Under the stimulus of the unaccustomed repast, Abe expanded and began to tell yarns of the old days on the Beach—the good old days. His cheeks grew red, his eyes sparkled. He smoked and leaned back from the table, and ate and drank, smoked and ate again.
"A week amongst yew boys," he asserted gaily, "is a-goin' tew be the makin' of me. Haow Sam'l kin waste so much time in sleep, I can't understand."
"I don't think he is asleep," said No. 3. "When I was up-stairs jest now fer my slippers, I heard him kind o' sniffin' inter his piller."
The laugh which followed brought the keeper out of the office in his carpet slippers, a patchwork quilt over his shoulders. His quick eyes took in the scene—the lamp sputtering above the table, the empty dishes, the two members of the crew sleepily jocular, with their blue flannel elbows spread over the board, the old man's rumpled bed, and his brilliant cheeks and bright eyes.
"Boys, you shouldn't have woke up Cap'n Rose," he said reprovingly. "I'm afraid, sir," turning to Abraham, "that you find our manners pretty rough after your life among the old ladies."
Abe dropped his eyes in confusion. Was he never to be rid of those apron-strings:
"Well, there's worse things than good women," proceeded the captain. "I wish we had a few over here." He sighed with the quiet, dull manner of the men who have lived long on the Beach. "Since they made the rule that the men must eat and sleep in the station, it's been pretty lonely. That's why there's so many young fellows in the Service nowadays; married men with families won't take the job."
"Them empty cottages out thar," admitted Abe, pointing to the window, "does look kind o' lonesome a-goin' ter rack an' ruin. Why, the winter I was over here, every man had his wife an' young 'uns on the Beach, 'cept me an' Sam'l."
Again the keeper sighed, and drew his coverlid closer. "Now, it's just men, men, nothing but men. Not a petticoat in five miles; and I tell you, sometimes we get mad looking at one another, don't we, boys?"
The two young men had sobered, and their faces also had taken on that look engendered by a life of dull routine among sand-hills at the edge of a lonely sea, with seldom the sound of a woman's voice in their ears or the prattle of little children.