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Updated: June 9, 2025
Nautica, suddenly remembering one of the best things for extinguishing burning gasoline, was making everything fly as she frantically sought to reach a stowed-away bag of flour. The bag and the Commodore appeared about the same time, and together they made toward the gasoline stove from which the blaze was flaming across the galley. In an instant all of the flour was cast into the flames.
"This is the first time that we have ever gone to church by boat," said the Commodore. "Yes," answered Nautica, "and it was just the way to do it. We have attended a colonial church in a quite colonial way."
Nautica noticed this in the quiet drawing-room that would keep bringing up by-gone times, and, she insisted, by-gone people too. In the great hall, even the Commodore felt the mood of old Shirley and the presence of a life that all seemed natural enough, but that must have come a good ways out of the past.
We were not successful at first and almost feared that, after raising it for our own selfish purposes some days before, we had let it go down again in the wrong place. This troubled us the more because we had hoped to settle a vexed question as to how wide an isthmus had once connected the island with the mainland. Nautica insisted that the width had been ten paces because a woman, Mrs. An.
Nautica found him, inverted and full of emotion, fishing about in the bilge-water for the lost piece. She offered him everything from the toasting-rack to the pancake-turner to scrape about with; but he would trust nothing of the sort, and kept searching until he found the piece with his own black, oily fingers.
For her the affair had already gone too far; already, for the side she was now on, she had formed a serious, a hopeless, a lasting attachment. Our craft aground, our prospects of attending church next day vanished. Slowly the tide went down; slowly the moon came up; and Nautica made some candy.
Some changes in the cockpit had crowded it from its place, and for some time it had been stowed away but where? The Commodore scurried from locker to locker. "Couldn't we just as well whistle?" asked Nautica. "No, no. A boat under way whistles in a fog, but one at anchor must ring a bell."
Nautica hurried to a window, and now saw a blur of light through the fog, showing that the steamer had safely passed us; but, though she called joyously, she was not in time to stay the Commodore, who had already dashed into the cockpit beating the tongueless bell with her curling-irons.
In the absorbing process of putting space between the bull and the houseboaters, the restlessness of the Commodore's knees was really an advantage. They moved so fast that he was able to keep in advance of Nautica, and so be ready to protect her if another bull should appear on ahead.
Aboard Gadabout was the stir and bustle usually incident to the making of a landing. Clear and sharp rose the voice of the Commodore; now issuing his orders, now taking them back again. When he could think of nothing more to say, he went below and relieved Nautica at the wheel as our good ship swung beautifully in toward the wharf.
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