"Sail ho!" he cried.
"Where away?" I called back.
"Three points on the weather bow." As he spoke came the sound of
oars, and turning my head, I saw a skiff approaching, sculled by
a man in irreproachable flannels and straw hat.
"Why, it's - it's him!" cried the Imp suddenly. "Heave to, there!"
he bellowed in the voice of Scarlet Sam. "Heave to, or I'll sink
you with a 'murderous broadside!'" Almost with the words, and
before I could prevent him, he gave a sharp tug to the rudder lines;
there was an angry exclamation behind me, a shock, a splintering of
wood, and I found myself face to face with Mr. Selwyn, flushed and
hatless.
"Damn!" said Mr. Selwyn, and proceeded to fish for his hat with the
shaft of his broken oar.
The Imp sat for a moment half frightened at his handiwork, then rose
to his feet, cutlass in hand, but I punted him gently back into his
seat with my foot.
"Really," I began, "I'm awfully sorry, you know - er - "
"May I inquire," said Mr. Selwyn cuttingly, as he surveyed his
dripping hat - "may I inquire how it all happened?"
"A most deplorable accident, I assure you.
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