His mother snorted disgust. "If you had brains," she declared, "you would have understood what he meant by saying that the sea was the place to learn what to unlearn. He was hitting at you. Was it necessary to insult him the first time you and he exchanged a word?"

"Insult him? Him? Ha, ha! Why, Mater, what's the matter with you? Do you imagine that a hayseed like that would recognize an insult without an introduction? And, besides, what difference does it make? You don't intend putting him on your calling list, do you?"

"I intend cultivating him for the present."

"Cultivating him?"

"Yes—for the present. He is Rodgers Warren's brother. That lawyer, Graves, traveled miles to see him. What does that mean? That, in some important way, he is connected with the estate and those two children. If the estate is worth anything, and we have reason to believe it is, you and I must know it. If it isn't, it is even more important that we should know, before we waste more time. If Caroline is an heiress, if she inherits even a moderate fortune—"

She shrugged her shoulders by way of finish to the sentence.

Malcolm whistled.

"But to think of that old Down-Easter being related to the Warren family!" he mused. "It seems impossible."

"Nothing is impossible," observed his mother. Then, with a shudder, "You never met your father's relatives. I have."

* * * * *

When Captain Elisha emerged from his room, after a wash and a change of linen, he found the library untenanted. He strolled about, his hands behind him, inspecting the pictures with critical interest. Caroline, dressed for dinner, found him thus engaged. He turned at the sound of her step.

"Why, hello!" he cried, with hearty enthusiasm. "All rigged up for inspection, ain't you?"

"Inspection?"

"Oh, that's just sailor's lingo. Means you've got your Sunday uniform on, that's all. My! my! how nice you look! But ain't black pretty old for such a young girl?"

"I am in mourning," replied his niece, coldly.

"There! there! of course you are. Tut! tut! How could I forget it. You see, I've been so many years feelin' as if I didn't have a brother that I've sort of got used to his bein' gone."

"I have not." Her eyes filled as she said it. The captain was greatly moved.

"I'm a blunderin' old fool, my dear," he said. "I beg your pardon. Do try to forgive me, won't you? And, perhaps—perhaps I can make up your loss to you, just a little mite. I'd like to. I'll try to, if—"

He laid a hand on her shoulder. She avoided him and, moving away, seated herself in a chair at the opposite side of the desk. The avoidance was so obvious as to be almost brutal. Captain Elisha looked very grave for an instant. Then he changed the subject.

"I was lookin' at your oil paintin's," he said. "They're pretty fine, ain't they? Any of them your work, Caroline?"

"My work?" The girl's astonishment was so great that she turned to stare at her questioner. "My work?" she repeated. "Are you joking? You can't think that I painted them."

"I didn't know but you might. That one over there, with the trees and folks dancin'—sort of picnic scene, I judge—that looks as if you might have done it."

"That is a Corot."

"'Tis, hey? I want to know! A—a—what did you call it?"

"A Corot. He was a famous French artist. That was father's favorite picture."

"Sho! Well, I like it fust-rate myself. Did 'Bije—did your father know this Mr. Corot well?"

"Know him? Certainly not. Why should you think such a thing as that?"

"Well, he bought the picture of him, and so I s'pose likely he knew him. There was a young feller come to South Denboro three or four year ago and offered to paint a picture of our place for fifteen dollars. Abbie—that's Abbie Baker, she's one of our folks, you know, your third cousin, Caroline; keepin' house for me, she is—Abbie wanted me to have him do the job, but I wa'n't very particular about it, so it never come to nothin'. He done two or three places, though, and I swan 'twas nice work! He painted Sam Cahoon's old ramshackle house and barn, and you'd hardly know it, 'twas so fixed up and fine, in the picture. White paint and green grass and everything just like real. He left out the places where the pickets was off the fence and the blinds hangin' on one hinge. I told Abbie, I says, 'Abbie, that painter's made Sam's place look almost respectable, and if that ain't a miracle, I don't know what is. I would think Sam would blush every time he sees that picture.' Ho, ho! Abbie seemed to cal'late that Sam Cahoon's blushin' would be the biggest miracle of the two. Ho! ho! You'd like Abbie; she's got lots of common sense."

He chuckled at the reminiscence and rubbed his knee. His niece made no reply. Captain Elisha glanced at the Corot once more and asked another question.

"I presume likely," he said, "that that picture cost consider'ble more than fifteen, hey?"

"Father paid twenty-two thousand dollars for it," was the crushing answer.

The captain looked at her, opened his mouth to speak, shut it again, and, rising, walked across the room. Adjusting his glasses, he inspected the Corot in silence for a few minutes. Then he drew a long breath.

"Well!" he sighed. "Well." Then, after an interval, "Was this the only one he ever painted?"

"The only one? The only picture Corot painted? Of course not! There are many more."

"Did—did this Corot feller get as much for every job as he did for this?"

"I presume so. I know father considered this one a bargain."

"Did, hey? Humph! I ought to know enough by this time not to believe all I hear, but I kind of had an idea that picture paintin' was starvation work. I've read about artists committin' suicide, and livin' in attics, and such. Whew! About two such bargain sale jobs as this, and I'd guarantee not to starve—and to live as nigh the ground as a second-floor bedroom anyhow. How about this next one? This feller in a dory—coddin', I guess he is. Did—did Mr. Corot do him?"

"No. That is by a well-known American artist. It is a good piece of work, but not like the other. It is worth much less. Perhaps five thousand."

"So? Well, even for that I'd undertake to buy consider'ble many dories, and hire fellers to fish from 'em, too. Humph! I guess I'm out of soundin's. When I thought fifteen dollars was a high price for paintin' a view of a house I was slightly mistaken. Next time I'll offer the paintin' feller the house and ask him what he considers a fair boot, besides. Sam Cahoon's a better speculator than I thought he was. Hello, Commodore! what's worryin' you now?"

Edwards appeared to announce that dinner was served. Caroline rose and led the way to the dining room. Captain Elisha followed, looking curiously about him as he did so. Stephen, who had been sulkily dressing in his own room, entered immediately after.

The captain surveyed the dining room with interest. Like the others of the suite, it was sumptuously and tastefully furnished. He took the chair indicated by the solemn Edwards, and the meal began.

The butler's sense of humor was not acute, but it was with considerable difficulty that he restrained his smiles during the next half hour. A more appreciative observer would have noticed and enjoyed the subtler points. Stephen's glare of disgust at his uncle when the latter tucked his napkin in the opening of his waistcoat; Caroline's embarrassment when the captain complimented the soup, declaring that it was almost as good as one of Abbie's chowders; the visitor's obvious uneasiness at being waited upon attentively, and the like. These Edwards missed, but he could not help appreciating Captain Elisha's conversation.

Caroline said little during dinner. Her brother glowered at his plate and was silent. But the captain talked and talked.

"Maybe you think I didn't have a time findin' your new lodgin's," he said. "I come over on the cars, somethin' I don't usually do when there's anything afloat to carry me. But I had an errand or two to do in Boston, so I stopped over night at the hotel there and got the nine o'clock train. I landed here in New York all shipshape and on time, and started in to hunt you up."

"How did you get our address?" asked his niece. "Mr. Graves couldn't have given it to you, for we only decided on this apartment a few days ago."

"Ho! ho!" chuckled Captain Elisha, rolling in his chair, like a ship in a cross sea. "Ho! ho! You remind me of Abbie, Caroline. That's what she said. 'I never heard of such a crazy cruise,' she says. 'Startin' off to visit folks when you haven't the least idea where they live!' 'Oh, yes, I have,' I says, 'I know where they live; they live in New York.' Well, you ought to have seen her face. Abbie's a good woman—none better—but she generally don't notice a joke until she trips over it. I get consider'ble fun out of Abbie, take her by the large. 'New York!' she says. 'Did anybody ever hear the beat of that? Do you cal'late New York's like South Denboro, where everybody knows everybody else? What are you plannin' to do? run up the fust man, woman or child you meet and ask 'em to tell you where 'Bijah Warren lives? Or are you goin' to trot from Dan to Beersheby, trustin' to meet your nephew and niece on the way? I never in my born days!'

"Well," went on the captain, "I told her that the last suggestion weren't such a bad one, but there was one little objection to it. Considerin' that I hadn't ever laid eyes on Steve and that I hadn't seen you since you was a baby, the chances was against my recognizin' you if we did meet. Ho, ho, ho! Finally I hinted that I might look in the directory, and she got more reconciled to my startin'. Honest, I do believe she'd have insisted on takin' me by the hand and leadin' me to you, if I hadn't told her that.



"So I did look in the directory and got the number on Fifth Avenue where you used to be. I asked a policeman the nighest way to get there, and he said take a bus. Last time I was in New York I rode in one of those Fifth Avenue omnibuses, and I never got such a jouncin' in my life. The pavement then was round cobble stones, like some of the roads in Nantucket. I remember I tried to ask a feller that set next to me somethin' or other, and I swan to man I couldn't get nothin' out of my mouth but rattles. 'Metropolitan Museum,' sounded like puttin' in a ton of coal. I thought I was comin' apart, or my works was out of order, or somethin', but when the feller tried to answer he rattled just as bad, so I realized 'twas the reg'lar disease and felt some better. I never shall forget a fleshy woman—somethin' like that Mrs. Dunn friend of yours, Caroline—that set opposite me. It give me the crawls to look at her, her chins shook around so. Ho! ho! she had no less'n three of 'em, and they all shook different ways. Ho! ho! ho! If I'd been in the habit of wearin' false hair or teeth or anything that wa'n't growed to or buttoned on me I'd never have risked a trip in one of those omnibuses.

"So when the police officer prescribed one for me this v'yage, I was some dubious. I'm older'n I was ten year ago, and I wa'n't sure that I'd hold together. I cal'lated walkin' was better for my health. So I found Fifth Avenue and started to walk. And the farther I walked the heavier that blessed satchel of mine got. It weighed maybe ten or twelve pounds at the corner of 42nd Street, but when I got as far as the open square where the gilt woman is hurryin' to keep from bein' run over by Gen'ral Sherman on horseback—that statue, you know—I wouldn't have let that blessed bag go for less'n two ton, if I was sellin' it by weight. So I leaned up against an electric light pole to rest and sort of get my bearin's. Then I noticed what I'd ought to have seen afore, that the street wa'n't paved with cobbles, as it used to be, but was smooth as a stretch of state road down home. So I figgered that a bus was a safe risk, after all. I waited ten minutes or more for one to come, and finally I asked a woman who was in tow of an astrakhan-trimmed dog at the end of a chain, if the omnibuses had stopped runnin'. When I fust see the dog leadin' her I thought she was blind, but I guess she was deef and dumb instead. Anyhow, all she said was 'Ugh!' not very enthusiastic, at that, and went along. Ho! ho! So then I asked a man, and he pointed to a bus right in front of me. You see, I was lookin' for the horses, same as they used to be, and this was an automobile.

