“There he is!” said Henry triumphantly, as he stopped and pointed up the road at the figure of a man slowly pacing up and down. “She’s at a little school up at the other end. A teacher or somethin’. Here they come.”
As he spoke a small damsel with a satchel and a roll of music issued from a house at the other end of the road, the advanced guard of a small company which in twos and threes now swarmed out and went their various ways.
“Nice girls, some of ’em!” said Henry, glancing approvingly at them as they passed. “Oh, here she comes! I can’t say I see much in her myself.”
The mate looked up and regarded the girl as she approached with considerable interest. He saw a pretty girl with nice gray eyes and a flush, which might be due to the master of the Seamew—who was following at a respectful distance behind her—trying to look unconcerned at this unexpected appearance.
“Halloa, Jack!” he said carelessly.
“Halloa!” said the mate, with a great attempt at surprise. “Who’d ha’ thought o’ seeing you here!”
The skipper, disdaining to reply to this hypocrisy, stared at Henry until an intelligent and friendly grin faded slowly from that youth’s face and left it expressionless. “I’ve just been having a quiet stroll,” he said, slowly turning to the mate.
“Well, so long!” said the latter, anxious to escape.
The other nodded, and turned to resume his quiet stroll at a pace which made the mate hot to look at him. “He’ll have to look sharp if he’s going to catch her now,” he said thoughtfully.
“He won’t catch her,” said Henry; “he never does—leastways if he does he only passes and looks at her out of the corner of his eye. He writes letters to her of a night, but he never gives ’em to her.”