Cathewe hadn't been enthusiastic over the name; but Cathewe was never
inclined to enthusiasms.

Passing the angle of the freight depot brought the little harbor into
full view. A fine white yacht lay tugging at her cables.

"There's a beauty," said Fitzgerald admiringly.

"She looks as if she could take care of herself. How fresh the green
water-line looks! She'll be fast in moderate weather; a fair thousand
tons, perhaps."

"A close guess."

"I understand she belongs to my employer. I hope he takes the sea
soon. I suppose you know that I have knocked about some as a sailor."

"That will help you into the good graces of the admiral."

"How dull and uninteresting the coast-lines are here! No gardens, no
palms, nothing of beauty."

"You must remember the immensity of this coast and that our summers are
really less than three months. Here comes one who can tell us about
the yacht," cried Fitzgerald, espying the peg-legged sailor. "I say!"
he hailed, as the old sailor drew nigh; "you are on the _Laura_, are
you not?"

"Yessir. An' I've bin on her since she wus commissioned as a pleasure
yacht, sir. Capt'n."