“Um.... Well, you’re not likely to find out,” he said, and then he grinned like he had a whale of a joke on us.
“Laugh ahead,” says Catty, when he had gone forward. “Maybe we’ve got a bigger joke on you.”
We got out the phonograph and played it a while, and then turned in, and slept like logs. In the morning we took our time, and after breakfast, started for Edgartown, around the corner of the island. It wasn’t a long run, but when we got there we’d have been willing to have gone a long ways to see it. There was a fine harbor and lots of yachts, and some old fishing boats, and the town ashore. Why, you could imagine it was still a harbor for whalers like it was once. The old town looked like it might be, and I says to Catty that I bet almost everybody who lived there was an old sea captain or his family. We went ashore and bought some post cards to send home, and to send a telegram for Mr. Browning and see if there were any messages for him.
“Hain’t got a message for you,” says he, “but one just came in _about_ you.”
“No,” says Catty, pretending he was astonished.
“Know a yacht by the name of the _Porpoise_?” says he.
“Message’s for her,” says he. “Where is she?”
“Wa-al, I kind of figgered so. This telegram says you started out like you was heading here, and to be sure to keep track of you.”
“Much obliged,” says Catty, and we went out.
“There,” says he, “that shows they’re taking no chances. They’re having us watched and reported, as well as following us with the _Porpoise_. We’re going to have a job dodging them.”
“You bet,” says I, “especially if we’re heading for Nantucket to run right into them.”
Naboth was waiting for us in the dinghy and took us aboard again. As we ran up the jacob’s ladder there was Mr. Browning waiting to see if we had a telegram for him.
“Nothing for you,” says Catty, “but there was a message about us.”
“To the _Porpoise_,” says Catty. “It said we were headed for here, and to keep track of us.”
“Um....” says Mr. Browning, and he called to Mr. Topper. “Hey, listen to this news,” says he, and then told him.
I thought Mr. Topper would throw a conniption fit.
“There,” says he, “didn’t I tell you? When Jonas P. Dunn goes after a thing, he goes after it.”
“But he doesn’t always get it,” says Mr. Browning.