MAKING A MAN OF HIM.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2151, 28 March 1908, Page 3 (Supplement)

MAKING A MAN OF HIM.

(By Joseph O'. Lincoln, in Everybody a 1 Magazine.) Captain Pcnninian and Airs Bradley looked at, the. boy, and the boy y stared fixedly at tile carpet centre j of the braided rug mat on the floor of I ; the _ little. sitting-room. The three faces, with the lamp light shining ' l l>- , on them, differed widely in expression. Airs. Bradley, the Captain's n id- “V owed sistep, had been crying, and her . j e.V»> were wet. Captain Pepniinan s I mouth eyas tight shut, Jiis brows were ' ( drawn together in a frown, ,iuid theTU}peareil to be holding liis utjjSk ■] control by plain strength.. C.dpeJ land, the nephew, an youngster whose age was**? r jjgjf . who looked three years > frowning also, and his - 1 indicated sullen obstn “’Qh,. Eddie,” p 1 “won’t you go w ; * He’ll make \ni him say so you? \ . I AQU - —I

; .1-‘No,”.lie declared. “No, A’lit Elvira, t- I ain’t going I I don’t want to be no V.. whaler. If you want to get rid of me, hand over the money that belongs to }oi , me, and I’ll start lor Californy. There’s gold out there and Injun fightin’ and all kinds of fun. I’ll go there quick enough. All I want is the chance.” "" « “if you want fightin’,” the captain suggested tartly, “you ship along of me ami I’ll give you all you .want. Don’t lay awake nights won-yin’ about that.” Mrs Bradley tried again. “Now, ’ Eddie,” she coaxed, “Californy ain’t the place for a. boy of your age. Everybody says so. It’s a dreadful wild Country, and you might be killed. And you know you ain’t to have the money until you are twenty-one; ’twas loft so in your inn's will. I was to be your guardian and look for you till you came of age. ‘Take my boy,’ Sarah said to me on her dyin’ bed, ‘and take care of him.’ Sarah loved me more’if any ono else in the world, poor thing.” “Darn funny way to show love!” ■> growled Captain Zeke. Eddie kicked tho corner of the mat. “Then take care of me,” he retorted. “Let mo stay hero in Bayport, then. I’d rather go gold huntin’, but if I can’t I’ll stay here. Anyhow, I won’t go whalin’ with Uncle Zeke.”

“But you cau’t stay here, Eddie. ’ I'm scared to have'- you, the way you act and tho company you keep. You’re going straight to the dogs, and I know it. Oh, deaf, dear!” She broke into sobs, covering her face with lier apron. Her brother clenched his big gnarled fists. “I wish io thunder Sarah’d made mo your guardian,” he declared savagely . “You wouldn’t bo robbin’ lieuyards nor hanging round billiard salons, if she had, I bet you! Oh, see here Ed! look at the chance I’m givin’ you. I’ll take you to Boston with me on tho packet to-morrer, buy you a first class seaman’s outfit, ship you ii&Cabih-boy on the Lucky Strike, and fS? three years you and me can be blubber huntin’ and money-makin’ up north. That’s more fun than a barrel of CaliforhyS—huskeys to trade with, and bears to shoot, and—and—” Here the captain’s invention failed him and he paused, then added briskly: “Come on Ed! you’ve got the ma kin’s of a decent feller in you, and three years under me’ll fetch it out. AA hat d’you say? Will you go?” “No, I won’t. I’ll stay at home, and when I’m twenty-one I’ll have the money that was left to me to do what I please with. I won’t go, that’s settled.” Captain Zeke rose to his feet. “Elvirv,” he roared addressing the widow, “you go into the for’ard cabv in and shut the door. I’ve offered this .critter the chance of one kind of whalin’, and now I’m going to give W him the other kind. No lubber can talk to me like—-Let go my arm, you fool woman!” But Mrs Bradley would not let go. Instead she clung more- tightly to her " brother and sobbed wildly. “No, no; ’Zekiel!” she begged. “You mustn’t! Dbn’t you know you mustn’t? I promised Sarah the very last thing never to whip him. ‘He’s —-a-proud bov,’ she said, ‘and I wouldn’t have his spirit bro'ko for anytljj/ug.’ J —” ‘‘Spirit be hanged! You go into the other room, Elviry Bradley; and if you hear anything smash in here, ‘don’t fret yourself that it’s his spirit. Who's that?” Someone hail knocked at the door that opened from the porch into the dining room. Captain Zeke dropped his threatening arm. His nephew, who had turned pale and was halfway to the stairs, regained courage and came back to his chair. Mis Bradley wiped her eyes, brushed her hair smooth, and peeped under the window-shade. “1 declare, it’s Squire Pepper,” she whispered. “What do you suppose lie wants?” ; Sqhire Pepper was chairman of the Bayport board of selectmen. At the name Captain Zeke started. An expression of guilty triumph shone m

