THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN
his rusty black sea cloak. At the sight of Mademoiselle, he bowed ceremoniously, and blew loudly on his fingers.
"Wind's shifted southwest," he said. "But we're ready to put out."
"Sit down, Mr. Aiken," said my father. "My son, pour him a little refreshment."
"Ah," said Mr. Aiken, selecting a chair by the fire, "pour it out, my lad—fill her up. It's a short life and little joy 'less we draw it from the bottle. And long life and much joy to you, sir, by the same token," he added, raising his glass and tossing the spirits adroitly down his throat. Then, with a comfortable sigh, he drew out his pipe and lighted it on an ember.
"Yes, she'll be blowing before morning."
"You don't mean," inquired my father, with a glance out of the window, "that I can't launch a small boat from the beach?"
"You could, captain, if you'd a mind to," said Ned Aiken, tamping down his tobacco, "but there's lots who couldn't."
"Then I shall," said my father languidly. "Brutus and I will board the Sea Tern at eight o'clock tonight. You will stand off outside and put on your running lights."
"Yes," said Mr. Aiken, "it's time we was going."
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