Caine, the boatswain, was a villainous looking fellow, due in part to the squint of his eyes that set them at different angles. But he turned out a thoroughly capable man with a knack of getting out of the men all that was in them.
Under Mott's supervision I took a turn at the wheel, for I did not intend, if I could help it, to be deadwood throughout the whole cruise. I could see Miss Wallace pacing the deck with Blythe for hours, his cigar tip glowing in the darkness as they advanced toward the wheel house. I would have liked to join them, but I had set out to make of myself enough of a sailor to serve at a pinch, and I stuck to my task. It was late when I reached my cabin. I must have fallen asleep at once, for it was day again before I knew anything more.
We met at breakfast, the four of us, and not one but was touched by the loveliness of which we were the center. It was not a new story to Blythe—this blue arched roof of sky, this broad stretch of sea, this warm sun on a day cool enough to invigorate the blood—but he too showed a lively pleasure in it.
Miss Berry took some fancy work and a magazine with her on deck and spent the morning placidly in a steamer chair, but her niece and I were too full of our pleasure to rest so contentedly.
To any who have sailed on the glassy breast of the Pacific day after day, knowing all the little pleasures of life aboard a well-found turbine yacht, a description would be superfluous; to one who has never known it, such an attempt would be entirely futile. By either alternative I am debarred from trying to set down the delight of our days, the glory of our nights of stars.
CHAPTER IX
BOTHWELL MAKES A MOVE
We put into San Pedro in the early morning and tied up opposite the Harvard. Blythe and I ran up to Los Angeles on the electric, taking Jimmie Welch with us.