3iis eyes. “I don’t know,” ho muttered hastily. “Como to say goodbye to me, maybe. He knows I sail to-morrer. Let him in, why don’t you?” Squire Pepper entered the room with the dignity pertaining to portliness and high rank. He bowed condescendingly to Mrs Bradley and her brother, and then regarded the wouldbe goldseeker with stern disapproval. '.“Elvira,” lie puffed, “I have—er—come on an errand of ei or 01 V a1 ' unpleasant errand. I am sorry that my business is—er—er— what it is, but, .holdin’ the position which I do, it is sometimes necessary to—to—er—yes—ahem!” The widow looked frightened. Eddie cast another glance in the direction ot the stairs. Captain Zekc, however, was surprisingly calm. “Sit right down,' Squire,” lie urged. “Sorry you’ve got unpleasant business, but let’s get through it quick, Cjfe the feller who married the homely woman said to the parson; Ain t going to have me took up, are you ? \ Th'd chairman of the - e-1 fused the prolfered chair. V “Ho, Ezekiel,” he replied; no, la in’t going to arrest you. I’ve como to speak concerning that young man, indicating the trembling Eddie with a 'nod. “The board lias about come to the conclusion that ho is a clement—cr_er_ a bad influence to the town, and that it may be necessary to scud him to the reform school. “The reform school!” Mrs Bradley repeated the words in a horrified whisper. Her nephew turned white. “Yes,” said Mr Pepper, nodding ponderously. “The reform school up to Boston. Bavport folk are longsuiToi in’, as a general rule, and they think high of you and the cap n, Elviry; but this boy has gone on cuttin’ up one dido alter another until he’s reached a stage where he’s a dangerous influence —er—element—er as I said afore. Melon patches and .apple orchards are- bad enough, but—” „ . . “Why, Solomon Pepper, exclaimed Sirs Bradley, “how you talk! When you was a hoy 1 remember you slulc father's apples moreii’t once; and as E'.h fqr melons— 1” , The Squire seemed rather taken ‘>£ back by this attack from a supposedly “Clfribiidly quarter. He east a troubled '- i-I,'ince at Captain Zekc. “Yes, vcs,” observed • the latter promptly, “but. hookin’ melons and ain’t all Eddie s done. You ■ wasxgoin? on further, wa’lit you fequi- ' re?”'v - . ... . .“Iwas—ahem —yes. As I said, wo • can; forgivm/apples and melons, boys • u .bein’ bp#s; but stealin’ chickens, and I a;ad driii'kin’ and—’”' ; .

“No, I don't. All I ever took was some lemonade Clus Commins had at the billiard saloon.”

“Humph 1” grunted Cap’ll Zeke. “1 eal’clate there was a stick in that lemonade, wa’u’t there? 1 know there usually .is.” ‘ ‘How do you know, Zeke Penniiiian?” asked his sister suspiciously. The Captain, momentarily embarrassed, hesitated. Squire Pepper came to the rescue.

