CHAPTER XVI
But, in spite of his promise, Sylvester did not report during the following week or the next. Meanwhile, his client tried his best to keep the new mystery from troubling his thoughts, and succeeded only partially. The captain’s days and evenings were quiet and monotonous. He borrowed a book or two from Mrs. Hepton’s meager library, read, walked a good deal, generally along the water front, and wrote daily letters to Miss Baker. He and Pearson were together for at least a portion of each day. The author, fighting down his dejection and discouragement, set himself resolutely to work once more on the novel, and his nautical adviser was called in for frequent consultation. The story, however, progressed but slowly. There was something lacking. Each knew what that something was, but neither named it.
One evening Pearson entered the room tenanted by his friend to find the latter seated beside the table, his shoes partially unlaced, and a pair of big slippers ready for putting on.
“Captain,” said the visitor, “you look so comfortable I hate to disturb you.”
Captain Elisha, red-faced and panting, desisted from the unlacing and straightened in his chair.
“Whew!” he puffed. “Jim, your remarks prove that your experience of the world ain’t as big as it ought to be. When you get to my age and waist measure you’ll realize that stoopin’ over and comfort don’t go together. I hope to be comfortable pretty soon; but I sha’n’t be till them boots are off. Set down. The agony’ll be over in a minute.”
Pearson declined to sit. “Not yet,” he said. “And you let those shoes alone, until you hear what I’ve got to say. A newspaper friend of mine has sent me two tickets for the opera to-night. I want you to go with me.”
Captain Elisha was surprised.