FullReads

“Here’s Cap’n Shaw makin’ me out to be old enough to be his grandfather,” insisted Captain Crowe, laughing gently, as if he had taken it as a joke. “Now, everybody knows I ain’t but five years the oldest. Shaw, you mustn’t be settin’ up for a young dandy. I’ve had a good deal more sea service than you. I believe you never went out on a long voyage round the Cape or the like o’ that; those long voyages count a man two years to one, if they’re hard passages.”

“No; I only made some few trips; the rest you might call coastin’,” said Captain Shaw handsomely. The two men felt more at ease and reasonable with this familiar subject of experience and discussion. “I come to the conclusion I’d better stop ashore. If I could ever have found me a smart, dependable crew, I might have followed the sea longer than I did.”

It was in the big captain’s heart to say, “Poor master, poor crew;” but he refrained. It had been well known that in spite of Shaw’s ability as a money-maker on shore, he was no seaman, and never had been. Mrs. Lunn was sure to have heard his defects commented on, but she sat by the table, smiling, and gave no sign, though Captain Crowe looked at her eagerly for a glance of understanding and contempt.

There was a moment of silence, and nobody seemed to know what to say next. Mrs. Maria Lunn was not a great talker in company, although so delightful in confidence and consultation. She wished now, from the bottom of her heart, that one of her admirers would go away; but at this instant there was a loud tapping at a back door in the farther end of the house.

“I thought I heard somebody knocking a few minutes ago.” Captain Crowe rose like a buoy against the ceiling. “Here, now, I’m goin’ to the door for you, Mis’ Lunn; there may be a tramp or somethin’.”

“Oh, no,” said the little woman, anxiously bustling past him, and lifting the hand-lamp as she went. “I guess it’s only Dimmett’s been sick”–The last words were nearly lost in the distance, and in the draught a door closed after her, and the two captains were left alone. Some minutes went by before they suddenly heard the sound of a familiar voice.

“I don’t know but what I will, after all, step in an’ set down for just a minute,” said the hearty voice of little Captain Witherspoon. “I’ll just wash my hands here at the sink, if you’ll let me, same ‘s I did the other day. I shouldn’t have bothered you so late about a mere fish, but they was such prime mackerel, an’ I thought like’s not one of ’em would make you a breakfast.”

“You’re always very considerate,” answered Mrs. Lunn, in spite of what she felt to be a real emergency. She was very fond of mackerel, and these were the first of the season. “Walk right in, Cap’n Witherspoon, when you get ready. You’ll find some o’ your friends. ‘Tis ‘The Cap’n,’ gentlemen,” she added, in a pleased tone, as she rejoined her earlier guests.

If Captain Witherspoon had also indulged a hope of finding his love alone, he made no sign; it would be beneath so valiant and gallant a man to show defeat. He shook hands with both his friends as if he had not seen them for a fortnight, and then drew one of the Windsor chairs forward, forcing the two companions into something like a social circle.

“What’s the news?” he demanded. “Anything heard from the new minister yet, Crowe? I suppose, though, the ladies are likely to hear of those matters first.”

Mrs. Lunn was grateful to this promoter of friendly intercourse. “Yes, sir,” she answered quickly; “I was told, just before tea, that he had written to Deacon Torby that he felt moved to accept the call.”