“Zelotes,” she faltered, “are you—are you—”
“I'm goin' to New York on to-night's boat. I've telegraphed that—that Weiss—Weiss—what-do-you-call-it—that Portygee lawyer—that I'll be to his office to-morrow mornin'.”
“But, Zelotes, we haven't scarcely talked about it, you and I, at all. You might have waited till he came to Boston. Why do you go so SOON?”
The captain's heavy brows drew together.
“You went to the dentist's last Friday,” he said. “Why didn't you wait till next week?”
“Why—why, what a question! My tooth ached and I wanted to have it fixed quick as possible.”
“Um-m, yes. Well, this tooth aches and I want it fixed or hauled out, one or t'other. I want the thing off my mind. . . . Don't TALK to me?” he added, irritably. “I know I'm a fool. And,” with a peremptory wave of the hand, “don't you DARE say anything about DUTY!”
He was back again two days later. His wife did not question him, but waited for him to speak. Those years of experience already mentioned had taught her diplomacy. He looked at her and pulled his beard. “Well,” he observed, when they were alone together, “I saw him.”
“The—the boy?” eagerly.
“No, no! Course not! The boy's at school somewhere up in New York State; how could I see him! I saw that lawyer and I found out about—about the other scamp. He was killed in an auto accident, drunk at the time, I cal'late. Nigh's I can gather he's been drinkin' pretty heavy for the last six or seven years. Always lived high, same as his kind generally does, and spent money like water, I judge—but goin' down hill fast lately. His voice was givin' out on him and he realized it, I presume likely. Now he's dead and left nothin' but trunks full of stage clothes and photographs and,” contemptuously, “letters from fool women, and debts—Lord, yes! debts enough.”