"Aren't they pretty?"
"H'm! Quite so." Mr. Lawrence was also indulging in a long look.
"Did a merman paint them for you? And what sea-king got up that
poetry? It seems well selected, if not entirely original." He glanced
at his nephew quizzically, and added, "I suppose the other name of that
Freedom who shrieked was Dwight, wasn't it? Pretty well, sir, pretty
well! I recognize the work. Your style is original, Mr. Artist
Vanderhoff."
"And didn't you help him one bit, Mr. Lawrence?" asked Faith.
"Did not even know of it, Miss Hosmer."
"Then I call it a mighty smart performance!" cried Hope in a tone of
finality which brought a hearty laugh from the group.
"Clever enough!" decided the captain, as he spelled out the twisted
lines, and chuckled over them. "You're quite an artist, young man. I
remember, a few years back, I had a whole crew of the long-haired
profession aboard, and a jolly, turbulent set they were. They
decorated the ship from stem to gudgeon in all sorts of unexpected
places, and almost disorganized my Lascars, snatching them off duty to
pose as models. I had to threaten to driven 'em below at the rope's
end, and batten down the hatches, to bring them to reason. But they
made fun for us the whole voyage, and I was sorry to see the last of
them at Gibraltar."
The steamer was now in the broad Bay of Biscay, which washes the bold
shores of France and Spain, and the water had that compact hue of dark
azure, with occasional greenish lights, that tells of deep soundings.
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