"Troth an' the owld fellow was right there," said Larry McGee.
"So I took the doubloon, but I was too weak to say much, and when I got out of hospital I worked that bit of gold into this here star, with the Admiral's name on it, and the date, and Mobile, and all the other things I could think of. There's a picture of the old Hartford on the other side. She was a ship, she was."
Rob and Larry took a long and careful look at the star, and then the old man stumped away.
"How thim owld sailors does hate the shtamers!" said Larry.
"I don't care, the sailing ships are prettier."
"So they be, but the shtamers goes betther. How'd ye loike to wait for a wind whin yez wanted to go to the city, instid of shtamin' over in a ferry-boat?"
Rob talked with his father that evening, and showed him his four-masted ship with a bowsprit at each end.
"Rob, my boy, your old sailor friend is right. I think I'll take you over with me in the morning, and we'll walk up South Street, along the wharves, and I'll show you what he means."
"That's what I'd like."
"Wounded at Mobile Bay, was he? One of Farragut's men? I must hunt him up. Every American boy ought to touch his hat when he speaks of Farragut."