“Satisfied! Jumping Cicero!” exploded Captain Can-dage. He took the dory and rowed ashore. He found his daughter gazing into the fog from the porch of the widow's cottage. “He is going to stay a while longer,” he informed her, rapturously. “Something has happened. Do you suppose that girl has throwed him over?”
“Father, do you dare to chuckle because a friend is in trouble?”
“I'll laugh and slap my leg if he ever gets shet of that hity-tity girl,” he rejoined, stoutly.
“I am astonished—I am ashamed of you, father!”
“Polly dear, be honest with your dad!” he pleaded. “Do you want to see him married off to her?”
“I certainly do. I only wish I might help him.” Her lips were white, her voice trembled. She got up and hurried into the house.
“I'll be cussed if I understand wimmen,” declared Captain Candage, fiddling his finger under his nose. “That feller she has picked out for herself must be the Emp'ror of Peeroo.”
Captain Mayo did not come ashore again before the Ethel and May sailed.
The fog cleared that night and they smashed out to the fishing-grounds ahead of a cracking breeze, and had their trawls down in the early dawn. At sundown, trailed by a wavering banner of screaming gulls who gobbled the “orts” tossed over by the busy crew cleaning their catch, they were docking at the city fish-house.
“Lucky again,” commented Captain Candage, returning from his sharp dicker with the buyer. “The city critters are all hungry for haddock, and that's just what we hit to-day.” He surveyed his gloomy partner with sympathetic concern. “Why don't you take a run uptown?” he suggested. “You're sticking too close to this packet for a young man. Furthermore, if you see a store open buy me a box of paper collars. Rowley hain't got my size!”