. “I guess ’twn’n’t all lemonade,” he said. “But that’s neither here nor there. The selectmen lvavo decided that your nephew must be taken care of. It’s as much for his sake as anybody’s else’s. And at the reform school, under strict dicipline, there’s a chance-to save him. You’vo often told me, Elvira, that you can’t handle him, so it’s our duty to step in. Ahem—yes.” Th© widow began to cry. Eddie, too, snivelled—a surprising procedure for a blood-thirsty would-bo Indian 'killer.

“A Pcnniman sent to a reform school'” sobbed Elvira, “the family is disgraced forever.” Captain Zeke felt that now it was his time to come to the front. “Well now, Squire,” ho said,“let’s see. I cal’late that you ain’t real set an sonding tho boy to a reformatory providin’ lie’s took care of and trained proper. Wo was just settlin’ on a plan when you come in. I start tomorrer for Boston to join my ship. I’ve offered to take Eddie whalin’ with mo, and he’s been thiukin’ it over. What do you say now, Ed? Is it the Lucky Strike or the reform school?”

Young Bradley looked at tho trio before him. His aunt, her hands clasped was gazing at him appealingly. Captain Zeke was smiling with the confidence of a victor. Squire Pepper’s face woro a stern, and unpromising frown. “I don’t know as it wouldn’t bo interfering with my duty,” observed tho Squire, “but I’U take the responsibility. If you sail with the Cap’ll, boy, we’ll let you off on the reform school. But it must be one or t’other.”

Eddie rubbed his coat-sleeve across his eyes. He sniffed, glanced once more at the stern face of the Squire, and muttered, “I’ll—l’ll go with you, Uncle Zeke.”

On the porch, with the door carefully shut, Captain Zeke took leave of his visitor.

“Ever so much obliged to you Squire,” he wispered. “It worked fine, didn’t it ? Do you know I clean forgot you was cornin’ ? You scared him all right. But for the land sakes, don’t let Elviry know we fixed it up aforehanil.” II Captain Zeke and Eddie boarded the little packet schooner at> two o’clock the following afternoon. Passengers are now Whizzed from Bayport to Boston, on the express train, in two hours ten minutes, but this was before the days of Cape Cod expresses, and packets, like the whaling industry, were not yet obsolete. Mrs Bradley came down to tho beach to see them off. A spinster cousin from Orliam was coming over to live with her, so that she would not bo altogether alone; nevertheless, her farewells woro rather tearful. She was used to seeing her brother only at-long intervals and then merely for a few weeks at a time, but Eddie had been lier charge for ten worrisome years. It was a great relief to 'know that ho would be away frpm temptation and -under watchful care, but she would miss him dreadfully.

. “Take good care of liim, ’Zokiel, won’t you?” she pleaded. “Remember, he’s poor Sarah’s only child.” * “Only child !” repeated the captain, in amazement. ■ “Grcatland! you ain’t hankin’ to have him twins, arc you? He’ll be alright. Three years of fun, and then come home to‘ find money in the bank waitin’ for him to spend. That and his wage and share’ll give him a pretty pocketful. Big luck, I call it. Hey, Ed?’ As an additional guard against possible rebellion on part of the nephew, the Captain was taking with him fifty dollars of the money left by the boy’s mother, to be deposited at interest in a Boston bank. When the new whaler should return from his Arctic adventure, this sum would be his to spend as ho pleased. The packet, with a fair wind to help her, moved out from her anchorage. Before the sandy bluffs of Bay port had sunk below the horizon, Eddie was heartily homesick. Seasick he was not, having, had considerable experience in sailboats, but, as the fear of the reform school became more remote, the dread of the long voyage under hie uncle’s iron discipline giev stronger. He had a taste of the discipline during his first hour on board the packet. Captain Zeke had found a ciony among the passengers, another old salt, one Cap’n Solomon Badger, of Harniss, who was also going to the city to set sail for foreign parts. Eddie, not finding the conversation particularly interesting, had wandered forward. His uncle suddenly became aware of Ids absence. “Here, Ed!”, he hailed. “Where’s that boy gone to? Hi, Ed! Wliat you doin’ up there? Come aft and set down alongside.” • Eddie, leaning over the rail, did not stir. “I’m all right,” he answered lazily. “1 like it better here.” The next minute a tar-toughened thumb and finger closed on the lobe of his left car, and lie was led past a dozen grinning passengers and fo’mast bands, back to a seat near the wheel. Into Hie seat ho was plumped without ceremony. “When I speak to you, son,” observed the captain serenely, ,'ou want to do two things right off. One is to say, ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ and t’other ia to mind on the jump. It’s your skipper that’s bossin’ you now, not vour Aunt Elviry, and the sooner you splice that into your memory the better for you. I’m shippin’ this young fellow, Capt’n .Sol,” he added to his friend from Harniss, “as cabin-boy, and I want to begin right. His a.’ntie’s spiled him a little, but I cal’ditto 1 to fix that in a day or so.”

