Sides
white as sea-foam; everything above decks of shining brass, below
mahogany, and as clean and shipshape as a Dutch kitchen. There
were five rooms besides the captain's, and a reception-room,
dining-room, and library. We had provisioned her well, and had a
jewel of a cook.
Our first port was Santa Catalina. We dropped anchor there at
about five o'clock in the afternoon of such a day as only
southern California can boast of, and the dingey was lowered to
take us ashore.
"What is there?" asked Le Mire, pointing to the shore as we stood
leaning on the rail waiting for the crew to place the ladder.
I answered: "Tourists."
Le Mire shrugged her shoulders. "Tourists? Bah! Merci, non.
Allons!"
I laughed and went forward to the captain to tell him that madame
did not approve of Santa Catalina. In another minute the dingey
was back on its davits, the anchor up, and we were under way.
Poor captain! Within a week he became used to Le Mire's sudden
whims.
At San Diego we went ashore. Le Mire took a fancy to some Indian
blankets, and Harry bought them for her; but when she expressed
an intention to take an Indian girl--about sixteen or seventeen
years old--aboard the yacht as a "companion," I interposed a firm
negative.
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