“Well, there’s always enough to do to keep us busy, and most of us have our families here. Sometimes we take trips over to Key West for supplies, and twice a year the steamer belonging to Uncle Sam’s lighthouse department brings us the regulation stores of oil, coal, etc., that are furnished to all the stations from Maine to Texas. But life here isn’t very——”
“Hello, down there!” called an assistant keeper from the lantern and, running to the foot of the stairs, Chester answered the hail.
“Tell Cap’n Bowling there’s a small craft, probably a sponger, comin’ in from the east’ard. As nigh as I can make out there’s two men on board, waving lanterns. But they don’t seem to have her in hand very well.”
“A sponger from the east’ard,” repeated Bowling, having heard his assistant’s report. “There’s like to have been trouble out there, lad, for the most venturesome sponge-fisher who ever lived wouldn’t be abroad in this blow unless something had gone wrong. Tell Bill to keep his eye on them.”
Chester repeated the instructions, and a grin overspread his face as he heard Bill mutter irritably:
“Keep an eye on ’em! I’d like to know what else he thinks I’d do? Anyone’d have sense enough for that.”
“What’s he saying?” asked Bowling sharply.
“Just talking to himself, I guess,” replied Chester.
“That’s a bad habit Bill has got,” the keeper said, laughing. “He chews over a lot of words that don’t mean anything, though they kind o’ rile a man. Go up and see what’s eating him, sonny.”
Young Brownell obeyed promptly, although he felt quite confident that he would not learn anything more than Bill had already reported.