She was a wonder, that boat. Red hull, real lead on the keel, brass rings on the masts, reef points on the main and fore sail, jib, flying jib and topsails, all complete. And on the stern was the name, “Dusenberry. East Harniss.”
Captain Hiram set her down in front of him on the floor.
“Gee!” he exclaimed, “won't his eyes stick out when he sees that rig, hey? Wisht he would be well enough to see it to-day, same as we planned.”
“Well, Hiram,” said Sophrony, “we hadn't ought to complain. We'd ought to be thankful he's goin' to get well at all. Dr. Morgan says, thanks to that blessed toxing stuff, he'll be up and around in a couple of weeks.”
“Sophrony,” said her husband, “we'll have a special birthday celebration for him when he gets all well. You can bake the frosted cake and we'll have some of the other children in. I TOLD you God wouldn't be cruel enough to take him away.”
And this is how Fate and the medical profession and the O. C. and C. C. Railroad combined to give little Hiram Joash Baker his birthday, and explains why, as he strolled down Main Street that afternoon, Captain Hiram was heard to sing heartily:
Haul on the bowline, the 'Phrony is a-rollin',
Haul on the bowline, the bowline, HAUL!