"I blushed, I guess, just to show that there was some red underneath the green, and climbed aboard the omnibus. I rode along for a spell, admirin' as much of the scenery as I could see between the women's hats, then I told the skipper of the thing that I wanted to make port at 82nd Street. He said 'Ugh,' apparently suff'rin' from the same complaint the dog woman had, and we went on and on. At last I got kind of anxious and asked him again.

"'Eighty-second!' says he, ugly. 'This is Ninety-first.'

"'Good land!' says I. 'I wanted Eighty-second.'

"'Why didn't you say so?' says he, lookin' as if I'd stole his mother's spoons.

"'I did,' says I.

"'You did?' he snarls. 'You did not! If you did, wouldn't I have heard you?'

"Well, any answer I'd be likely to make to that would have meant more argument, and the bus was sailin' right along at the time, so I piled out and did some more walkin', the other way. At last I reached your old number, Stevie, and—Hey? Did you speak?"

"Don't call me 'Stevie,'" growled his nephew, rebelliously.

"Beg your pardon. I keep forgettin' that you're almost grown up. Well, as I was sayin', I got to the house where you used to live, and 'twas shut tight. Nobody there. Ho! ho! I felt a good deal like old Beriah Doane must have on his last 'vacation.' You see, Beriah is one of our South Denboro notorieties; he's famous in his way. He works and loafs by spells until cranberry pickin' time in the fall; then he picks steady and earns thirty or forty dollars all at once. Soon's he's paid off, he starts for Boston on a 'vacation,' an alcoholic one. Well, last fall his married sister was visitin' him, and she, bein' strong for good Templarism, was determined he shouldn't vacate in his regular way. So she telegraphed her husband's brother in Brockton to meet Beriah there, go with him to Boston, and see that he behaved himself and stayed sober. Beriah heard of it, and when his train gets as far as Tremont what does he do but get off quiet and change cars for New Bedford. He hadn't been there for nine years, but he had pleasant memories of his last visit. And when he does get to New Bedford, chucklin' over the way he's befooled his sister and her folks, I'm blessed if he didn't find that the town had gone no-license, and every saloon was shut up! Ho! ho! ho! Well, I felt about the way he did, I guess, when I stood on the steps of your Fifth Avenue house and realized you'd gone away. I wouldn't have had Abbie see me there for somethin'. Ho! ho!"

He leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud. Caroline smiled faintly. Stephen threw down his napkin and sprang to his feet.

"Sis," he cried, "I'm going to my room. By gad! I can't—"

Catching a warning glance from his sister, he did not finish his sentence, but stood sulkily beside his chair. Captain Elisha looked at him, then at the girl, and stopped laughing. He folded his napkin with care, and rose.

"That's about all of it," he said, shortly. "I asked around at two or three of the neighbors' houses, and the last one I asked knew where you'd moved and told me how to get here."

When the trio were again in the library, the captain spoke once more.

"I'm 'fraid I've talked too much," he said, gravely. "I didn't realize how I was runnin' on. Thought I was home, I guess, with the fellers of my own age down at the postoffice, instead of bein' an old countryman, tirin' out you two young city folks with my yarns. I beg your pardon. Now you mustn't mind me. I see you're expectin' company or goin' callin' somewheres, so I'll just go to my bedroom and write Abbie a line. She'll be kind of anxious to know if I got here safe and sound and found you. Don't worry about me, I'll be comf'table and busy."

He turned to go. Caroline looked at him in surprise. "We are not expecting callers," she said. "And certainly we are not going out to-night. Why should you think such a thing?"

It was her uncle's turn to show surprise.

"Why," he said, with a glance at Stephen, "I see that you're all dressed up, and so I thought, naturally—"

He paused.

Young Warren grunted contemptuously.

"We dressed for dinner, that is all," said Caroline.

"You—you mean you put these clothes on every night?"

"Certainly."

Captain Elisha was plainly very much astonished.

"Well," he observed, slowly. "I—guess I've made another mistake. Hum! Good night."

"Good night," said Stephen, quickly. Caroline, however, seemed embarrassed.

"Captain Warren," she said, "I thought possibly you might wish to talk business with my brother and me. We—we understand that you have come on business connected with father's will. It seems to me that the sooner we—we—"

"Get it over the better, hey? Well, maybe you're right. It's an odd business for an old salt like me to be mixed up in, that's a fact. If it hadn't been so odd, if I hadn't thought there must be some reason, some partic'lar reason, I—well, I guess I'd have stayed to home where I belong. You mustn't think," he added, seriously, "that I don't realize I'm as out of place amongst you and your rich friends as a live fish in a barrel of sawdust. That's all right; you needn't trouble to say no. But you must understand that, realizin' it, I'm not exactly imposin' myself on you for pleasure or—well, from choice. I'm so built that I can't shirk when my conscience tells me I shouldn't, that's all. I'm kind of tired to-night, and I guess you are. To-morrow mornin', if it's agreeable to all hands, we will have a little business talk. I'll have to see Lawyer Graves pretty soon, and have a gen'ral look at your pa's affairs. Then, if everything is all right and I feel my duty's done, I'll probably go back to the Cape and leave you to him, or somebody else able to look out for you. Until then I'm afraid," with a smile which had a trace of bitterness in it; "I'm afraid you'll have to do the best you can with me. I'll try to be no more of a nuisance than I can help. Good night."

When the two young people were left alone, Caroline turned to her brother.

"Steve," she said, "I'm afraid you were a little rude. I'm afraid you hurt his feelings."

The boy stared at her in wonder. "Hurt his feelings!" he exclaimed. "His feelings! Well, by Jove! Caro, you're a wonder! Did you expect me to throw my arms around his neck? If he had had any feelings at all, if he was the slightest part of a gentleman, do you suppose he would come here and disgrace us as he is doing? Who invited him? Did we? I guess not!"

"But he is father's brother, and father asked him to come."

"No, he didn't. He asked him—heaven knows why—to look out for our money affairs. That's bad enough; but he didn't ask him to live with us. He sha'n't! by gad, he sha'n't! You may be as sweet to him as you like, but I'll make it my business to give him the cold shoulder every chance I get. I'll freeze him out, that's what I'll do—freeze him out. Why, Caro! be sensible. Think what his staying here means. Can we take him about with us? Can our friends meet him as—as our uncle? He's got to be made to go. Hasn't he now? Hasn't he?"

The girl was silent for a moment. Then she covered her face with her hands. "Oh, yes!" she sobbed. "Oh, yes, he must! he Must! Why did father do it?"



CHAPTER V

The Warren breakfast hour was nine o'clock. At a quarter to nine Caroline, entering the library, found Stephen seated by the fire reading the morning paper.

"Good morning," she said. Then, looking about the room, asked, "Has—has he been here?"

Her brother shook his head. "You mean Uncle 'Lish?" he asked, cheerfully. "No, he hasn't. At least, I haven't seen him and I haven't made any inquiries. I shall manage to survive if he never appears. Let sleeping relatives lie, that's my motto."

He laughed at his own joke and turned the page of the paper. The butler entered.

"Breakfast is served, Miss Caroline," he announced.

"Has Captain Warren come from his room?" asked the young lady.

"No, Miss Caroline. That is, I haven't seen him."

Stephen tossed the paper on the floor and rose.

"I wonder—" he began. Then, with a broad grin, "A sudden thought strikes me, Sis. He has undoubtedly blown out the gas."

"Steve! How can you!"

"Perfectly simple. Absolutely reasonable. Just what might have been expected. 'He has gone, but we shall miss him.' Come on, Caro; I'm hungry. Let the old hayseed sleep. You and I can have a meal in peace. Heavens! you don't care for another experience like last night's, do you?"

"Edwards," said Caroline, "you may knock at Captain Warren's door and tell him breakfast is served."

"Yes," commanded Stephen, "and tell him not to hurry on our account. Come, Caro, come! You're not pining for his society. Well, wait then! I won't!"

He marched angrily out of the room. His sister hesitated, her wish to follow complicated by a feeling of duty to a guest, no matter how unwelcome. The butler reappeared, looking puzzled.

"He's not there, miss?" he said.

"Not there? Not in his room?"

"No, Miss Caroline. I knocked, and he didn't answer, so I looked in and he wasn't there. His bed's been slept in, but he's gone."

"Gone? And you haven't seen him?"

"No, miss. I've been up and about since half past seven, and I can't understand where he could have got to."

The door of the hall opened and shut. Edwards darted from the library. A moment afterwards Captain Elisha strolled in. He was wearing his overcoat, and his hat was in his hand.

"Good mornin', Caroline," he hailed, in his big voice. "Surprised to see me, are you? Ho! ho! So was the Commodore. He couldn't understand how I got in without ringin'. Well, you see, I'm used to turnin' out pretty early, and when it got to be most seven o'clock, I couldn't lay to bed any longer, so I got up, dressed, and went for a walk. I fixed the door latch so's I could come in quiet. You haven't waited breakfast for me, I hope."

"No; it is ready now, however."

"Ready now," the captain looked at his watch. "Yes, I should think so. It's way into the forenoon. You have waited for me, haven't you? I'm awfully sorry."

"No, we have not waited. Our breakfast hour is nine. Pardon me for neglecting to tell you that last evening."

"Oh, that's all right. Now you trot right out and eat. I've had mine."

"Had your breakfast?"

"Yes, indeed. When I'm home, Abbie and I usually eat about seven, so I get sort of sharp-set if I wait after that. I cal'lated you city folks was late sleepers, and I wouldn't want to make any trouble, so I found a little eatin' house down below here a ways and had a cup of coffee and some bread and butter and mush. Then I went cruisin' round in Central Park a spell. This is Central Park over across here, ain't it?"

"Yes." The girl was too astonished to say more.

"I thought 'twas. I'd been through part of it afore, but 'twas years ago, and it's such a big place and the paths run so criss-cross I got sort of mixed up, and it took me longer to get out than it did to get in. I had the gen'ral points of the compass, and I guess I could have made a pretty average straight run for home, but every time I wanted to cut across lots there was a policeman lookin' at me, so I had to stick to the channel. That's what made me so late. Now do go and eat your breakfast. I won't feel easy till I see you start."

Caroline departed, and the captain, after a visit to his own room, where he left his coat and hat, returned to the library, picked up the paper which his nephew had dropped, and began reading.

After breakfast came the "business talk." It was a brief one. Captain Elisha soon discovered that his brother's children knew very little concerning their father's affairs. They had always plenty of money, had been indulged in practically every wish, and had never had to think or plan for themselves. As to the size of the estate, they knew nothing more than Mr. Graves had told them, which was that, instead of the several millions which rumor had credited A. Rodgers Warren with possessing, five hundred thousand dollars would probably be the extent of their inheritance, and that, therefore, they must live economically. As a first step in that direction, they had given up their former home and moved to the apartment.

"Yes, yes," mused the captain, "I see. Mr. Graves didn't know about your movin', then? You did it on your own hook, so to speak?"

