"
"I wonder if we could go down and visit it. I think it would be
good fun."
"Idea!" exclaimed Condy.
The station was close at hand. To reach it they had but to leave
the crazy board walk that led on toward the fort, and cross a few
hundred yards of sand-dune. Condy opened the gate that broke the
line of evergreen hedge around the little two-story house, and
promptly unchained a veritable pandemonium of dogs.
Inside, the place was not without a certain charm of its own. A
brick wall, bordered with shells, led to the front of the station,
which gave directly upon the bay; a little well-kept lawn opened
to right and left, and six or eight gaily-painted old rowboats
were set about, half filled with loam in which fuchsias,
geraniums, and mignonettes were flowering. A cat or two dozed
upon the window-sills in the sun. Upon a sort of porch overhead,
two of the crew paced up and down in a manner that at once
suggested the poop. Here and there was a gleam of highly polished
red copper or brass trimmings. The bay was within two steps of
the front door, while a little further down the beach was the
house where the surf-boat was kept, and the long runway leading
down from it to the water. Condy rapped loudly at the front door.
It was opened by Captain Jack.
Captain Jack, and no other; only now he wore a blue sweater and a
leather-visored cap, with the letters U. S. L. B. S. around the
band.
Not an instant was given them for preparation.
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