CHAPTER VIII

Announcement of Captain Elisha's decision followed quickly. Sylvester, Kuhn, and Graves received the telephone message stating it, and the senior partner was unqualifiedly delighted. Kuhn accepted his associate's opinion with some reservation. "It is an odd piece of business, the whole of it," he declared. "I shall be curious to see how it works out." As for Mr. Graves, when the information was conveyed to him by messenger, he expressed disgust and dismay. "Ridiculous!" he said. "Doctor, I simply must be up and about within the next few days. It is necessary that a sane, conservative man be at the office. Far be it from me to say a word against Sylvester, as a lawyer, but he is subject to impressions. I imagine this Cape Codder made him laugh, and, therefore, in his opinion, is all right. I'm glad I'm not a joker."

The captain said that he would be down later on to talk things over. Meanwhile, if the "papers and such" could be gotten together, it would "sort of help along." Sylvester explained that there were certain legal and formal ceremonies pertaining to the acceptance of the trust to be gone through with, and these must have precedence. "All right," answered the captain. "Let's have 'em all out at once and get the ache and agony over. I'll see you by and by."

When Mrs. Corcoran Dunn made her daily visit to the Warren apartment that afternoon, she found Caroline alone and almost in tears. Captain Elisha had broken the news at the table during luncheon, after which he went downtown. Stephen, having raved, protested, and made himself generally disagreeable and his sister correspondingly miserable, had departed for the club. It was a time for confidences, and the wily Mrs. Dunn realized that fact. She soothed, comforted, and within half an hour, had learned the whole story. Caroline told her all, the strange will, the disclosure concerning the country uncle, and the inexplicable clauses begging the latter to accept the executorship, the trust, and the charge of her brother and herself. Incidentally she mentioned that a possible five hundred thousand was the extreme limit of the family's pecuniary resources.

"Now you know everything," sobbed Caroline. "Oh, Mrs. Dunn, you won't desert us, will you?"

The widow's reply was a triumph, of its kind. In it were expressed sorrow, indignation, pity, and unswerving loyalty. Desert them? Desert the young people, toward whom she had come to feel almost like a mother? Never!

"You may depend on Malcolm and me, my dear," she declared. "We are not fair-weather friends. And, after all, it is not so very bad. Affairs might be very much worse."

"Worse! Oh, Mrs. Dunn, how could they be? Think of it! Stephen and I are dependent upon him for everything. We must ask him for every penny. And whatever he says to do we must do. We're obliged to. Just think! if he decides to take us back with him to—South Denboro, or whatever dreadful place he comes from, we shall have to go—and live there."

"But he won't, my dear. He won't. It will take some time to settle your father's affairs, and the business will have to be transacted here in New York."

"I know. I suppose that's true. But that doesn't make it any easier. If he stops here he will stay with us. And what shall we do? We can't introduce him to our friends, or, at least, to any except our best, our understanding friends, like you and Malcolm."

"Why, I'm not sure. He is rather—well—er—countryfied, but I believe he has a good heart. He is not rude or unkind or anything of that sort, is he?"

"No. No-o. He's not that, at all. In fact, he means to be kind in his way. But it's such a different way from ours. He is not used to society; he wouldn't understand that certain things and ways were absolutely essential. I suppose it isn't his fault exactly, but that doesn't help. And how can we tell him?"

"I don't know that you can tell him, but you might hint. Diplomacy, my dear, is one of the necessary elements of life. Whatever else you do remember to be diplomatic. My poor husband used to have a pet proverb—he was interested in politics, my dear, and some of his sayings were a trifle grotesque but very much to the point. He used to say that one could get rid of more flies with molasses than with a club. And I think he was right. Now let me consider. Let's look the situation right in the face. Of course your guardian, as a companion, as an associate for us, for our kind of people, is, to be quite frank, impossible."

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure he is."

"Yes. But he is your guardian. Therefore, we can't get rid of him with—well, with a club. He must be endured and made as endurable as possible. And it certainly will not do to offend him."

"Steve says we must do what he calls freezing him out—make him feel that we do not want him here."

"Hum! Well, Stephen is a nice boy—Malcolm adores him—but he isn't a diplomat. If we should—what is it?—freeze out your uncle—"

"Please call him something else."

"Well, we'll call him the encumbrance on the estate; that's legal, I believe, and expresses it nicely. If we should freeze out the encumbrance, we might freeze him to his village, and he might insist on your going with him, which wouldn't do at all, my dear. For one thing, Malcolm would probably insist on going, also, and I, for one, don't yearn for rural simplicity. Ha! ha! Oh, you mustn't mind me. I'm only a doting mamma, dearie, and I have my air castles like everyone else. So, freezing out won't do. No, you and Steve must be polite to our encumbrance."

"I shall not get on my knees to him and beg. That I sha'n't do."

"No one expects you to. If anyone begs it should be he. Condescend to just a little. Make him feel his place. Correct him when he goes too far wrong, and ignore him when he gets assertive. As for getting rid of him at times when it may be necessary—well, I think you may safely leave that to me."

"To you? Oh, Mrs. Dunn, we couldn't think of dragging you into it. It is bad enough that we should be disgraced; but you must not be."

"My dear child, I think my position in society is sufficiently established to warrant a risk or two. If I am seen in company with—with the encumbrance, people will merely say, 'Oh, it's another of her eccentricities!' that's all. Now, don't worry, and don't fret all that pretty color from your cheeks. Always remember this: it is but for a year or a trifle over. Then you will be of age and can send your encumbrance to the right-about in a hurry."

Caroline, under the spell of this convincing eloquence, began to cheer up. She even smiled.

"Well," she said, "I will try to be diplomatic. I really will. But Stephen—I'm not sure what dreadful thing he will do."

"He will return to college soon. I will take upon myself the convincing of the encumbrance to that effect. And while he is at home, Malcolm will take charge of him. He will be delighted to do it."

"Mrs. Dunn, how can we ever thank you sufficiently? What should we do without you and Malcolm?"

"I hope, my dear, that you will never have to do without me; not for many years, at any rate. Of course, there is always my poor heart, but—we won't worry, will we?"

So, with a kiss and an embrace, this affecting interview ended.

There was another that evening between Mrs. Dunn and her son, which was not devoid of interest. Malcolm listened to the information which his mother gave him, and commented upon it in characteristic fashion.

"Humph!" he observed, "two hundred and fifty thousand, instead of the two million you figured on, Mater! Two hundred and fifty thousand isn't so much, in these days."

"No," replied his parent, sharply, "it isn't so much, but it isn't so little, either."

"I suppose one can get along on it."

"Yes, one can. In fact, I know of two who are managing with a good deal less. Don't be any more of a fool than you can help, Malcolm. The sum itself isn't small, and, besides, the Warrens are a family of standing. To be connected with them is worth a good deal. There are infinite possibilities in it. Oh, if only I might live to see the day when tradespeople meant something other than nuisances to be dodged, I think I could die contented."

"Caro's a decent sort of a girl," commented Malcolm, reflectively.

"She's a bright girl and an attractive one. Just now she is in a mood to turn to us, to you. But, for Heaven's sake, be careful! She is delicate and sensitive and requires managing. She likes you. If only you weren't such a blunderer!"

"Much obliged, Mater. You're free with your compliments this evening. What's the trouble? Another 'heart'?"

"No. My heart I can trust, up to certain limits. But I'm afraid of your head, just as I always was of your father's. And here's one more bit of advice: Be careful how you treat that country uncle."

"The Admiral! Ho! ho! He's a card."

"He may be the trump that will lose us the trick. Treat him civilly; yes, even cordially, if you can. And don't insult him as you did the first time you and he met."

The young man crossed his legs, and grunted in resignation.

"Well," he said, "it's going to be a confounded bore, but, at the very longest, it'll last but a year. Then Caro will be her own mistress."

"Yes. But there are three hundred and sixty-five days in a year; remember that."

"All right, Mater. You can bet on me. The old hayseed and I will be bosom pals. Wait and see."

The formalities at the lawyers' took some time. Captain Elisha was absent from the apartment the better part of the following two days. The evenings, however, he spent with his niece and nephew, and, if at all sensitive to sudden changes of the temperature, he must have noticed that the atmosphere of the library was less frigid. Caroline was not communicative, did not make conversation, nor was she in the least familiar; but she answered his questions, did not leave the room when he entered, and seemed inclined to accept his society with resignation, if not with enthusiasm. Even Stephen was less sarcastic and bitter. At times, when his new guardian did or said something which offended his highly cultivated sense of the proprieties, he seemed inclined to burst out with a sneer; but a quick "ahem!" or a warning glance from his sister caused him to remain silent and vent his indignation by kicking a footstool or barking a violent order at the unresisting Edwards. Caroline and her brother had had a heart to heart talk, and, as a result, the all-wise young gentleman promised to make no more trouble than he could help.

"Though, by gad, Caro," he declared, "it's only for you I do it! If I had my way the old butt-in should understand exactly what I think of him."

On Thursday, after luncheon, as Captain Elisha sat in his own room, reading a book he had taken from the library, there came a knock at the door.

"Come ahead in!" ordered the captain. Caroline entered. Her uncle rose and put down the book.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "is it you? Excuse me. I thought 'twas the Commodore—Edwards, I mean. If I'd known you was comin' callin', Caroline, I shouldn't have been quite so bossy. Guess I'd have opened the door for you, instead of lettin' you do it yourself."

"Thank you," answered his niece. "I came to see you on—I suppose you might call it business. At any rate, it is a financial matter. I sha'n't detain you long."

Captain Elisha was a trifle disappointed.

"Oh," he said, "on business, was it? I hoped—I didn't know but you'd come just out of sociability. However, I'm mighty glad to see you, Caroline, no matter what it's for. That's a real becomin' dress you've got on," he added, inspecting her admiringly. "I declare, you look prettier every time I see you. You favor your pa consider'ble; I can see it more and more. 'Bije had about all the good looks there was in our family," with a chuckle. "Set down, do."

The girl seated herself in a rocker, and looked at him for a moment without speaking. She seemed to have something on her mind, and not to know exactly how to express it.

