“Be careful! She asked if you was a profane man.”
“Aw, shut up! You fellers are enough to make a minister swear. I don't care what you do. Go ahead and write to her if you want to, only I give you fair warnin', I ain't goin' to have her if she don't suit. I ain't goin' to marry no scarecrow.”
Between them, and with much diplomacy, they soothed the indignant candidate for matrimony until he agreed to sign his name to a letter to the Nantucket lady. Then Captain Perez said:
“But, I say, Jerry; she wants your picture. Have you got one to send her?”
“I've got that daguerreotype I had took when I was married afore.”
He rummaged it out of his chest and displayed it rather proudly. It showed him as a short, sandy-haired youth, whose sunburned face beamed from the depths of an enormous choker, and whose head was crowned with a tall, flat-brimmed silk hat of a forgotten style.
“I s'pose that might do,” said Cap'n Perez hesitatingly.
“Do! 'Twill HAVE to do, seein' it's all he's got,” said Captain Eri. “Good land!” he chuckled; “look at that hat! Say, Jerry, she'll think you done your seafarin' in Noah's ark.”
But Captain Jerry was oblivious to sarcasm just then. He was gazing at the daguerreotype in a sentimental sort of way, blowing the dust from the glass, and tilting it up and down so as to bring it to the most effective light.
“I swan!” he mused, “I don't know when I've looked at that afore. I remember when I bought that hat, jest as well. Took care of it and brushed it—my! my! I don't know but it's somewheres around now. I thought I was jest about the ticket then, and—and I wa'n't BAD lookin', that's a fact!”