"You will have to be getting used to calling me by another name, young man," he said. "Remember I am to be your uncle."
CHAPTER XXII
DELIGHT MAKES HER DECISION
Zenas Henry Brewster sat on the edge of his veranda, his long legs crossed before him with a certain angular grace and his corncob pipe held rigidly between his teeth. Beside him, ranged like sparrows on a telegraph wire, were Captain Phineas Taylor, Captain Jonas Baker, and Captain Benjamin Todd. From the row of pipes a miniature cloud of smoke ascended, but save for the distant pulsing of the sea and the murmur of the wind in the linden near the door not a sound was to be heard through the afternoon stillness. Yet in spite of the tranquillity of the day and the apparent peace of the four figures that gazed so immovably out upon the reach of blue, an electrical current of suspense was evident in the four tense forms. They were not looking at the bay, exquisite as it was in its cerulean beauty. Instead, the head of each man was turned toward the road that skirted the harbor and wound its way between the pines at the foot of the hill where the white cottage stood.
"He'd oughter be comin' pretty soon, hadn't he?" Captain Phineas ventured at last, unable longer to restrain his impatience. "He said four o'clock in his letter. It must be 'most that, don't you think?"
"Mighty nigh unto it," replied Captain Benjamin. "As I reckon it, havin' made the necessary allowances for my watch losin' three-an'-a-quarter minutes an hour, it should be about four now."
"It ain't but a quarter of four," sniffed Captain Jonas with an air of superiority. "That timepiece of yours, Benjamin, ain't worth the silver that was put into it. What's the use of havin' a watch that keeps you figgerin' backwards an' forards, an' doin' sums all day? I wouldn't be bothered with it."
Captain Benjamin bridled with indignation.
"I don't see but my watch is good as yours," retorted he. "The only difference is I'm addin' from mornin' 'til night while you're substractin'."