“And now,” said Penn, drawing a deep breath as though about to preach. “And now”—the erect body sank like a sword driven home into the scabbard; the light faded from the overbright eyes; the voice returned to its usual pitiful little titter—“and now,” said Pennsylvania Pratt, “do you think it’s too early for a little game of checkers, Mr. Salters?”
“The very thing—the very thing I was goin’ to say myself,” cried Salters promptly. “It beats all, Penn, how ye git on to what’s in a man’s mind.”
The little fellow blushed and meekly followed Salters forward.
“Up anchor! Hurry! Let’s quit these crazy waters,” shouted Disko, and never was he more swiftly obeyed.
“Now what in creation d’ye suppose is the meanin’ o’ that all?” said Long Jack, when they were working through the fog once more, damp, dripping, and bewildered.
“The way I sense it,” said Disko, at the wheel, “is this: The Jennie Cushman business comin’ on an empty stummick—”
“H‑he saw one of them go by,” sobbed Harvey.
“An’ that, o’ course, kinder hove him outer water, julluk runnin’ a craft ashore; hove him right aout, I take it, to rememberin’ Johnstown an’ Jacob Boiler an’ suchlike reminiscences. Well, consolin’ Jason there held him up a piece, same’s shorin’ up a boat. Then, bein’ weak, them props slipped an’ slipped, an’ he slided down the ways, an’ naow he’s waterborne agin. That’s haow I sense it.”
They decided that Disko was entirely correct.
“ ’Twould ha’ bruk Salters all up,” said Long Jack, “if Penn had stayed Jacob Boilerin’. Did ye see his face when Penn asked who he’d been charged on all these years? How is ut, Salters?”