"Captain Warren," she began, "I—I came to ask a favor. I am obliged to ask it, because you are our—" she almost choked over the hated word—"our guardian, and I can no longer act on my own responsibility. I wish to ask you for some money."

Captain Elisha nodded gravely.

"I see," he said. "Well, Caroline, I don't believe you'll find me very close-fisted. I think I told you and Steve that you was to do just as you'd been in the habit of doin'. Of course I am your guardian now, and I shall be held responsible for whatever expense comes to the estate. Itvis quite a responsibility, and I so understand it. As I said to you when I told you I'd decided to take the job on trial, while I have it it'll be my pride to see that you or your brother don't lose anything. I intend, if the Almighty spares me so long and I keep on with the trust, to turn over, when my term's out, at least as much to you and Steve as your father left. That's all. Excuse me for mentioning it again. Now, how much do you want? Is your reg'lar allowance too small? Remember, I don't know much about such things here in New York, and you must be frank and aboveboard and tell me if you have any complaints."

"I have no complaints. My allowance is sufficient. It is the same that father used to give me, and it is all I need. But this is a matter outside my personal needs."

"Um-hm. Somethin' to do with the household expenses, hey?"

"No. It is—is a matter of—well, of charity. It may amount to several hundred dollars."

"Yes, yes. I see. Charity, hey? Church?"

"No. One of the maids, Annie, has trouble at home, and I wanted to help her."

The captain nodded once more.

"Annie," he repeated, "that's the rosy-faced one? The Irish one?"

"Yes. Her father was seriously injured the other day and cannot work. His hip is broken, and the doctor's bill will be large. They are very poor, and I thought perhaps—" She hesitated, faltered, and then said haughtily: "Father was very sympathetic and liked to have me do such things."

"Sho! sho! Sartin! Course he did. I like it, too. I'm glad you came to me just as you did, Caroline. How much do you want to start with?"

"I don't know, exactly. I thought I might ask our own doctor to attend to the case, and might send them some delicacies and food."

"Good idea! Go right ahead, Caroline."

"Thank you. I have been over to see them, and they need help—they really do."

"I presume likely. How'd the accident happen? Anybody's fault, was it?"

Caroline's eyes snapped. "Indeed it was!" she said, indignantly. "It was a wet morning, after a rain, and the pavement was slippery. Mr. Moriarty, Annie's father, was not working that day—they were making some repairs at the factory where he is employed, I believe—and he had gone out to do the family marketing. He was crossing the street when an automobile, recklessly driven, so everyone says, drove directly down on him. He tried to jump out of the way and succeeded—otherwise he might have been killed; but he fell and broke his hip. He is an old man, and the case is serious."

"Dear! dear! you don't tell me! Poor old chap! The auto feller—did he help? Seems to me he ought to be the one to be spendin' the money. 'Twas his fault."

"Help! Indeed he didn't! He and the man with him merely laughed, as if it was a good joke, put on speed, and disappeared as quickly as possible."

"Why, the mean swab! Did this Mr. Moriarty or the folks around get the license number of the auto?"

"No. All they know is that it was a big yellow car with two men in it."

"Hey? A yellow car?"

"Yes. Somewhat similar to the one Malcolm—Mr. Dunn drives."

"So, so! Hum! Where did it happen?"

"On Saint Nicholas Avenue, near One Hundred and Twenty-Eighth Street."

"Eh? Saint Nicholas Avenue, you say?"

"Yes." Caroline rose and turned to go. "Thank you, Captain Warren," she said. "I will tell Doctor Henry to take the case at once."

The captain did not answer immediately. With his chin in his hand he was gazing at the floor.

"Good afternoon," said Caroline.

Her uncle looked up.

"Er—Wait just a minute, Caroline," he said. "I guess maybe, if you don't mind, I'd like to think this over a little afore you go too far. You have your doctor go right ahead and see to the old man, and you order the things to eat and whatever's necessary. But afore you give Annie or her father any money, I'd kind of like to figger a little mite."

His niece stopped short, turned and stared at him.

"Oh!" she said, slowly and icily, "I see. Please don't trouble yourself. I should have known. However, my allowance is my own, and I presume I am permitted to do what I please with that."

"Caroline, don't be hasty. I ain't sayin' no about the money. Far from it. I only—"

"I understand—thoroughly. Don't trouble to 'figure,' as you call it. Oh! Why did I humiliate myself? I should have known!"

"Caroline, please—"

But the girl had gone, closing the door after her. Captain Elisha shook his head, heaved a deep sigh, and then, sinking back into his chair, relapsed into meditation. Soon afterward he put on his hat and coat and went out.

Half an hour later he entered the office of a firm of commission brokers on lower Broad Street, and inquired if a gentleman by the name of Mr. Malcolm Dunn was connected with that establishment. On being answered in the affirmative, he asked if Mr. Dunn were in. Yes, he was.

"Well," said Captain Elisha, "I'd like to speak to him a minute or so. Just tell him my name's Warren, if you don't mind, young feller."

The clerk objected to being addressed as "young feller," and showed his disapproval by the haughty and indifferent manner in which he departed on the errand. However, he did so depart, and returned followed by Malcolm himself. The latter, who had been misled by the name into supposing his caller to be Stephen Warren, was much astonished when he saw the captain seated outside the railing.

"Good afternoon," said Captain Elisha, rising and extending his hand: "How are you to-day, sir? Pretty smart?"

The young man answered briefly that he was all right. He added he was glad to see his visitor, a statement more polite than truthful.

"Well, what's up?" he inquired, condescendingly. "Nothing wrong with Caro or Steve, I hope."

"No, they're fust-rate, thank you."

"What's doing, then? Is it pleasure or business?"

"Well, a little of both, maybe. It's always a pleasure to see you, of course; and I have got a little mite of business on hand."

Malcolm smiled, in his languid fashion. If he suspected sarcasm in the first part of the captain's reply, it did not trouble him. His self-sufficiency was proof against anything of that sort.

"Business," he repeated. "Well, that's what I'm here for. Thinking of cornering the—er—potato market, were you?"

"No-o. Cranberries would be more in my line, and I cal'late you fellers don't deal in that kind of sass. I had a private matter I wanted to talk over with you, Mr. Dunn; that is, if you ain't too busy."

Malcolm looked at him with an amused curiosity. As he had expressed it in the conversation with his mother, this old fellow certainly was a "card." He seated himself on the arm of the oak settle from which the captain had risen and, lazily swinging a polished shoe, admitted that he was always busy but never too busy to oblige.

"What's on your mind, Captain?" he drawled.

Captain Elisha glanced about him somewhat uneasily.

"I—I don't know as I made it quite clear," he said, "that it was sort of private; somethin' just between us, you understand."

Malcolm hesitated. Sliding from the settle, and impatiently commanding the clerk to open the gate in the railing, he led his caller through the main office and into a small room beyond. On the glass pane of the door was lettered, "Mr. Dunn—Private." A roll-top desk in the corner and three chairs were the furniture. Malcolm, after closing the door, sprawled in the swing chair before the desk, threw one leg over a drawer, which he pulled out for that purpose, and motioned his companion to occupy one of the other chairs.

Captain Elisha took the offered chair and dropped his hat on the floor beside it. Then he inspected the room and its furnishings with interest. Dunn drew out a pocket case, extracted a cigarette, lit it, and waited for him to speak.

"Well," observed the young man, after a moment, "what's the trouble, Admiral? Better get it off your chest, hadn't you? We're private enough here."

The captain answered the last question. "Yes," he said, "this is nice and private. Got a stateroom all to yourself; name on the door, and everything complete. You must be one of the officers of the craft."

"Yes."

"Um-hm. I sort of expected to find your name on the door outside, but there 'twas, 'Smith, Haynes & Co.' I presume likely you're the 'Co.'"

"I 'presume likely,'" with mocking impatience. "What about that private matter?"

Captain Elisha did not appear to hear him. His eyes were fixed on several photographs stuck in the rail of Mr. Dunn's desk. The photos were those of young ladies.

"Friends of yours?" inquired the captain, nodding toward the photographs.

"No." Dunn took the photos from the rack and threw them into a pigeon hole. "Look here," he said, pointedly, "I wouldn't hurry you for the world, but—"

He paused. Captain Elisha did not take the hint. His mind was evidently still busy with the vanished photographs.

"Just fancy pictures, I s'pose, hey?" he commented.

"Doubtless. Any other little points I can give you?"

"I guess not. I thought they was fancy; looked so to me. Well, about that private matter. Mr. Dunn, I come to see you about an automobile."

"An automobile!" The young man was so astonished that he actually removed his feet from the desk. Then he burst into a laugh. "An automobile?" he repeated. "Captain, has the influence of the metropolis made you a sport already? Do you want to buy a car?"

"Buy one?" It was Captain Elisha's turn to show irritation. "Buy one of them things? Me? I wouldn't buy one of 'em, or run one of 'em, for somethin', I tell you! No, I don't want to buy one."

"Why not? Sell you mine for a price."

"Not if I see you fust, thank you. No, Mr. Dunn, 'tain't that. But one of the hired help up to our place—Caroline's place, I mean—is in trouble on account of one of the dratted machines. They're poor folks, of course, and they need money to help 'em through the doctorin' and nursin' and while the old man's out of work. Caroline was for givin' it to 'em right off, she's a good-hearted girl; but I said—that is, I kind of coaxed her out of it. I thought I'd ask some questions first."

"So you came to me to ask them?" Malcolm smiled contentedly. Evidently the cares and complications of guardianship were already proving too intricate for the unsophisticated countryman. He wished advice, and had come to him for it, possibly at Caroline's suggestion. Affairs were shaping themselves well. Here was an opportunity to act the disinterested friend, as per maternal instructions.

"So you wanted to ask questions, did you, Captain?" he repeated. "Well, fire away. Anything I can do to help you or Caroline will be a pleasure, of course. Smoke?"

He offered the cigarette case. The captain eyed it dubiously and shook his head.

"No," he said; "no, thank you, I commenced smokin' at the butt end, I guess. Begun with a pipe, and them things would seem sort of kindergarten, I'm afraid. No offense meant, you understand. It's all accordin' to what you've been used to. Well, about the questions. Here's the first one: Don't it seem to you that the right one to pay for the doctorin' and nursin' and such of Mr. Moriarty—that's Annie's pa—ought to be the feller who hurt him? That feller, instead of Caroline?"

