"Well, I did—happened to turn quickly. Jiminy! Cap had about the queerest expression on his face I ever saw; honest, if Pete wasn't telling him something I'm much mistaken."
"Thunder—avast there! No more o' that, my hearty!" growled Jack. "How do you do, Cap'n!"
A well-built young man approached. There wasn't very much of the typical sailor about Captain Don Mason. He had dark hair, a close-cropped mustache and deep brown eyes. But for a bronzed complexion and the innumerable wrinkles which outdoor life had formed over his face, he might have been taken for a prosperous young business man.
"Glad to see you, lads," he said, in an off-hand manner. "Not much room, is there? Make yourselves as comfortable as you can; don't fall overboard any oftener than necessary." He glanced critically at the sky. "We'll be off in another moment. See you later, boys!"
"Seems to be a nice chap," said Bob.
"All sailors are," declared Tom Clifton.
"Especially those on nautical vessels," grinned Tim.
Presently they heard Captain Mason's commands ring out. Then came the clank and banging of heavy chains, as the anchor was slowly hauled up.
"Thunder! but don't they know how to handle those ropes, though!" cried Tommy, admiringly, a moment later.
The sailors were pulling away with a rhythmical swing. The creaking of pulleys and rattle of blocks sounded above Captain Mason's voice. Up, up rose the sails, reef-points tossing in the wind. Now the canvas bellied out; then flapped and shook. The boom seemed to shiver convulsively. A few strong pulls, and the mainsail caught the breeze, straining hard. Up went the jib.