“Does she? I'm so glad. Oh, Daniel, you'll have to take charge of everything now. I can't, and Gertrude—you must do it, yourself, Daniel. You MUST. Of Azuba and Gertie and everything. I rely on you. You WILL, won't you, Daniel?”
“Sure I will. I'm skipper now, Serena. You ought to see how the hands jump when I give an order.”
It was true, too; the hands did “jump” at the captain's orders. He was skipper, for the time being. His wife's illness, Mr. Hungerford's absence, Gertrude's meekness—she was a silent and conscience-stricken young lady—all combined to strengthen Daniel's resolution, and he was, for the first time in years, the actual head of the household. He took active charge of the bills and financial affairs, he commanded Azuba to do this and that, he saw the callers who came and he sent them to the rightabout in a hurry.
His statement concerning Mrs. Black was not the literal truth. Annette had called, that was true; she had called the very next morning after her chief aide was stricken. But she had not declared that everything was “all right”; far from it.
“But can't I see her, Captain Dott?” she begged. “I MUST see her for just a minute.”
“Sorry, ma'am, but you can't do it. Doctor's orders. She mustn't be disturbed.”
“But I've got to see her. I must talk with her.”
“I know, but I'm afraid you can't. You can talk to me, if that will do any good.”
“It won't. Of course it won't. Where is Gertrude? Let me talk to her.”
Daniel climbed the stairs to his daughter's room. He found her sitting at her desk; she had been writing “regrets” in answer to various invitations. She turned a careworn face in his direction.