"Sure thing! If you know who did it, he's your mark."

"He could be held responsible, couldn't he?"

"Certainly."

"Um-hm. So I thought. And if he was a right-minded chap, he'd be glad to help the poor critter, providin' he knew what damage he'd done; wouldn't you think so?"

Malcolm nodded sagely, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. A sudden recollection came to him, an alarming recollection. He turned in his chair and looked at his visitor. Captain Elisha met his gaze frankly.

"Where did this accident happen?" asked Mr. Dunn, his condescending smile absent.

"At the corner of Saint Nicholas Avenue and One Hundred and Twenty-Eighth Street. It happened last Friday mornin', a week ago. And the car that hit him was a yellow one."

Malcolm did not answer. His pale face grew paler, and then flushed a brilliant red. The captain seemed to feel sorry for him.

"Naturally," he went on, "when I heard about it, I remembered what you told Mr. Sylvester and me at the club that afternoon. I understand how 'twas, of course. You never thought you'd done any real harm and just went on, thinkin' 'twas a good joke, much as anything. If you'd known you'd really hurt the poor old man, you'd have stopped to see him. I understand that. But—"

"Look here!" interrupted Dunn, sharply, "did Caroline send you to me?"

"Caroline? No, no! She don't know 'twas your automobile at all. I never said a word to her, 'tain't likely. But afore she spent any of her money, I thought you'd ought to know, because I was sure you wouldn't let her. That's the way I'd feel, and I felt 'twas no more'n honest to give you the chance. I come on my own hook; she didn't know anything about it."

Malcolm drummed on the desk with nervous fingers. The flush remained on his face, his cigarette had gone out, and he threw the stump savagely into the wastepaper basket. Captain Elisha remained silent. At length the young man spoke.

"Well," he growled, pettishly, "how much will it take to square things with the gang? How much damages do they want?"

"Damages? Oh, there won't be any claim for damages, I guess. That is, no lawsuit, or anything of that kind. The Moriartys don't know you did it, and there's no reason why they should. I thought maybe I'd see to 'em and do whatever was necessary; then you could settle with me, and the whole business would be just between us two. Outside the doctor's bills and food and nursin' and such, all the extry will be just the old man's wages for the time he's away from the factory. 'Twon't be very heavy."

More reflection and finger tattoo by his companion. Then:

"All right! I'm in it, I can see that; and it's up to me to get out as easy as I can. I don't want any newspaper publicity. Go ahead! I'll pay the freight."

Captain Elisha arose and picked up his hat.

"That's fust-rate," he said, with emphasis. "I felt sure you'd see it just as I did. There's one thing I would like to say," he added: "that is, that you mustn't think I was stingy about helpin' 'em myself. But it wa'n't really my affair; and when Caroline spoke of spendin' her money and Steve's, I didn't feel I'd ought to let her. You see, I don't know as you know it yet, Mr. Dunn, but my brother 'Bije left me in charge of his whole estate, and, now that I've decided to take the responsibility, I've got a sort of pride in not wastin' any of his children's inheritance. Good day, Mr. Dunn. I'm much obliged to you."

He opened the office door. Malcolm, frowning heavily, suddenly asked a final question.

"Say!" he demanded, "you'll not tell Caroline or Steve a word of this, mind!"

The captain seemed surprised.

"I guess you didn't catch what I said, Mr. Dunn," he observed, mildly. "I told you this whole business would be just between you and me."



CHAPTER IX

Captain Elisha was very far from considering himself a Solomon. As he would have said he had lived long enough with himself to know what a lot he didn't know. Nevertheless, deep down in his inner consciousness, he cherished a belief in his judgment of human nature. This judgment was not of the snap variety; he took his time in forming it. People and their habits, their opinions and characters, were to him interesting problems. He liked to study them and to reach conclusions founded upon reason, observation, and common sense. Having reached such a conclusion, it disturbed him when the subjects of the problem suddenly upset the whole process of reasoning and apparently proved him wrong by behavior exactly contrary to that which he had expected.

He had been pretty well satisfied with the result of his visit to young Dunn at the latter's office. Malcolm had surrendered, perhaps not gracefully or unconditionally, but he had surrendered, and the condition—secrecy—was one which the captain himself had suggested. Captain Elisha's mental attitude toward the son of the late Tammany leader had been a sort of good-natured but alert tolerance. He judged the young man to be a product of rearing and environment. He had known spoiled youths at the Cape and, in their surroundings, they behaved much as Malcolm did in his. The same disrespect to their elders, the same cock-sureness, and the same careless indifference concerning the effect which their actions might have upon other people—these were natural and nothing but years and the hard knocks of experience could bring about a change. Elkanah Chase, country swell and pampered heir to the cranberry grower's few thousands, and Malcolm Dunn, idol of his set at the Metropolitan Club, were not so very different, except in externals. The similarity confirmed his opinion that New York was merely South Denboro many thousand times magnified.

He knew how young Chase had behaved after an interview not unlike that just described. In Elkanah's case several broken windows and property destroyed on a revel the night before the Fourth had caused the trouble. In Malcolm's it was an automobile. Both had listened to reason and had knuckled under rather than face possible lawsuits and certain publicity. Chase, however, had sulkily refused to speak to him for a month, and regained affability merely because he wished to borrow money. According to the captain's deduction, Dunn should have acted in similar fashion. But he didn't; that was the odd part of it.

For Malcolm, when he next called, in company with his mother, at the Warren apartment, was not in the least sulky. Neither was he over effusive, which would have argued fear and a desire to conciliate. Possibly there was a bit more respect in his greeting of the new guardian and a trifle less condescension, but not much. He still hailed Captain Elisha as "Admiral," and was as mockingly careless as ever in his remarks concerning the latter's newness in the big city. In fact, he was so little changed that the captain was perplexed. A chap who could take a licking when he deserved it, and not hold malice, must have good in him, unless, of course, he was hiding the malice for a purpose. And if that purpose was the wish to appear friendly, then the manner of hiding it proved Malcolm Dunn to possess more brains than Captain Elisha had given him credit for.

One thing seemed sure, the Dunns were not openly hostile. And Caroline was. Since the interview in the library, when the girl had, as she considered it, humiliated herself by asking her guardian for money to help the Moriartys, she had scarcely spoken to him. Stephen, taking his cue from his sister, was morose and silent, also. Captain Elisha found it hard to forgive his dead brother for bringing all this trouble upon him.

His lawyers, so Sylvester informed him, were setting about getting Rodgers Warren's tangible assets together. The task was likely to be a long one. The late broker's affairs were in a muddled state, the books were anything but clear, some of the investments were foreign, and, at the very earliest, months must elapse before the executor and trustee could know, for certain, just how large a property he was in charge of.

He found some solace and forgetfulness of the unpleasant life he was leading in helping the stricken Moriarty family. Annie, the maid at the apartment, he swore to secrecy. She must not tell Miss Caroline of his visits to her parents' home. Doctor Henry, also, though he could not understand why, promised silence. Caroline herself had engaged his services in the case, and he was faithful. But the patient was more seriously hurt than at first appeared, and consultations with a specialist were necessary.

"Goin' to be a pretty expensive job, ain't it, Doctor?" asked the captain of the physician.

"Rather, I'm afraid."

"All right. If expense is necessary, don't be afraid of it. You do just what you'd ought to, and send the bill to me."

"But Miss Warren insisted upon my sending it to her. She said it was a private matter, and one with which you, as her guardian, had nothing to do."

"I know. Caroline intends to use her own allowance, I s'pose. Well, let her think she will, if 'twill please her. But when it comes to the settlement, call on me. Give her any reason you want to; say a—er—wealthy friend of the family come to life all at once and couldn't sleep nights unless he paid the costs."

"But there isn't any such friend, is there, Captain Warren? Other than yourself, I mean?"

Captain Elisha grinned in appreciation of a private joke. "There is somebody else," he admitted, "who'll pay a share, anyhow. I don't know's he's what you call a bosom friend, and, as for his sleepin' nights—well, I never heard he couldn't do that, after he went to bed. But, anyhow, you saw wood, or bones, or whatever you have to do, and leave the rest to me. And don't tell Caroline or anybody else a word."

The Moriartys lived in a four-room flat on the East Side, uptown, and his visits there gave the captain a glimpse of another sort of New York life, as different from that of Central Park West as could well be imagined. The old man, Patrick, his wife, Margaret, the unmarried son, Dennis, who worked in the gas house, and five other children of various ages were hived somehow in those four small rooms and Captain Elisha marveled greatly thereat.

"For the land sakes, ma'am," he asked of the nurse, "how do they do it? Where do they put 'em nights? That—that closet in there's the pantry and woodshed and kitchen and dinin' room; and that one's the settin' room and parlor; and them two dry-goods boxes with doors to 'em are bedrooms. There's eight livin' critters to stow away when it's time to turn in, and one whole bed's took up by the patient. Where do they put the rest? Hang 'em up on nails?"

The nurse laughed. "Goodness knows!" she said. "He should have been taken to the hospital. In fact, the doctor and I at first insisted upon his removal there. He would have been much better off. But neither he nor his wife would hear of it. She said he would die sure without his home comforts."

"Humph! I should think more likely he'd die with 'em, or under 'em. I watch that fleshy wife of his with fear and tremblin'. Every time she goes nigh the bed I expect her to trip over a young one and fall. And if she fell on that poor rack-o'-bones," with a wave of the hand toward the invalid, "'twould be the final smash—like a brick chimney fallin' on a lath hencoop."

At that moment the "brick chimney" herself entered the rooms and the nurse accosted her.

"Captain Warren here," she said, "was asking where you all found sleeping quarters."

Mrs. Moriarty smiled broadly. "Sure, 'tis aisy," she explained. "When the ould man is laid up we're all happy to be a bit uncomfortable. Not that we are, neither. You see, sor, me and Nora and Rosy sleep in the other bed; and Dinnie has a bit of a shakedown in the parlor; and Honora is in the kitchen; and—"

"There! there!" Captain Elisha interrupted hastily, "don't tell me any more. I'd rather guess that the baby bunks in the cookstove oven than know it for sartin. How did the grapes I sent you go?" turning to the sick man.

