skipper looked at his mainsail, at the halyards, at the decks. “She’ll do,” he said. “Now I’ll just get through the washing up. Rule of the ship never to go ashore with washing up undone. And then. . .” he yawned and rubbed his eyes. . . “I’ll see what the Butt can do for me by way of breakfast. . .”
“BREAKFAST!”
THE “BUTT AND OYSTER” AND ALMA COTTAGE
Susan, Titty and Roger all exclaimed together.
“But it’s nearly seven o’clock. Haven’t you had anything to eat all day?”
“Biscuits,” he said. “And a thermos full of hot soup that I’d made before starting. But I never thought I’d be so long.”
“We’ll do the washing up,” said Susan. “It won’t take us two minutes.
“Come on, then.” He stifled another yawn. “I never refuse a good offer.”
Down they went into the cabin, climbing down the steep steps of the companion, between the sink full of the things to be washed up on one side, and the stove in the little galley on the other.
“There’s an engine,” exclaimed Roger, looking in under the steps. “Look here, Titty, that’s my face.”
“Sorry,” said Titty, who had reached down with one foot and found Roger’s forehead with it instead of a step.
“Come along you,” said Jim. “Into that corner so that the others can come down. You can look at the engine afterwards.”
“I’m going to sit next to it,” said Roger.
Presently they were all in the cabin, sitting on the bunks, peering forward at two more bunks in the fore-cabin, looking at bookshelf and barometer and clock, at the chart on the table, and at a big envelope labelled “SHIP’S PAPERS.” The owner of the Goblin stooped down to reach into a cupboard under the galley. He brought out a handful of dish-cloths, emptied the saucepan into the sink, sloshed in some washing soda out of a tin, and then made room for Susan, while he put away the Ship’s Papers, cleared the chart off the table, and spread in place of it a wide strip of white, shiny American cloth. As fast as Susan washed the things they were dumped on one end of the table, seized by one of the wipers and, when dry, put at the other end.
“You people don’t belong to Pin Mill,” said the young man, who seemed to touch the roof of the cabin when he was standing up looking down at his busy helpers.
“We only came yesterday,” said Roger.
“Stopping long?”
“We don’t know yet,” said Titty. “But we probably are. We’ve come to meet Daddy. He’s going to be stationed at Shotley and that’s quite near.”
“He’s on his way home from China,” said John.
“He may be here almost any day,” said Susan. . . “Roger, that mug isn’t half dry.”
“He telegraphed,” said Roger, giving the mug another wipe. “He’s coming overland to save time.”
“We’re going to meet him at Harwich.”
“By yourselves?”
“Oh no. Mother and Bridget are here too. We’re all at Alma Cottage.”
“Miss Powell’s? You couldn’t be in a better place. Look here, what are your names? Mine’s Jim Brading.”
“Walker,” said John. “This is Susan. This is Titty. I’m John. . .”
“And I’m Roger,” said Roger. “Does your engine really work?”
“Jolly well,” said Jim Brading, “but I never use it if I can use sails instead.”
“Oh,” said Roger. It had been all very well for John to say that sails were the only things that mattered, but this last term at school Roger had once more begun to think a good deal about engines. He had a friend who thought about nothing else.
Titty had been making up her mind to ask a question.
“Do you live in the Goblin all the time?” she said at last.
“Wish I did,” said Jim. “I’m going up to Oxford in another month. But I’ll be living in her till then.”
“Do you live at Pin Mill?” asked Roger.
“Only in Goblin,” said Jim. “Pin Mill’s her home port. She’s always here when we’re not cruising. I’ve got my uncle coming on Monday and we’re going to have a try for Scotland. He always likes to start from Pin Mill. I’ve had her down in the South the last ten days, but the man who was with me had to go back to work.”
“What’s the furthest you’ve ever been in her?” asked John.
“Uncle Bob and I took her down to Falmouth and back one year.”
“We used to sail there with Daddy when he was on leave,” said John. ‘“But only in an open boat. We never had one we could sleep in.”
“Like to spend a night in the Goblin?” said Jim, smiling.
“Rather,” said everybody at once.
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” said Jim. “No. Not there. Let’s get by. I know where the things go. Every plate has its place and each mug has its own hook.” He worked his way past the table while they pulled their legs out of the way.
“We’d love to come, if only we could,” said Susan. “Oh, I say, John, just look at the clock. Miss Powell’ll have had supper ready ages ago, and we promised we wouldn’t be late.”
Jim’s broad back was towards them as he stowed away the things in the cupboards under galley and sink. He slammed the doors to, latched them and turned round. “Well,” he said. “That’s that. Many thanks. Now for shore and break fast. But what do you think? If I told your mother I wanted crew for a couple of days? I could cram you all in, if I slept on the floor.”
“Oh gosh!” said Roger.
But at that moment they heard the splash of oars.
“They’ll be aboard here, Ma’am.” It was Frank, the boatman, who had lent them their dinghy.
“Oh, I say,” said Susan. “Mother’s had to come off to look for us.”
Everybody jumped up.
“John! Susan!” That was Mother calling outside.
“Ahoy, Roger!” That was Bridget’s shrill yell.
For a moment Mother and Bridget and Frank, the boatman, had been lying alongside what had seemed to be a deserted ship, except
