“He says,” began Mari proudly,
“‘Be hushed, my dark spirit,
The worst that can come’”—
But Captain Hap, who was not in a pious mood, interrupted the maternal translation.
“Folks say that they’ve got into their —— heads their license is in genooine danger. Confine yourself to prayin’ an’ singin’, an’ they don’t deny that’s what you’re hired for. Folks say if you meddle with city politics, there ain’t an insurance company in New England ’u’d take a policy on your life, sir. You might as well hear what’s goin’ on, Mr. Bayard. I don’t suspicion it’ll make no odds to you. I told ’em you wouldn’t tech the politics of this here town with a forty-fathom grapplin’-iron,—no, nor with a harbor-dredger!”
“You’re right there, Captain,” returned Bayard, smiling.
“Then ’tain’t true about the license?” asked the captain anxiously.
“I have nothing to conceal in the matter, Captain,” answered Bayard after a moment’s silence. “There are legalized crimes in Angel Alley which I shall fight till I die. But it will be slow work. I don’t do it by lobbying. I have my own methods, and you must grant me my own counsel.”
“The dawn that rises on the Trawls without their license,” slowly said the captain, “that day, sir, you may as well call on the city marshal for a body-guard. You’ll need it!”
“Oh, you and Job will answer, I fancy,” replied Bayard, laughing.
He went straight home and to bed, where he slept fitfully till nearly noon of the next day. He was so exhausted with watching and excitement, that there is a sense of relief in thinking that the man was granted this one night’s rest before that which was to be befell him.