"Aw, sor! they were foine. God bless you, sor! Mary be kind to you, sor! Sure the angels'll watch over you every day you live and breathe!"

Captain Elisha bolted for the parlor, the sufferer firing a gatling fusillade of blessings after him. Mrs. Moriarty continued the bombardment, as she escorted him to the door of the flat.

"There! there!" protested the captain. "Just belay! cut it short, there's a good woman! I'll admit I'm a saint and would wear a halo instead of a hat if 'twa'n't so unfashionable. Good day. If you need anything you ain't got, tell the nurse."

The grateful Irish woman did not intend to let him escape so easily.

"Aw, sor," she went on, "it's all right for you to make fun. I'm the jokin' kind, sor, meself. Whin the flats where we used to be got afire and Pat had to lug me down the fire escape in his arms, they tell me I was laughin' fit to kill; that is, when I wasn't screechin' for fear he'd drop me. And him, poor soul, never seein' the joke, but puffin' and groanin' that his back was in two pieces. Ha, ha! Oh, dear! And him in two pieces now for sure and all! Aw, sor, it's all right for you to laugh it off, but what would we do without you? You and Miss Caroline, God bless her!"

"Caroline? She doesn't come here, does she?"

"Indade she does. Sure, she's the perfect little lady! Hardly a day passes—or a week, anyhow—that she doesn't drop in to see how the ould man's gettin' on."

"Humph! Well, see that you don't tell her about me."

Mrs. Moriarty held up both hands in righteous protestation. She tell? Might the tongue of her wither between her teeth before it let slip a word, and so on. Captain Elisha waved her to silence.

"All right! all right!" he exclaimed. "So long! Take good care of your husband, and, and—for Heaven's sake, walk careful and don't step on any of the children."

Mrs. Moriarty's tongue did not wither; at all events, it was lively enough when he next met her. The captain's secret was not divulged, and he continued his visits to the flat, taking care, however, to ascertain his niece's whereabouts beforehand. It was not altogether a desire to avoid making his charitable deeds public which influenced him. He had a habit of not letting his right hand know what his left was about in such cases, and he detested a Pharisaical philanthropist. But there was another reason why Caroline must not learn of his interest in the Moriartys. If she did learn it, she would believe him to be helping them on his own responsibility; or, if not, that he was using money belonging to the estate. Of course he would, and honestly must, deny the latter charge, and, therefore, the first would, to her mind, be proven. He intended that Malcolm Dunn should pay the larger share of the bills, as was right and proper. But he could not tell Caroline that, because she must not know of the young man's responsibility for the accident. He could not give Malcolm the credit, and he felt that he ought not to take it himself. It was a delicate situation.

He was lonely, and the days seemed long. Reading the paper, walking in the park, occasionally dropping in at the lawyers' offices, or visiting the shops and other places of interest about town made up the monotonous routine. He breakfasted early, waited upon by Edwards, got lunch at the restaurant nearest to wherever he happened to be at noon, and returned to the apartment for dinner. His niece and nephew dined with him, but when he attempted conversation they answered in monosyllables or not at all. Every evening he wrote a letter to Abbie, and the mail each morning brought him one from her. The Dunns came frequently and seemed disposed to be friendly, but he kept out of their way as much as possible.

Pearson he had not seen since the latter's call. This was a disappointment, for he fancied the young fellow and believed he should like him even better on closer acquaintance. He would have returned the visit, but somehow or other the card with the boarding-house street and number had been lost or mislaid, and the long list of "James Pearsons" in the directory discouraged him. He speculated much concerning the mystery at which the would-be novelist hinted as preventing his accepting Caroline's invitation. Evidently Pearson had once known Rodgers Warren well, and had been esteemed and respected by the latter. Caroline, too, had known him, and was frankly pleased to meet him again. Whatever the trouble might be, she, evidently, was ignorant of it. The captain wondered and pondered, but reached no satisfactory conclusion. It seemed the irony of fate that the one congenial person—Sylvester excepted—whom he had met during his stay in the big city should be scratched from his small list of acquaintances.

With Sylvester he held many familiar and enjoyable chats. The good-natured, democratic senior member of the law firm liked to have Captain Elisha drop in for advice or to spin yarns. Graves, who was well again, regarded the new guardian with respect of a kind, but with distinct disapproval. The captain was, in his opinion, altogether too flippant and jolly. There was nothing humorous in the situation, as Graves saw it, and to laugh when one's brother's estate is in a tangle, indicated unfitness, if nothing worse. Kuhn was a sharp, quick-moving man, who had no time for frivolity if it delayed business.

It was after a long interview with Sylvester that Captain Elisha decided to send Stephen back to college. When he broke the news there was rebellion, brief but lively. Stephen had no desire to continue his studies; he wished to become a stock broker at once, and, as soon as he was of age, take his father's seat on the Exchange.

"Stevie," said Captain Elisha, "one of these days, when you get to be as old as I am or before, you'll realize that an education is worth somethin'."

"Ugh!" grunted the boy, in supreme disgust. "What do you know about that?"

"Why, not much, maybe, but enough."

"Yes?" sarcastically. "What college did you attend?"

"Me? Why, none, more's the pity. What learnin' there was in our family your dad had. Maybe that's why he was what he was, so fur as money and position and society and so on went, and I'm what I am."

"Oh, rubbish! What difference does it make to Malcolm Dunn—now—his going through college?"

"Well, he went, didn't he?"

Stephen grinned. Malcolm had told him some particulars concerning his university career and its termination.

"He went—part way," he answered.

"Ya-as. Well, you've gone part way, so fur. And now you'll go the rest."

"I'd like to know why."

"For one reason, because I'm your guardian and I say so."

Stephen was furiously angry. His father's indulgence and his sister's tolerance had, in most cases, made his will law in the household. To be ordered about in this way by an ignorant interloper, as he considered his uncle, was too much.

"By gad," he shouted, "we'll see!"

"No, we've seen. You run along now and pack your trunk. And take my advice and study hard. You'll be behindhand in your work, so Mr. Sylvester tells me, but you're smart, and you can catch up. Make us proud of you; that's what you can do."

His nephew glanced at him. Captain Elisha was smiling kindly, but there was no sign of change of purpose in his look.

Stephen ground his teeth.

"Oh," he snarled, "if it wasn't for the disgrace! If things weren't as they are, I'd—"

"S-s-s-h! I know; but they are. Maybe I wish they wa'n't 'most as much as you do, but they are. I don't blame you for feelin' mad now; but I'm right and I know it. And some day you'll know it, and thank me."

"When I do, I'll be insane."

"No, you'll be older, that's all. Now pack your trunk—or get the Commodore to pack it for you."

* * * * *

News from the Moriarty sick room continued favorable for a time. Then, with alarming suddenness, a change came. The broken hip was mending slowly, but poor Pat's age was against him, and the shock and long illness were too much for his system to fight. Dr. Henry shook his head dubiously when the captain asked questions. And, one morning at breakfast, Edwards informed him that the old man was dead. Annie had been summoned by telephone at midnight and had gone home.

Captain Elisha, though not greatly surprised, was shocked and grieved. It seemed such a needless tragedy, almost like murder, although there was no malice in it. And the thought of the fatherless children and the poverty of the stricken family made him shudder. Death at any time, amid any surroundings, is terrible; when the dead hands have earned the bread for many mouths it is appalling.

The captain dreaded visiting the flat, but because he felt it to be a duty he went immediately. And the misery and wailing and dismay he found there were worse than his anticipations. He did his best to comfort and cheer. Mrs. Moriarty alternately called upon the saints to bless him and begged to know what she would do now that they were all sure to starve. Luckily, the family priest, a kind-hearted, quiet man who faced similar scenes almost every day of his life, was there, and Captain Elisha had a long talk with him. With Dennis, the oldest son, and Annie, the maid at the Warrens', he also consulted. Money for their immediate needs, he told them, he would provide. And the funeral expenses must not worry them. Afterward—well, plans for the future could be discussed at another time. But upon Dennis and Annie he tried to impress a sense of their responsibility.

"It's up to you, Boy," he said to the former. "Annie's job's sure, I guess, as long as she wants it, and she can give her mother somethin' every month. But you're the man of the house now, and you've got to steer the ship and keep it afloat. That means work, and hard work, lots of it, too. You can do it, if you've got the grit. If I can find a better place and more pay for you, I will, but you mustn't depend on that. It's up to you, I tell you, and you've got to show what's in you. If you get stuck and need advice, come to me."

He handed the priest a sum of money to cover immediate contingencies, and departed. His letter to Abbie that afternoon was so blue that the housekeeper felt sure he was "coming down" with some disease or other. He had been riding in that awful subway, where the air—so the papers said—was not fit to breathe, and just as like as not he'd caught consumption. His great-uncle on his mother's side died of it, so it "run in the family." Either he must come home or she should come to him, one or the other.

But before evening his blueness had disappeared. He had just returned to his room, after stepping into the hall to drop his letter in the mail chute, when his niece knocked at the door. He was surprised to see her, for she had not spoken to him, except in brief reply to questions, since their misunderstanding in that very room. He looked at her wonderingly, not knowing what to say or what to expect; but she spoke first.

"Captain Warren," she began, hurriedly, "the last time I came to you—the last time I came here, I came to ask a favor, and you—I thought you—"

She was evidently embarrassed and confused. Her guardian was embarrassed, also, but he tried to be hospitable.

"Yes, Caroline," he said, gravely, "I know what you mean. Won't you—won't you sit down?"

To his surprise, she accepted the invitation, taking the same chair she had taken on the occasion of their former interview. But there was a look in her eyes he had never seen there before; at least, not when she was addressing him.

She went on, speaking hastily, as though determined to head off any questioning on his part.

"Captain Warren," she began once more, "the time I came to you in this room you were, so I thought, unreasonable and unkind. I asked you for money to help a poor family in trouble, and you refused to give it to me."