Cffptain Badger nodded. “A good beginnin’ saves a bad endin’,’’ he remarked sagely. “You mind youi superior officer, boy, and you’ve lamed the fust lesson of a seaman. Ivu been aboard ships where an answci same as you gave your uncle would land you in the scuppers with your topriggiu’ busted. Yes, indeed.” Eddie, very red in the face and with a tingling ear, mado no answer; but like the famous parrot, lie thought much.

The two captains were discussing a salt-water subject, namely, the ethics

“1 don’t boliovein it myself,” affirmed Captain Sol. “It don’t seem to mo Christian nor mortal. And yet there’s a tirno when—”

“I agree with you exactly,” concurred Captain Zo'ko. “I never shanghaied n. fo’mast hand in my lito. and my fust mate, Obed Coffin—you know him, Sol; ono of the Nantucket Coffins—wo’ve hail more arguments than a few about it. AAhalius windin’, 1 give in to that, and men arc hard to got for v’yages, that last same as mine do. But I wont shanghai nobody, and I tell Obeil so. ‘lf you want to tako responsibility,’ I says to him, ‘I won’t interfere; but I don’t want to know nothin’ of the details.’ Then my conscience is clear, anyhow. “And, yet,” continued his companion, “I s’poso it’s just as well ioi ’em as to be gettin’ drunk in crimps.’ boardin’-houses. All’s done, they tell mo, is to put a little slcepin’ stuff opium or such— in their grog, .and there they he. AA'ako up aboard a clean ship, out of temptation’s way, and no chance to drink or light. Lookin’ at it that way, it seems almost a mercy to ’em, don’t it? And steepin' stuff don’t do ’em no harm.” “Harm? Not a mite of it. AVhy, I tell you, Sol, I’m subject to rheumatiz when I got amongst the ico or in cold weather ashore, and when it’s got mo good I can’t sleep at nights. Old Hr. Penrose, down home, he gave m© somo opium pills. One of ’em stops the pain and I get to sleep soon’s I turn in. Got a couple of boxes in my satchel now. AVcll, one time I was sort of absent-minded —been havin’ dinner with some fellers I knew—and I took two of them pills,by mistake. Sleep! Say! I slept fourteen hours on a stretcli'and they had to stick pins into me to wake me up. But I felt fust-rato after it ; nothin’ but a little headache, same as anybody’s likely to have after a dinner like—after a dinner. I could take fifty of them pills and not mind it. No, no! drtigs may hurt a laud-lubber, but a sailor’s head is too tough. AA’hat’s the matter, boy? Goin’to sleep?”

Eddie looked up. “No—no, sir,” he replied. “I was thiukin’, that s all.”

