Old Parsons, taking his stand at the rail clear of the crowd, waited until the yacht floated abreast, where with a few reverse revolutions of her propeller she came to a stand within easy talking distance—as handsome and finished a model as ever I had seen afloat.
"Ho, the yacht, ahoy!" shouted Captain Parsons.
"Hallo!" responded the glittering figure from the bridge, manifestly the yacht's skipper.
"What yacht is that?"
"The Mermaid."
"Where are you from and where are you bound to?"
"From Madeira for Southampton," came back the response.
"That will do, Grace," cried I, joyfully.
"We took a lady and a gentleman off their yacht, the Spitfire, that we found in a leaky condition yesterday," shouted Parsons, "having been dismasted in a gale and blown out of the Channel. We have them aboard. Will you receive them and set them ashore?"
"How many more besides them, sir?" bawled the master of the yacht.