He went on and opened his own desk, leaving his grandson standing by the door, not knowing whether to speak or offer to shake hands. The situation was a little difficult, particularly as Mr. Keeler gave no sign of recognition, but, after a glance at his employer's companion, went on making entries in the ledger.
Captain Zelotes looked up a moment later. His gray eyes inspected the pair and the expression on Albert's face caused them to twinkle slightly. “Labe,” he said, “this is my grandson, Albert, the one I told you was comin' to live with us.”
Laban turned on the stool, regarded Albert over his spectacles, and extended a hand.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Yes, yes . . . Yes, yes, yes. . . Pleased to meet you. Cap'n Lote said you was comin'—er—er—Alfred. Howdy do.”
They shook hands. Mr. Keeler's hand trembled a little, but that was the only symptom of his recent “vacation” which the youth could notice. Certain vivid remembrances of his father's bad humor on mornings following convivial evenings recurred to him. Was it possible that this odd, precise, dried-up little man had been on a spree for four days? It did not seem possible. He looked more as if he might be expected to rap on the desk and ask the school to come to order.
“Albert's goin' to take hold here with us in the office,” went on Captain Lote. “You'll remember I spoke to you about that when we talked about his comin'. Al, Labe—Mr. Keeler here—will start you in larnin' to bookkeep. He'll be your first mate from now on. Don't forget you're a fo'mast hand yet awhile and the way for a fo'mast hand to get ahead is to obey orders. And don't,” he added, with a quiet chuckle, “do any play-actin' or poetry-makin' when it's your watch on deck. Laban nor I ain't very strong for play-actin', are we, Labe?”
Laban, to whom the reference was anything but clear, replied rather vaguely that he didn't know as he was, very. Albert's temper flared up again. His grandfather was sneering at him once more; he was always sneering at him. All right, let him sneer—now. Some day he would be shown. He scowled and turned away. And Captain Zelotes, noticing the scowl, was reminded of a scowl he had seen upon the face of a Spanish opera singer some twenty years before. He did not like to be reminded of that man.
He went out soon afterward and then Laban, turning to Albert, asked a few questions.
“How do you think you're goin' to like South Harniss, Ansel?” he asked.
Albert was tempted to reply that he, Keeler, had asked him that very question before, but he thought it best not to do so.