Captain Zeko smiled approval of the “sir.” “That’s tho way to talk, soil,” he said. “You’ll lam, give you time.” “Yes, sir,” said Eddie, “I guess so.” His meditations had brought him to a definite conclusion, namely, he would run away as soon after arriving in Boston as was possible. He would not go oh that whaling voyage. The packet reached the city in the early hours of the morning. First of all, on landing, Captain Zeke arranged for his trunk and his nephew’s bag to be sent aboard the Lucky Strike, the ship was lying at Long AATiarf and she was to sail at nine that evening; “goin’ out on the ebb,” her skipper said. Then, satchel in hand, tho captain led the was up town. “Hadn’t I better get aboard the ship and wait for you, Uncle Zeke:’” asked Eddie, with studied carelessness. “No, no, son. You conic right along with me. Got errands to do, you and me have 1 . Got to buy your fit-out-, lor ono thing. You can’t go to sea in them shore togs.” Eddie covered his chagrin with a question. “AVhat you tailin’ that satchel for?” he asked.

“Got papers, and one tilin’ and another in it. Besides it's handy to put bundles ill,”

They walked through lower Com- • mercial Street, lined, at this period, with ship-chandler’s stores, seamen’s boarding houses, shipping offices and the like. The city was bran-new to Eddie and he looked about him with wide-eyed interest. Captain Zeke nodded to various acquaintances whom he passed. “Who was that?” inquired .the nephew, referring to one of these, a burly red-ihaired man in soiled shirt-sleeves, who was standing in the door-way of a dingy shop, the windows of which wero filled with bottles. Various signs hung about indicated that “Choice Wines and Liquors” were sold within, that “Comfortable Beds” might be had at thirty-five cents a night, that sailors could secure berths in ships for all parts of the world, and that ■ “Passages for the Gold Diggings” might be booked at reasonable prices. “Him,” replied the captain, absently. “Oh, his name’s Reilly. Runs a sailor’s boardin’ house and Well, what do you want?” This to the red-liaired man, - who. had run. after them. “Wiliy, captain,” said Mr Reilly, “I just wanted to say that them two fo’mast hands you .need ain t Pained up yet, but I’ll—” s “I don’t want to know nothin’ about it,” was the quick leply. “That’s between you and Mr Coffin. I can’t stop to talk. I’m busy.” They hurried on. Eddie appeared fascinated by Mr Reilly and his place of business, for he kept glancing, back as if to fix the locality in his mind. 1 By noon many errands' had been done. In a little clothing store, kept by a former Cape Codder, Captain Zeke bought his nephew a sailor s outfit, including everything needed for a long voyage in the Arctic climate. The purchase consumed much time, for nothing was bought at the prico first named, and the “beating down process was lengthy and argumentative. The shopkeeper finally agreed to “throw in” a black and yellow neckerchief, for good measure, and on this basis the deal was made. At last, t(he satchel being stuffed to the top and the boy’s arms filled with bundles, they entered the door of the “Bay State House,” a hotel on Hanover Street. Here also the captain was known. After an interview with the clerk, they climbed four flights of stairs to a room under the eaves. . , “There,” exclaimed Captain Zeke, dumping the satchel and bundles on the bed. “There, Ed! here we,'be ■ZZd here vou’ll stay until it’s time to go aboard ship. You get on your newtogs and look out of the window till 1 come back. I go to see nij owners and the like ot that.” He opened the satchel and extracted a bundle of papers. Then he turned to the door and fumbled with the key. , , , Eddie h id received the command to wait at the hotel with marked cheerfulness. Now, however, lie looked troubled. “You ain’t goin’ to lock me in, are you?” he inquired anxiously. “That’s what, son. I brought you here for just that reason. If I leave

you in a room up under the lu.rr.cai.e deck with the door locked, 1 cal’clate you’ll stay put till I come back. Otherwise I wouldn’t be so sure. Byby. Think of the fun you’ll have blubber huntin’; ’twill keep you from getting lonesome.” I'wEUs door slammed and the key rat-

