The doctor looked up. “Of course, you know,” he began, quietly, with a formal smile, “I am not—accustomed to this sort of—professional call. It—rather—takes my breath away. When do we start?”
Skipper Tom took a look at the weather. “Blowin’ up wonderful,” he observed, quietly, smoothing his long hair, which the wind had put awry. “Gets real dirty long about the Thirty Devils in the dark. Don’t it, Will?”
Will said that it did—indeed, it did—no doubt about that, whatever.
“I s’pose,” the skipper drawled, in conclusion, “we’d as lief get underway at dawn.”
“Very good,” said the doctor. “And—you were asking about my fee—were you not? You’ll have to pay, you know—if you can—for I believe in—that sort of thing. Could you manage three dollars?”
“We was ’lowin’,” the skipper answered, “t’ pay about seven when we sold the v‘y’ge in the fall. ’Tis a wonderful bad hand Bill Sparks has got.”
“Let it be seven,” said the doctor, quickly. “The balance may go, you know, to help some poor devil who hasn’t a penny. Send it to me in the fall if——”
The skipper looked up in mild inquiry.
“Well,” said the doctor, with a nervous smile, “if we’re all here, you know.”
“Oh,” said the skipper, with a large wave of the hand, “that’s God’s business.”