When the reading was ended Labe was the first to speak. His eyes were shining.
“Godfreys!” he exclaimed. “Godfreys, Cap'n Lote!”
The captain seemed to understand.
“You're right, Labe,” he said. “The boy's made us proud of him. . . . Prouder than some of us are of ourselves, I cal'late,” he added, rising and moving toward the door.
“Sho, sho, Cap'n, you mustn't feel that way. No, no.”
“Humph! . . . Labe, I presume likely if I was a pious man, one of the old-fashioned kind of pious, and believed the Almighty went out of his way to get square with any human bein' that made a mistake or didn't do the right thing—if I believed that I might figger all this was a sort of special judgment on me for my prejudices, eh?”
Mr. Keeler was much disturbed.
“Nonsense, nonsense, Cap'n Lote!” he protested. “You ain't fair to yourself. You never treated Al anyhow but just honest and fair and square. If he was here now instead of layin' dead over there in France, poor feller, he'd say so, too. Yes, he would. Course he would.”
The captain made no reply, but walked from the room. Laban turned to Mrs. Ellis.
“The old man broods over that,” he said. “I wish. . . . Eh? What's the matter, Rachel? What are you lookin' at me like that for?”