"Oh, you ain't! I forgot to ask Heath the name of her. I'm sort of a crank on the names of boats. It always riles me to have a foolish name given a boat. No matter how small she is, her plankin' is all that divides her owner from fathoms of water, an' in view of the fact he'd oughter regard her soberly an' give her a decent name."
Elisha stroked his chin, rough with the stubble of a reddish beard.
"Years ago," he continued, "folks stood in awe of ships an' understood better what they owed 'em. In them days there warn't no wireless, nor no big ocean liners an' a man that sailed the deep warn't so hail-feller-well-met with the sea. It put the fear of God into him. When he started out on a cruise across the Atlantic or round the Horn, there warn't no slappin' his ship on the back. He respected her an' named her accordin'ly. The Flyin' Cloud! Can you beat that? Or Sovereign of the Seas? Them names meant somethin'. They made you want to lift your hat to the lady. But now—! Why, last season a feller come into the harbor with as pretty a knockabout as you'd want to see. Small though she was, every line of her was of the quality. A reg'lar little queen she was. An' what do you s'pose that smart aleck had christened her? The Ah-there! Thought himself funny, no doubt. 'Twould 'a' served him right had she capsized under him some day when he was well out of sight of land an' left him to swim ashore. Yes-siree, it would. If a man has no more regard for the keel that's under him an' the floorin' that's 'twixt him an' forty fathoms of water than that he deserves to drown an' I wouldn't care the flip of a cod's tail if he did," Elisha blustered.
"Oh, come now, 'Lish—you know you wouldn't stand by an' see no feller drown, no matter what kind of a fool he was," laughed the doctor.
"Yes, I would," Elisha insisted, tugging on his coat.
"Well, all I can say is I hope the name of Mr. Heath's boat will meet with your approval," ventured Sylvia archly.
"I hope 'twill," was the glum retort, as the sheriff followed Doctor Stetson through the doorway.
The moment the door banged behind them, Sylvia turned toward Marcia.
"Forgive my butting in, dear," apologized she. "But I was so surprised. You did say you didn't know Mr. Heath, didn't you?"
"Yes."