He grunted it out so funnily that it sounded just like some queer
old flounder trying to talk, and we thought he was joking. But he
wasn't at all. Sometimes he is very nice and tells us the longest
yarns about when he shipped on a whaler, but this time he was busy
and the rudder-gudgeons didn't behave right, I think, so he let us
do all the talking. We told him a good deal about the bottle, and
also something about the city under the sea. He said he shouldn't
wonder at it, for there was powerful curious things under the sea.
He also said he supposed now we'd be wanting to hire the _Jolly
Nancy_ "fer to find submarine cities, sence he wouldn't let us have
her to go a-stavin' in her bottom on them rocks off Wecanicut."

We decided that he really didn't want to be bothered, so we went
away presently. To soothe him, Jerry bought some of the dry herring
things and carried them home in a pasteboard box that said "1/2 doz.
galvanized line cleats. Extra quality" on the lid. Lena cooked the
herrings for supper, but I don't think she could have done it right,
because they were quite horrid.

The second day was the perfectly gorgeous kind that makes you want
to go off to seek your fortune or dance on top of a high hill or do
anything rather than stay at home, however nice your own garden may
be. We agreed about this at breakfast, and I said:

"Let's go to Wecanicut."

We'd never gone to Wecanicut alone, but I couldn't see any reason
why we shouldn't. Captain Lewis, on the ferry, always watches over
every one on board with a fatherly sort of eye, and Wecanicut itself
is a perfectly safe, mild place, without any quicksands or tigers or