"War news, I suppose you mean," I said, "and submarines. Nothing that you have not seen; a submarine in Hampton Roads about a week ago. But that report was in all the papers. No doubt Jimmy has given you later news."
"I believe that all boats were sent out from Newport in a hurry last Sunday. I have heard nothing since. I wonder," he continued, smiling, "if whales have not something to do with these reports—or sharks. I hear that there has been a great slaughter of whales in the North Sea in the last three years."
"Whales have no periscopes."
"They may yet develop them in self-defence if this keeps on long enough. But I would not cast doubt. You see my boat out there. What do you think of the color?"
She was all gray, and has been so for some time.
"Why, it is a good color if you like it. She looks like a lump of lead. I cannot see why the navy does not paint its ships some lighter shade, with streaks of greens and blues and purples and some white here and there. Those are the colors that the water shows, although the water is of a different color in every different light. But I would be willing to guarantee that I could do better than that—much better."
He looked at me thoughtfully. "That is worth thinking of, Adam. I am sure you could do better. You couldn't do much worse if the idea is concealment." He chuckled. "You know the water and its colors. How would you like to do it?"
"Why, I don't know," I said slowly. "I have never thought of it. The fact is," I blurted out, and choked upon my words. Why should I confess to Old Goodwin what I had been unwilling to confess to myself? But the impulse was too strong. "The fact is," I began again more quietly, "I am not satisfied. I cannot be content to till the ground—which any Western Islander could do as well or better—and to moon upon my bluff when every one I know is doing more. Could you?"
He smiled and shook his head. "I could not in your place. But come out to my boat with me. I want to show you the changes I have made."