He hung his dear old head, and fingered the rim of the same tall hat I knew so well, while he slowly passed it round and round between his hands. At last he spoke. His voice was all appeal; without a tone of assertion:
"I decided not to go."
"Why?"
"The little felly."
"You went aboard?"
"Yis."
I ventured, from intuition, "But at the last moment you felt homesick? Is that it?"
He answered me over a half-turned, bashful, aged, and patient shoulder.
"Yis."
"So you left the boat before she sailed?"