The tone disturbed me. Had she shown any interest besides that for a hopelessly familiar chat from a superior point of view, I might have passed on and nothing would have happened. As it was, my spirit rose a bit.
“I am as well as any man can be who is fastened to a ship he would like to get clear of,” said I, and walked boldly upon the porch where she sat.
“I wonder you can get along anywhere with your amazing impudence,” she answered. “Can you tell me what you would have me do to alleviate your suffering? If papa saw you here talking to me like this, I think you would even care less for a voyage with him in The Gentle Hand.”
“Hang your--I was about to say your father,” I answered, “but as this fate is liable to overtake all the men concerned, it would be unwise to tempt Providence. I didn’t come here, however, to carry tales to his daughter.”
“Will you kindly state just what brought you, then? You are an American, John, and I’m interested in you to that extent.”
“That is most kind,” I answered, “and I will make it perfectly plain before I leave.” Here I drew up a chair, and sat quietly down at a respectful distance. Her eyebrows raised a trifle at this action, and her smile hardened a bit, but I was aroused now and I paid no further attention to mere details.
CHAPTER XXII.
“STAND TO IT!”
“I suppose,” I said, “that you believe me suffering from sconce swellus.”
“It must be an extraordinary disorder for a sailor,” she answered.
“Translated into nautical language, it means swelling of the frontal bone, producing an ecstatic degree of self-complacency in a hitherto irresponsible mind,” said I, “and it is more often found to exist among young persons, much younger even than I am. I wished to say that my exalted rank on the barque was not such as to produce the disease.”