“Daddy!” she cried; “you silly thing! I believe you ARE getting childish.”
“Am I? All right, I'm willing to be, at the price. My! Gertie, you look awfully pretty. Don't she look 'specially pretty to you to-night, Serena?”
Serena smiled. “That gown was always becoming,” she said.
“I know it was; that's why I wanted her to put it on. And she's fixed her hair the way I like, too. My! my! if some folks I know could see you now, Gertie, they'd.... Ahem! Well, never mind. She looks as if she was expectin' company and had rigged up for it, doesn't she, Serena?”
Gertrude paid little attention to this rather strained attempt at a joke. She merely smiled and turned away. But her mother appeared to suspect a hidden meaning in the words. She leaned forward and gazed at her husband.
“Daniel,” she cried, sharply and with increasing excitement; “Daniel Dott, what are you—”
The captain waved her to silence. She would have spoken in spite of it, but his second wave and shake of the head were so emphatic that she hesitated. Before the moment of hesitation was at an end Captain Dan himself began to speak. He spoke in a new tone now and more and more rapidly.
“Serena, don't interrupt me,” he ordered. “Gertie, listen. I'm goin' to tell you both a story. Once there was a couple of married folks that had a daughter.... Hush, I tell you! Listen, both of you. I AIN'T crazy. If ever I talked sense in my life I'm talkin' it now.... This couple, as I say, had a daughter. This daughter was engaged to be married. The old folks moved away from the place they had always lived and went somewhere else. There they both commenced to make fools of themselves. The place was all right enough, maybe, but they didn't belong in it. The daughter, she came there and she saw how things were goin' and, says she: 'I'll fix 'em. I'll cure 'em and save 'em, too, by showin' 'em an example, my example. I'll—'”
Gertrude broke in.
“Daddy,” she cried, with a warning glance at her mother, “be careful. Don't be silly. What is the use—”