Part 7 (1/2)
”I'm sorry he can't breathe,” said Phronsie, anxiously trying to steer clear of the bunch of steamer chairs whose occupants had suddenly left them, too, to see the whale. ”Poor whale--I'm sorry for him, Polly.”
”Oh, he's happy,” said Polly, ”he likes it just as it is. He comes up for a little while to blow and--”
”I thought you said he came up to breathe, Polly,” said Phronsie, tugging at Polly's hand, and guilty of interrupting.
”Well, and so he does, and to blow, too,--it's just the same thing,”
said Polly, quickly.
”Is it just exactly the same?” asked Phronsie.
”Yes, indeed; that is, in the whale's case,” answered Polly, as they ran up to Grandpapa and the rest of their party, and the knots of other pa.s.sengers, all staring hard at a certain point on the sparkling waste of water.
”I thought you were never coming,” said old Mr. King, moving away from the rail to tuck Polly and Phronsie in where they could get a good view. ”Oh, there he is--there he is--Jasper, look!” cried Polly.
”There he is!” crowed Phronsie, now much excited. ”Oh, isn't he big, Grandpapa?”
”I should say he was,” declared Mr. King. ”I think I never saw a finer whale in my life, Phronsie.”
”He comes up to blow,” said Phronsie, softly to herself, her face pressed close to the rail, and her yellow hair floating off in the breeze; ”and Polly says it doesn't hurt him, and he likes it.”
”What is it, Phronsie child?” asked old Mr. King, hearing her voice.
”Grandpapa, has he got any little whales?” asked Phronsie, suddenly raising her face.
”Oh, yes, I imagine so,” said old Mr. King; ”that is, he ought to have, I'm sure. Porpoises go in schools,--why shouldn't whales, pray tell?”
”What's a porpoise?” asked Phronsie, with wide eyes.
”Oh, he's a dolphin or a grampus.”
”Oh,” said Phronsie, much mystified, ”and does he go to school?”
”Well, they go ever so many of them together, and they call it a school. Goodness me--that _is_ a blow!” as the whale spouted valiantly, and looked as if he were making directly for the steamer.
”Oh, Grandpapa, he's coming right here!” screamed Phronsie, clapping her hands in delight, and hopping up and down,--Polly and Jasper were almost as much excited,--while the pa.s.sengers ran hither and thither to get a good view, and levelled their big gla.s.ses, and oh-ed and ah-ed.
And some of them ran to get their cameras. And Mr. Whale seemed to like it, for he spouted and flirted his long tail and dashed into the water and out again to blow, till they were all quite worn out looking at him. At last, with a final plunge, he bade them all good-by and disappeared.
Phronsie, after her first scream of delight, had pressed her face close to the rail and held her breath. She did not say a word, but gazed in speechless enjoyment at the antics of the big fish. And Grandpapa had to speak two or three times when the show was all over before she heard him.
”Did you like it, Phronsie?” he asked, gathering her hand up closely in his, as he leaned over to see her face.
Phronsie turned away with a sigh. ”Oh, Grandpapa, he was so beautiful!”
She drew a long breath, then turned back longingly. ”Won't he ever come back?” she asked.
”Maybe not this one,” said old Mr. King; ”but we'll see plenty more, I imagine, Phronsie. At least, if not on this voyage,--why, some other time.”
”Oh, wasn't it splendid!” exclaimed Polly, tossing back the little rings of brown hair from her brow. ”Well, he's gone; now we must run back, Jasper, and finish our game.” And they were off, the other players following.
”I'd like to see this very whale again,” said Phronsie, with a small sigh; ”Grandpapa, I would, really; he was a nice whale.”
”Yes, he was a fine one,” said old Mr. King. ”I don't know as I ever put eyes on a better specimen, and I've seen a great many in my life.”