"I don't know. And what I don't know a whole lot more is how I'm goin' to be paid fifteen hundred a year. Where's that comin' from; can you tell me?"
From the bed—the invalid was in bed most of the time now—came a characteristic chuckle. "He, he, he," laughed the judge. "So you've got on far enough to wonder about that, eh?"
"I certainly have. And I want to say right here that——"
"Hold on! Hold on, Kendrick! Don't be a fool. And don't make the mistake of thinkin' I'm one, either. I may have let you guess that the Fair Harbor was to pay your salary. It isn't because it can't. I'm paying it and I'm going to pay it—while I'm alive and after I'm dead. You're my substitute and so long as you keep that job you'll get your pay. It's all arranged for, so don't argue."
"But, Judge, why——"
"Shut up. I want to do it and I can afford to do it. Let a dead man have a little fun, can't you. You'll earn your money, I tell you. And when that Egbert comes I'll get the worth of mine—dead or alive, I'll get it. Now go home and let me alone, I'm tired."
But Sears still hesitated.
"That's all right, Judge," he said. "You've got the right to spend your own money, I presume likely, so I won't say a word; although I may have my own opinion as to your judgment in spendin' it. But there's one more thing I can't quite get over. Here am I, about third mate's helper aboard that Harbor craft, bein' paid fifteen hundred a year, and that girl—as fine, capable, sensible—er—er—nice girl as ever lived, I do believe—workin' her head off and runnin' the whole ship, as you might say, and bein' paid nothin' at all. It isn't right. It isn't square. I won't stand it. I'll heave up my commission and you pay her the fifteen hundred. She earns it."
Silence. Then another slow chuckle from the bed.
"Humph!" grunted Judge Knowles. "'Fine, capable, sensible, nice—' Getting pretty enthusiastic, aren't you, Kendrick? He, he, he!"