“Um-hm. Maybe she will. You can get over 'most anything in time—'MOST anything. Well, and how about me? How do you think I'll feel?”
Albert's chin lifted. “You!” he exclaimed. “Why, you'll be mighty glad of it.”
Captain Zelotes picked up the pencil stump and twirled it in his fingers. “Shall I?” he asked. “You think I will, do you?”
“Of course you will. You don't like me, and never did.”
“So I've heard you say. Well, boy, don't you cal'late I like you at least as much as you like me?”
“No. What do you mean? I like you well enough. That is, I should if you gave me half a chance. But you don't do it. You hate me because my father—”
The captain interrupted. His big palm struck the desk.
“DON'T say that again!” he commanded. “Look here, if I hated you do you suppose I'd be talkin' to you like this? If I hated you do you cal'late I'd argue when you gave me notice? Not by a jugful! No man ever came to me and said he was goin' to quit and had me beg him to stay. If we was at sea he stayed until we made port; then he WENT, and he didn't hang around waitin' for a boat to take him ashore neither. I don't hate you, son. I'd ask nothin' better than a chance to like you, but you won't give it to me.”
Albert's eyes and mouth opened.
“I won't give YOU a chance?” he repeated.