"Well, Bobby, what do you think of it?" asked the man.
Bobby had not had time to look at the man. He did so now and liked him. The first thing he noticed was the man's eyes, which were steady and unwavering and as blue as the sky. Then he surveyed in turn gravely his heavy bleached, flaxen moustache; his hard brown cheeks; the round barrel of his blue-clad body; and his short sturdy legs.
"Think you'd like to run a tug?" inquired this man.
"I don't know," replied Bobby; "what is your name?"
"I'm Captain Marsh," replied the man. He glanced out the open door at the group on the wharf. "If they're going up past the bend to-day, they'll have to get a move," he remarked. "Here, Bobby, want to blow the whistle?"
He lifted the boy up in the hollow of one arm. "There, that's it; that handle. Pull down on it, and let go."
Bobby did so and his little heart almost stopped at the shock of the blast, so loud was it, and so near.
"Now again," commanded Captain Marsh.
Bobby recovered and obeyed. The passengers began to embark.
Captain Marsh watched until the last was safely aboard; then he set Bobby gently to the floor.