A violent fit of coughing seized the Captain.
“Lan’ sakes! Now, what’s the matter with you? Been going out without your rubbers, I’ll warrant. Men are worse than babies when left to themselves. I do believe they’d die if the women-folks didn’t look after them once in a while.”
“We sartin would,” choked out the Captain. “Do you suppose you can arrange it to come over?”
“When do you want me?”
“Right now. To-day. I come special for you.”
“I’ll go,” decided Miss Pipkin impulsively. “It’s plain as day that it’s my duty. I am getting wore out in this place. They’ve been putting the work of three on me, and I ain’t got the strength.”
“It ain’t right, Clemmie, for you to be wearing yourself out in this kind of work. God intended you for something better. I ain’t proposing,” he hastily added, lest his bird 129 take the sudden notion to wing her way back into the bush.
Miss Pipkin gave him a quick look, and left the room. She very soon returned carrying a bundle beneath one arm, and clutching a bulging telescope suit-case in the other hand. From one end of the bundle protruded the head of a cat.
“What in tarnation you got in there, Clemmie?” asked the seaman, pointing toward the bundle.
“You didn’t think I was going to leave my Tommy behind to be starved and abused, did you?”