or thumped on the panel. “Aw, Uncle Zeke,” ho ploadcd; “let’s have dinner first, I’m hungry.” “AAV 11 feed Later ..on, son,” was tho muffled response. “A sailor has to l’nrn to do without reg’lur meals.” His footsteps died away on tho stairs. Disconsolately, Eddie turned to survey his prison. His first move was to. open tho window and peer out. Bools and chimneys across tho street made up the discouraging prospect in thill direction. Tlioro was a ’transom over the door, but it was too small lo crawl through. Obviously there was no escape. Tho captain’s satchel lay open on tlie bed. For tho sake of doing something, the boy began looking over the purchases of tho morning. Tlo tool, out ono bundle after another. Beneath those that contained tho boy’s outfit were other bundles hurriedly thrown in by tho skipper before leaving Bayport-. A small package, wrapped in white paper with writing upon it, caught Eddie’s eye. He picked it up and road tho inscription. Then ho started violently Fragments of conversation heard the previous aitornorni came back to him. I’or full five minutes lie sat staring at tho package in his hand. The captain’s business with his owners took more time than lie expected. He visited tho bank also. It was nearly four o’clock when ho unlocked the door of tllio room under tho hurricane-deck. Eddie, dressed as per orders, in his new sen -go in g clothes, was seated by the window. “AVell, boy,” observed the skipper approvingly, “now you begin to look like salt water, sure enough. Hungry yet, are you? That’s all right. AA aitin for grub helps a feller’s appetite. Hoy! AVlmt’s that?” Ho pointed to tho little table by the bed. On it stood a coffee-pot, a plate, of bread and butter, and another of cold him. “AVhy, Uncle Zeke,” explained Eddie, “you didn’t come back and I got awful empty. There’s one of them pipes that you talk through in, the wall, over there, and I hollered down-stairs and told them I wanted something to cat. They said ‘Come down and get it.’ I told them 1 couldn’t , ’cause you had gone off and locked the door, but if they sent something up perhaps they could push it through the little skylight.’ He indicated the transom. “Humph!” grunted Captain Zeke. “rio- they done it, hey? AA’ell, I must say that I like your brass. Me chasin’ round to banks anil depositin’ your money and goin’ without my own fodder, while you’re living like a fightin’ cock! All right, I’ll have you on board ship pretty gooon and then we’ll see. Mow much..did them victuals cost?” “Oh, they’re the cheapest I could pick out; though things are dear here, ain’t they? But I’ve saved some for you, and the coffee is’nt cold yet. Do have some coffee, anyhow. I’d feel better about orderin’ it if you do.” His uncle hesitated. His smart nephew had stolen a march on him, but the food was there and it must bo paid for, so. . . Ho sat down beside the tabic. “Here’s your clip, Uncle Zeke,” said Eddie. “I’ll fill it for you. Ono spoonful of sugar, ui’nt it, sir? You always take one at home.” “Put in two. Might’s well—got to get- my money’s worth somehow. Here! let that bread alone. You’ve had yours.” lie finished tha last of the eatables. Then, liis temper somewhat improved, he sat sipping his coffee and complacently regarding his companion. The latter returned tho look. In fact, he watched his relative with curious intentness. “Humph,” grunted Captain Zeke, putting down tho emptied cup anil peering into the coffee pot. “look care not to leave niorc’n was good for me, didn’t- you? All right, son, I ain’t complainin’. I s’pose you sort of got a little mite the best of tho old man on this grub business. AA’ell, maybe yon did, but your Uncle Zeke -ain’t go slow that he can’t catch himself. I cal’elate you wouldn’t have come along with me on this trip if it hadn’t been for .Squire Pepper—would you, hey?” “I don’t know, sir.” The boy was very respectful. “You don’t-know? AVell, I know And you had a suspicion that you might slip your cable and run away when you struck tlie. city. Hey. Hoiv about that?”. Eddie flushed and- hesitated ; also lt e appeared somewhat alarmed. ' The captain chuckled. “Lord love you, son,” he exclaimed; “-did you s’pose I was as green- as that comes to? I ain’t been men and boys all these years for noth’ in’. BuF’-twas funny to see your face when I locked the door. Haw! haw!” “Now, son,” continued Captain Zeke', “I’m going, to give you a few p’ints regardin’ what you re to do aboard the Lucky Strike.'You’ll have to work, understand. Bein’ a relation to the old man don’t count on board a vessel of mine. But, at tho end of the voyage, if you ain’t- a well-be-haved, good-habited, young feller, I’ll cat my hat. Now, -listen.” Eddie listened. Captain Ze'ke’s few points were not so few after all. The prospective cabinboy gathered that liis berth was to be anything but a sinecure. Also lie noted that liis unelo’s discourse was becoming a trifle incoherent. “As I was saying,” said fflio captain, “as I was sayin’—you’ll have to ... to .. .1 don’t sec what makes uic so evcrlastin’ sleepy.” He yawned cavernously. Eddie, in his chair by the window, smiled. “A body’ll think—th—think—th—that ...” His eyelids drooped anil lie leaned sideways in the chair, saving himself from falling only by a violent effort. “A body'll th-tli-lhink,” said the

