"Ask 'Rion Latham," the cook said again, and left her at the door of the church.
Those swains who had been "cluttering the course"—to quote Cap'n Ira—did not interfere in any way with the Balls' equipage on this Sunday at the church. There was none who seemed bold enough to enter the lists with Tunis Latham. He put Queenie in the shed and backed her out again and brought her around to the door when the service was ended without having to fight for the privilege.
'Rion Latham, however, was the center of a group of young fellows who were all glad to secure a smile and bow from the girl, but who only sheepishly grinned at Tunis. 'Rion was not smiling; there was a settled scowl upon his ugly face.
"I cal'late," said Cap'n Ira, as they drove away, "that 'Rion must have eat sour pickles for breakfast to-day and nothing much else. Yet he seemed perky enough last night at the sociable. I wonder what's got into him."
"I'd like to get something out of him," growled Tunis, to whom the remark was addressed.
"What's that?"
"Some work, for one thing," said the captain of the Seamew. "He's as lazy a fellow as I ever saw. And his tongue's too long."
"Trouble is," Cap'n Ira rejoined, "these trips you take in the schooner are too short to give you any chance to lick your crew into shape. They get back home too often. Too much shore leave, if ye ask me."
"I'd lose Mason Chapin if the Seamew made longer voyages. And I have lost one of the hands already—Tony."