"No, Caroline," he interrupted, "I didn't refuse, you only thought I did."

She held up her hand. "Please let me go on," she begged. "I thought you refused, and I couldn't understand why. I was hurt and angry. I knew that father never would have refused me under such circumstances, and you were his brother. But since then, only to-day, I have learned that I was wrong. I have learned—"

She paused. The captain was silent. He was beginning to hope, to believe once more in his judgment of character; and yet, with his hope and growing joy, there was a trifle of anxiety.

"I have learned," went on his niece, "that I was mistaken. I can't understand yet why you wished to wait before saying yes, but I do know that it must have been neither because you were unkind nor ungenerous. I have just come from those poor people, and they have told me everything."

Captain Elisha started. "What did they tell you?" he asked, quickly. "Who told you?"

"Annie and her mother. They told me what you had done and were doing for them. How kind you had been all through the illness and to-day. Oh, I know you made them promise not to tell me; and you made the doctor and nurse promise, too. But I knew someone had helped, and Annie dropped a hint. Then I suspected, and now I know. Those poor people!"

The captain, who had been looking at the floor, and frowning a bit, suddenly glanced up to find his niece's eyes fixed upon him, and they were filled with tears.

"Will you forgive me?" she asked, rising from her chair, and coming impulsively toward him. "I'm sorry I misjudged you and treated you so. You must be a very good man. Please forgive me."

He took her hand, which was swallowed up in his big one. His eyes were moist, also.

"Lord love you, dearie," he said, "there's nothin' to forgive. I realized that I must have seemed like a mean, stingy old scamp. Yet I didn't mean to be. I only wanted to look into this thing just a little. Just as a matter of business, you know. And I.... Caroline, did that doctor tell you anything more?"

"Any more?" she repeated in bewilderment. "He told me that you were the kindest man he had ever seen."

"Yes, yes. Well, maybe his eyesight's poor. What I mean is did he tell you anything about anybody else bein' in this with me?"

"Anybody else? What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothin', nothin'. I joked with him a spell ago about a wealthy relation of the Moriarty tribe turnin' up. 'Twas only a joke, of course. And yet, Caroline, I—I think I'd ought to say—"

He hesitated. What could he say? Even a hint might lead to embarrassing questions and he had promised Dunn.

"What ought you to say?" asked his niece.

"Why, nothin', I guess. I'm glad you understand matters a little better and I don't intend for the estate nor you to pay these Moriarty bills. Just get 'em off your mind. Forget 'em. I'll see that everything's attended to. And, later on, if you and me can, by puttin' our heads together, help those folks to earnin' a better livin', why, we will, hey?"

The girl smiled up at him. "I think," she said, "that you must be one who likes to hide his light under a bushel."

"I guess likely a two-quart measure'd be plenty big enough to hide mine. There! there! We won't have any more misunderstandin's, will we? I'm a pretty green vegetable and about as out of place here as a lobster in a balloon, but, as I said to you and Steve once before, if you'll just remember I am green and sort of rough, and maybe make allowances accordin', this cruise of ours may not be so unpleasant. Now you run along and get ready for dinner, or the Commodore'll petrify from standin' so long behind your chair."

She laughed, as she turned to go. "I should hate to have him do that," she said. "He would make a depressing statue. I shall see you again in a few minutes, at dinner. Thank you—Uncle."

She left Captain Elisha in a curious state of mind. Against his will he had been forced to accept thanks and credit which, he believed, did not rightfully belong to him. It was the only thing to do, and yet it seemed almost like disloyalty to Malcolm Dunn. This troubled him, but the trouble was, just then, a mere pinhead of blackness against the radiance of his spirit.

His brother's daughter had, for the first time, called him uncle.



CHAPTER X

"Captain Warren," asked Caroline, as they were seated at the breakfast table next morning, "what are your plans for to-day?"

Captain Elisha put down his coffee cup and pulled his beard reflectively. Contrary to his usual desire since he came to the apartment to live, he was in no hurry to finish the meal. This breakfast and the dinner of the previous evening had been really pleasant. He had enjoyed them. His niece had not called him uncle again, it is true, and perhaps that was too much to be expected as yet, but she was cheerful and even familiar. They talked as they ate, and he had not been made to feel that he was the death's head at the feast. The change was marked and very welcome. The bright winter sunshine streaming through the window indicated that the conditions outside were also just what they should be.

"Well," he replied, with a smile, "I don't know, Caroline, as I've made any definite plans. Let's see, to-day's Sunday, ain't it? Last letter I got from Abbie she sailed into me because, as she said, I seemed to have been 'most everywheres except to meetin'. She figgers New York's a heathen place, anyhow, and she cal'lates I'm gettin' to be a backslider like the rest. I didn't know but I might go to church."

Caroline nodded. "I wondered if you wouldn't like to go," she said. "I am going, and I thought perhaps you would go with me."

Her uncle had again raised his cup to his lips. Now he set it down with a suddenness which caused the statuesque Edwards to bend forward in anticipation of a smash. The captain started to speak, thought better of it, and stared at his niece so intently that she colored and dropped her eyes.

"I know," she faltered, "that I haven't asked you before, but—but—" then, with the impulsiveness which was one of her characteristics, and to her guardian her great charm, she looked him full in the face and added, "but I hoped you would understand that—that I understood a little better. I should like to have your company very much."

Captain Elisha drew a long breath.

"Thank you, Caroline," he answered. "I appreciate your askin' me, I sartinly do. And I'd rather go with you than anybody else on earth. But I was cal'latin' to hunt up some little round-the-corner chapel, or Bethel, where I'd feel a little bit at home. I guess likely your church is a pretty big one, ain't it?"

"We attend Saint Denis. It IS a large church, but we have always been connected with it. Stephen and I were christened there. But, of course, if you had rather go somewhere else—"

"No, no! I hadn't anywhere in particular to go. I'm a Congregationalist to home, but Abbie says I've spread my creed so wide that it ain't more'n an inch deep anywhere, and she shouldn't think 'twould keep me afloat. I tell her I'd rather navigate a broad and shallow channel, where everybody stands by to keep his neighbor off the shoals, than I would a narrow and crooked one with self-righteousness off both beams and perdition underneath.

"You see," he added, reflectively, "the way I look at it, it's a pretty uncertain cruise at the best. Course there's all sorts of charts, and every fleet is sartin it's got the only right one. But I don't know. We're afloat—that much we are sure of—but the port we left and the harbor we're bound for, they're always out of sight in the fog astern and ahead. I know lots of folks who claim to see the harbor, and see it plain; but they don't exactly agree as to what they see. As for me, I've come to the conclusion that we must steer as straight a course as we can, and when we meet a craft in distress, why, do our best to help her. The rest of it I guess we must leave to the Owner, to the One that launched us. I.... Good land!" he exclaimed, coming out of his meditation with a start, "I'm preachin' a sermon ahead of time. And the Commodore's goin' to sleep over it, I do believe."

The butler, who had been staring vacantly out of the window during the captain's soliloquy, straightened at the sound of his nickname, and asked hastily, "Yes, sir? What will you have, sir?" Captain Elisha laughed in huge enjoyment, and his niece joined him.

"Well," she said, "will you go with me?"

"I'd like to fust-rate—if you won't be too much ashamed of me."

"Then it's settled, isn't it? The service begins at a quarter to eleven. We will leave here at half-past ten."

The captain shaved with extra care that morning, donned spotless linen, including a "stand-up" collar—which he detested—brushed his frock-coat and his hair with great particularity, and gave Edwards his shoes to clean. He would have shined them himself, as he always did at home, but on a former occasion when he asked for the "blackin' kit," the butler's shocked and pained expression led to questions and consequent enlightenment.

He was ready by a quarter after ten, but when his niece knocked at his door she bore a message which surprised and troubled him.

"Mrs. Dunn called," she said, "to ask me to go to church with her. I told her I had invited you to accompany me. Would you mind if she joined us?"

Her guardian hesitated. "I guess," he answered, slowly, "it ain't so much a question of my mindin' her as she mindin' me. Does she want me to go along?"

"She said she should be delighted."

"I want to know! Now, Caroline, don't you think I'd be sort of in the way? Don't you believe she'd manage to live down her disappointment if I didn't tag on? You mustn't feel that you've got to be bothered with me because you suggested my goin', you know."

"If I had considered it a bother I should not have invited you. If you don't wish Mrs. Dunn's company, then you and I will go alone."

"Oh, land sakes! I wouldn't have you do that for the world! All right, I'll be out in a jiffy."

He gave his hair a final brush, straightened his tie, turned around once more before the mirror, and walked fearfully forth to meet the visitor. For him, the anticipated pleasure of the forenoon had been replaced by uneasy foreboding.

But Mrs. Corcoran Dunn, as she rose creakingly to greet him, was extremely gracious. She was gowned and furred and hatted in a manner which caused the captain to make hasty mental estimate as to cost, but she extended a plump hand, buttoned in a very tight glove, and murmured her gratification.

"I'm so glad you are to accompany us, Captain Warren," she gushed. "It is a charming winter morning, isn't it?"

Captain Elisha touched the plump glove with his own big finger tips, and admitted that the morning was "fust-rate." He was relieved from the embarrassment of further conversation just then by Caroline's appearance in the library. She, too, was richly dressed.

"Are we all ready?" she asked, brightly. "Then we may as well start."

"I'm afraid we're a trifle early, my dear," said Mrs. Dunn, "but we can stroll about a bit before we go in."

The captain looked at the library clock. The time was a quarter to eleven.

"Early?" he exclaimed, involuntarily. "Why, I thought Caroline said—"

He stopped, suddenly, realizing that he had spoken aloud. His niece divined his thought and laughed merrily.

"The service does begin now," she said, "but no one is ever on time."

"Oh!" ejaculated her uncle, and did not speak again until they were at the door of the church. Then Caroline asked him what he was thinking.

"Nothin' much," he answered, gazing at the fashionably garbed throng pouring under the carved stone arch of the entrance; "I was just reorganizin' my ideas, that's all. I've always sort of thought a plug hat looked lonesome. Now I've decided that I'm wearin' the lonesome kind."

