He would have liked to discuss the new arrival the remainder of the afternoon, but the captain was not in the mood to listen. Neither was he more receptive or discussive at supper time. Judah wanted to talk of nothing else and to speculate concerning the amount of wealth which Mr. Phillips might have inherited, upon the probable date of the reading of Lobelia's will, upon whether or not the fortunate legatee might take up his residence in Bayport.
"Say Cap'n" he observed, turning an inflamed countenance from the steam of dishwashing, "don't you cal'late maybe he may be wantin' to—er—sort of change things aboard the Fair Harbor? He'll be Admiral, as you might say, now, won't he?"
"Will he?"
"Well—won't he?"
"Don't know, Judah. I haven't thrown up my commission yet, you know."
"No, course you ain't, course you ain't. I don't mean he'd think of disrating you, Cap'n Sears. Nobody'd be fool-head enough for that.... But, honest, I would like to look at him and hear him talk. Caroline Snow, she says he's the finest, highest-toned man ever she see."
"Yes? Well, that's sayin' somethin'."
"Yus, but 'tain't sayin' too much. She lives down to Woodchuck Neck and the highest thing down there is a barrel of cod-livers. They're good and high when the sun gets to 'em."
When the dishes were done he announced that he guessed likely he might as well go down to Eliphalet's and listen to the cackling. The captain did not object, and so he put on his cap and departed. But he was back again in less than a minute.
"He's comin', Cap'n," he cried, excitedly. "Creepin' Moses! He's comin' here."