“Off haddockin’.”
“Sober?”
“So far. He’s come over here half a dozen times, but the doctor wouldn’t let him up to see you. His wife come, too. That woman, she’d kiss the popples[1] underneath your rubber-boots.”
“Where’s Johnny’s mother?”
“They took her to the Widders’ Home yesterday. Some of ’em screeches all the way over. Folks say she never said nothing.”
“What became of all those men—the crew and captain?”
“Why, they waited till ebb, just as I told you. Then they come ashore, the whole twelve on ’em. The crew they come first, and Cap’n Salt—that’s Joe Salt—he follered after. There was some folks waited round to see ’em off—but it come up dreadful thick, spite of the breeze; so thick it had stems to it. You couldn’t see the vessel, not a line of her, and ’twas kinder cold and disagree’ble. So most the folks went home. But they got ashore, every man-jack of ’em alive.”
“Thank God!” breathed the sick man.
“Well,” said the captain, “that’s a matter of opinion. You’ve talked enough, sir.”