He marched behind his niece and Mrs. Dunn up the center aisle to the Warren pew. He wrote his housekeeper afterwards that he estimated that aisle to be "upwards of two mile long. And my Sunday shoes had a separate squeak for every inch," he added.

Once seated, however, and no longer so conspicuous, his common sense and Yankee independence came to his rescue. He had been in much bigger churches than this one, while abroad during his seagoing years. He knew that his clothes were not fashionably cut, and that, to the people about him, he must appear odd and, perhaps, even ridiculous. But he remembered how odd certain city people appeared while summering at South Denboro. Recollections of pointed comments made by boatmen who had taken these summer sojourners on fishing excursions came to his mind. Well, he had one advantage over such people, at any rate, he knew when he was ridiculous, and they apparently did not.

So, saved from humiliation by his sense of humor, he looked about him with interest. When the procession of choir boys came up the aisle, and Mrs. Dunn explained in a condescending whisper what they were, his answer surprised her a trifle. "Yes," whispered the captain in reply, "I know. I've seen the choir in Saint Peter's at Rome."

Only once did he appear greatly astonished. That was when the offering was taken and a certain dignified magnate, whose fame as a king of finance is world-wide, officiated as one of the collectors.

"Heavens and earth!" murmured Captain Elisha, staring wide-eyed at the unmistakable features so often pictured and cartooned in the daily papers; "Caroline—Caroline, am I seein' things or is that—is that—"

"That is Mr. ——," whispered his niece. "He is one of the vestrymen here."

"My soul!" still gazing after the Emperor of Wall Street; "Him passin' the plate! Well," with a grim smile, "whoever picked him out for the job has got judgment. If he can't make a body shell out, nobody can."

He listened to the sermon, the text of which was from the Beatitudes, with outward solemnity, but with a twinkle in his eye. After the benediction, when Caroline asked how he enjoyed it, the cause of the twinkle became apparent.

"Fine!" he declared, with enthusiasm. "He's a smart preacher, ain't he! And he knew his congregation. You might not guess they was meek perhaps, but they certainly did look as if they'd inherited the earth."

He drew a breath of relief as the trio emerged into the open air. He had enjoyed the novel experience, in a way, but now he felt rather like one let out of jail. The quiet luncheon at home with Caroline was a pleasant anticipation.

But Mrs. Corcoran Dunn smashed his anticipation at a blow. She insisted that he and his niece lunch with her.

"You really must, you know," she declared. "It will be delightful. Just a little family party."

Captain Elisha looked distressed. "Thank you, ma'am," he stammered; "it's awful kind of you, but I wouldn't feel right to go puttin' you to all that trouble. Just as much obliged, but I—I've got a letter to write, you see."

Mrs. Dunn bore his refusal bravely.

"Very well," she said, "but Caroline must come with me. I told Malcolm I should bring her."

"Sure! Sartin! Caroline can go, of course."

But Caroline also declined. Having misjudged her guardian in the matter of the Moriarty family, she was in a repentant mood, and had marked that day on her calendar as one of self-sacrifice.

"No, Captain Warren," she said, "I shall not go unless you do."

"Then the captain will come, of course," declared Mrs. Dunn, with decision. "I'm sure he will not be so selfish as to deprive me—and Malcolm—of your company."

So, because he did not wish to appear selfish, Captain Elisha admitted that his letter might be written later in the afternoon, accepted the invitation, and braced his spirit for further martyrdom.

It was not as bad as he expected. The Dunns occupied a small, brown-stone house on Fifth Avenue, somewhat old-fashioned, but eminently respectable. The paintings and bronzes were as numerous as those in the Warren apartment, and if the taste shown in their selection was not that of Rodgers Warren, the connoisseur, they made quite as much show, and the effect upon Captain Elisha was the same. The various mortgages on the property were not visible, and the tradesmen's bills were securely locked in Mrs. Dunn's desk.

The luncheon itself was elaborate, and there was a butler whose majestic dignity and importance made even Edwards seem plebeian by comparison.

Malcolm was at home when they arrived, irreproachably dressed and languidly non-effusive, as usual. Captain Elisha, as he often said, did not "set much store" by clothes; but there was something about this young man which always made him conscious that his own trousers were a little too short, or his boots too heavy, or something. "I wouldn't wear a necktie like his," he wrote Abbie, after his first meeting with Malcolm, "but blessed if I don't wish I could if I would!"

Caroline, in the course of conversation during the luncheon, mentioned the Moriartys and their sorrow. The captain tried to head her off and to change the subject, but with little success. He was uncomfortable and kept glancing under his brows at Malcolm, with whom, under the circumstances, he could not help sympathizing to an extent. But his sympathy was wasted. The young man did not appear in the slightest degree nervous. The memory of his recent interview with Captain Elisha did not embarrass him, outwardly at least, half as much as it did the captain. He declared that old Pat's death was beastly hard luck, but accidents were bound to happen. It was a shame, and all that. "If there's anything the mater and I can do, Caroline, call on us, of course."

"Yes, do, Caroline," concurred his mother. "However, one must be philosophic in such cases. It is a mercy that people in their station do not feel grief and loss as we do. Providence, in its wisdom, has limited their susceptibilities as it has their intelligence. Don't you agree with me, Captain Warren?"

"Sartin!" was the prompt reply. "It's always a comfort to me, when I go fishin', to know that the fish ain't got so much brains as I have. The hook hurts, I presume likely, but they ain't got the sense to realize what a mean trick's been played on 'em. The one that's caught's dead, and them that are left are too busy hustlin' for the next meal to waste much time grievin'. That eases my conscience consider'ble."

Caroline seemed to be the only one who appreciated the sarcasm in this observation. She frowned slightly. Mrs. Corcoran Dunn tolerantly smiled, and her son laughed aloud.

"Say, Admiral," he commented, "when it comes to philosophy you go some yourself, don't you?"

"Um-hm. I can be as philosophical about other folk's troubles as anybody I ever see." Then, with an involuntary chuckle of admiration at the young gentleman's coolness, he added, "That is, anybody I ever see afore I come to New York."

Malcolm opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again. The captain, noticing his change of purpose and following the direction of his look, saw Mrs. Dunn shake her head in sharp disapproval. He ate the remainder of his salad in silence, but he thought a good deal.

"And now," said Mrs. Dunn, rising and leading the way to the drawing-room, "we must all go for a motor ride. Everyone rides on Sunday afternoon," she explained, turning to her male guest.

The distressed look returned to Captain Elisha's face. His niece saw it, understood, and came to his rescue.

"I think Captain Warren prefers to be excused," she said, smiling. "He has a prejudice against automobiles."

"No!" drawled Malcolm, the irrepressible. "Not really? Admiral, I'm surprised! In these days, you know!"

"It ain't so much the automobiles," snapped Captain Elisha, irritation getting the better of his discretion, "as 'tis the devilish fools that—"

"Yes? Oh, all right, Mater."

"That are careless enough to get in the way of them," finished the captain, with surprising presence of mind. "Still, if Caroline wants to go—"

"I have it!" exclaimed Mrs. Dunn. "The young people shall go, and the others remain at home. Malcolm shall take you for a spin, Caroline, and Captain Warren and I will stay here and wait until you return. We'll have a family chat, Captain, won't we? Because," with a gay laugh, "in a way we are like one family, you see."

And, somewhat to Miss Warren's surprise, her uncle agreed to this proposition. He did not answer immediately, but, when he did, it was with heartiness.

"Why, yes," he said, "that's a good idea. That's fust-rate. You young folks go, and Mrs. Dunn and I'll wait here till you come back. That's the way of the world—young folks on the go, and the old folks at home by the fire, hey, Mrs. Dunn?"

The lady addressed did not relish being numbered with "old folks," but she smiled sweetly, and said she supposed it was. Malcolm telephoned to the garage and to Edwards at the Warren apartment, ordering the butler to deliver his mistress's auto cap and cloak to the chauffeur, who would call for them. A few minutes later the yellow car rolled up to the door.

In the hall Mrs. Dunn whispered a reassuring word to her departing guest.

"Now enjoy yourself, dear," she whispered. "Have a nice ride and don't worry about me. If he—if our encumbrance bores me too much I shall—well, I shall plead a headache and leave him to his own devices. Besides, he isn't so very dreadful, is he?"

Caroline shook her head. "No," she answered, "he is a good man. I understand him better than I did and—yes, I like him better, too."

"Oh!... Indeed! Well, good-by, dear. Good-by."

The yellow car roared as the chauffeur cranked it, then moved off up the crowded avenue. Mrs. Dunn watched it until it was out of sight. Her brows were drawn together, and she seemed puzzled and just a bit disconcerted. However, when she returned to the drawing-room, her gracious smile had returned, and her bland condescension was again in evidence.

Captain Elisha had been standing by the window. She begged him to be seated. He thanked her, but looked dubiously at the Louis XVI chair indicated. She noticed the look.

"Suppose we go into the library," she said. "It is much less formal. And there is a fire—for us old folks," with a slight accent on the word.

The library was more homelike. Not as many books as at the Warrens', but a great deal of gilt in the bindings and much carving on the cases. The fire was cheery, and the pair sat down before it in big easy chairs. Mrs. Dunn looked intently at the glowing coals.

Captain Elisha cleared his throat. Mrs. Dunn leaned forward expectantly. The captain coughed and sank back in his chair.

"Yes?" purred the lady. "You were about to say?"

"Me? Oh, no, I didn't say anything."

Another period of silence. Mrs. Dunn's foot tapped the rug impatiently. She wished him to begin the conversation, and he would not. At length, in desperation, she began it herself.

"I suppose you find New York rather different from—er—North—er—"

"From South Denboro? Yes, ma'am."

"Do you like the city life?"

"Well, I don't know, ma'am."

"Not as well as you do that of the country, doubtless."

"Well, you see, I ain't had so much of it."

"No, of course not. It does so depend upon what one is accustomed to. Now I fancy I should be perfectly desperate in your village."

One corner of Captain Elisha's mouth curled upward.

"I shouldn't be surprised," he admitted.

"Desperately lonely, I mean."

"Yes'm. I judged that was what you meant. Still, folks can be lonesome in New York."

