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Updated: August 21, 2024
"An' don't work all that funny lingo on us," Hare-Lip went on. "Talk sensible, Granser, like a Santa Rosan ought to talk. Other Santa Rosans don't talk like you." THE old man showed pleasure in being thus called upon. He cleared his throat and began. "Twenty or thirty years ago my story was in great demand. But in these days nobody seems interested " "There you go!" Hare-Lip cried hotly.
The Charming Lass he could not see, for Code had taken a different direction from the Rosan, and was one of the score of sails scattered around the horizon. But Nat was in no great hurry to get him on the minute; if the mystery schooner were attended to, then it would be merely a matter of time until the capture of Code.
With their minds filled with desperate scenes of cataclysm and ruin, the Tanners raced the complaining Rosan around Flag Point six hours later, only to fall upon one another and dance for joy at the sight of the village nestling as of yore against the green mountains and gleaming white in the descending sun.
"He's been doin' that too long already. He's got somethin' to answer for this time." Into the harbor at that moment swept the Tanners' Rosan, and abreast of her the steamer from St. John's. Five minutes behind came Jed Martin's Herring Bone, and the first of the fleet was safely in.
For once Nellie had command of the Rosan, and everything stood aside for her patient. The delicacies that issued from the galley after she had occupied it an hour, and that went directly to Code, almost had the result of inciting a mutiny among all hands; terms of settlement being the retirement of the old cook and installation of this new find. Code ripped open the packet.
In reality, then, the race for fish was keenest between the Charming Lass, the Rosan, and the Herring Bone, with three other schooners very close on their heels.
"Mighty big hurry, I allow," he remarked. "But, Jiminy, doesn't she sail! There ain't hardly an air o' wind stirrin' and yet look at her go! She's a mighty-able vessel." It was about four o'clock the next afternoon that the Rosan crept up in the middle of the fishing fleet.
At the forecastle head of the Rosan stood a youth tolling the ship's bell. The windlass grunted and whined as the schooner came up on her hawser with a thump, and overhead a useless jib slatted and rattled. The youth could scarcely see aft of the foremast because of the thickness of the weather, but he could hear what was going on.
"Ahoy there!" he roared. "Any one aboard the Rosan seen or heard anything of Captain Code Schofield, of the Grande Mignon schooner Charming Lass?" Code rose out of his chair, took off his hat ironically, and swung it before him as he made a low bow. "At your service!" he shouted. "I was picked up three days ago, adrift in my dory. What do you want with me?"
He stared in amazement at the yellow bills. Then he discovered the letter and began to read it. Despite the healthy red of his weather-beaten face, a tide of color surged up over it. Nellie turned her head away and looked over the oily gray sea to where the men of the Rosan were toiling in their dories.
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