“An’ tell them that I told you. Tell Dr. Porter. I’d like to know what the doctor’s got to say.”
“Say! He’ll say nothing—he’ll be dumb. But I must hurry up. It’s strange, too. I was sure you had a spy-glass. You had one in the boat when you came after us the time we were aground.”
“So we had, but it wan’t mine.”
“Whose was it?”
“Captain Pratt’s.”
“O, then, that accounts for it. I’m sorry too. I hoped to be able to find out where Mr. Long was.”
“Mr. Long? Don’t bother about him. He’s all right. He’s among his native rocks. A man like that; a man that’s a stranger to the charms of a gentle smilin’ babby; a man that gets mad with others, who are nat’rally pinin’ for their absent offspring—such a man has a heart that is a rock, an’ had oughter make up his abode among rocks. I see now why it is that he spends all his time a gatherin’ of ’em. Why, I told him some of the most affectin’ things about my babby. But what did he say? He! He almost swore! Can any parient be willin’ to put his son to be taught by a man like that—a man whose heart is as hard as a nether milestone?”
“He’s very kind to us,” said Bart. “All of the boys at school love Mr. Long dearly.”
“That ain’t the pint,” said Captain Corbet. “The pint is, how does he feel about a babby? Doos he yearn over ’em? Doos he delight in their little pooty ways? Doos he crow over ’em? Doos he nuss ’em an’ dandle ’em? I jedge of a man that way, an’ by them there signs; an’ I call that, by a long chalk, the most entirely jodgematical way of readin’ an’ interpretatin’ human natur’. Read by that light, Mr. Long ain’t a succumstance. He’s left us. I’m glad. Let him wander among the rocks and stones of Blomidon!”
With this, Captain Corbet turned away, not caring to pursue the subject further. Bart went on deck again, to spread among his companions Captain Corbet’s peculiar views on the subject of spy-glasses, sextants, quadrants, and compasses.