"Perhaps. But really I don't see how. With all the whirl and the crowds and the glorious excitement. The feeling that one is at the very heart, the center of everything!"

"Yes. If you belong to the machinery, I s'pose it's all right. But if you've been leanin' over the rail, lookin' on, and get pushed in unexpected, maybe you don't care so much about bein' nigh the center."

"Then why stay there? Why not get out?"

"If you're caught in the wheels, gettin' out's somethin' of a job."

"But, as I understand it, Captain Warren—I may be misinformed, for, of course, I haven't been unduly curious concerning your family affairs—as I understand it, you were not obliged to remain among the—among the wheels, as you call them. You could have gotten out quite easily, couldn't you?"

"I presume likely I could. But, you see, ma'am, I had a feelin' that I'd ought to stay."

Mrs. Dunn laughed lightly. "Ah me!" she exclaimed; "you felt it your duty, I suppose. Oh, you New England Puritans!"

She shook her head in playful mockery. Then she added, "But, at all events, it cannot be so very disagreeable—now. I have no doubt it was—well, not comfortable for you at first. Steve and Caroline were quite impossible—really quite furious. Your sudden appearance in the capacity of guardian was too much for them. They were sure you must be a perfect ogre, Captain. I had to use all my eloquence to convince them they would not be devoured alive. But now—what a change! Why, already Caroline accepts you as—well, almost like an old friend, like myself. In the last few days this change in her attitude is quite marked. What have you done? Are you a wizard? Do tell me!"

This appeal, delivered with eloquence and most engaging play of brow and eye, should have been irresistible. Unfortunately the captain did not appear to have heard it. Leaning forward, his hands clasped between his knees, he was gazing into the fire. And when he spoke, it was as if he were thinking aloud.

"I s'pose 'tis a sort of disease, this duty business," he mused. "And most diseases ain't cheerful visitations. Still a feller ought not to growl about it in public. I always did hate for a man to be goin' about forever complainin' of his sufferin's—whether they was from duty or rheumatiz."

Mrs. Dunn's lips snapped shut. She pressed them together impatiently. Evidently her questions, and their diplomatic prelude, had been unheard and wasted. However, she did not intend to be sidetracked or discouraged.

"One should not prate of one's duty, of course," she agreed. "Not that you do—far from it. But, as I was saying, our dear Caroline has—"

"Thank you, ma'am. I hope I don't groan too loud. Do you know, I believe climate has a bearin' on duty, same as it has on rheumatics. I s'pose you city folks"—and there was almost contempt in the words—"are sort of Christian Science, and figger it's an 'error'—hey? Somethin' to be forgot."

The lady resented the interruption, and the contempt nettled her.

"Not at all!" she retorted. "We city dwellers have our duties, also."

"Is that a fact? I want to know!"

"Certainly it is a fact," tartly. "I have my duties and many of them."

"Um! So? Well, I s'pose you do feel you must dress just so, and live just so, and do just such and such things. If you call those duties, why—"

"I do. What else are they, pray?"

Mrs. Dunn was finding it difficult to keep her temper. To be catechised in this contemptuously lofty manner by one to whom she considered herself so immensely superior, was too much. She forgot the careful plan of campaign which she had intended to follow in this interview, and now interrupted in her turn. And Captain Elisha, who also was something of a strategist, smiled at the fire.

"We do have our social duties, our duties to society," snapped the widow, hotly. "They are necessary ones. Having been born—or risen to—a certain circle, we recognize the responsibilities attached to it. We are careful with whom we associate; we have to be. As for dress, we dress as others of our friends do."

"And maybe a little better, if you can, hey?"

"If we can—yes. I presume—" with crushing irony—"dress in South Denboro counts but little."

"You wouldn't say that if you ever went to sewin' circle," with a chuckle. "Still, compared to the folks at your meetin'-house this morning, our congregation would look like a flock of blackbirds alongside of a cage full of Birds of Paradise. But most of us—the women folks especial—dress as well as we can."

"As well as you can!" triumphantly. "There! you see? And you live as well as you can, don't you?"

"If you mean style, why, we don't set as much store by it as you do."

"Nonsense! We are obliged to be," with a slight shudder at the vulgarism, "stylish. If we should lapse, if we should become shabby and behind the fashion or live in that way, people would wonder and believe it was because we could not afford to do otherwise."

"Well, s'pose they did, you'd know better yourselves. Can't you be independent?"

"No. Not unless you are very, very rich; then it might be considered an eccentricity. Independence is a costly luxury, and few can afford it."

"But suppose you can't afford the other thing?"

"Then we must pretend we can. Oh, you don't understand! So much depends upon a proper appearance. Everything depends upon it—one's future, one's children's future—everything."

"Humph!" with the same irritating smile, "I should think that might mean some plannin'. And plans, the best of 'em, are likely to go wrong. You talk about the children in your—in what you call your 'circle.' How can you plan what they'll do? You might when they was little, perhaps; but when they grow up it's different."

"It is not. It can't be! And, if they have been properly reared and understand their responsibilities, they plan with you."

"Land sakes! You mean—why, s'pose they take a notion to get married? I'm an old bach, of course, but the average young girl or feller is subject to that sort of ailment, 'cordin' to the records. S'pose one of your circle's daughters gets to keepin' company with a chap who's outside the ring? A promisin', nice boy enough, but poor, and a rank outsider? Mean to say she sha'n't marry him if she wants to."

"Certainly! That sort of marriage is never a happy one, unless, of course, the girl is wealthy enough not to care. And even then it is not advisable. All their customs and habits of thought are different. No! Emphatically, no! And the girl, if she is sensible and well reared, as I have said, will understand it is impossible."

"My soul and body! Then you mean to tell me that she must look out for some chap in her crowd? If she ain't got but just enough to keep inside the circle—this grand whirlamagig you're tellin' me about—if she's pretendin' up to the limit of her income or over, then it's her duty, and her ma and pa's duty, to set her cap for a man who's nigher the center pole in the tent and go right after him? Do you tell me that? That's a note, I must say!"

Mrs. Dunn's foot beat a lively tattoo on the rug. "I don't know what you mean by a 'note,'" she commented, with majestic indignation. "I have not lived in South Denboro, and perhaps my understanding of English is defective. But marriages among cultivated people, society people, intelligent, ambitious people are, or should be, the result of thought and planning. Others are impossible!"

"How about this thing we read so much about in novels?—Love, I believe they call it."

"Love! Love is well enough, but it does not, of itself, pay for proper clothes, or a proper establishment, or seats at the opera, or any of the practical, necessary things of modern life. You can't keep up a presentable appearance on love! If I had a daughter who lacked the brains to understand what I had taught her, that is, her duty as a member of good society, and talked of making a love match, I would.... But there! You can't understand, I suppose."

She rose and shook the wrinkles from her gown. Captain Elisha straightened in his chair. "Why, yes, ma'am," he drawled, quietly; "yes, ma'am, I guess I understand fust-rate."

And suddenly Mrs. Dunn also understood. Her face, which had grown almost too red for one attached to a member of polite society, grew redder still. She turned away and walked to the window.

"What nonsense we've been talking!" she said, after a moment's silence. "I don't see what led us into this silly discussion. Malcolm and your niece must be having a delightful ride. I almost wish I had gone with them."

She did wish it, devoutly. Captain Elisha still remained by the fire.

"Automobiles are great things for hustlin' around in," he observed. "Pity they're such dangerous playthings. Yet I s'pose they're one of the necessities of up-to-date folks, same as you said, Mrs. Dunn."

"Surely," she asked coldly, "you don't condemn automobiles, Captain Warren? What would you—return to stage coaches?"

"Not a mite! But I was thinkin' of that poor Moriarty man."

"His death was due to an accident. And accidents," she turned and looked directly at him, "when they involve financial damages, may be paid for."

The captain nodded. "Yes," he said.

"And when arrangements for such payment is made, honorable people—at least, in the circle of which you and I have been speaking—consider the matter settled and do not refer to it again, either among themselves—or elsewhere."

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded again. She did know; Malcolm, evidently, had told her. "Yes, ma'am. That's the way any decent person would feel—and act—if such a thing happened—even if they hailed from South Denboro."

He pushed back his chair and stood up. She continued to look him over, much as if she were taking a mental inventory of his character, or revising an old one.

"I hope," she said, lightly, but with deliberation, "our little argument and—er—slight disagreement concerning—er—duty will not make us enemies, Captain Warren."

"Enemies! Land sakes, no! I respect anybody's havin' opinions and not bein' afraid to give 'em. And I think I can understand some of how you feel. Maybe if I was anchored here on Fifth Avenue, same as you are, instead of bein' blown in by an unexpected no'theaster, I'd be feelin' the same way. It's all accordin', as I've said so often. Enemies? No, indeed!"

She laughed again. "I'm so glad!" she said. "Malcolm declares he'd be quite afraid of me—as an enemy. He seems to think I possess some mysterious and quite diabolical talent for making my un-friends uncomfortable, and declares he would compromise rather than fight me at any time. Of course it's ridiculous—just one of his jokes—and I'm really harmless and very much afraid. That's why I want you and me to be friends, Captain Warren."

"Sure!" Captain Elisha nodded emphatically. "That's what I want, too."

But that evening, immediately after his return to the apartment, when—Caroline having gone to her own room to remove her wraps—he and the butler were alone, he characteristically unburdened his mind.

"Mr. Warren, sir," said Edwards, "a young gentleman left a note here for you this afternoon. The elevator man gave it to me, sir. It's on your dressing table, sir."

The captain's answer had nothing whatever to do with the note. He had been thinking of other things.

"Commodore," he said, "I've got the answer."

"To the note? Already, sir? I didn't know you'd seen it."

"I ain't. I've got the answer to the conundrum. It's Mother!"

"Mother, sir? I—I don't know what you mean."

"I do. The answer's Mother. Sonny don't count, though he may think he does. But Mother's the whole team and the dog under the wagon. And, Commodore, we've got to trot some if we want to keep ahead of that team! Don't you forget it!"

He went to his room, leaving the bewildered butler to retire to the kitchen, where he informed the cook that the old man was off his head worse than common to-night.

