A beardless, boyish face, very fair, no features to speak of, nose peeling, little blue eyes, smiles and frowns chasing each other over that open countenance like sunshine and shadow on a wind-swept plain.
"Look out, captain!" he cried; "there's a snag lodged in here last night."
What! Another snag? I confess I swore shamefully. I had nearly holed my cripple, to finish off that charming trip. The harlequin on the bank turned his little pug-nose up to me.
"You English?" he asked, all smiles.
"Are you?" I shouted from the wheel. The smiles vanished, and he shook his head as if sorry for my disappointment. Then he brightened up.
"Never mind!" he cried encouragingly.
"Are we in time?" I asked. "He's up there," he replied, with a toss of the head up the hill, and becoming gloomy all of a sudden. His face was like the autumn sky, overcast one moment and bright the next.
When the manager, escorted by the pilgrims, all of them armed to the teeth, had gone to the house this chap came on board.