“I’ll be at the dock this time, Dannie.”
“Then the old Pantheon won’t be too close to the slip before somebody’ll be making a flying leap for the cap-log. There, there, dear, this one trip, and then it’ll be Mrs. Dannie Keating and a month ashore—hah, what! There’s the girl! But God bless you, dear, and keep you till I’m home again.”
“Good luck, Dannie. There, but Oh, Dannie?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t go yet—just a minute more, dear.”
He patted her cheek and dried her eyes, and when she wouldn’t stop sobbing, he unbuttoned his coat and made her rest her head on his breast. Her ear against the blue flannel shirt, she could feel his heart. And it was a heart—like all of himself, full of strength. A cold winter’s morning it was, but here all afire. He was right—it would be a storm indeed when he went under. And yet—she could not help it—she broke into sobbing again.
“What’s it now?”
“Oh, Dannie, last night after I left you I heard my father telling that another vessel had been given up for lost. Did you know?”
“I’ve heard, dear.”
“And you never told me. You tell me the danger is small——”