Jim's face was a sight to see—a sort of combination of sheepishness and shame, mixed with another look, almost of joy—or as if he'd got the answer to a puzzle that had been troublin' him.
The Lentz girl spoke up quick.
"Of course," she says, "I understand now why you did it. Then I was—was—Well, it did hurt me to think that I hadn't seen through the scheme, and for a while I felt that you hadn't been true to our agreement; but, now that I have had time to think, I understand. You promised to treat me exactly as if I were a man; and, as Cap'n Snow said, if I were a man you would have kept me in sight. It's all right! But"—with a sigh—"I realize that I'm not fitted for business—this kind of business. I don't blame you, though. Good-by. I must go!"
Lettin' her go, however, was the last thing Jim intended doin' just then. He stepped for'ard and caught her by the hand.
"Georgianna," says he, eager, "you know what you're sayin' isn't true. I did tell the Cap'n that yarn about watchin' you. He'd seen me with you and I had to tell him somethin'; but it was a lie—every word of it! You know it was."
She tried to pull her hand away, but he hung on to it as if 'twas the last life-preserver on a sinkin' ship. I cal'late he'd forgot I was on earth.
"You were keeping your promise," she said. "You were treatin' me as you would if I were a man! Please let me go, Mr. Jacobs; I have told you that I didn't blame you."
"Nonsense!" says he. "If I had done that I ought to be hung! A man! Treat you like a man! Do you suppose if you were a man I should—"
That was the last word I heard. I was bound for the front platform, and makin' some headway for a craft of my age and build. I have got some sense and I know when three's a crowd!
I didn't go back until they called me. I give the pair of 'em one look and then I shook hands with 'em up to the elbows. Georgianna was blushin', and her eyes were damp, but shinin' like masthead lights on a rainy night. As for Jim Henry Jacobs, he was one broad grin.