"Cool as a cucumber, Anthy, cool as a cucumber."
Fergus barked away down inside somewhere, his excuse for a laugh.
"Now, Anthy," said the Captain, "this was to be your surprise."
So he had Anthy sit down in the chair.
"Fine, isn't it?" said he, "regular breeze from Labrador. Greenland's icy mountains."
"Fine!" responded Anthy.
As Anthy sat there, the fan stirring her light hair, a smile on her lips, I saw Nort looking at her in a curious, amused, puzzled way, as though he had just seen her for the first time and couldn't quite account for her. I myself thought she looked a little sad around the eyes: it came to me, indeed, suddenly, what a fine, strong face she had. She sat with her chin slightly lifted, her hands in her lap, an odd, still way she sometimes had. Since I first met Anthy, that day in the office of the Star, I had come to like her better and better. And somehow, deep down inside, I didn't quite like Nort's look.
"We can show 'em a thing or two, eh, Nort?" the Captain was saying.
"We can, Cap'n."
After that, no matter what happened, the Captain swore by Nort. He was a loyal old fellow, and whatever your views might be, whatever you may have done, even though you had sunk to the depths of being a Democrat, if he once came to love you, nothing else mattered. I have sometimes thought that the old Captain really had a deeper influence upon Nort during the weeks that followed than any of us imagined.