Stephen answered promptly.

"Of course we did," he declared. "Why not?"

"No reason in the world. A good sensible thing to do, I should say. Didn't anybody advise you where to go?"

"Why should we need advice?" Again it was Stephen who replied. "We aren't kids. We're old enough to decide some things for ourselves, I should think."

"Yes. Sartin. That's right. But I didn't know but p'raps some of your friends might have helped along. This Mrs. Dunn now, she kind of hinted to me that she'd—well, done what she could to make you comf'table."

"She has," avowed Caroline, warmly. "Mrs. Dunn and Malcolm have proved their friendship in a thousand ways. We never can repay them, Stephen and I, never!"

"No. There's some things you can't ever pay, I know that. Mrs. Dunn found this nice place for you, did she?"

"Why, yes. She and I found it together."

"So? That was lucky, wa'n't it? Advertised in the newspaper, was it; or was there a 'To Let' placard up in the window?"

"No, certainly not. Mrs. Dunn knew that we had decided to move, and she has a cousin who is interested in New York property. She asked him, and he mentioned this apartment."

"One of his own, was it?"

"I believe so. Why are you so particular? Don't you like it?"

Her tone was sharp. Stephen, who resented his uncle's questions as impertinent intrusions upon the family affairs, added one of his own.

"Isn't it as good as those in—what do you call it—South Denboro?" he asked, maliciously.

Captain Elisha laughed heartily.

"Pretty nigh as good," he said. "I didn't notice any better on the way to the depot as I drove up. And I doubt if there's many new ones built since I left. It's a mighty fine lot of rooms, I think. What's the rent? You'll excuse my askin', things bein' as they are."

"Twenty-two hundred a year," answered his niece, coldly.

The captain looked at her, whistled, broke off the whistle in the middle, and did a little mental arithmetic.

"Twenty-two hundred a year!" he repeated. "That's one hundred and eighty odd a month. Say, that cousin of Mrs. Dunn's must want to get his investment back. You mean for just these ten rooms?"

Stephen laughed scornfully.

"Our guardian has been counting, Caro," he remarked.

"Yes. Yes, I counted this mornin' when I got up. I was interested, naturally."

"Sure! Naturally, of course," sneered the boy. "Did you think the twenty-two hundred was the rent of the entire building?"

"Well, I didn't know. I—"

"The rent," interrupted Caroline, with dignity, "was twenty-four hundred, but, thanks to Mrs. Dunn, who explained to her cousin that we were friends of hers, it was reduced."

"We being in reduced circumstances," observed her brother in supreme disgust. "Pity the poor orphans! By gad!"

"That was real nice of Mrs. Dunn," declared Captain Elisha, heartily. "She's pretty well-off herself, I s'pose—hey, Caroline?"

"I presume so."

"Yes, yes. About how much is she wuth, think?"

"I don't know. I never inquired."

"No. Well, down our way," with a chuckle, "we don't have to inquire. Ask anybody you meet what his next door neighbor's wuth, and he'll tell you within a hundred, and how he got it, and how much he owes, and how he gets along with his wife. Ho! ho! Speakin' of wives, is this Mr. Dunn married?"

He looked at his niece as he asked the question. There was no reason why Caroline should blush; she knew it, and hated herself for doing it.

"No," she answered, resentfully, "he is not."

"Um-hm. What's his business?"

"He is connected with a produce exchange house, I believe."

"One of the firm?"

"I don't know. In New York we are not as well posted, or as curious, concerning our friends' private affairs as your townspeople seem to be."

"I guess that's so. I imagine New Yorkers are too busy gettin' it themselves to bother whether their neighbors have got it or not. Well," he went on, rising, "I guess I've kept you young folks from your work or—or play, or whatever you was going to do, long enough for this once. I think I'll go out for a spell. I've got an errand or two I want to do. What time do you have dinner?"

"We lunch at half past one," answered Caroline.

"We dine at seven."

"Oh, yes, yes! I keep forgettin' that supper's dinner. Well, I presume likely I'll be back for luncheon. If I ain't, don't wait for me. I'll be home afore supper—there I go again!—afore dinner, anyhow. Good-by."

Five minutes later he was at the street corner, inquiring of a policeman "the handiest way to get to Pine Street." Following the directions given, he boarded a train at the nearest subway station, emerged at Wall Street, inquired once more, located the street he was looking for, and, consulting a card which he took from a big stained leather pocket-book, walked on, peering at the numbers of the buildings he passed.

The offices of Sylvester, Kuhn, and Graves, were on the sixteenth floor of a new and gorgeously appointed sky-scraper. When Captain Elisha entered the firm's reception room, he was accosted by a wide-awake and extremely self-possessed office boy.

"Who'd you want to see?" asked the boy, briskly.

The captain removed his hat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

"Hold on a jiffy, Sonny," he panted. "Just give me a minute to sort of get myself together, as you might say. I rode up in one of those express elevators of yours, and I kind of feel as if my boots had got tangled up with my necktie. When that elevator feller cast off from the cellar, I begun to shut up like a spyglass. Whew! Say, Son, is Mr. Graves in?"

"No," replied the boy, grinning.

"Hum! Still in the sick bay, is he—hey?"

"He's to home. Got a cold."

"Yup. It's too bad. Mr.—er—Sylvester, is he in?"

"Naw, he ain't. And Mr. Kuhn's busy. Won't one of the clerks do? What do you want to see the firm about?"

"Well, Son, I had reasons of my own. However, I guess I won't disturb Mr. Kuhn, if he's busy's you say. Here! you tell him, or Mr. Sylvester when he comes, that Cap'n Warren, Cap'n Elisha Warren of South Denboro—better write it down—called and will be back about half past twelve or thereabouts. Got it, have you? Hum! is that Elisha? You don't tell me! I've been spellin' it for sixty years, more or less, and never realized it had such possibilities. Lend me your pencil. There! you give Mr. Sylvester that and tell him I'll see him later. So long, Son."

He departed, smiling. The indignant office boy threw the card on the table.

Captain Elisha strolled down Pine Street, looking about him with interest. It had been years since he visited this locality, and the changes were many. Soon, however, he began to recognize familiar landmarks. He was approaching the water front, and there were fewer new buildings. When he reached South Street he was thoroughly at home.

The docks were crowded. The river was alive with small craft of all kinds. Steamers and schooners were plenty, but the captain missed the old square-riggers, the clipper ships and barks, such as he had sailed in as cabin boy, as foremast hand, and, later, commanded on many seas.

At length, however, he saw four masts towering above the roof of a freight house. They were not schooner rigged, those masts. The yards were set square across, and along them were furled royals and upper topsails. Here, at last, was a craft worth looking at. Captain Elisha crossed the street, hurried past the covered freight house, and saw a magnificent great ship lying beside a broad open wharf. Down the wharf he walked, joyfully, as one who greets an old friend.

The wharf was practically deserted. An ancient watchman was dozing in a sort of sentry box, but he did not wake. There was a pile of foreign-looking crates and boxes at the further end of the pier, evidently the last bit of cargo waiting to be carted away. The captain inspected the pile, recognized the goods as Chinese and Japanese, then read the name on the big ship's stern. She was the Empress of the Ocean, and her home port was Liverpool.

Captain Elisha, as a free-born Yankee skipper, had an inherited and cherished contempt for British "lime-juicers," but he could not help admiring this one. To begin with, her size and tonnage were enormous. Also, she was four-masted, instead of the usual three, and her hull and lower spars were of steel instead of wood. A steel sailing vessel was something of a novelty to the captain, and he was seized with a desire to go aboard and inspect.

The ladder from ship to wharf was down, of course, and getting on board was an easy matter. When he reached the deck and looked about him, the great size of the ship was still more apparent. The bulwarks were as high as a short man's head. She was decked over aft, and, as the captain said afterwards, "her cabins had nigh as many stories as a house." From the roof of the "first story," level with the bulwarks, extended a series of bridges, which could be hoisted or lowered, and by means of which her officers could walk from stern to bow without descending to the deck. There was a good-sized engine house forward, beyond the galley and forecastle. Evidently the work of hoisting anchors and canvas was done by steam.

The captain strolled about, looking her over. The number of improvements since his seagoing days was astonishing. He was standing by the wheel, near the companion way, wishing that he might inspect the officers' quarters, but not liking to do so without an invitation, when two men emerged from the cabin.

One of the pair was evidently the Japanese steward of the ship. The other was a tall, clean-cut young fellow, whose general appearance and lack of sunburn showed quite plainly that he was not a seafaring man by profession. The steward caught sight of Captain Elisha, and, walking over, accosted him.

"Want to see skipper, sir?" he asked, in broken English. "He ashore."

"No, Doctor," replied the captain, cheerfully. "I don't want to see him. I've got no business aboard. It's been some time since I trod the quarter-deck of a square-rigger, and I couldn't resist the temptation of tryin' how the planks felt under my feet. This is consider'ble of a clipper you've got here," he added.

"Yes, sir," replied the steward grinning.

"Where you from?" asked Captain Elisha.

"Singapore, sir."

"Cargo all out?"

"Yes, sir."

"Waitin' for another one?"

"Yes, sir. We load for Manila bimeby."

"Manila, hey? Have a good passage across?"

"Yes, sir. She good ship."

"Shouldn't wonder. How d'ye do, sir," to the young man, who was standing near. "Hope you won't think I'm crowdin' in where I don't belong. I was just tellin' the doctor here that it had been some time since I trod a quarter-deck, and I thought I'd see if I'd forgot the feel."

"Have you?" asked the young man, smiling.

"Guess not. Seems kind of nat'ral. I never handled such a whale of a craft as this, though. Didn't have many of 'em in my day. Come over in her, did you?"

"No," with a shake of the head. "No such luck. I'm a land lubber, just scouting round, that's all. She's a bully vessel, isn't she?"

"Looks so. Tell you better after I've seen what she could do in a full-sail breeze. All hands ashore, Doctor?"

"Yes, sir," replied the steward.

"Crew paid off and spendin' their money, I s'pose. Well, if it ain't against orders, I'd kind of like to look around a little mite. May I?"

The steward merely grinned. His companion answered for him.

"Certainly you may," he said. "I'm a friend of one of the consignees, and I'd be glad to show you the ship, if you like. Shall we begin with the cabins?"

Captain Elisha, delighted with the opportunity, expressed his thanks, and the tour of inspection began. The steward remained on deck, but the captain and his new acquaintance strolled through the officers' quarters together.

"Jerushy!" exclaimed the former, as he viewed the main cabin. "Say, you could pretty nigh have a dance here, couldn't you? A small one. This reminds me of the cabin aboard the Sea Gull, first vessel I went mate of—it's so diff'rent. Aboard her we had to walk sittin' down. There wa'n't room in the cabin for more'n one to stand up at a time. But she could sail, just the same—and carry it, too. I've seen her off the Horn with studdin' sails set, when craft twice her length and tonnage had everything furled above the tops'l yard. Hi hum! you mustn't mind an old salt runnin' on this way. I've been out of the pickle tub a good while, but I cal'late the brine ain't all out of my system."

