“No, no, Nat; no. I heard the news and that Grace was alone; so I come right down.”
He nodded wearily.
“You can come in, too,” he said. “I know dad likes you and I guess—Wait a minute; I'll ask him.” He stepped back into the bedroom. “Yes,” he nodded, returning, “you come, too. He wants you.”
The little room, Captain Eben's own, was more like a skipper's cabin than a chamber on land. A narrow, single bed, a plain washstand, a battered, painted bureau and a single chair—these made up the list of furniture. Two pictures, both of schooners under full sail, hung on the walls. Beside them hung a ship's barometer, a sextant, and a clock that struck the “bells,” instead of the hours as the landsman understands them. In the corner stood the captain's big boots and his oilskins hung above them. His Sunday cane was there also. And on the bureau was a worn, heavy Bible.
Dr. Parker brushed by the others and bent over the bed.
“Well, cap'n,” he said cheerily, “how's she headed? How are you feeling now?”
The old face on the pillow smiled feebly.
“She's headed for home, I guess, doc,” said Captain Eben. “Bound for home, and the harbor light broad abeam, I cal'late.”
“Oh, no! you'll make a good many voyages yet.”
“Not in this hulk, I won't, doctor. I hope I'll have a new command pretty soon. I'm trustin' in my owners and I guess they'll do the fair thing by me. Halloo, Gracie, girl! Well, your old uncle's on his beam ends, ain't he?”