Anthy smiled. She was now perfectly self-possessed, and it was Nort, the assured, the self-confident, who had become hopelessly awkward and uncertain.
"Come up, Nort!" called the old Captain.
When he entered the bedroom, the old Captain was propped up on the pillows, his thick white hair brushed back from his noble head. He was evidently very much better.
"Captain," said Nort, instantly, before the old Captain had a moment to express his surprise, "have you seen the Sterling Democrat this week?"
"No," said the Captain, starting up in bed. "What's that man Kendrick been doing now?"
"Listen to this," said Nort, pulling the paper out of his pocket and opening it with a vast simulation of excitement, and reading the heading aloud:
"Where was Captain Doane when the flying-machine visited Hempfield?"
"Why, the scoundrel!" exclaimed the old Captain, this time sitting straight up in bed, "the arrant scoundrel!"
As Nort read the paragraph the old Captain sank back on the pillows, and when it was over he remarked in a tone of broad tolerance:
"Nort, what can you expect of a Democrat, anyway?"