that kicked up enough of a swell to send the spray flying aboard now and then. Bee was in his element and insisted on singing all the nautical songs he knew, which, however, were not many. After that he amused himself by turning the bow of the boat so that she got the waves on the quarter and wasn’t detected by Hal until that young gentleman had been thrice drenched to the skin by the clouds of spray that swept over him. Bee, crouching low, escaped the worst of them. Hal made him head the boat around again and Bee had to find a new amusement. He finally solved the problem by composing what he called “An Ode to the Sea” and singing it to an improvised tune that, to Hal at least, lacked harmony.
“O Sea! O Sea! O beautiful Sea!
O Sea! O Sea! O Sea! O Sea!
You’re full of salt and wet, I know,
And you kick up a fuss when the wind do blow!
Some say you’re blue; I think you’re green,
But you’re the nicest Sea I’ve ever seen.