Laban's mouth opened. The pipe fell from it, scattering sparks like a Roman candle, and bounced upon the spotless floor of the kitchen. Daniel would have picked it up, but his visitor intervened. He put one mammoth foot upon the sparks and, leaning forward, demanded instant attention.
“For thunder sakes, Dan Dott!” he cried. “Never mind that pipe; let it alone. For thunder sakes, tell me what you're talkin' about? Zuby—Zuby Jane Ginn racin' to lodges and tellin' you—YOU—to cook your own meals! Go on! You're loony.”
“Maybe I am, Labe, but it's so.”
“It's so? And you let it be so? I don't believe it. What do you mean? How long has it been so?”
Captain Dan proceeded to tell of his housekeeper's conversion to progress and advancement. He did not suppress any of the details; in fact, he magnified them just a bit.
“She's a free woman, so she says, Labe,” he said, in conclusion. “And a free woman has a right to be free.”
“Is that so! That's what she says, hey? And you let her say it? Why, you—you—” He hesitated, hovering between candid expression and the respect due an ex-skipper of a three-master. “Wh-what do you have such goin's on in your house for?” he demanded. “What makes you let the gang afore the mast run over you this way? Why don't you—who's that upstairs; your wife?”
“No, my wife is out. I shouldn't wonder if that was Zuba. She's on her way to the door, probably.”
“She is, hey? Call her down here. Sing out to her to come down. Hi!” as the captain stepped to the stairs, “don't say nothin' about me.”
Daniel, suppressing a grin, shouted up the stairs.