Mrs. Fergus laughed again, merrily. "Richard was a sailor for so many years," she said, "that he can't get out of his sailor's ways."
"They are good ways," I said. "Don't you think so, Mrs. Fergus?"
"They are good ways," Mrs. Fergus repeated, looking at her husband, "and I like them." And Eve smiled across at me.
The launch had stopped her engine, and was waiting for the two girls. Elizabeth Radnor reached her first, a white arm shot out of the water and the hand grasped the gunwale, and Old Goodwin helped her aboard, and she stood on the deck and dripped. And Olivia came up on the other side, and Old Goodwin helped her aboard, but she did not stand on the deck to drip. She jumped into the cockpit, and dripped on the cushions.
"There!" Mrs. Fergus exclaimed. "If that isn't just like her to run streams of water on the cushions. Why couldn't she do as Elizabeth does, and—"
"Doesn't matter," Captain Fergus growled. "Cushions waterproof, and the sun'll dry the top in five minutes."
Mrs. Fergus made a motion of impatience, and there was a slight compression of her lips.
"I know that it doesn't really matter," she said, "a little thing like wetting the cushions—when they could have been kept dry just as easily. Elizabeth—"
"It really isn't any matter about the cushions," Captain Fergus interrupted gently. "Big crew doing nothing—they'll be set to work presently scrubbing the launch inside and out. What's a little water? Doesn't hurt anything."