A large table with a constant litter of maps, charts, sextants,
log-books, pipes, and tobacco jars, occupied the center, and
comfortable chairs were placed around in careless order. There were a
few books in some wall-shelves, a violin case in one corner--which
instrument the captain loved to practise on, though he was no
proficient--and one or two pretty India cabinets of lacquered work,
containing odd specimens, and fine curios from many countries.
His sleeping apartment, off at one side, which filled in the irregular
triangle left from the rounded end, was a mere closet with a narrow
bunk, "hard as iron," as Faith often disconsolately remarked, and a
folding bath. The captain asked no personal luxuries, yet no father
ever lived who was more lavish in bestowing every refinement of dainty
living upon his daughters.
The girls liked to speak of his cabin as the "library," and mostly did
so, much to its owner's amusement, who seldom read any book except the
log, or the daily writings of the weather on sea and sky.
"There!" he said, as he succeeded in loosening the cage door. "Now
come out, Mr. Puss, and make friends. What are you going to name him,
Faith?"
"What would you, father? It ought to be a Persian name, oughtn't it?"
"That might do--if you don't get too much of a jaw-breaker, child.
Remember, I'm not learned."
"The idea! When you can rattle off those Indian names that I cannot
understand at all, Just as if they were everyday Hatties and Kitties
and Pollys.
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