"My friend," observed the sanctified man, "it is not my wish to cause trouble, an' I can't help it. If your bed be hard I make no complaint; I'll try to sleep on it. If my grub is no good, I'll try to forget it. The way o' Providence air unbeknownst."
The short, stout skipper stood looking at him a moment, but the sanctified man beamed down upon him until he turned with an exclamation of a somewhat unconventional sort and left the room. Then the tall man closed the door.
In the early morning the Dartmoor was cast loose from the dock and her mainsail hoisted. Jubiter John stood near the wheel and piloted her safely over the bar and out into the green waters of the Atlantic. Then he left her and took to his dory to row back.
The air was crisp with the tingle of a nor'wester and the sun rose with a ruddy glow. The sea was smooth under the land, but the little lumpy clouds which were running away from the northward, told of wind behind. Before the sun was well above the horizon, Mr. Jones appeared on deck. He was dressed in his black trousers with suspenders tied about his waist in place of a belt. His once white shirt was open at the neck displaying a deep and brawny chest. Two long white feet poked themselves from beneath his trouser legs in most unpoetical fashion, but showed he was ready for the washing down of the vessel's decks. He tailed on to the gaff-topsail halliards and sweated up that piece of canvas until the block nearly parted from the masthead with the strain. Even the Captain, who had spent the night sleeping upon the galley floor, felt that he had, indeed, an able seaman in the sanctified man who hurled buckets of water along the snow-white planks or hustled the squeegee along the deck until the wood and seams fairly oozed water like a sponge. The three foremast hands hurried along in his wake.
The Dartmoor was fast making an offing. With all sail she was running before the breeze which now began to get a heart in it, and the long heave of the heavy sea coming around Cape Lookout told of something behind it. There was a live kick and quick run to this swell that made the skipper look anxiously to his lighter canvas, but it was his object to get as far down the beach as possible while the wind lasted. A few miserable hours of heavy weather and all might be well, but thrashing down a nor'wester would cost him his job if he judged Mrs. Holbrook correctly.
The motion brought young Richard on deck, where he stood looking at the tall man in amazement.
"I thought you was a minister, say?" he ventured, as the sanctified man came near with the squeegee, "an' ministers don't work."
"Well, some kinds do, sonny. I ain't just what you might call a priest."
"Naw, you look like you might be some good," said the boy. "But ain't you a long one, say? When you get through I'll come forward and talk to you. Ma won't care; she says she hates to have to sit around an' try to talk to people she don't know nothin' about."