"Blessed if he don't think he's a trotting horse!" said Edwards.



CHAPTER XI

The note on the dining room table proved, to the captain's delight, to be from James Pearson. It was brief and to the point.

"Why don't you come and see me?" wrote the young man. "I've been expecting you, and you promised to come. Have you forgotten my address? If so, here it is. I expect to be in all day to-morrow."

The consequence of this was that eleven o'clock the next day found Captain Elisha pulling the bell at a brick house in a long brick block on a West Side street. The block had evidently been, in its time, the homes of well-to-do people, but now it was rather dingy and gone to seed. Across the street the first floors were, for the most part, small shops, and in the windows above them doctors' signs alternated with those of modistes, manicure artists, and milliners.

The captain had come a roundabout way, stopping in at the Moriarty flat, where he found Mrs. Moriarty in a curious state of woe and tearful pride. "Oh, what will I do, sir?" she moaned. "When I think he's gone, it seems as if I'd die, too. But, thanks to you and Miss Warren—Mary make it up to her!—my Pat'll have the finest funeral since the Guinny saloon man was buried. Ah, if he could have lived to see it, he'd have died content!"

The pull at the boarding-house bell was answered by a rather slatternly maid, who informed the visitor that she guessed Mr. Pearson was in; he 'most always was around lunch time. So Captain Elisha waited in a typical boarding-house parlor, before a grate with no fire in it and surrounded by walnut and plush furniture, until Pearson himself came hurrying downstairs.

"Say, you're a brick, Captain Warren!" he declared, as they shook hands. "I hoped you'd come to-day. Why haven't you before?"

The captain explained his having mislaid the address.

"Oh, was that it? Then I'm glad I reminded you. Rather a cheeky thing to do, but I've been a reporter, and nerve is necessary in that profession. I began to be afraid living among the blue-bloods had had its effect, and you were getting finicky as to your acquaintances."

"You didn't believe any such thing."

"Didn't I? Well, perhaps I didn't. Come up to my room. I think we can just about squeeze in, if you don't mind sitting close."

Pearson's room was on the third flight, at the front of the house. Through the window one saw the upper half of the buildings opposite, and above them a stretch of sky. The bed was a small brass and iron affair, but the rest of the furniture was of good quality, the chairs were easy and comfortable, and the walls were thickly hung with photographs, framed drawings, and prints.

"I put those up to cover the wall paper," explained the host. "I don't offer them as an art collection, but as a screen. Sit down. Put your coat on the bed. Shall I close the window? I usually keep the upper half open to let out the pipe smoke. Otherwise I might not be able to navigate without fog signals."

His visitor chuckled, followed directions with his coat and hat, and sat down. Pearson took the chair by the small flat-topped desk.

"How about that window?" he asked. "Shall I shut it?"

"No, no! We'll be warm enough, I guess. You've got steam heat, I see."

"You mean you hear. Those pipes make noise enough to wake the dead. At first I thought I couldn't sleep because of the racket they made. Now I doubt if I could without it. Would you consider a cigar, Captain?"

"Hum! I don't usually stop to consider. But I tell you, Jim—just now you said something about a pipe. I've got mine aboard, but I ain't dared to smoke it since I left South Denboro. If you wouldn't mind—"

"Not a bit. Tobacco in this jar on the desk. I keep a temporary supply in my jacket pocket. Matches? Here you are! What do you think of my—er—stateroom?"

"Think it makes nice, snug quarters," was the prompt answer.

"Humph! Snug is a good word. Much like living in an omnibus, but it answers the purpose. I furnished it myself, except for the bed. The original bureau had pictures of cauliflowers painted on each drawer front. Mrs. Hepton—my landlady—was convinced that they were roses. I told her she might be right, but, at all events, looking at them made me hungry. Perhaps she noticed the effect on my appetite and was willing for me to substitute."

The captain laughed. Then, pointing, he asked: "What's that handbill?"

The "handbill" was a fair-sized poster announcing the production at the "Eureka Opera House" of the "Thrilling Comedy-Drama, The Golden Gods." Pearson looked at it, made a face, and shook his head.

"That," he said, "is my combined crusher and comforter. It is the announcement of the first, and next to the last, performance of a play I wrote in my calf days. The 'Eureka Opera House' is—or was, if the 'gods' weren't too much for it—located at Daybury, Illinois. I keep that bill to prevent my conceit getting away with me. Also, when I get discouraged over my novel, it reminds me that, however bad the yarn may turn out to be, I have committed worse crimes."

This led to the captain's asking about the novel and how it was progressing. His companion admitted having made some progress, more in the line of revision than anything else. He had remodeled his hero somewhat, in accordance with his new friend's suggestions during their interview at the Warren apartment, and had introduced other characters, portrait sketches from memory of persons whom he had known in his boyhood days in the Maine town. He read a few chapters aloud, and Captain Elisha waxed almost enthusiastic over them.

Then followed a long discussion over a point of seamanship, the handling of a bark in a gale. It developed that the young author's knowledge of saltwater strategy was extensive and correct in the main, though somewhat theoretical. That of his critic was based upon practice and hard experience. He cited this skipper and that as examples, and carried them through no'theasters off Hatteras and typhoons in the Indian Ocean. The room, in spite of the open window, grew thick with pipe smoke, and the argument was punctuated by thumps on the desk and chair arms, and illustrated by diagrams drawn by the captain's forefinger on the side of the dresser. The effects of oil on breaking rollers, the use of a "sea-anchor" over the side to "hold her to it," whether or not a man was justified in abandoning his ship under certain given circumstances, these were debated pro and con. Always Pearson's "Uncle Jim" was held up as the final authority, the paragon of sea captains, by the visitor, and, while his host pretended to agree, with modest reservations, in this estimate of his relative, he was more and more certain that his hero was bound to become a youthful edition of Elisha Warren himself—and he thanked the fates which had brought this fine, able, old-school mariner to his door.

At length, Captain Elisha, having worked "Uncle Jim" into a safe harbor after a hundred mile cruise under jury jig, with all hands watch and watch at the pumps, leaned forward in triumph to refill his pipe. Having done so, his eyes remained fixed upon a photograph standing, partially hidden by a leather collar box, upon the dresser. He looked at it intently, then rose and took it in his hand.

"Well, I swan!" he exclaimed. "Either what my head's been the fullest of lately has struck to my eyesight, or else—why, say, Jim, that's Caroline, ain't it?"

Pearson colored and seemed embarrassed. "Yes," he answered, "that is Miss Warren."

"Humph! Good likeness, too! But what kind of rig has she got on? I've seen her wear a good many dresses—seems to have a different one for every day, pretty nigh—but I never saw her in anything like that. Looks sort of outlandish; like one of them foreign girls at Geneva—or Leghorn, say."

"Yes. That is an Italian peasant costume. Miss Warren wore it at a fancy dress ball a year ago."

"Want to know! I-talian peasant, hey! Fifth Avenue peasant with diamonds in her hair. Becomin' to her, ain't it."

"I thought so."

"Yup. She looks pretty enough! But she don't need diamonds nor hand-organ clothes to make her pretty."

Then, looking up from the photograph, he asked, "Give you this picture, did she?"

His friend's embarrassment increased. "No," he answered shortly. Then, after an instant's hesitation. "That ball was given by the Astorbilts and was one of the most swagger affairs of the season. The Planet—the paper with which I was connected—issues a Sunday supplement of half-tone reproductions of photographs. One page was given up to pictures of the ball and the costumes worn there."

"I see. Astonishin' how folks do like to get their faces into print. I used to know an old woman—Aunt Hepsibah Tucker, her name was—she's dead now. The pride of Aunt Hepsy's heart was that she took nineteen bottles of 'Balm of Burdock Tea' and the tea folks printed her picture as a testimonial that she lived through it. Ho, ho! And society big-bugs appear to have the same cravin'."

"Some of them do. But that of your niece was obtained by our society reporter from the photographer who took it. Bribery and corruption, of course. Miss Warren would have been at least surprised to see it in our supplement. I fancied she might not care for so much publicity and suppressed it."

"Um-hm. Well, I guess you did right. I'll thank you for her. By the way, I told Caroline where I was cal'latin' to go this mornin', and she wished to be remembered to you."

Pearson seemed pleased, but he made no comment. Captain Elisha blew a smoke ring from his pipe.

"And say, Jim," he added, embarrassed in his turn, "I hope you won't think I'm interferin' in your affairs, but are you still set against comin' up to where I live? I know you said you had a reason, but are you sure it's a good one?"

He waited for an answer but none came. Pearson was gazing out of the window. The captain looked at his watch and rose.

"I guess I'll have to be goin'," he said. "It's after twelve now."

His host swung around in his chair. "Sit down, Captain," he said. "I've been doing a lot of thinking since I saw you, and I'm not sure about that reason. I believe I'll ask your advice. It is a delicate matter, and it involves your brother. You may see it as he did, and, if so, our friendship ends, I suppose. But I'm going to risk it.

"Mr. Rodgers Warren and I," he went on, "were well acquainted during the latter part of my newspaper work. I was financial man on the Planet, and some articles I wrote took your brother's fancy. At all events, he wrote me concerning them in highly complimentary terms and asked me to call and see him at his office. I did so and—well, we became very friendly, so much so that he invited me to his house. I dined there several times, was invited to call often, and—I enjoyed it. You see, I had few friends in the city, outside my journalistic acquaintances, and I suppose I was flattered by Mr. Warren's kindness and the fancy he seemed to have taken to me. And I liked Miss Warren—no one could help that—and I believed she liked me."

"She does like you," interrupted his companion, with surprise. "Caroline's a good girl."

"Yes, she is. However, she isn't in this story, except as a side-issue. At this time my ambitions were for a newspaper career, and I thought I was succeeding. And her father's marked interest and the things he said to me promised more than an ordinary success. He was a well known man on the street, and influential. So my head began to swell, and I dreamed—a lot of foolishness. And then—"

He paused, put down his empty pipe, and sighed.

"Well, then," he continued, "came the upset. I judged from what you said at our previous conversation, Captain, that you were well enough acquainted with Wall Street to know that queer operations take place there. Did you read about the South Shore Trolley business?"