Victor, still in a surly mood, felt considerably embarrassed, for Uncle Ralph, attired in a suit of faded blue overalls and a greasy cap, gave more the impression of being a man out of a job than one of the richest citizens in the community.
The boy glanced slyly around to see if any of his companions were wearing suspicious grins, but, to his relief, they were too busily engaged in inspecting the graceful lines of the motor yacht to pay attention to the captain’s appearance.
Uncle Ralph cordially shook hands. His bluff, hearty way caught the fancy of the crowd, and before long they were talking together like old acquaintances.
“There is certainly a lot of class to that cruiser, captain!” exclaimed Tom, in his gruff tones, “and I’ll bet it can go some, too.”
“Over twenty miles an hour,” answered Uncle Ralph, smilingly. “We’ll go aboard now.” He raised his voice. “Hey, you Phil Malone!”
Like a jack-in-the-box, a face popped quickly to one of the cabin port-holes.
“That’s Phil,” explained the captain. “My first mate, I call him—a bashful young chap, especially among strangers. Consider yourselves introduced.”
The boys heard a few mumbling words. Then the face disappeared.
The “Fearless,” a raised deck cruiser with a rakish bow, painted a creamy white, and relieved here and there by touches of blue and gold, made a striking appearance against the background of restless water. Like a racer impatient for the start she strained and tugged at her cables, occasionally rolling slightly as heavier onslaughts of choppy waves gurgled and splashed against her hull.
Before the crowd could set foot on deck Phil Malone appeared. He was tall and angular, with red hair, a long, gaunt face and deep-set eyes. He looked at his visitors with such a comical expression of astonishment that Victor, forgetting his ill-humor for the moment, burst into a hearty laugh.