captain. “A body’ll think,” remarked Eddie nonchalantly, “that you’d been shanghaied,’ wouldn’t they?”

“Hey? Ji-hey? 'Wli-wliasll that?” “But never mind, Uncle Zeke, There’s no harm ill it. Drugs may be bad for the laud lubber, lint the sailor’s head is ’too tough. Nothin’ hut a. little headache after dinner. I-.-” “Boy!” The captain probably had an idea that he was shouting, but bis utterance was merely a husky whisper. “Boy, whash been doiu ? Has —have you . . .er ...”

lie paused, staggered to the bed, and, murmuring that he guessed he’d turn in for a spoil, fell fast asleep.

HI Obed Coffin, tlie first mate of tUC Lucky Strike, was distinctly nervous. He w r as anything but a nervous man, generally speaking, but at eleven o’clock, with the tide three houij on , .the. ebb. full crew on board, the

quioting to bo minus a skipper. And Captain Zeke Pcnniman was usually tho most punctual of men. “Land knows wlmt’s become of him,” lie- saiil to Mr Nye, tho second mate. “Somethin’s happened, sure. If ’twas three hours ahead of time J.’d expect him any minute; ' but more’u two hours behind . . . I’m seart.”

“Maybe lie’s drunk,” suggested Nye, who Iliad never sailed with Captain J’enniman. “Drunk 1 Zeke Peiuriinan ? Don’t talk foolish; lie’s a teetotaler—on board ship or nigh sailing time, nnvhow.”

'I In' recond male spat disgustedly. “Tlimibr 1” he exclaimed, “lie ain’t, i i lie? AVhy didn't you tell mo that afore I signed the articles? A teetotaler whaler! I didn’t blievo there was such a tiling.”

“AA’ell, there is, and . . . Hi! I eil-elate tiliis is him now. Yes, ’tis. But how in the world did lie come to be so extravagant with his money? Zeke Peimimaii in a hired hack 1 I’llb’liovo tlie millennium’s struck, pretty near.”

It was Captain Zeke, sure enough, and in a cab. Tho captain alighted from the vehicle, or, more strictly speaking, fell out of its door, and staggered to the string picco of tho wharf.

“Obcd,” lie called. “Obed Coffin, where in time arc you?”

“Aye, aye, skipper,” replied the wondering first mate. “I’m mighty glad to see you. I was begiiuiin’ to think—”

“Shut up! Goin’ to stand talkin’ all night? Pay this feller”—indicating the cab driver—“fifty cents —no more, understand. Hurry up, will you! Oh Lord, my head!” Mr Coffin paid tho driver, anil tlie captain of the Lucky Strike prepared to climb aboard, his vessel. Ho seemed to find it a difficult task. “Here!” lie growled. “Give me a hand, won’t you ! And be lively about it.”

Obed helped him over the rail while Mr Nye assisted by holding a lantern.

“Ain’t sick, sir, are you?” asked the first mate.

“No!” sputtered Captain Zeke savagely.

