All the work on board was accomplished by him. If from some sense of fitness, he issued orders which awakened no answering chord in the crew, it was with unruffled amiability that he executed them himself.
Well might the Mimi be called the Democrat's Utopia. Instance the business of dropping anchor. As the Mimi came inshore, Alibaba would blow his syren rapturously and rattle through a string of polyglot orders while the crew listened with a gratified smile, in complete immobility. Without the slightest sign of mortification, Alibaba would waddle forward and, with a push of his patent leather boot, propel the tiny anchor into the lake. A sublime gesture worth pages of philosophic writing or communist propaganda.
'Is his name really Alibaba?' asked Norah, laying her hand over Dick's well-kept fingers.
'I think it's because of the crew,' Dick explained. 'Alibaba and the forty thieves.'
'Is he an Arab or what?' Mildly interested, she liked hearing Dick's voice.
'"Or what" about describes him,' he replied. 'I should say every race on the East Coast took a hand. Let's see. His grandfather would be a Eurasian stationmaster....'
'And his grandmother a Zanzibari dancing girl.'
'While his mother was kept by a Greek barman.'
'But was unfaithful to him with the Goanese cook.'
They laughed together delightedly. The engines seemed to run smoother, and Dick's mind was easier. If Dick was happy, Norah was happy too. Was she not on her honeymoon, the sweeter if stolen? And after the shuttered years on the farm, how savoury this foretaste of the busy world of men!