“No, I ain’t said all that yet. I wanted to talk with you a little afore I said it. But that was my idea, if you and I agreed on sartin matters.”
“You’ve come here to live! You’ve left your—your niece’s house?”
“Ya-as, I’ve left. That is, I left the way the Irishman left the stable where they kept the mule. He said there was all out doors in front of him and only two feet behind. That’s about the way ’twas with me.”
“Have your nephew and niece—”
“Um-hm. They hinted that my room was better than my company, and, take it by and large, I guess they was right for the present, anyhow. I set up till three o’clock thinkin’ it over, and then I decided to get out afore breakfast this mornin’. I didn’t wait for any good-bys. They’d been said, or all I cared to hear”—Captain Elisha’s smile disappeared for an instant—“last evenin’. The dose was sort of bitter, but it had the necessary effect. At any rate, I didn’t hanker for another one. I remembered what your landlady told me when I was here afore, about this stateroom bein’ vacated, and I come down to look at it. It suits me well enough; seems like a decent moorin’s for an old salt water derelict like me; the price is reasonable, and I guess likely I’ll take it. I guess I will.”
“Why do you guess? By George, I hope you will!”
“Do you? I’m much obliged. I didn’t know but after last night, after the scrape I got you into, you might feel—well, sort of as if you’d seen enough of me.”
The young man smiled bitterly. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “It was mine entirely. I’m quite old enough to decide matters for myself, and I should have decided as my reason, and not my inclinations, told me. You weren’t to blame.”
“Yes, I was. If you’re old enough, I’m too old, I cal’late. But I did think—However, there’s no use goin’ over that. I ask your pardon, Jim. And you don’t hold any grudge?”
“Indeed I don’t. I may be a fool—I guess I am—but not that kind.”