“Course ho ain’t,”- put in Nye, hugely delighted. “A r ou’re ail right, hey, skipper? Sea- legs ain’t on, that’s all.” Then in 'Mr Coffin’s ear lie whispered; “This what you call r. teetotaler?”

The Captain heard him. “AA'hat’s that?” lie demanded. “You dast to hint that I’ve been drinkiu’ liquor and I’ll—oh, my head!” “Hadn’t we better get ■under way?” asked Obed, hurriedly.

“Have you—have you seen anything of—of a nephew of mine?” Captain Zeke blurted out the question.

“No, sir. AA’as that the new cabiubov? He hasn’t turned up. Thought you was goin’ to fetch him from Bayport.” Tlie skipper groaned aloid. In liis coat pocket was a note, v.liicli lie had found in the room at the Bay .State House after being shaken *iuo wakefulness by (lie night clerk. Its every word was burned into his memory. It ran as follows .- “Dear llnele Zeke: 1 decided r.ot to go whaling and I put two of your rheumatiz''pills in that ccli’ee jov drank. You said you co- id take fifty of ’em, so I know two won t hurt you. I’m off to dig gold. AA In n I civile back rich maybe-1 will call on you anil Aunt Elvira.” “Your loving nephew, “Edward Copeland. “P.S.—I. took what money you had ill your pockets to pay my fare. A'ou can take enough to make us square out of tho bank where you put my fifty.”

“Shall I get under way?” repeated All- Coffin, watching his superior. Captain Zeke, sick, wrathful, and humiliated, his head splitting and his stomach turning somersaults, groaned again.

“I —I guess not, Obed,” lie stammered. “I cal’clate wo won t- sail to-night. We ain’t got a full ship’s company, so —”

“A’es, wc have, sir. Beilly fetched the filial pair aboard about eight. Had to shanghai ’em, of course. He come pretty nigh not gett in’ the last one, but -luck was with him. Seems a green young feller in sailor’s rig drifted -into his place and asked for a ticket to Californy; wanted to go to. the diggin’s, like the rest- of the fools. AA lien he found out what- passage would cost, lie was considerable set back —-hadn’t got money enough, you understand. Then lie wanted to know if he couldn’t ship as fo’mast hand aboard a ’Frisco vessel. Beilly see that Providence was helpin’ us along, and lie asks the young cub to have .somethin’ just for sociableness. AA T ell, yon know what that means—.means the Lucky 'Strike’s- got- lier full crew.” The first mate laughed at Mr Beilly’s little joke. Captain Zeke did not laugh. “AA’here did this young cliap want to go?” ho demanded excitedly. “To Californy. He —” “AA’hat sort of lookin’ feller was he? How was lie dressed?”

“Oil, lie’s quite a likely youngster, I should say. Freckle-laced and sort of tow-lieaded. Had on a nice new fit-out of togs, blue shirt and—”

“Obed Coffin, don’t you lie to me! Don’t you dare say that- shanghaied lubber had on a speckled yeller licekhaiidkerchief if he didn’t! Don’t—”

“But he did. Mow’d you know? .-V yeller handkerchief with black spots. AA'-ant to see him? He’s down in the fVcastle now, slcepin’ like a lamb.”

A few miuul.es later. Mr Nyc, holding the lantern by the forward companion, looked lull into the lace ol the skipper as the latter ascended the ladder from the fo-easfle. T'oe Captain ‘was smiling—grimly, perhaps, but smiling nevertheless.

“Obed,” queried Captain Zeke, turning to the first mate, who was behind him on the ladder, “three years is quite a spell, ain t it? “Why—why. yes, sir.”

“J cal’clate in that time and with the proper discipline, a skipper that knew his business might make a man even out oi a young rip like that one down there, hey?” “Aye, aye, sir. I s'pose he could.” “Yes. And anyhow." Captain Zeke’s grim smile broadened and his right fist clenched, “anyhow he could have consider’blo fun tryin . Mr Coffin, you may get the ship under way, sir.”