And even then Cap'n Steiner did n't seem to remember and understand. He was, in fact, beginning to feel uncommonly tired and cross.
"It has to be signed, sir," explained the commander of the Greyhound. "Has to be signed, in blood!"
"Oh, be off with you—you young rapscallion!" said Cap'n Sands, irascibly, for he too was beginning to feel strange aches and pangs. "Be off with you, you young limb!" Then he added fretfully: "I tell you, Silas, I 'm a-goin' to be a hull hour and a half late for dinner!"
Going home he settled back more comfortably in the stern seat, and tried to get a bit of a cat-nap, lulled by the ripple of the water against the drifting green bow of the little boat.
"I guess we do be a leetle on in years, mebbe, for them kind o' jinks," said Cap'n Steiner, plaintively, tugging and puffing at his oars.
"Jus' a leetle on in years!" he repeated, with a ponderous sigh, as they drew in under the cool and heavy shadows of the old sycamores.