His guide's eyes snapped.

"I understand," he said, laughing. "I've never been at sea, on a long voyage, in my life, but I can understand just how you feel. It's in my blood, I guess. I come of a salt water line. My people were from Belfast, Maine, and every man of them went to sea."

"Belfast, hey? They turned out some A No. 1 sailors in Belfast. I sailed under a Cap'n Pearson from there once—James Pearson, his name was."

"He was my great uncle. I was named for him. My name is James Pearson, also."

"What?" Captain Elisha was hugely delighted. "Mr. Pearson, shake hands. I want to tell you that your Uncle Jim was a seaman of the kind you dream about, but seldom meet. I was his second mate three v'yages. My name's Elisha Warren."

Mr. Pearson shook hands and laughed, good-humoredly.

"Glad to meet you, Captain Warren," he said. "And I'm glad you knew Uncle Jim. As a youngster, he was my idol. He could spin yarns that were worth listening to."

"I bet you! He'd seen things wuth yarnin' about. So you ain't a sailor, hey? Livin' in New York?"

The young man nodded. "Yes," he said. Then, with a dry smile, "If you call occupying a hall bedroom and eating at a third-rate boarding-house table living. However, it's my own fault. I've been a newspaper man since I left college. But I threw up my job six months ago. Since then I've been free-lancing."

"Have, hey?" The captain was too polite to ask further questions, but he had not the slightest idea what "free-lancing" might be. Pearson divined his perplexity and explained.

"I've had a feeling," he said, "that I might write magazine articles and stories—yes, possibly a novel or two. It's a serious disease, but the only way to find out whether it's chronic or not is to experiment. That's what I'm doing now. The thing I'm at work on may turn out to be a sea story. So I spend some time around the wharves and aboard the few sailing ships in port, picking up material."

Captain Elisha patted him on the back.

"Now don't you get discouraged," he said. "I used to have an idea that novel writin' and picture paintin' was poverty jobs for men with healthy appetites, but I've changed my mind. I don't know's you'll believe it, but I've just found out, for a fact, that some painters get twenty-two thousand dollars for one picture. For one, mind you. And a little mite of a thing, too, that couldn't have cost scarcely anything to paint. Maybe novels sell for just as much. I don't know."

His companion laughed heartily. "I'm afraid not, Captain," he said. "Few, at any rate. I should be satisfied with considerably less, to begin with. Are you living here in town?"

"Well—we-ll, I don't know. I ain't exactly livin', and I ain't exactly boardin', but—Say! ain't that the doctor callin' you?"

It was the steward, and there was an anxious ring in his voice. Pearson excused himself and hurried out of the cabin. Captain Elisha lingered for a final look about. Then he followed leisurely, becoming aware, as he reached the open air, of loud voices in angry dialogue.

Entrances to the Empress of the Ocean's cabins were on the main deck, and also on the raised half-deck at the stern, near the wheel, the binnacle and the officers' corned-beef tubs, swinging in their frames. From this upper deck two flights of steps led down to the main deck below. At the top of one of these flights stood young Pearson, cool and alert. Behind him half crouched the Japanese steward, evidently very much frightened. At the foot of the steps were grouped three rough looking men, foreigners and sailors without doubt, and partially intoxicated. The three men were an ugly lot, and they were all yelling and jabbering together in a foreign lingo. As the captain emerged from the passage to the open deck, he heard Pearson reply in the same language.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Pearson answered without turning his head.

"Drunken sailors," he explained. "Part of the crew here. They've been uptown, got full, and come back to square a grudge they seem to have against the steward. I'm telling them they'd better give up and go ashore, if they know when they're well off."

The three fellows by the ladder's foot were consulting together. On the wharf were half a dozen loungers, collected by the prospect of a row.

"If I can hold them off for a few minutes," went on Pearson, "we'll be all right. The wharf watchman has gone for the police. Here! drop it! What are you up to?"

One of the sailors had drawn a knife. The other two reached for their belts behind, evidently intending to follow suit. From the loafers on the wharf came shouts of encouragement.

"Do the dude up, Pedro! Give him what's comin' to him."

The trio formed for a rush. The steward, with a shrill scream, fled to the cabin. Pearson did not move; he even smiled. The next moment he was pushed to one side, and Captain Elisha stood at the top of the steps.

"Here!" he said, sternly. "What's all this?"

The three sailors, astonished at this unexpected addition to their enemies forces, hesitated. Pearson laid his hand on the captain's arm.

"Be careful," he said. "They're dangerous."

"Dangerous? Them? I've seen their kind afore. Here, you!" turning to the three below. "What do you mean by this? Put down that knife, you lubber! Do you want to be put in irons? Over the side with you, you swabs! Git!"

He began descending the ladder. Whether the sailors were merely too surprised to resist, or because they recognized the authority of the deep sea in Captain Elisha's voice and face is a question. At any rate, as he descended they backed away.

"Mutiny on board a ship of mine?" roared the captain. "What do you mean by it? Why, I'll have you tied up and put on bread and water. Over the side with you! Mutiny on board of me! Lively! Tumble up there!"

With every order came a stride forward and a correspondingly backward movement on the part of the three. The performance would have been ridiculous if Pearson had not feared that it might become tragic. He was descending the steps to his new acquaintance's aid, when there rose a chorus of shouts from the wharf.

"The cops! the cops! Look out!"

That was the finishing touch. The next moment the three "mutineers" were over the side and running as fast as their alcoholic condition would permit down the wharf.

"Well, by George!" exclaimed Pearson.

Captain Elisha seemed to be coming out of a dream. He stood still, drew his hand across his forehead, and then began to laugh.

"Well!" he stammered. "Well, I snum! I—I—Mr. Pearson, I wonder what on earth you must think of me. I declare the sight of that gang set me back about twenty years. They—they must have thought I was the new skipper! Did you hear me tell 'em they couldn't mutiny aboard of me? Ho! ho! Well, I am an old idiot!"

Pearson stuck his fist into the palm of his other hand. "I've got it!" he cried. "I knew your name was familiar. Why, you're the mate that handled the mutinous crew aboard Uncle Jim's bark, the Pacer, off Mauritius, in the typhoon, when he was hurt and in the cabin. I've heard him tell it a dozen times. Well, this is a lucky day for me!"

Captain Elisha was evidently pleased. "So he told you that, did he?" he began. "That was a time and a half, I—"

He was interrupted. Over the rail appeared a blue helmet, and an instant later a big and very pompous police officer leaped to the deck. He was followed by the wharf watchman, who looked frightened.

"Where's the other one of them?" demanded the policeman. "Oh, it's you, is it? Well, you're too old to be gettin' drunk and fightin'. Come along now, peaceable, and let's have no words about it."

He advanced and laid a hand on the captain's arm.

"You're under arrest," he announced. "Will you come along quiet?"

"I'm under arrest?" repeated Captain Elisha. "Under—My soul and body! Why, I ain't done anything."

"Yes, I know. Nobody's done nothin'. Come on, or shall I—Hello, Mr. Pearson, sir! How d'you do?"

Pearson had stepped forward.

"Slattery," he said, "you've made a mistake. Let me tell you about it." He drew the officer aside and whispered in his ear. After a rather lengthy conversation, the guardian of the peace turned to the watchman.

"What d'you mean by tellin' all them lies?" he demanded.

"Lies?" repeated the astonished watchman. "I never told no lies."

"You did. You said this gentleman," indicating the nervous and apprehensive Captain Elisha, "was fightin' and murderin'. I ask your pardon, sir. 'Twas this bloke's foolishness. G'wan ashore! You make me sick. Good day, Mr. Pearson."

He departed, driving his new victim before him and tongue-lashing him all the way. The captain drew a long breath.

"Say, Mr. Pearson," he declared, "a minute or so ago you said this was a lucky day for you. I cal'late it's a luckier one for me. If it hadn't been for you I'd been took up. Yes, sir, took up and carted off to the lockup. Whew! that would have looked well in the papers, wouldn't it? And my niece and nephew.... Jerushy! I'm mightily obliged to you. How did you handle that policeman so easily?"

Pearson laughed. "Oh," he replied, "a newspaper training and acquaintance has its advantages. Slattery knows me, and I know him."

"Well, I thank you, I do so."

"You needn't. I wouldn't have missed meeting you and seeing you handle those fellows for a good deal. And besides, you're not going to escape so easy. You must lunch with me."

The captain started, hastily pulled out his watch, and looked at it.

"Quarter to one!" he cried. "And I said I'd be back at that lawyer's office at half-past twelve. No, no, Mr. Pearson, I can't go to lunch with you, but I do wish you'd come and see me some time. My address for—for a spell, anyhow—is Central Park West," giving the number, "and the name is Warren, same as mine. Will you come some evenin'? I'd be tickled to death to see you."

The young man was evidently delighted.

"Will I?" he exclaimed. "Indeed I will. I warn you, Captain Warren, that I shall probably keep you busy spinning sea yarns."

"Nothin' I like better, though I'm afraid my yarns'll be pretty dull alongside of your Uncle Jim's."

"I'll risk it. Good-by and good luck. I shall see you very soon."

"That's right; do. So long."



CHAPTER VI

The boy, Captain Elisha's acquaintance of the morning, was out, regaling himself with crullers and milk at a pushcart on Broad Street, when the captain returned to the officers of Sylvester, Kuhn and Graves. The clerk who had taken his place was very respectful.

"Captain Warren," he said, "Mr. Sylvester was sorry to miss you. He waited until half past twelve and left word for us to telephone if you came. Our Mr. Graves is still ill, and the matter of your brother's estate must be discussed without further delay. Please sit down and I will telephone."

The captain seated himself on the leather-covered bench, and the clerk entered the inner office. He returned, a few moments later, to say:

"Mr. Sylvester is at the Central Club. He wished me to ask if you could conveniently join him there."

Captain Elisha pondered. "Why, yes," he replied, slowly, "I s'pose I could. I don't know why I couldn't. Where is this—er—club of his?"

"On Fifth Avenue, near Fifty-second Street. I'll send one of our boys with you if you like."

"No, no! I can pilot myself, I guess. I ain't so old I can't ask my way. Though—" with a reminiscent chuckle—"if the folks I ask are all sufferin' from that 'Ugh' disease, I sha'n't make much headway."

"What disease?" asked the puzzled clerk.

"Oh, nothin'. I was just thinkin' out loud, that's all. Mr. Sylvester wants to see me right off, does he?"

"Yes, he said he would wait if I 'phoned him you were coming."

"Um-hm. Well, you can tell him I've left the dock, bound in his direction. Say, that young chap that was here when I called the fust time—studyin' to be a lawyer, is he?"

