“I 'll wait on the porch—about eight.”
For the rest of the afternoon Dick sat brooding in his cabin. When, a little after six, he saw Henry coming down the companionway, his heart warmed.
“Thought I'd come over and eat with you,” said his cousin. “What's the matter here—why don't you light up?”
Dick, by way of reply, mumbled a few words and struck a light. Henry looked at him curiously.
“What is it, Dick?” he asked again.
There had been few secrets between them. So far as either knew, they were the last two members of their family, and their intimacy, though never expressed in words, had a deep foundation. Before the present arrangement of Dick's work, which made it possible for them to meet at least once in the month, they had seen little of each other; but at every small crisis in the course of his struggle upward to the command of a schooner, Dick had been guided by the counsel and example of the older man. Now he spoke out his mind without hesitation.
“Sit down, Henry. When—when I told you about what I have been thinking—about Annie—why did you look at me as you did?”
“How did I look?”
“Don't dodge, Henry. The idea struck you wrong. I could see that, and I want to know why.”
“Well,” Henry hesitated, “I don't know that I should put it just that way. I confess I was surprised.”