“Thanks, Clemmie. I was ’feared you’d be setting out to sea in my dory after hearing that sermon last night,” he said banteringly, with a twinkle in his eyes. “You’d best explain 189 that your meaning was figur’tive, Mack. I looked up that word once and it means–––”
“Josiah Pott! How can you be so cruel!”
With a sob that rose from the depths, Miss Pipkin fled, slamming the kitchen door after her.
“I’ll swear, if she ain’t crying!” exclaimed the surprised seaman. “What in tarnation do you suppose is up, Mack? You don’t cal’late she thought I was relating to her for earnest, do you?”
He rose and started toward the door. Mr. McGowan laid a hand on his friend’s sleeve.
“You’d better leave her alone.”
“But I never meant nothing. She’d otter know that. I’m going to tell her,” he said, pulling away from the minister, and trying the closed door. “Clemmie, be sensible, and come out of there. I didn’t mean nothing, honest, I didn’t.”
But Miss Pipkin did not come out. She did not so much as answer his importunings. When the men were out of the dining-room 190 she went up-stairs, not to appear again that day.
It was afternoon when Mr. McGowan hobbled out of his study, ate a light lunch, put a few sandwiches in his pocket, and started in the direction of the peninsula road that led to the beach.