Seth was not aware that there was anything humorous in his statement.
“Yes,” he said, “I was single and—and happy, by jiminy! I was skipper of a mack'rel schooner down Cape Ann way, never mind where, and Seth Atkins is only part of my name; never mind that, neither. I sailed that schooner and I run that schooner—I RUN her; and when I said 'boo' all hands aboard jumped, I tell you. When I've got salt water underneath me, I'm a man. But I told you that afore.
“However, this is what I didn't tell you nor nobody else in this part of the state: I stayed single till I got to be past forty. Everybody set me down as an old bach. Then I met a woman; yes, sir, I met a woman.”
He made this assertion as if it was something remarkable. His companion on the bench made no comment.
“She was a widow woman,” went on Seth, “and she had a little property left her by her first husband. Owned a house and land, she did, and had some money in the bank. Some folks cal'lated I married her for that, but they cal'lated wrong. I wanted her for herself. And I got her. Her name was Emeline. I always thought Emeline was a sort of pretty name.”
He sighed. Brown observed that Emeline was a very pretty name, indeed.
“Um-hm. That's what I thought, and Emeline was a real pretty woman, for her age and heft—she was fleshy. She had some consider'ble prejudice against my goin' to sea, so I agreed to stay on shore a spell and farm it, as you might say. We lived in the house she owned and was real happy together. She bossed me around a good deal, but I didn't mind bein' bossed by her. 'Twas a change, you see, for I'd always been used to bossin' other folks. So I humored her. And, bein' on land made me lose my—my grip or somethin'; 'cause I seemed to forget how to boss. But we was happy, and then—then Bennie D. come. Consarn him!”
His teeth shut with a snap, and he struck his knee with his fist. “Consarn him!” he repeated, and was silent.
The substitute assistant ventured to jog his memory.
“Who was Bennie D.?” he asked.