“My great-uncle?” I asked.
“Admiral J. Paul Jones. Wasn’t he one of your distinguished relatives? You’ve got the same name.”
“Oh, Uncle John? I believe we are related, but he was one of the rough specimens—sort of a piece of bark on the family tree—other side of the family, you know.”
“Well, you may find his bark worse than his bite.”
“Which planet is his shade living on now, do you know?”
“Neptune, I presume.”
And that is where I found him. He gave me genial greeting.
“Shiver my timbers, but I’m glad to see you. Come alongside and cast anchor, my lad, and tell me what wind blew you here.”
I explained that the mighty world below was palpitating for a few timely remarks from its old fighting hero.
“Fire away, then,” he replied. “What’s the first question?”