"When Peter takes to heavin' in earnest they generally come," said Flaxley.
While old Flaxley stood there looking from Peter to Mrs. Pentle he couldn't help thinking—much as he respected her—he couldn't help wondering if she was comparing Peter to Pentle that was dead and gone.
"If she is," thought Flaxley, "Lord help the memory o' Pentle—who was never any Apoller for build and about as much blood in him as a man'd find in four pounds of excelsior packin'."
Peter was whistling again and carolling and heaving facetious comment at anybody and everybody, when he felt the silence. He looked round and saw Mrs. Pentle.
"How do you do, captain?"
Peter shifted his cotton-hook from right hand to left and shook her extended hand.
"I'm cert'nly glad to see you again, Mrs. Pentle."
"How are you getting on, captain?"
"Fine—fine!"
"The work is not too hard?"