As the boat came nearer and nearer Jack became more and more agitated.
“I say, Alan, focus your eyes on that man at the rudder. I think my sight’s failing me. Look closely. Did you ever see him before?”
“I think I have, but am not quite sure.”
“Why, he looks to me like my jovial and venerable father-in-law, Captain Kempt, of Bar Harbor. Perfectly absurd, of course: it can’t be.”
“He does resemble the Captain, but I only saw him once or twice.”
“Hooray, Captain Kempt, how are you?” shouted Jack across the waters.
The Captain raised his right hand and waved it, but made no attempt to cover the distance with his voice. Jack ran pell-mell down the steps, and Drummond followed in more leisurely fashion. The boat swung round to the landing, and Captain Kempt cried cordially:
“Hello, Prince, how are you? And that’s Lieutenant Drummond, isn’t it? Last time I had the pleasure of seeing you, Drummond, was that night of the ball.”
“Yes,” said Drummond. “I was very glad to see you then, but a hundred times happier to see you to-day.”
“I was just cruising round these waters in my yacht, and I thought I’d take a look at this rock you tried to obliterate. I don’t see any perceptible damage done, but what can you expect from British marksmanship?”