“He’s only just a kid,” I says; “and I noticed him staggerin’ when he come aboard. But, anyway, you couldn’t ask for a better bottom than they is right along in here; nice clean sand and hardly any weeds.”
“What time do we get to St. Joe?” ast Bishop.
“About seven if we don’t run into a squall,” I says.
Then I and the Wife left ’em and went round to another part o’ the deck and run into squalls of all nationalities. Their mothers had made a big mistake in bringin’ ’em, because you could tell from their faces and hands that they didn’t have no use for water.
“They all look just alike,” says the Missus. “I don’t see how the different mothers can tell which is their baby.”
“It’s fifty-fifty,” I says. “The babies don’t look no more alike than the mothers. The mothers is all named Jennie, and all perfect cubes and fond of apples, and ought to go to