Young Cusack is shouting every minute to acquaintances in the crowd that he has got his father here.

But every one is so wedged up that the introductions chiefly consist of a friendly nodding and waving of the hand at the crowd indefinitely from the gallant father, who would not for the world be anything but gracious to his son's friends, but who cannot for the life of him tell which of the score of youthful faces darting sidelong glances in their direction is the particular one he is meant to be saluting.

At last in the press they stumble upon one boy at close quarters, whom Cusack the younger captures forthwith.
"Ah, Pil, I was looking for you.

Here's the--my father, I mean--R.N., you know." "How are you, captain ?" says the newcomer.

He had heard Captain Cusack was coming over, and had mentally rehearsed several times what it seemed to him would be the most appropriate salutation under the circumstances.
The captain says he is very well, and likes the look of Mr "Pil" (whose real name is Pilbury), and looks forward to a little pleasant chat with his son's friend.