Bayard uttered an exclamation of shocked rebuke and indignation; but the old captain sat rocking to and fro in Mrs. Granite’s best wooden rocking-chair, with the placid expression of those who rest from their labors, and are not afraid that their works should follow them.
“Fellars that’ll take a new fisherman—a regular dandy like that—and smash her onto Ragged Rock, bein’ in the condition those fellars were, ain’t worth savin’!” said the seaman severely. “Your treasurer here, J. B. S. Bond, he says last time he come to see you, says he: ’The whole of ’em warn’t worth our minister!’”
“I must speak to Mr. Bond about that,” said the young man with a clerical ring in his voice. “It wasn’t a proper thing for him to say.—Who was drowned, Captain Hap?”
“Only Johnny,” replied the captain indifferently. “He was born drunk, Johnny was; his father was so before him; and three uncles. He ain’t any great loss.”
“Did you see Johnny’s mother, Captain,—on the cliff, there,—that night?”
“I didn’t take notice of her particular,” replied Captain Hap comfortably. “I see several women round. There’s usually a good many on the rocks, such times.”
“Well, you’ve got me,” said Bayard with a smiling sigh. “I’m a little too weak to play the parson on you yet, you Christian heathen—you stony-hearted minister of mercy!”
“Sho!” said the captain. “’Tain’t fair to call names. I can’t hit back; on a sick man.”
“Very well,” said Bayard, sinking back on his thin, small pillows. “Just go ahead and tell me the whole business, then. Where is Job Slip?”