"Give it up, Al," he whispered."Somethin's happened to bother him, that's sartin'.When Cap'n Lote gets his feet propped up and his head tilted back that way I can 'most generally cal'late he's doin' some real thinkin'.Real thinkin'--yes, sir-ee--um-hm--yes--yes.When he h'ists his boots up to the masthead that way it's safe to figger his brains have got steam up.Um-hm--yes indeed.""But what is he thinking about? And why is he so quiet?""I give up both riddles, Al.He's the only one's got the answers and when he gets ready enough maybe he'll tell 'em.Until then it'll pay us fo'mast hands to make believe we're busy, even if we ain't.Hear that, do you, Is?""Hear what?" demanded Issachar, who was gazing out of the window, his hands in his pockets.
"I say it will pay us--you and Al and me--to make believe we're workin' even if we ain't.""'Workin'!" indignantly."By crimus, I AM workin'! I don't have to make believe.""That so? Well, then, I'd pick up that coal-hod and make believe play for a spell.The fire's 'most out.Almost--um-hm--pretty nigh--yes--yes."Albert and his grandfather walked home to dinner together, as was their custom, but still the captain remained silent.During dinner he spoke not more than a dozen words and Albert several times caught Mrs.Snow regarding her husband intently and with a rather anxious look.She did not question him, however, but Rachel was not so reticent.
"Mercy on us, Cap'n Lote," she demanded, "what IS the matter?
You're as dumb as a mouthful of mush.I don't believe you've said ay, yes or no since we sat down to table.Are you sick?"Her employer's calm was unruffled.
"No-o," he answered, with deliberation.
"That's a comfort.What's the matter, then; don't you WANT to talk?""No-o."
"Oh," with a toss of the head, "well, I'm glad I know.I was beginnin' to be afraid you'd forgotten how."The captain helped himself to another fried "tinker" mackerel.
"No danger of that around here, Rachel," he said serenely."So long as my hearin's good I couldn't forget--not in this house."Olive detained her grandson as he was following Captain Zelotes from the dining room.
"What's wrong with him, Albert?" she whispered."Do you know?""No, I don't, Grandmother.Do you think there is anything wrong?""I know there's somethin' troublin' him.I've lived with him too many years not to know the signs.Oh, Albert--you haven't done anything to displease him, have you?""No, indeed, Grandmother.Whatever it is, it isn't that."When they reached the office, the captain spoke to Mr.Keeler.
"Had your dinner, Labe?" he asked.
"Yes--yes, indeed.Don't take me long to eat--not at my boardin'
house.A feller'd have to have paralysis to make eatin' one of Lindy Dadgett's meals take more'n a half hour.Um-hm--yes."Despite his preoccupation, Captain Zelotes could not help smiling.
"To make it take an hour he'd have to be ossified, wouldn't he, like the feller in the circus sideshow?" he observed.
Laban nodded."That--or dead," he replied."Yes--just about--just so, Cap'n.""Where's Issachar?"
"He's eatin' yet, I cal'late.He don't board at Lindy's.""When he gets back set him to pilin' that new carload of spruce under Number Three shed.Keep him at it.""Yes, sir.Um-hm.All right."
Captain Zelotes turned to his grandson."Come in here, Al," he said."I want to see you for a few minutes."Albert followed him into the inner office.He wondered what in the world his grandfather wished to see him about, in this very private fashion.
"Sit down, Al," said the captain, taking his own chair and pointing to another."Oh, wait a minute, though! Maybe you'd better shut that hatch first."The "hatch" was the transom over the door between the offices.
Albert, remembering how a previous interview between them had been overheard because of that open transom, glanced at his grandfather.
The twinkle in the latter's eye showed that he too, remembered.
Albert closed the "hatch." When he came back to his seat the twinkle had disappeared; Captain Zelotes looked serious enough.
"Well, Grandfather?" queried the young man, after waiting a moment.
The captain adjusted his spectacles, reached into the inside pocket of his coat and produced an envelope.It was a square envelope with either a trade-mark or a crest upon the back.Captain Lote did not open the envelope, but instead tapped his desk with it and regarded his grandson in a meditative way.
"Al," he said slowly, "has it seemed to you that your cruise aboard this craft of ours here had been a little smoother the last year or two than it used to be afore that?"Albert, by this time well accustomed to his grandfather's nautical phraseology, understood that the "cruise" referred to was his voyage as assistant bookkeeper with Z.Snow and Co.He nodded.
"I have tried to make it so," he answered."I mean I have tried to make it smoother for you.""Um-hm, I think you have tried.I don't mind tellin' you that it has pleased me consid'ble to watch you try.I don't mean by that,"he added, with a slight curve of the lip, "that you'd win first prize as a lightnin'-calculator even yet, but you're a whole lot better one than you used to be.I've been considerable encouraged about you; I don't mind tellin' you that either....And," he added, after another interval during which he was, apparently, debating just how much of an admission it was safe to make, "so far as I can see, this poetry foolishness of yours hasn't interfered with your work any to speak of."Albert smiled."Thanks, Grandfather," he said.
