“The point,” replied the captain, “about which I’ve come here to-day. It ain’t a point o’ the compass; nevertheless, I’ve been steerin’ it in my mind’s eye for a considerable time past. The fact is” (here the captain hesitated), “I—I’ve made up my mind to take my little Alice along with me this voyage.”
The Misses Dunning wore unusually tall caps, and their countenances were by nature uncommonly long, but the length to which they grew on hearing this announcement was something preternaturally awful.
“Take Ailie to sea!” exclaimed Miss Martha Dunning, in horror.
“To fish for whales!” added Miss Jane Dunning, in consternation.
“Brother, you’re mad!” they exclaimed together, after a breathless pause; “and you’ll do nothing of the kind,” they added firmly.
Now, the manner in which the Misses Dunning received this intelligence greatly relieved their eccentric brother. He had fully anticipated, and very much dreaded, that they would at once burst into tears, and being a tender-hearted man he knew that he could not resist that without a hard struggle. A flood of woman’s tears, he was wont to say, was the only sort of salt water storm he hadn’t the heart to face. But abrupt opposition was a species of challenge which the captain always accepted at once—off-hand. No human power could force him to any course of action.
In this latter quality Captain Dunning was neither eccentric nor singular.
“I’m sorry you don’t like my proposal, my dear sisters,” said he; “but I’m resolved.”
“You won’t!” said Martha.
“You shan’t!” cried Jane.