“Do you mean you’ve something you want to say to me, Beth?”
“I can’t! I can’t! It is so–––”
She broke down and cried without restraint. The old seaman put his arm about her.
“There! There! Don’t cry like that. She ain’t wuth it.”
“But you are!” she sobbed.
“All that there flood sartinly ain’t for an old feller like me! Tut! Tut! I sartinly ain’t wuth it. I’m nothing but a leaky old ark what had otter been towed in long ago, safe and high to some dry-dock.”
“Uncle Josiah, you are the only uncle I’ve ever had. I love you next to my father. You are the only man who has ever understood me. I have many times come to you before going to my own father. And, now, that you are in trouble, and I might have helped you–––”
“Tush. Tush. Don’t cry over an old salt like me. I tell you I ain’t wuth it, not one precious drop.”
“If you only knew!”