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“No?” says I. “That’s grand!”

“No, sir-ee! Is they, Anthony Lot?”

Anthony Lot begun t’ titter an’ chuckle. I fancied he cast a wink. ‘Twas a broad joke he was playin’ with, whatever an’ all; an’ I wished I knowed what amused the dolt.

“You got it right, Sammy,” says he.

The lad slapped his knee. “Yes, sir-ee!” says he. “You jus’ bet I got it right!”

“You got a wonderful ma, too?” says I.

“All I got is a wonderful pa,” says he. “My ma died long, long ago. Didn’t she, Anthony Lot? An’ my pa’s sailin’ foreign parts jus’ now. Isn’t he, Anthony Lot? I might get a letter from un by the next mail-boat. No tellin’ when a letter will come. Anytime at all–maybe next boat. An’ my pa might turn up here hisself. Mightn’t he, Anthony Lot? Might turn up right here in Hide-an’-Seek Harbor without givin’ me the least word o’ warnin’. Any day at all, too. Eh, Anthony Lot?”

“Skipper of a steam vessel in the South American trade,” says Anthony.

“Any day at all?”

“Plyin’ out o’ Rio, I’m told.”

“Eh, Anthony Lot? Any day at all?”

Anthony grinned at me in a way I’d no taste for. “Any day at all,” says he t’ the lad. “You got it right, Sammy.”

“Ol’ Sandy Spot is fetchin’ me up,” says the lad, “’til my pa comes home. It don’t cost my pa a copper, neither. Ol’ Sandy Spot is fetchin’ me up jus’ for my pa’s sake. That’s what comes o’ havin’ a pa like the pa I got. Don’t it, Anthony Lot?”

“I ‘low so, Sammy; jus’ for your pa’s sake–an’ the Gov’ment stipend, too.”

What slur was hid in that sly whisper about the Gov’ment stipend escaped the lad.

“Ah-ha!” he crowed.

I’m accustomed t’ pry into the hearts o’ folks. With no conscience at all I eavesdrops on feelin’s. ‘Tis a passion an’ fixed practice. An’ now my curiosity clamored for satisfaction. I was suspicious an’ I was dumbfounded.

“You might put more heart in your crowin’,” says I.

The lad turned on me with his breath caught an’ his wee teeth as bare as a wolf’s.

“What you say that for?” says he.

“‘Tis a pleasure,” says I, “t’ stir your wrath in your pa’s behalf. ‘Tis a pretty sight t’ see. I enjoys it. In these modern times,” says I, “’tis not often I finds a lad as proud of his pa as you. My duty t’ you, sir,” says I. “I praise you.”

The lad looked t’ the skipper.

“My compliments,” says Hard Harry, enjoyin’ the play. “Me, too. I praise you highly.”

“Whew!” says the lad. “Such manners abash me. There’s no answer on the tip o’ my tongue. I’m ashamed o’ my wit.”

Skipper Harry chuckled. An’ I laughed. An’ the wee lad laughed, too. An’ dull Anthony Lot, in a fuddle o’ stupidity an’ wonder, stared from one t’ the other, not knowin’ whether t’ grin or complain of our folly. There was foul weather with-out–wind in the riggin’, blowin’ in from the sea an’ droppin’ down over the hills, an’ there was the patter o’ black rain on the roof o’ the cabin. ‘Tis a matter for large surprise, it may be, that growed men, like Hard Harry an’ me, should find interest an’ laughter in a gossip like that. Yet ’tis dull times on a tradin’ schooner, when trade’s done for the day, an’ the night’s dismal an’ sodden with rain; an’ with a fire in the bogie-stove aboard, an’ no lively maids t’ draw un ashore to a dance or a scoff o’ tea an’ cakes in a strange harbor, a man seizes the distraction that seeks un out, and makes the best of it that he can. More than that, an’ deep an’ beyond it, ’twas entertainment, an’ a good measure of it, that had come blinkin’ down the deck. Afore we had time or cause for complaint o’ the botheration o’ childish company, we was involved in a brisk passage o’ talk, which was no trouble at all, but sped on an’ engaged us without pause. There was that about the wee lad o’ Hide-an’-Seek Harbor, too, as a man sometimes encounters, t’ command our interest an’ t’ compel our ears an’ our tongues t’ their labor.