“So this is her, hey?” he muttered musingly. “Humph! Well, I don't know as I'd have guessed it. Favors the other side of the house more—the respectable side, I should say. Still, there's a little brand of the lost sheep, hey? Enough to prove property, huh? Mark of the beast, I s'pose the psalm-singin' relations would call it. D—n em! I—”
“Steady!” broke in the captain. Mr. Smith started, seemed to remember where he was, and his manner changed.
“Come and see me, honey,” he coaxed, drawing the girl toward him by the hand he was holding. “Ain't you got a nice kiss for me this fine mornin'? Don't be scared. I won't bite.”
Bos'n looked shrinkingly at Mr. Smith's unshaven cheeks and then at Captain Cy. The latter's face was absolutely devoid of expression. He merely nodded.
So Emily kissed one of the bristling cheeks. The kiss was returned full upon the mouth. She wiped her lips and darted away to her chair by the table.
“What's your hurry?” inquired the visitor. “Don't I do it right? Been some time since I kissed a girl—a little one, anyhow,” he added, winking at his host. “Never mind, we'll know each other better by and by.”
He looked on in wondering disgust as Bos'n said her “grace.”
“What in blazes!” he burst out when the little blessing was finished. “Who put her up to that? A left-over from the psalm-singers, is it?”
“I don't know,” answered the captain, speaking with deliberation. “I do know that I like to have her do it and that she shall do it as long's she's at this table.”
“Oh! she shall, hey? Well, I reckon—”