"Who? Tim? No, indeed. He's only the office boy. Why did you ask?"

"Oh, I was just wonderin'. I had a notion he might be in trainin' for a judgeship, he was so high and mighty. Ho! ho! He's got talent, that boy has. Nobody but a born genius could have made as many mistakes in one name as he did when he undertook to spell Elisha. Well, sir, I'm much obliged to you. Good day."

The Central Club is a ponderous institution occupying a becomingly gorgeous building on the Avenue. The captain found his way to its door without much trouble. A brass-buttoned attendant answered his ring and superciliously inquired his business. Captain Elisha, not being greatly in awe of either buttons or brief authority, calmly hailed the attendant as "Gen'ral" and informed him that he was there to see Mr. Sylvester, if the latter was "on deck anywheres."

"Tell him it's Cap'n Warren, Major," he added cheerfully; "he's expectin' me."

The attendant brusquely ushered the visitor into a leather-upholstered reception room and left him. The captain amused himself by looking at the prints and framed letters and autographs on the walls. Then a round, red, pleasant-faced man entered.

"Pardon me," he said, "is this Captain Warren?"

"Yes, sir," was the reply. "That's my name. This is Mr. Sylvester, ain't it? Glad to know you, sir."

"Thanks. Sorry to have made you travel way up here, Captain. I waited until twelve-thirty, but as you didn't come then, I gave you up. Hope I haven't inconvenienced you."

"No, no. Not a mite. Might just as well be here as anywhere. Don't think another thing about it."

"Have you lunched, Captain Warren?"

"No, come to think of it, I ain't. I've been kind of busy this forenoon, and a little thing like dinner—luncheon, I mean—slipped my mind. Though 'tain't often I have those slips, I'm free to say. Ho! ho! Abbie—she's my second cousin, my housekeeper—says I'm an unsartin critter, but there's two things about me she can always count on, one's that my clothes have always got a button loose somewheres, and t'other's my appetite."

He laughed, and Sylvester laughed with him.

"Well," observed the lawyer, "I'm not sure that I couldn't qualify on both of those counts. At any rate I'm sure of my appetite. I had a lunch engagement with an acquaintance of mine, but he hasn't appeared, so you must take his place. We'll lunch together."

"Well, now, I'd like to fust-rate, and it's real kind of you, Mr. Sylvester; but I don't know's I'd better. Your friend may heave in sight, after all, and I'd be in the way."

"Not a bit of it. And I said 'acquaintance,' not 'friend.' Of course you will! You must. We can talk business while we're eating, if you like."

"All right. And I'm ever so much obliged to you. Is there an eatin' house near here?"

"Oh, we'll eat right here at the club. Come."

He led the way, and Captain Elisha followed. The Central Club has a large, exclusive, and wealthy membership, and its quarters correspond. The captain gazed about him at the marble floors and pillars, the paintings and busts, with interest. After checking his hat and coat, as they entered the elevator he asked a question.

"Which floor is your club on, Mr. Sylvester?" he asked.

"Floor? Why, the dining room is on the fourth, if that's what you mean."

"No, I meant how many rooms do you rent?"

"We occupy the entire building. It is our own, and a comparatively new one. We built it three years ago."

"You mean this whole shebang is just one club?"

"Certainly."

"Hum! I see. Well, I—"

"What were you going to say?"

"Nothin'. I was wonderin' what fool thing I'd ask next. I'm more used to lodge rooms than I am to clubs, I guess. I'd like to take home a picture of this place to Theophilus Kenney. Theoph's been raisin' hob because the Odd Fellows built on to their buildin'. He said one room was enough for any society. 'Twould be, if we was all his kind of society. Theoph's so small he could keep house in a closet. He's always hollerin' in meetin' about his soul. I asked the minister if it didn't seem ridic'lous for Kenney to make such a big noise over such a little thing. This where we get off?"

The dining room was a large and ornate apartment. Captain Elisha, when he first entered it, seemed about to ask another question, but choked it off and remained silent. Sylvester chose a table in a retired corner, and they sat down.

"Now, Captain Warren," said the host, "what will you eat?"

Captain Elisha shook his head.

"You do the orderin'," he replied dryly; "I'll just set and be thankful, like the hen that found the china doorknob. Anything that suits you will do me, I guess."

The lawyer, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his companion, gave his orders, and the waiter brought first a bit of caviar on toast. If Sylvester expected this delicacy to produce astonished comments, he was disappointed.

"Well, well!" exclaimed Captain Elisha. "I declare, you take me back a long ways, Mr. Sylvester. Caviar! Well, well! Why, I haven't ate this since I used to go to Cronstadt. At the American consul's house there we had it often enough. Has a kind of homey taste even yet. That consul was a good feller. He and I were great friends.

"I met him a long spell after that, when I was down in Mexico," he went on. "He'd made money and was down on a vacation. My ship was at Acapulco, and he and I used to go gunnin' together, after wild geese and such. Ho! ho! I remember there was a big, pompous critter of an Englishman there. Mind you, I'm not talkin' against the English. Some of the best men I ever met were English, and I've stood back to back with a British mate on a Genoa wharf when half of Italy was hoppin' around makin' proclamations that they was goin' to swallow us alive. And, somehow or 'nother, they didn't. Took with prophetic indigestion, maybe.

"However, this Englishman at Acapulco was diff'rent. He was so swelled with importance that his back hollered in like Cape Cod Bay on the map. His front bent out to correspond, though, so I cal'late he averaged up all right. Well, he heard about what a good—that I was pretty lucky when it come to shootin' wild geese, and I'm blessed if he didn't send me orders to get him one for a dinner he was goin' to give. Didn't ask—ordered me to do it, you understand. And him nothin' but a consignee, with no more control over me than the average female Sunday-school teacher has over a class of boys. Not so much, because she's supposed to have official authority, and he wa'n't. And he didn't invite me to the dinner.

"Well, the next time my friend, the ex-consul, and I went out gunnin', I told him of the Englishman's 'orders.' He was mad. 'What are you goin' to do about it?' he asks. 'Don't know yet,' says I, 'we'll see.' By and by we come in sight of one of them long-legged cranes, big birds you know, standin' fishin' at the edge of some reeds. I up with my gun and shot it. The consul chap looked at me as if I was crazy. 'What in the world did you kill that fish-basket on stilts for?' he says. 'Son,' says I, 'your eyesight is bad. That's a British-American goose. Chop off about three feet of neck and a couple of fathom of hind legs and pick and clean what's left, and I shouldn't wonder if 'twould make a good dinner for a mutual friend of ours—good enough, anyhow.' Well, sir! that ex-consul set plump down in the mud and laughed and laughed. Ho, ho! Oh, dear me!"

"Did you send it to the Englishman?" asked Sylvester.

"Oh, yes, I sent it. And, after a good while and in a roundabout way, I heard that the whole dinner party vowed 'twas the best wild goose they ever ate. So I ain't sure just who the joke was on. However, I'm satisfied with my end. Well, there! I guess you must think I'm pretty talky on short acquaintance, Mr. Sylvester. You'll have to excuse me; that caviar set me to thinkin' about old times."

His host was shaking all over. "Go ahead, Captain," he cried. "Got any more as good as that?"

But Captain Elisha merely smiled and shook his head.

"Don't get me started on Mexico," he observed. "I'm liable to yarn all the rest of the afternoon. Let's see, we was goin' to talk over my brother's business a little mite, wa'n't we?"

"Why, yes, we should. Now, Captain Warren, just how much do you know about your late brother's affairs?"

"Except what Mr. Graves told me, nothin' of importance. And, afore we go any further, let me ask a question. Do you know why 'Bije made me his executor and guardian and all the rest of it?"

"I do not. Graves drew his will, and so, of course, we knew of your existence and your appointment. Your brother forbade our mentioning it, but we did not know, until after his death, that his own children were unaware they had an uncle. It seems strange, doesn't it?"

"It does to me; so strange that I can't see two lengths ahead. I cal'late Mr. Graves told you how I felt about it?"

"Yes. That is, he said you were very much surprised."

"That's puttin' it mild enough. And did he tell you that 'Bije and I hadn't seen each other, or even written, in eighteen years?"

"Yes."

"Um-hm. Well, when you consider that, can you wonder I was set all aback? And the more I think of it, the foggier it gets. Why, Mr. Sylvester, it's one of them situations that are impossible, that you can prove fifty ways can't happen. And yet, it has—it sartinly has. Now tell me: Are you, or your firm, well acquainted with my brother's affairs?"

"Not well, no. The late Mr. Warren was a close-mouthed man, rather secretive, in fact."

"Humph! that bein' one of the p'ints where he was different from his nighest relation, hey?"

"I'm not so sure. Have you questioned the children?"

"Caroline and Steve? Yes, I've questioned 'em more than they think I have, maybe. And they know—well, leavin' out about the price of oil paintin's and the way to dress and that it's more or less of a disgrace to economize on twenty thousand a year, their worldly knowledge ain't too extensive."

"Do you like them?"

"I guess so. Just now ain't the fairest time to judge 'em. You see they're sufferin' from the joyful shock of their country relation droppin' in, and—"

He paused and rubbed his chin. His lips were smiling, but his eyes were not. Sylvester noted their expression, and guessed many things.

"They haven't been disagreeable, I hope?" he asked.

"No-o. No, I wouldn't want to say that. They're young and—and, well, I ain't the kind they've been used to. Caroline's a nice girl. She is, sure. All she needs is to grow a little older and have the right kind of advice and—and friends."

"How about the boy?" Mr. Sylvester had met young Warren, and his eyes twinkled as he spoke.

"Steve? Well," there was an answering twinkle in Captain Elisha's eye; "well, Steve needs to grow, too; though I wouldn't presume to tell him so. When a feller's undertakin' to give advice to one of the seven wise men, he has to be diplomatic, as you might say."

The lawyer put back his head and laughed uproariously.

"Ha! ha!" he crowed. "That's good! Then, from your questioning of the children, you've learned—?"

"Not such an awful lot. I think I've learned that—hum! that a good guardian might be a handy thing to have in the house. A reg'lar legal guardian, I mean. Otherwise—"

"Otherwise?"

"Otherwise there might be too many disinterested volunteer substitutes for the job. Maybe I'm wrong, but I doubt it."

"Have you made up your mind to be that guardian?"

"Not yet. I haven't made up my mind to anything yet. Now, Mr. Sylvester, while we're waitin' for what comes next—you've ordered enough grub to victual a ship—s'pose you just run over what your firm knows about 'Bije. That is, if I ain't askin' too much."

"Not at all. That's what I'm here for. You have a right to know. But I warn you my information isn't worth much."

He went on, briefly and with the conciseness of the legal mind, to tell of A. Rodgers Warren, his business and his estate. He had been a broker with a seat on the Stock Exchange.

"That seat is worth consider'ble, ain't it?" interrupted the captain.

"Between eighty and one hundred thousand dollars."

