“Oh, there’s a tank in the cock-pit that holds thirty or forty gallons. We get the water from a water-boat that comes around to the yachts every day. It’s the cheapest thing you ever heard of—something like twenty-five cents for fifty gallons.”
“Cheap enough! ” said Nora, “but is n’t that your mother calling, Brenda? I suppose we ought to go on deck.”
“Oh, not until we ’ve seen everything,” cried Julia, and then, with Philip leading, she followed the others to the door in the bulkhead, and there Philip opened the dish-lockers on the port side, and evidently enjoyed their admiration of the pretty white and gold china with the Club and private flags painted in colors, just as on the glass tumblers and water pitcher. Beyond, they caught a glimpse of the oil stove on which the cooking was done. All kinds of cooking utensils, from a frying-pan to an agate coffee-pot, hung about on nails.
“Everything has its place, and we can put our hands on anything in the dark. Jansen makes a fearful row if we don’t put things back just where we found them.”
“The idea!” exclaimed Brenda, “it is n’t his boat.”
“No, but he’s responsible for its appearance. To be perfectly orderly is the only way to get along on a yacht.
“There’s our ice-chest on the starboard side,” continued Philip, changing the subject, “and that iron frame there is the folding-bed for the men, which is let down only at night. There’s really nothing more to see there, except some light sails and extra robes, and lanterns, and other duffle stowed away there in the eyes.”
