Years ago, when you first signed papers to voyage
through life, when you weren't rated as an A. B., you used to have me
spill sea-yarns for you. And you always said you were going to be a
sailor, shiver my timbers, or something like that,-- real sailor-like,
so it sounded.
"'I never forgot this, and I always counted on taking you on a voyage
with me. But your captain-- that is to say your father-- never would
let me, and often the barometer went away down between him and me.
"'Howsomever, I haven't forgotten how you liked the water, nor how
much you wanted a big ship of your own. You used to make me promise
that if ever I could tow the Flying Dutchman into port that you could
have it for a toy. And I promised.
"'Well, now I have the chance to get the Flying Dutchman for you, and
I'm bringing it home, with sails furled so it won't get away. I'm
going to give you a grand surprise soon, and you can pass it on to
your friends. So if you let me luff along for a few more cable lengths
I think I'll make port soon, and then we'll see what sort of a sailor
you'll make. You may expect the surprise shortly.
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