"Yup. Well, it reminds me of a picture I saw once in one of the comic papers. An old feller from the backwoods somewheres—good deal like me, he was, and just about as green—was pictured standin' along with his city nephew in the gallery of the Exchange. And the nephew says, 'Uncle,' says he, 'do you realize that a seat down there's wuth seventy-five thousand dollars?' 'Gosh!' says the old man, 'no wonder most of 'em are standin' up.' Ho! ho! Is that seat of 'Bije's part of the five hundred thousand you figger he's left?"

"Yes, in a way it is. To be truthful, Captain Warren, we're not sure as to the amount of your brother's tangible assets. Graves made a hurried examination of the stocks, bonds, and memoranda, and estimated the total, that's all."

"I see. Well, heave ahead."

The lawyer went on. The dead broker's office had been on Broad Street. A small office, with but two clerks. One of the clerks was retained, and the office, having been leased for a year by its former tenant, was still open pending the settlement of the estate. A. Rodgers Warren personally was a man who looked older than he really was, a good liver, and popular among his companions.

"What sort of fellers were his companions?" asked Captain Elisha.

"You mean his friends in society, or his companions downtown in Wall Street?"

"The Wall Street ones. I guess I can find out something about the society ones. Anyhow, I can try. These Wall Streeters that 'Bije chummed with—a quiet lot, was they?"

Sylvester hesitated. "Why—why—not particularly so," he admitted. "Nothing crooked about them, of course. You see, a stock-broker's life is a nerve-racking, rather exciting one, and—"

"And 'Bije and his chums were excited, too, hey? All right, you needn't go any further. He was a good husband while his wife lived, wa'n't he?"

"Yes. Frankly, Captain Warren, so far as I know, your brother's personal habits were good. There was nothing against his character."

"I'm mighty glad to hear it. Mighty glad. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"No. Our next move, provided you decide to accept the trust, the executorship, and the rest, is to get together—you and Graves, if he is well enough; you and I if he is not—and begin a careful examination of the stocks, bonds, assets, and debts of the estate. This must be done first of all."

"Graves hinted there wa'n't any debts, to amount to anything."

"So far as we can see, there are none, except a few trifling bills."

"Yes, yes. Hum!" Captain Elisha put down his coffee spoon and seemed to be thinking. He shook his head.

"You appear to be puzzled about something," observed the lawyer, who was watching him intently.

"I am. I was puzzled afore I left home, and I'm just as puzzled now."

"What puzzles you? if I may ask."

"Everything. And, if you'll excuse my sayin' so, Mr. Sylvester, I guess it puzzles you, too."

He returned his host's look. The latter pushed back his chair, preparatory to rising.

"It is all so perfectly simple, on the face of it, Captain Warren," he said. "Your brother realized that he must die, that his children and their money must be taken care of; you were his nearest relative; his trust in your honesty and judgment caused him to overlook the estrangement between you. That's the case, isn't it?"

"Yes. That's the case, on the face of it, as you say. But you've forgot to mention one item."

"What's that?"

"'Bije himself. You knew him pretty well, I can see that. So did I. And I guess that's why we're both puzzled."

Captain Elisha folded his napkin with care and stood up. Sylvester rose, also.

"Come downstairs," he said. "We can enjoy our cigars more comfortably there, and go on with our talk. That is, unless you're in a great hurry."

"No, I ain't in any special hurry. So I get up to Caroline's in season for supper—er, dinner, I mean—I don't care. But I don't want to keep you. You're a busy man."

"This is business. This way, Captain."

The big lounging room of the club, on the first floor, Fifth Avenue side, was almost empty when they entered it. The lawyer drew two big chairs near the open fire, rang the bell, and ordered cigars. After the cigars were lighted and the fragrant clouds of tobacco smoke were rising, he reopened the conversation. And now, in an easy, diplomatic way, he took his turn at questioning.

It was pretty thorough pumping, managed with the skill of an experienced cross-examiner. Captain Elisha, without realizing that he was doing so, told of his boyhood, his life at sea, his home at South Denboro, his position in the village, his work as selectman, as member of the school committee, and as director in the bank. The tone of the questioner expressed nothing—he was too well trained for that—but every item of information was tabulated and appraised.

The tall mahogany-cased clock struck three, then four. The lawyer finished his cigar and lit another. He offered a fresh one to his guest, but the offer was declined.

"No, thank you," observed the captain. "I've been yarnin' away so fast that my breath's been too busy to keep this one goin'. There's consider'ble left yet. This is a better smoke than I'm used to gettin' at the store down home. I tell Ryder—he's our storekeeper and postmaster—that he must buy his cigars on the reel and cut 'em off with the scissors. When the gang of us all got a-goin' mail times, it smells like a rope-walk burnin' down. Ho! ho! It does, for a fact. Yet I kind of enjoy one of his five-centers, after all. You can get used to most anything. Maybe it's the home flavor or the society. P'raps they'd taste better still if they was made of seaweed. I'll trouble you for a match, Mr. Sylvester. Two of 'em, if you don't mind."

He whittled one match to a point with his pocket knife, impaled the cigar stump upon it, and relit with the other.

Meanwhile the room had been filling up. Around each of the big windows overlooking the Avenue were gathered groups of men, young and old, smoking, chatting, and gazing idly out. Captain Elisha regarded them curiously.

"This ain't a holiday, is it?" he asked, after a while.

"No. Why?"

"I was just wonderin' if all those fellers hadn't any work to do, that's all."

"Who? That crowd?" The lawyer laughed. "Oh, they're doing their regular stunt. You'll find most of them here every afternoon about this time."

"You don't say. Pay 'em wages for it, do you?"

"Not that I know of. Some of them are brokers, who come up after the Exchange closes. Others are business men, active or retired. Some don't have any business—except what they're doing now."

"I want to know! Humph! They remind me of the gang in the billiard-room back home. The billiard-roomers—the chronic ones—don't have any business, either, except to keep the dust from collectin' on the chairs. That and talkin' about hard times. These chaps don't seem to be sufferin' from hard times, much."

"No. Most of the younger set have rich fathers or have inherited money."

"I see. They let the old man do the worryin'. That's philosophy, anyhow. What are they so interested in outside? Parade goin' by?"

"No. I imagine an unusually pretty girl passed just then."

"Is that so? Well, well! Say, Mr. Sylvester, the longer I stay in New York the more I see that the main difference between it and South Denboro is size. The billiard-room gang acts just the same way when the downstairs school teacher goes past. Hello!"

"What is it?"

"That young chap by the mizzen window looks sort of familiar to me. The one that stood up to shake a day-day to whoever was passin'. Hum! He's made a hit, ain't he? I expect some unprotected female's heart broke at that signal. I cal'late I know him."

"Who? Which one? Oh, that's young Corcoran Dunn. He is a lady-killer, in his own estimation. How d'ye do, Dunn."

The young man turning grinning from the window, caught a glimpse of the lawyer as the latter rose to identify him. He strolled over to the fire.

"Hello, Sylvester," he hailed, carelessly. "That was a peach. You should have seen her. What? Why, it's the Admiral!"

"How d'ye do, Mr. Dunn," said Captain Elisha.

"Have you two met before?" asked Sylvester in astonishment.

"Yes. I had the pleasure of assisting in the welcoming salute when our seafarin' friend come aboard. How was that, Captain? Some nautical class to that remark?"

"Yup. You done fust rate, considerin' how recent you shipped."

"Thanks. Overwhelmed, I'm sure." Then, with a look of languid amusement at the pair, "What is this—a meeting of the Board of Naval Affairs? Have you bought a yacht, Sylvester?"

"No." The lawyer's tone was sharp.

"Humph! Well, take my advice and don't. Yachts are all right, to have a good time on, but they cost like the devil to keep up. An auto is bad enough. By the way, Sylvester, did you hear about my running over the Irishman this morning?"

"Running over?" repeated the captain, aghast. "You didn't run over nobody, I hope."

"Well, I came devilish near it. Ha! ha! You see, the old tarrier was crossing Saint Nicholas Avenue, with a big market basket full of provisions—the family dinner, I suppose. By Jove, the household appetites must be good ones. It was slippery as the mischief, I was running the car, and I tried to go between the fellow and the curb. It would have been a decent bit of steering if I'd made it. But—ha! ha!—by Jove, you know, I didn't. I skidded. The man himself managed to hop out of the way, but his foot slipped, and down he went. Most ridiculous thing you ever saw. And the street! 'Pon my word it was paved with eatables."

Sylvester, plainly annoyed, did not reply. But Captain Elisha's concern was evident.

"The poor critter!" he exclaimed. "What did you do?"

"The last I saw of him he was sitting in the mud, looking at the upset. I didn't linger. Peters took the wheel, and we beat it. Lucky the cop didn't spot the license number. Might have cost me fifty. They've had me up for speeding twice before. What are you and the Admiral discussing, Sylvester?"

"We were discussing a business matter," answered the lawyer, with significant emphasis.

"Business? Why, sure! I forgot that you were Graves's partner. Settling the family affairs, hey? Well, I won't butt in. Ta, ta! See you later, Captain. You must go for a spin in that car of mine. I'll call for you some day. I'll show you something they don't do on Cape Cod. Regards to Caro and Steve."

He moved off, feeling that his invitation would have met with his mother's approval. She had announced that the country uncle was to be "cultivated."

Captain Elisha's cigar had gone out. He did not attempt to relight it.

"Whew!" he whistled. "Well, when I go for a 'spin,' as he calls it, with him, I cal'late my head'll be spinnin' so I won't be responsible for my actions. Whew!"

Sylvester looked curiously at him.

"So you met him before?" he asked.

"Yes. He was at the rooms when I fust landed. Or his mother was there then. He came a little later with Caroline and Stephen."

"I see."

"Yes. Know him and his ma pretty well, do you?"

"Slightly. I've met them, at mutual acquaintances' homes and about town."

"Pretty well fixed, I s'pose, ain't they?"

"I presume so. I don't know."

"Um. He's a sociable young feller, ain't he? Don't stand on any ceremony, hey? Caro and Steve think a lot of him and his mother."

"Yes. Graves has told me the Dunns were very intimate with the Warrens. In fact, just before your brother's death, I remember hearing a rumor that the two families might be even closer connected."

"You mean—er—Caroline and—er—him?"

"There was such a rumor. Probably nothing in it. There is no engagement, I am very sure."

"Yes, yes, I see. Well, Mr. Sylvester, I must be trottin' on. I'll think the whole business over for another day or so and then give you my decision, one way or the other."

"You can't give it now?"

"No-o. I guess I'd better not. However, I think—"

"Yes."

"Well, I think I may take the job. Take it on trial, anyhow."

"Good! I'm glad of it."

"You are?"

"I certainly am. And I'm very glad indeed to have made your acquaintance, Captain Warren. Good afternoon. I shall hope to see you again soon."

