“I think so, partially. But—”
“Until you hear from me—that’s the important part. And, if you can, convenient, I’d have the fust interview right off; this afternoon, if it’s possible.”
“Captain, what have you got up your sleeve? Why don’t you come down here and talk it over?”
“’Cause I’m stickin’ close aboard and waitin’ developments. Maybe there won’t be any, but I’m goin’ to wait a spell and see. There ain’t much up my sleeve just now but goose-flesh; there’s plenty of that. So long.”
A development came that evening. Mrs. Hepton heralded it.
“Captain,” she said, when he answered her knock, “there’s a young gentleman to see you. I think he must be a relative of yours. His name is Warren.”
Captain Elisha pulled his beard. “A young gentleman?” he repeated.
“Yes. I showed him into the parlor. There will be no one there but you and he, and I thought it would be more comfortable.”
“Um-hm. I see. Well, I guess you’d better send him up. This is comfortable enough, and there won’t be nobody but him and me here, either—and I’ll be more sartin of it.”
The landlady, who considered herself snubbed, flounced away. Captain Elisha stepped to the head of the stairs.