“That’s him,” confirmed the seaman in answer to a look from Elizabeth.
“He? A minister?”
“You see now why I wa’n’t strong enough to throw him out, don’t you? I cal’late Eadie Beaver would say the Lord took my strength away, but the Lord don’t need to give that feller a hand. He’s a hull host to himself.”
“He doesn’t look in the least like one,” declared Elizabeth.
“He doesn’t? Why, his arm is as big–––”
“No, no! I mean he doesn’t look like a minister.”
“He ain’t like none I ever see. He used to ship with me during the summer months when he was in school, and he’s man clean to the ground. I can’t see why in tarnation a big feller like him wants to take up such a sissy’s job of piloting a lot of women to heaven.”
“But it isn’t that kind of work, unless one makes it such,” she defended.
Mr. McGowan came to a halt on the opposite edge of the well-curbing. It was very unladylike, and Elizabeth knew it, but in spite of herself she continued to stare.