Captain Elisha left the Central Club in a surprised frame of mind. What surprised him was that a man of such thorough city training and habits as the senior partner of the law firm should express pleasure at the idea of his accepting the charge of A. Rodgers Warren's heirs and estate. Mr. Graves had shown no such feeling.

If he had heard Sylvester's report to Kuhn, at the office next day, he might have been even more surprised and pleased.

"He's a brick, Kuhn," declared the senior partner. "A countryman, of course, but a keen, able, honest man, and, I think, a mighty good judge of character. If I was as sure of his ability to judge investments and financial affairs, I should be certain the Warren children couldn't be in better hands. And no doubt we can help him when it comes to that. He'll probably handle the girl and boy in his own way, and his outside greenness may jar them a little. But it'll do them good to be jarred at their age. He's all right, and I hope he accepts the whole trust."

"Well," exclaimed Mr. Kuhn; "you surprise me. Graves seemed to be—"

"Graves suffers from the absolute lack of a sense of humor. His path through life is about three feet wide and bordered with rock-ribbed conventionality. If a man has a joke in his system, Graves doesn't understand it and is suspicious. I tell, you, Kuhn, there's more honest common sense and ability in the right hand of this Down-East salt than there ever was in Rodgers Warren's whole body."



CHAPTER VII

During the next day Caroline Warren and her brother saw little of their uncle. Not that they complained of this or sought his society. The policy of avoidance and what Stephen called "freezing out" had begun, and the young people kept to themselves as much as possible. At breakfast Caroline was coldly polite, and her brother cold, although his politeness was not overdone. However, Captain Elisha did not seem to notice. He was preoccupied, said but little, and spent the forenoon in writing a second letter to Miss Abigail. In it he told of his experience on board the Empress of the Ocean and of the luncheon at the Central Club. But he said nothing concerning his nephew and niece further than the statement that he was still getting acquainted, and that Caroline was a real nice looking girl.

"I suppose you wonder what I've decided about taking the guardianship," he added, just at the close. "Well, Abbie, I'm about in the position of Luther Sylvester when he fell off the dock at Orham. The tide was out, and he went into the soft mud, all under. When the folks who saw him tumble got to the edge and looked over, they saw a round, black thing sticking out of the mire, and, judging 'twas Lute's head, they asked him how he felt. 'I don't know yet,' sputters Lute, 'whether I'm drowned or smothered, but I'm somewheres betwixt and between.' That's me, Abbie, on that guardian business. I'm still betwixt and between. But before this day's over I'll be drowned or smothered, and I'll let you know which next time I write."

After lunch he took a stroll in the Park and passed up and down the paths, thinking, thinking. Returning, he found that Caroline and Stephen had gone for an auto ride with the Dunns and would not be home for dinner. So he ate that meal in solitary state, waited upon by Edwards.

That evening, as he sat smoking in the library, the butler appeared to announce a caller.

"Someone to see you, sir," said Edwards. "Here's his card, sir."

"Eh? Someone to see me? Guess you've made a mistake, haven't you, Commodore? I don't know anybody who'd be likely to come visitin' me here in New York. Why, yes! Well, I declare! Tell him to walk right in. Mr. Pearson, I'm glad to see you. This is real neighborly."

The caller was young Pearson, the captain's acquaintance of the previous forenoon. They shook hands heartily.

"Perhaps you didn't think I should accept that invitation of yours, Captain Warren," observed Pearson. "I told you I meant it when I said yes. And calling within thirty-six hours is pretty good proof, isn't it?"

"Suits me fust-rate. I'm mighty glad you came. Set right down. Lonesome at the boardin' house, was it?"

Pearson made a grimace. "Lonesome!" he repeated. "Ugh! Let's talk of something else. Were you in time for your appointment yesterday noon?"

"Why, yes; I was and I wasn't. Say, won't you have a cigar? That's right. And I s'pose, bein' as this is New York, I'd ought to ask you to take somethin' to lay the dust, hey? I ain't made any inquiries myself, but I shouldn't wonder if the Commodore—the feller that let you in—could find somethin' in the spare room closet or somewheres, if I ask him."

The young man laughed. "If you mean a drink," he said, "I don't care for it, thank you."

"What? You ain't a teetotaler, are you?"

"No, not exactly. But—"

"But you can get along without it, hey? So can I; generally do, fur's that goes. But I'm from South Denboro. I thought here in New York—"

"Oh, there are many people, even here in New York, who are not convinced that alcohol is a food."

"You don't tell me! Well, I'm livin' and learnin' every day. Judgin' from stories and the yarns in the Boston newspapers, folks up our way have the idea that this town is a sort of annex to the bad place. All right, then we won't trouble the Commodore. I notice you're lookin' over my quarters. What do you think of 'em?"

Pearson had, in spite of himself, been glancing about the room. Its luxury and the evident signs of taste and wealth surprised him greatly.

"Astonish you to find me livin' in a place like this, hey?"

"Why, why, yes, it does, somewhat. I didn't realize you were such an aristocrat, Captain Warren. If I had, I might have been a little more careful of my dress in making my first call."

"Dress? Oh, you mean you'd have put on your Sunday clothes. Well, I'm glad you didn't. You see, I haven't got on my regimentals, and if you'd been on dress parade I might have felt bashful. Ho, ho! I don't wonder you are surprised. This is a pretty swell neighborhood, ain't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"These—er—apartments, now. 'Bout as good as any in town, are they?"

"Pretty nearly. There are few better—much better."

"I thought so. You wouldn't call livin' in 'em economizin' to any consider'ble extent, would you?"

"No," with a laugh; "no, I shouldn't, but my ideas of economy are—well, different. They have to be. Are you ecomomizing, Captain?"

Captain Elisha laughed and rubbed his knee.

"No," he chuckled, "I ain't, but my nephew and niece are. These are their rooms."

"Oh, you're visiting?"

"No, I don't know's you'd call it visitin'. I don't know what you would call it. I'm here, that's about all you can say."

He paused and remained silent. His friend was silent, also, not knowing exactly what remark to make.

"How's the novel comin' on?" asked the captain, a minute later.

"Oh, slowly. I'm not at all sure it will ever be finished. I get discouraged sometimes."

"No use in doin' that. What sort of a yarn is it goin' to be? Give me a gen'ral idea of the course you're tryin' to steer. That is, if it ain't a secret."

"It isn't. But there's mighty little worth telling. When I began I thought I had a good scheme, but it seems pretty weak and dish-watery now."

"Most things do while their bein' done, if you really care about doin' 'em well. Heave ahead! You said 'twas a sea yarn, and I'm a sort of specialist when it comes to salt water. Maybe I might prescribe just the right tonic, though 'tain't very likely."

Pearson began to outline the plot of his novel, speaking slowly at first, but becoming more interested as he continued. Captain Elisha listened meditatively, puffing solemnly at his cigar, and interrupting but seldom.

"I think that's a pretty good idea," he observed, at length. "Yes, sir, that sounds promisin', to me. This cap'n of yours now, he's a good feller. Don't get him too good, though; that wouldn't be natural. And don't get him too bad, neither. I know it's the fashion, judgin' by the sea yarns I've read lately, to have a Yankee skipper sort of a cross between a prize fighter and a murderer. Fust day out of port he begins by pickin' out the most sickly fo'mast hand aboard, mashes him up, and then takes the next invalid. I got a book about that kind of a skipper out of our library down home a spell ago, and the librarian said 'twas awful popular. A strong story, she said, and true to life. Well, 'twas strong—you could pretty nigh smell it—but as for bein' true to life, I had my doubts. I've been to sea, command of a vessel, for a good many years, and sometimes I'd go weeks, whole weeks, without jumpin' up and down on a single sailor. Fact! Got my exercise other ways, I presume likely.

"I tell you," he went on, "the main trouble with that tale of yours, as I see it, is that you're talkin' about things you ain't ever seen. Now there's plenty you have seen, I wouldn't wonder. Let's see, you was born in Belfast, you said. Live there long, did you?"

"Yes, until I went away to school."

"Your father, he went to sea, did he?"

"Yes. But his ship was lost, with all hands, when I was a baby."

"But your Uncle Jim wa'n't lost. You remember him well; you said so. Tell me something you remember."

Before the young man was aware of it, he was telling of his Uncle Jim, of the latter's return from voyages, of his own home life, of his mother, and of the village where he spent his boyhood. Then, led on by the captain's questioning, he continued with his years at college, his experiences as reporter and city editor. Without being conscious that he was doing so, he gave his host a pretty full sketch of himself, his story, and his ambitions.

"Mr. Pearson," said Captain Elisha, earnestly, "don't you worry about that yarn of yours. If you'll take the advice of an old feller who knows absolutely nothin' about such things, keep on rememberin' about your Uncle Jim. He was a man, every inch of him, and a seaman, too. Put lots of him into this hero of yours, and you won't go fur wrong. And when it comes to handlin' a ship, why—well, if you want to come to me, I'll try and help you out best I can."

Pearson was delighted.

"You will?" he cried. "Splendid! It's mighty good of you. May I spring some of my stuff on you as I write it?"

"Sartin you may. Any time, I'll be tickled to death. I'll be tickled to have you call, too; that is, if callin' on an old salt like me won't be too tirin'."

The answer was emphatic and reassuring.

"Thank you," said Captain Elisha. "I'm much obliged. Come often, do. I—well, the fact is, I'm likely to get sort of lonesome myself, I'm afraid. Yes, I shouldn't wonder if I did."

He sighed, tossed away the stump of his cigar, and added,

"Now, I want to ask you somethin'. You newspaper fellers are supposed to know about all there is to know of everything under the sun. Do you know much about the Stock Exchange?"

Pearson smiled.

"All I can afford to know," he said.

"Humph! That's a pretty good answer. Knowledge is power, they say, but—but I cal'late knowledge of the Stock Exchange is poverty, with a good many folks."

"I think you're right, Captain. It's none of my business, but—were you planning to tackle Wall Street?"

Captain Elisha glanced, under his brows, at his new friend, and his eyes twinkled.

"Didn't know but I might," he replied, solemnly. "Ain't got any—er—tips, any sure things you want to put me on to, have you?"

"I have not. My experience of Wall Street 'sure things' leads me to believe that they're sure—but only for the other fellow."

"Hum! I know a chap down home that made money in stocks. He made it so easy that, as the boys say, 'twas almost a shame to take the money. And 'twas the makin' of him, too."

Pearson was embarrassed and troubled. If this big-hearted, simple-minded countryman had come to New York to buck the stock market, it was time to sound a warning. But had he, on such short acquaintance, the right to warn? The captain was shrewd in his own way. Might not the warning seem presumptuous?

"So—this—this friend of yours was a successful speculator, was he?" he asked. "He was lucky."

