The appearance of the Flyaway seemed to bear out this statement.
"Sure you can handle her all right, are you, Mr. Bangs?" added Captain Coombs, eying his customer with a quick, sidelong glance.
"Well, I reckon," was the bluff reply.
Captain Coombs, possibly not all assured, gave an inquiring look toward a man who was busy cleaning a rowboat close by, and who seemed to be an interested party of some sort, probably a partner. The man drew his right eye down in an unmistakable wink, and glanced up at the sky. Then he nodded, shrugging his shoulders at the same time, as though he might have said, "There's no wind; we'll take a chance."
There was, indeed, scarcely a breath of wind blowing, and there was no present prospect of any.
Mr. Bangs's party began now to arrive: a somewhat fleshy, and withal nervous and agitated lady, who proved to be Mrs. Bangs; two young girls, an angular lady carrying a fat pug dog in her arms, and a small boy.
"Aha, we're all here," cried Mr. Bangs, joyfully. "Let's get aboard and be off. Splendid day for a sail, eh, Captain Coombs?"
"Couldn't be better," replied Coombs, dryly. "Are those oars in her, Dan?"
"Why, you don't suppose I'm going to row her, do you?" laughed Mr. Bangs.
"We sometimes has to, when we doesn't want to," said Coombs laconically. "No fun staying out all night if the wind dies out."