"He was my little boy," said the Maestro. "He left the garden in the
moonlight, and ran away to the ships. He was sixteen. Tell Kenelm not to
love the sea too much."
"But Ken wouldn't go away from Phil and me," said Kirk; "I _know_ he
wouldn't."
Kirk knew nothing of the call that the looming gray sails of the
_Celestine_ had once made.
"I thought," said the Maestro, "that the other boy would not leave his
sister and his father." He roused himself suddenly. "Perhaps I do Ken
injustice. I want to meet the gallant commander of the _Flying
Dutchman_. It seems absurd that such close neighbors have not yet met.
Bring him--and Felicia, when you come again. We'll drink to the success
of the Sturgis Water Line. And don't dare to tell me, next time, that
you never heard of the scale of A flat major, my little scamp!"
Kirk, to whom the Maestro's word was law, delivered his message very
solemnly to Ken, who laughed.
"Not much fear of my cultivating too strong an affection for Mud Ocean,
as navigated by the _Dutchman_. If I had a chance to see real water and
real ships, it might be different."
"But how horrid of his son never to let him know--poor old gentleman!"
said Felicia, who was putting on her hat at the window.
"Probably the old gentleman was so angry with him in the beginning that
he didn't dare to, and now he thinks he's dead," Ken said.
"Who thinks who's dead?" Phil asked. "You'd never make a rhetorician.
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