Thankful was speechless. The captain plunged desperately on.
“Will you, Thankful?” he begged. “I know I'm an old codger, but I ain't in my second childhood, not yet. I—I'd try mighty hard to make you happy. I haven't got anybody of my own in the world. Neither have you—except this brother of yours, and, judgin' from his letter and what you say, HE won't take any care; he'll BE a care, that's all. I ain't rich, but I've got money enough to help you—and him—and me afloat and comf'table. Thankful, will you?”
Thankful was still looking at him. He would have spoken again, but she raised her hand and motioned him to silence.
“Obed,” she asked, after a moment, “what made you say this to me?”
“What made me say it? What kept me still so long, you ought to ask. Haven't I come to think more and more of you ever since I knew you? Haven't I been more and more sorry for you? And pitied you? I—”
She raised her hand again. “I see,” she said, slowly. “I see. Thank you, Obed. You're so kind and self-sacrificin' you'd do anything or say anything to help a—friend, wouldn't you? But of course you can't do this.”
“Can't? Why can't I? Self-sacrifice be hanged! Thankful, can't you see—”
“Yes. Oh yes. I can see. . . . Now let's talk about Jedediah. Do you think—”
“Jedediah be keelhauled! Will you marry me, Thankful Barnes?”
“Why no, Obed; of course I won't.”