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“The little nipper,” says the skipper. “His fist tapped the tip o’ my nose!”

I laughed outright at that. ‘Twas a good rebound from the start I had had.

“What stirred his wrath?”

“It might be one thing that I knows of,” says I, “an’ it might be another that I could guess.”

“I’m puzzled, Tumm.”

“As for me, I’ve the eyes of a hawk, sir,” says I, “with which t’ search a mystery like this.”

“That you has!” says he.

I was fond o’ Skipper Harry. He was a perceivin’ man. An’ I’ve no mind t’ withhold the opinion I maintain t’ that effect.

“You’ve fathomed the lad’s rage?” says he.

“An I was still shrewder,” says I, “I’d trust a surmise an’ lay a wager that I was right.”

“What do you think?”

“I’ve two opinions. They balance. I’ll hold with neither ’til I’m sure o’ the one.”

“Not ashamed of his name!” says the skipper. “Ha! ‘Twas a queer boast t’ make. He’ll be ashamed of his name soon enough. ‘Tis a wonder they’ve not told un the truth afore this. What you think, Tumm? How have they managed t’ keep the truth from un until now?”

“They think un comical,” says I; “they keeps un ignorant t’ rouse their laughter with.”

“Ay,” says the skipper; “he’ve been fattened like a goose in a cage. They’ve made a sad fool of un these last few years. What boastin’! ‘Tis stupid. He’ve growed old enough t’ know better, Tumm. ‘Tis jus’ disgustin’ t’ hear a big boy like he mouth such a shoal o’ foolish yarns. An’ he’ve not the least notion that they’re not as true as Gospel an’ twice as entertainin’.”

“So?” says I. “Where’s my flute?”

“There’ll come a time afore long when he’ll find out all of a sudden about his pa. Whew!”

I found my flute an’ stretched myself out on the counter t’ draw comfort from tootin’ it.

“Somebody’ll blunder,” says the skipper. “Some poor damn’ fool.”

“Is I ever played you Nellie was a Lady?”

“‘Tis awful!”

“‘Tis not,” says I. “‘Tis a popular ballad an’ has many good points.”

“I don’t mean the ballad, Tumm,” says he. “Play it an you wants to. Don’t sing it, though, I’m too bothered t’ tolerate more confusion this night. The more I thinks o’ the mess that that poor lad’s in the worse I grieves. Man alive, ’tis a terrible business altogether! If they hadn’t praised his father so high–if they hadn’t teached the lad t’ think that he’d write a letter or come home again–if the lad wasn’t jus’ the loyal little nipper that he is! I tell you, Tumm, that lad’s sheer daft with admiration of his pa. He’ve lifted his pa above God Almighty. When he finds out the truth, he’ll fall down and scream in agony, an’ he’ll die squirmin’, too. I can fair hear un now–an’ see un writhe in pain.”

All this while I was whisperin’ in my flute. ‘Twas a comfort t’ ease my mood in that way.

“I can’t bear t’ think of it, Tumm,” says the skipper. “‘Tis the saddest thing ever I heared of. I wish we’d never dropped anchor in Hide-an’-Seek Harbor.”

“I don’t,” says I.

“Then you’ve a heart harder than rock,” says he.

“Come, now,” says I; “have done with the matter. ‘Tis no affair o’ yours, is it?”

“The lad mustn’t find out the truth.”

“Can you stop the mouth o’ the whole wide world?”

“You knows very well that I can’t.”

“I’m not so sure that ‘twould be wise t’ withhold the truth,” says I. “‘Tis a mystery t’ me–wisdom an’ folly in a case like this. Anyhow,” says I, givin’ free course, in the melancholy that possessed me, to an impulse o’ piety, “God Almighty knows how t’ manage His world. An’ as I looks at your face, an’ as I listens t’ your complaint,” says I, “I’m willin’ t’ wager that He’ve got His plan worked near t’ the point o’ perfection at this very minute.”

“Tell me how, Tumm.”