"Think so? Well, maybe. His name was Elkanah Chase, and his dad was old man 'Rastus Chase, who made consider'ble in cranberries and one thing or 'nother. The old man brought Elkanah up to be what he called a gentleman. Ho! ho! Hi hum! I ain't sure what 'Rastus's idea of a gentleman was, but if he cal'lated to have his son a tramp in go-to-meetin' clothes, he got his wish. When the old man died, he willed the boy fifteen thousand dollars. Well, fifteen thousand dollars is a fortune to some folks—if they ain't economizin' in New York—but to Elkanah 'twas just about enough to make him realize his poverty. So, to make it bigger, he got one of them 'tips' from a college friend down here in Wall Street, and put the heft of ten thousand into it. And, I swan, if it didn't double his money!"

Captain Elisha's visitor shook his head. He did not even smile.

"He was extremely fortunate," he said. "I give you my word, Captain Warren, that the majority of first speculators don't turn out that way. I hope he was wise enough to keep his profits."

The captain rubbed his chin.

"Jim—" he began. "Excuse me, I should have said Mr. Pearson, but I've got sort of in the habit of callin' folks by their first names. Livin' where you know everybody so well gets you into those habits."

"Jim suits me. I hope you'll cultivate the habit."

"Do you? Well, I will. Now, Jim, referrin' to what I was goin' to say, you, bein' a newspaper man, ought to know everything, but it's pretty plain you don't know Elkanah Chase. Keep his profits! Why, when a feller is all but convinced that he knows it all, one little bit of evidence like that speculation settles it for him conclusive. Elkanah, realizin' that Wall Street was his apple pie, opened his mouth to swaller it at one gulp. He put his profits and every other cent he had into another sure thing tip."

"And won again?"

"No. He lost all that and some more that he borrowed."

"But I thought you said it was the making of him!"

"It was. He had to take a job over at the overalls factory in Ostable. As a fifteen thousand dollar gentleman, he was pretty average of a mess, but they tell me he makes middlin' good overalls. Elkanah convinced me that Wall Street has its good points."

He chuckled. Pearson, relieved, laughed in sympathy. "Has he paid back the money he borrowed?" he inquired.

"No-o! I guess the creditors'll have to take it out in overalls. However, it's a satisfaction to some of 'em to watch Chase really work. I know that gives me my money's worth."

"Oh, ho! You are one of the creditors! Captain Warren, I'm surprised. I sized you up as a shrewder judge of investments."

Captain Elisha colored. "I judged that one correct," he answered. "If I hadn't thought 'twould have turned out that way I never would have plunged. You see, old man Chase was a friend of mine, and—However," he added, hastily changing the subject, "we've strayed some off the course. When I mentioned the Stock Exchange I did it because my brother was a member of it, and I cal'late you might have known him."

Pearson was astonished. "Your brother was a member of the Exchange?" he repeated.

"Um-hm. Never would have guessed it, would you? I s'pose you cal'late all the stock I knew about was on the hoof. Well, I have been acquainted with other breeds in my time. My brother's name was Abijah Warren—A. Rodgers Warren, he called himself."

The effect of this announcement was instantaneous and electric. The young man sat back in his chair.

"A. Rodgers Warren was your brother?" he cried.

"Um-hm. Seems to stagger you some. Contrast between us as big as all that comes to?"

"But—but, Captain Warren—Your brother—Tell me, is Miss Caroline Warren your niece?"

"She is. And Steve is my nephew. 'Tain't possible you're acquainted with them?"

Pearson rose to his feet. "Is—They used to live on the Avenue," he said. "But you said you were visiting. Captain Warren, is this your niece's apartment?"

"Yes, hers and Steve's. Why, what's the matter? Ain't goin', are you?"

"I think perhaps I had better. It is getting late."

"Late! It's only the shank of the evenin'. Jim, I ain't so blind that I can't see through an open window. It ain't the lateness that makes you want to leave so sudden. Is there some trouble between you and Caroline? Course, it's none of my business, and you needn't tell me unless you want to."

The answer was prompt enough.

"No," replied Pearson. "No. I assure you there is nothing of that kind. I—I met Miss Warren. In fact, at one time we were well acquainted. I have the very highest opinion of her. But I think it is best to—"

"Just a minute now. No trouble with Steve? He's a boy and at an age when he's pretty well satisfied with himself and you have to make allowance."

"No. Steve and I were quite friendly. I'm sorry to cut my visit short, but it is late and I must go."

He was moving toward the door. Captain Elisha looked at him intently.

"Well, if you must," he said. "But I hope you'll come again soon. Will you?"

"I hope I may. I give you my word, Captain, that I appreciate your invitation, and I do want to know you better."

"Same here. I don't often take sudden fancies, Jim, but I knew your uncle, and I'd bet consider'ble on any member of his family. And I was kind of interested in that novel of yours. You haven't said you'd come again. Will you?"

Pearson was much embarrassed.

"I should like to come, immensely," he said, with an earnestness unmistakable; "but—but, to be honest, Captain Warren, there is a reason, one which I may tell you sometime, but can't now—neither Miss Warren nor her brother have any part in it—which makes me reluctant to visit you here. Won't you come and see me at the boarding house? Here's the address. Will you come?"

"Sartin! I figured on doin' it, if you gave me the chance."

"Thank you, you'll be welcome. Of course it is only a boarding house, and not a very good one. My own room is—well, different from this."

"Yup. Maybe that's why I expect to feel at home in it. Good night, Jim. Thank you for callin'. Shall I ring for the Commodore to pilot you out?"

"No, I can find my way. I—Someone is coming."

From the hall came the clang of the elevator door and the sound of voices. Before the captain or his friend could move, Caroline, Stephen, Mrs. Corcoran Dunn, and Malcolm entered. Caroline was the first to reach the library. Her entrance brought her face to face with Pearson.

"I beg your pardon," she began. "I did not know there was anyone here."

"It's only a friend of mine, Caroline," explained her uncle, quickly. "Just callin' on me, he was."

"Good evening, Miss Warren," said Pearson, quietly.

The girl looked at him for an instant. Then her expression changed, and, with a smile, she extended her hand.

"Why, Mr. Pearson!" she exclaimed. "I'm very glad to see you. You must excuse me for not recognizing you at once. Steve, you remember Mr. Pearson."

Stephen also extended a hand.

"Sure!" he said. "Glad to see you again, Pearson. Haven't met you for an age. How are you?"

Pearson shook both the hands. He was embarrassed and hesitated in his reply.

"It has been some time since we met," he said. "This is an unexpected pleasure. Ah, Mr. Dunn, good evening."

"It is Mr. Pearson, the financial writer of the Planet, Malcolm," said Caroline. "You used to know him, I think."

"Don't remember, I'm sure. Yes, I do. Met you at the University Club, didn't I?"

"Yes. I was formerly a member."

"And let me present you to Mrs. Corcoran Dunn," went on the girl. "Mr. Pearson used to know father well."

Mrs. Dunn inspected the visitor through her lorgnette, and condescended to admit that she was "delighted."

"I'm very glad you called," continued Caroline. "We were just in time, weren't we? Do sit down. And if you will wait a minute until we remove our wraps—Steve ring for Edwards, please."

"I'm afraid I can't wait, Miss Warren. I dropped in to see your uncle, at his invitation, and, as a matter of fact, I didn't know—"

"To see our uncle!" interrupted Stephen, in amazement. "Who?"

"Your uncle, Captain Warren here," explained Pearson, surprised in his turn. "He and I made each other's acquaintance yesterday, and he asked me to call."

"You—you called to see him?" repeated Stephen. "Why, what in the world—?"

"I took the liberty of askin' him, Caroline," observed Captain Elisha quietly, and ignoring the last speaker. "I didn't know you knew him, and I used to sail along with his uncle, so he seemed almost like own folks."

"Oh!" Caroline's manner changed. "I presume it was a business call," she said slowly. "I beg pardon for interrupting. We had not seen you since father's death, Mr. Pearson, and I assumed that you had called upon my brother and me. Excuse me. Mrs. Dunn, we will go into the drawing-room."

She led the way toward the apartment. Captain Elisha was about to speak. Pearson, however, explained for him.

"Miss Warren," he said, "if by a business call you mean one in the interest of the Planet, I assure you that you are mistaken. I am no longer connected with any paper. I met Captain Warren, under rather unusual circumstances. We discovered that we had mutual friends and mutual interests. He asked me to call on him, and I did so. I did not know, until five minutes ago, that he was your uncle or that you and your brother lived here. I beg you won't leave the room on my account. I was about to go when you came. Good evening."

He bowed and stepped toward the hall. Captain Elisha laid a hand on his arm and detained him.

"Just a minute," he said. "Caroline, I want you and Steve to know that what Mr. Pearson says is exactly true. I ain't the kind to talk to the newspapers about the private affairs of my relations, and, if I'm any judge of character, Mr. Pearson, knowin' you as it seems he does, wouldn't be the kind to listen. That's all. Now, Jim, if you must go."

He and his guest were at the door. Caroline and Mrs. Dunn were at the opposite side of the room. Suddenly the girl halted, turned, and, moving across to where her uncle and the young man were standing, once more extended her hand.

"Mr. Pearson," she said, impulsively, "again I ask your pardon. I should have known. I am very sorry I spoke as I did. Will you forgive me?"

Pearson colored. His embarrassment was more evident than before.

"There is no occasion for apology, Miss Warren," he said. "I don't wonder you thought I had come in my former capacity as reporter."

"Yes, you do. You must have wondered. I am very glad you called to see my—my guardian, and I hope you will continue to do so. Father used to speak so highly of you, and I'm sure he valued your friendship. Stephen and I wish to consider his friends ours. Please believe that you are welcome here at any time."

Pearson's reply was brief.

"Thank you, Miss Warren," he said. "You are very kind. Good evening."

In the hall, as they waited for the elevator, Captain Elisha, happier than at any time since his arrival in New York, clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Jim," he said, "I was beginnin' to doubt my judgment of things and folks. Now I feel better. That niece of mine has got the right stuff in her. After that invitation, you will come and see us once in a while. That makes it easier, hey?"

Pearson shook his head. "I'm not sure, Captain," he observed, slowly, "that it doesn't make it harder. I shall look for you at the boarding house very soon. Don't disappoint me. Good night."

The captain's last remark that evening was made to Edwards, whom he met just outside the door of his bedroom.

"Commodore," he said, "a barn full of rats is a nuisance, ain't it?"

"Sir?" stammered the astonished butler.

"I say a barn full of rats is a nuisance."

"Why—why, yes, sir. I should think it might be, sir."

"Yup. Well, I know a worse one. It's a house full of mysteries. By, by, Son. Pleasant dreams."

He sat up until late, meditating profoundly. Then, taking from its envelope the letter yet unsealed, which he had written to Miss Abigail Baker, he added this postscript:

"Eleven o'clock. I have decided, Abbie, to accept the guardianship and the rest of it, for a spell, anyhow. Shall notify the lawyers in the morning. Necessity is one thing, and pleasure is another. I doubt if I find the job pleasant, but I guess it is necessary. Anyhow, it looks that way to me."