“Both. What would you do if there wa’n’t no way to save my place excepting by ruination of the other feller?”
“You’d see him stop for you, wouldn’t you? I’d not give it a second thought, I’d just–––”
“That ain’t it, Clemmie. There’s his darter, the sweetest little thing that God ever made. It would kill her, and I ain’t got no right to hurt her just to save my own skin.”
“You’re right, Josiah.”
“But what I’m to do, I don’t know.”
Mr. McGowan entered with an armful of wood, and as he stooped to drop it into the box Miss Pipkin looked sorrowfully at the Captain and shook her head.
“I’ve done my best,” said the seaman, slowly.
“You’d think he was making his last will 248 and testament from the way he’s talking,” remarked Miss Pipkin, trying hard to appear as though she was without the least concern.
“Maybe I be, Clemmie. Maybe I be.”
“What’s the cause for all this dejection?” asked the minister.