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Doone's pearl pin, old Tingle's 'Stones of Venice, and one other little parcel wrapped in tissue-paper four ties of varying shades of green, red, and blue, hand-knitted in silk a present of how many hours made short by the thought that he would wear the produce of that clicking. He did not fail in outer gratitude, but did he realize what had been knitted into those ties? Not then.
The old man's going to put you aboard the 'Charnwood' to finish your voyage. You'll find some of your pals in her, I reckon. 'Did they get the submarine? was Ken's first question. Tingle's honest face darkened. 'No, by gosh. She slipped away in the dark, and never a one of us set eyes on her. What are ye to do with a thing like that? It's like trying to tackle a shark with a shot gun.
Then he and Dave were given a couple of blankets apiece, and with the beat of the powerful engines as a lullaby were soon sleeping soundly. When they awoke, the gray dawn light was stealing through the hatch overhead, and the smart little ship lay at anchor, rocking peacefully to the lift of a gentle swell. 'Rouse out, you chaps, came Tingle's voice. 'Rouse out, if you want some breakfast.
That was queer-you could do anything you liked until you'd done it, but when you HAD done it, then you knew, of course, that you must always have had to... What was that light, below and to the left? Whose room? Old Tingle's no, the little spare room Sylvia's! She must be awake, then! He leaned far out, and whispered in the voice she had said was still furry: "Sylvia!"
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