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Captain Eli’s Best Ear
by
“It looks as if I was in port, don’t it?” said Captain Eli to his astonished friend.”Well, here I am, and here’s my fust mate,” inclining his head toward Mrs. Trimmer.”And she’s in port too, safe and sound. And that strange captain on the other side of her, he’s her brother Bob, who’s been away for years and years, and is just home from Madagascar.”
“Singapore,” amended Brother Bob.
Captain Cephas looked from one to the other of the three occupants of the sofa, but made no immediate remark. Presently a smile of genial maliciousness stole over his face, and he asked, “How about the poor little gal?Have you sent her back to Mrs. Crumley’s?”
The little girl came out from behind the Christmas tree, her stocking, now but half filled, in her hand.”Here I am,” she said.”Don’t you want to give me a Christmas hug, Captain Cephas?You and me’s the only ones that hasn’t had any.”
The Christmas dinner was as truly and perfectly a sailor- cooked meal as ever was served on board a ship or off it. Captain Cephas had said that, and when he had so spoken there was no need of further words.
It was nearly dark that afternoon, and they were all sitting around the kitchen fire, the three seafaring men smoking, and Mrs. Trimmer greatly enjoying it. There could be no objection to the smell of tobacco in this house so long as its future mistress enjoyed it. The little girl sat on the floor nursing a Chinese idol which had been one of her presents.
“After all,” said Captain Eli, meditatively, “this whole business come out of my sleepin’ with my best ear up. Fer if I’d slept with my hard-o’-hearin’ ear up–“Mrs. Trimmer put one finger on his lips.”All right,” said Captain Eli, “I won’t say no more. But it would have been different.”
Even now, several years after that Christmas, when there is no Mrs. Trimmer, and the little girl, who has been regularly adopted by Captain Eli and his wife, is studying geography, and knows more about latitude and longitude than her teacher at school, Captain Eli has still a slight superstitious dread of sleeping with his best ear uppermost.
“Of course it’s the most all-fired nonsense,” he says to himself over and over again. Nevertheless, he feels safer when it is his “hard-o’-hearin’ ear” that is not upon the pillow.