“We’re much obliged to you, too,” replied Harvey, “for the fun you’ve given us.”
“Oh, that don’t amount to anything,” said Mr. Carleton.
Mr. Carleton, oddly enough, had occasion to make Henry Burns and Jack Harvey an apology not many hours afterward.
The afternoon and evening had passed, and the two yachtsmen, leaving Tom and Bob to spend the night ashore in their tent, had gone out aboard the Viking. They had sat up reading until about half-past ten o’clock,—rather later than usual,—when a most unexpected visitor appeared. It was none other than Mr. Carleton, rowing alongside in a small rowboat belonging to Captain Sam. He made this fast now and climbed aboard.
“Really this is imposing on your hospitality,” he said, appearing at the companionway. “But the fact is, I’m in a bit of a scrape. I’ve left my key in another pair of trousers in Captain Curtis’s house, and the door is locked there, and they’re evidently all fast asleep, as it’s getting on to eleven. I hated to wake them up, so I came down on the point and looked in at your friends’ tent. They were sleeping like good fellows, too, and I couldn’t see any extra blanket to roll up in. Then I spied your light out aboard here. Do you think you can spare me a bunk and a blanket for a night?”
“We’ll be only too glad to return your favour of last night,” replied Henry Burns.
“Though you didn’t make use of it yourself, eh,” said Mr. Carleton, smiling.
They were off to sleep then in short order, Henry Burns and Harvey occupying the cushioned berths amidships, and their guest one of the same just forward, where Tom or Bob usually slept.
There was really nothing of consequence occurring in the night, to be recorded, except a slight incident that showed Mr. Carleton to be a bad sleeper.
Perhaps it was the strange quarters he was in that made him restless, so that he lay for an hour or two listening to the deep breathing of the boys, himself wide awake. Yet he was considerate, was Mr. Carleton, and made no move to arouse them.