“Most things do while their bein’ done, if you really care about doin’ ’em well. Heave ahead! You said ’twas a sea yarn, and I’m a sort of specialist when it comes to salt water. Maybe I might prescribe just the right tonic, though ’tain’t very likely.”
Pearson began to outline the plot of his novel, speaking slowly at first, but becoming more interested as he continued. Captain Elisha listened meditatively, puffing solemnly at his cigar, and interrupting but seldom.
“I think that’s a pretty good idea,” he observed, at length. “Yes, sir, that sounds promisin’, to me. This cap’n of yours now, he’s a good feller. Don’t get him too good, though; that wouldn’t be natural. And don’t get him too bad, neither. I know it’s the fashion, judgin’ by the sea yarns I’ve read lately, to have a Yankee skipper sort of a cross between a prize fighter and a murderer. Fust day out of port he begins by pickin’ out the most sickly fo’mast hand aboard, mashes him up, and then takes the next invalid. I got a book about that kind of a skipper out of our library down home a spell ago, and the librarian said ’twas awful popular. A strong story, she said, and true to life. Well, ’twas strong—you could pretty nigh smell it—but as for bein’ true to life, I had my doubts. I’ve been to sea, command of a vessel, for a good many years, and sometimes I’d go weeks, whole weeks, without jumpin’ up and down on a single sailor. Fact! Got my exercise other ways, I presume likely.
“I tell you,” he went on, “the main trouble with that tale of yours, as I see it, is that you’re talkin’ about things you ain’t ever seen. Now there’s plenty you have seen, I wouldn’t wonder. Let’s see, you was born in Belfast, you said. Live there long, did you?”
“Yes, until I went away to school.”
“Your father, he went to sea, did he?”
“Yes. But his ship was lost, with all hands, when I was a baby.”
“But your Uncle Jim wa’n’t lost. You remember him well; you said so. Tell me something you remember.”
Before the young man was aware of it, he was telling of his Uncle Jim, of the latter’s return from voyages, of his own home life, of his mother, and of the village where he spent his boyhood. Then, led on by the captain’s questioning, he continued with his years at college, his experiences as reporter and city editor. Without being conscious that he was doing so, he gave his host a pretty full sketch of himself, his story, and his ambitions.
“Mr. Pearson,” said Captain Elisha, earnestly, “don’t you worry about that yarn of yours. If you’ll take the advice of an old feller who knows absolutely nothin’ about such things, keep on rememberin’ about your Uncle Jim. He was a man, every inch of him, and a seaman, too. Put lots of him into this hero of yours, and you won’t go fur wrong. And when it comes to handlin’ a ship, why—well, if you want to come to me, I’ll try and help you out best I can.”