Seizing his axe he left the galley and went
forward. The mainmast had snapped about six feet below the truck; of
the other two masts nothing was left but the stumps. He chopped away
the wreckage hanging over the bow, including the bowsprit and
foretopmast, and had made good progress in clearing away the forward
deck when Virginia, standing in the doorway of the after cabin, called
him.
"Breakfast, Captain," she cried. "Breakfast is served."
The girl was laughing excitedly as she led the way to the dining-cabin
and seated herself in front of a great, steaming nickel coffee-pot.
Blushing radiantly she pointed to the other chair.
"Sit down, Captain Merrithew." But Dan protested.
"Now, really, Miss Howland," he laughed, "I can just as--"
"Captain," interrupted Virginia, sharply, "don't be a goose. There--"
She began to pour the coffee. "It isn't really much of a breakfast,"
she added; "I shall do much better for luncheon. But, as it is--" she
inclined her head with mock unction as she handed him his cup.
Dan never forgot that breakfast. It was one of those events which
linger in memory, every detail indelibly stamped, long after more
important pictures of the past have lost even a semblance of outline.
Sunlight flowed in through the portholes and rested on the red
tablecloth and the glittering steel cutlery.
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