"Meanin' yourself, Joel?" he asked, bringing the napkin edges into line.
"Not necessarily. Meanin' any man born of woman, I presume likely."
"Humph! Know many that wasn't born that way?"
Mr. Macomber's not too intellectual face creased into many wrinkles and the low ceiling echoed with his laugh. "Not many, I don't cal'late," he said, "that's a fact. But you ain't answered my question, Cap'n. What is man born of woman full of?"
Captain Kendrick placed the folded napkin carefully beside his plate.
"Breakfast, just now, I presume likely," he said. "At least, I know two or three that ought to be, judgin' by the amount of cargo I've seen 'em stow aboard in the last half hour." Then, turning to Mrs. Macomber, he added, "I'm goin' to help you with the dishes this mornin', Sarah."
The lady of the house had her own ideas on that subject.
"Indeed you won't do anything of the sort," she declared. "The idea! And you just out of a crippled bed, as you might say."
This remark seemed to amuse her husband hugely. "Ho, ho!" he shouted. "That's a good one! I didn't know the bed was crippled, Sarah. What's the matter with it; got a pain in the slats?"
Sarah Macomber seldom indulged in retort. Usually she was too busy to waste the time. But she allowed herself the luxury of a half minute on this occasion.