"Why, you wooden-head—Molly Wolcott—me—we're engaged!"
"Oh—I thought you had news. That's as stale as last year's election." Good laughed as he bantered, but the light shining in his eyes showed the tenderness of his feeling for the younger man.
"You're a lucky kid."
"Rather. But I earned it. She's had me over the hurdles more than once. I never had a swelled head with Molly in the neighbourhood. She always swore I'd never do."
"What made her change?"
"No idea. Woman's way, I guess."
Good put his hand on Roger's shoulder, and his voice softened. "Poppycock," he said slowly. "She never changed. She was only waiting—"
"What for?"
"For you to grow up. You've been growing fast of late, my boy. The way you've taken hold here—it's been splendid. It's tickled your sister beyond words. And I guess—it's tickled someone else, eh?"
"I guess you're about right," he said seriously. "I never was much of a fellow. But I never realised what a useless ass I was until I tried being useful. I came in here more on a lark than anything else. I never dreamed what a mess I could make of things. I thought I was pretty much of a man. I was going to look the ship over and then take up quarters on the bridge. I was going to give you and sis orders in no time. But it didn't take long to wake up. Why, I'm not even a decently capable boy. I tell you, Good, this thing has taught me—lots. It's been mighty hard—harder than you have any idea of. I've wanted to lie down and quit lots of times. Why, I—"