“I believe Papa and Mamma Fairfax would like to know we were looking at them,” said Regie, with his arms clasped firmly round the captain's neck. “They could not see us, but they could know we were there.”
“To be sure,” said the captain, making use of those three monosyllables on every possible occasion; “and we'll stop at the railroad station on our way home now, and telegraph them to be on the lookout for us.”
“You're a magnificent captain!” said Regie, never hesitating to express honest admiration.
“I'm glad you think so,” replied the captain, tightening his hold of the warm-hearted little fellow, “but unfortunately your saying so does not make it true.”
“But, papa, it is true,” said Nan, loyally, catching hold of her father's coat, and trudging along by his side. “All the men say so at the Life-saving Station, and I guess they ought to know.”
“None of them have ever been to sea with me, Nan.”
“They know about you all the same,” said Harry, with a significant shake of his head; for he was very proud of his tall father, and of his handsome weather-beaten face.
They had reached the little Gothic railroad station, and Captain Murray sat Regie down on the operator's table while he wrote this telegram on one of the yellow paper blanks:—
“Mr. Curtis Fairfax,