“Don't talk like that,” he replied impulsively. “I don't like to hear you.”
“Don't you? Then I won't. But, you see, Al, it bothers me. Look how I used to talk about makin' up poetry and writin' yarns and all that. Used to call it silliness and a waste of time, I did—worse names than that, generally. And look what you're makin' at it in money, to say nothin' of its shovin' you into Congress, and keepin' the newspapers busy printin' stuff about you. . . . Well, well,” with a sigh of resignation, “I don't understand it yet, but know it's so, and if I'd had my pig-headed way 'twouldn't have been so. It's a dreadful belittlin' feelin' to a man at my time of life, a man that's commanded ten-thousand-ton steamers and handled crews and bossed a business like this. It makes him wonder how many other fool things he's done. . . . Why, do you know, Al,” he added, in a sudden burst of confidence, “I was consider'ble prejudiced against you when you first came here.”
He made the statement as if he expected it to come as a stunning surprise. Albert would not have laughed for the world, nor in one way did he feel like it, but it was funny.
“Well, perhaps you were, a little,” he said gravely. “I don't wonder.”
“Oh, I don't mean just because you was your father's son. I mean on your own account, in a way. Somehow, you see, I couldn't believe—eh? Oh, come in, Labe! It's all right. Al and I are just talkin' about nothin' in particular and all creation in general.”
Mr. Keeler entered with a paper in his hand.
“Sorry to bother you, Cap'n Lote,” he said, “but this bill of Colby and Sons for that last lot of hardware ain't accordin' to agreement. The prices on those butts ain't right, and neither's those half-inch screws. Better send it back to em, eh?”
Captain Zelotes inspected the bill.
“Humph!” he grunted. “You're right, Labe. You generally are, I notice. Yes, send it back and tell 'em—anything you want to.”
Laban smiled. “I want to, all right,” he said. “This is the third time they've sent wrong bills inside of two months. Well, Al,” turning toward him, “I cal'late this makes you kind of homesick, don't it, this talk about bills and screws and bolts and such? Wa'n't teasin' for your old job back again, was you, Al? Cal'late he could have it, couldn't he, Cap'n? We'll need somebody to heave a bucket of water on Issy pretty soon; he's gettin' kind of pert and uppish again. Pretty much so. Yes, yes, yes.”