“She's all right; so shut up, will you! There, Ase!” he added. “I'm the fool myself. Don't mind my barkin'; I don't mean it. I am about sick, I cal'late. Be better to-morrer, maybe.”
“What's got into you? Was that letter of Bailey's—”
“Hush!” The captain held up his hand. “I thought I heard a team.”
“Depot wagon, most likely,” said Bailey. “About time for it! Humph! seems to be stoppin', don't it? Was you expectin' anybody? Shall I go and—”
“No! Set still.”
The pair on the sofa sat still. Captain Cy stood like a statue in the middle of the floor. He squared his shoulders and jammed his clenched fists into his pockets. Steps crunched the gravel of the walk. There came a knock at the door of the dining room.
Walking steadily, but with a face set as the figurehead on one of his own ships, the captain went to answer the knock. They heard the door open, and then a man's voice asked:
“Is this Cap'n Whittaker?”
“Yes,” was the short answer.
“Well, Cap, I guess you don't know me, though maybe you know some of my family. Ha, ha! Don't understand that, hey? Well, you let me in and I'll explain the joke.”