“Son,” the watchman replied, “I’ve been a law-abidin’ citizen all my life, and the police haven’t been much in my line. But I’ve got two eyes in my head, and I’ve never seen a police officer yet, in uniform or out of it, who hadn’t got his business written all over him. No, if either of ’em has ever seen a badge, it was only when it had to be shown to ’em!”
“You seem to study human nature a lot,” said Rod. “Do you remember Mr. Harmon, who has been staying at our bungalow for the last ten days?”
“’Course I do,” replied the Cap’n. “Hasn’t he been coming to Greenport for the last ten years? You mean the chap who stood on this very wharf two days since and talked to me for over an hour.”
“That’s Mr. Harmon,” Rod agreed. “Now, you’re a fairly good judge of people. What would you guess he was?”
“Ho! I don’t have to make no guess about him,” said the watchman, scornfully. “I know. But then I’ve known him so long, and I couldn’t go wrong.”
“Well, what is he?” asked Rod.
“Why, an artist, o’ course. You can spot ’em every time. They don’t seem to know nothing much outside paint an’ sketching. But he collects butterflies, too. Showed me one he said he’d paid fifteen dollars for, and it wasn’t much bigger than my two thumb-nails, so I laughed at him.”
“You did!” said Rod, smiling. “Why, Cap’n Crumbie?”
“I’ve seen butterflies that were butterflies, in my time,” replied the watchman. “Sailors get chances o’ that kind, you know. What with what I’ve seen”—he cast a sidelong glance at Jack and George, knowing he could not stretch the bow too far before them—“and heard from shipmates, I was able to tell him all about the big butterflies in the South Pacific islands. Pretty nigh as big as my hat, some of ’em are, flying all over the place, and to be had for the catching, without paying any fifteen dollars a time, either.”
Rod roared with laughter.