I.
Captain Philo's sail-loft was a pleasant place to sit in, and it was much frequented. At one end was a wide, sliding door, that opened on the water, and through it you saw the little harbor and the low, glistening sand-bar at its entrance, and whitecaps in the sea beyond, and shining sails. At the other end another wide door led, by a gently descending cleated platform, to the ground.
It was a pleasant place to rest and refresh the mind in, whether you chose to look in or out. You could rock in the hair-cloth chair by the water door, and join in conversation with more active persons mending seines upon the wharf; or you could dangle your heels from the work-bench, and listen to stories and debates inside, and look on Captain Philo sewing upon a mainsail.
It was a summer afternoon: warm under the silver poplars, hot in the store, and hotter in the open street; but in the sail-loft it was cool.
“More than once,” Captain Bennett was remarking from the rocking-chair, while his prunella shoes went up and down,—“more than once I've wished that I could freight this loft to Calcutta on speculation, and let it out, so much a head, for so long a time, to set in and cool off.”
“How about them porious water-jars they hev there?” asked Uncle Silas, who had never sailed beyond Cape Pogue; “how do they work?”
“Well,” said the captain, “they 're so-so. But you set up this loft, both doors slid open, air drawing through and all, right on Calcutta main street, or what they call the Maiden's Esplanade, and fit it up with settees like a conference-meeting, and advertise, and you could let out chances to set for twenty cents an hour.”
“You 'd hev to hev a man to take tickets, to the door,” said Uncle Silas, who had been looking for an easy job for forty years.
“That's Si all over.” said Captain Bennett, with a wink; “that berth would be just his size.”