“Nothin’ stuck up about me, ’cept my collar,” said Ed Davis, grinning. “I been hankering for your pies, ma, ever since we left Pedro. You bet we’re goin’ to stay a while! How’s Tom? Everybody well?”
Mrs. Saunders’ ruddy face seemed to assume a slightly less cheerful expression.
“Yes,” she said, turning to the door. “Tom’s well. You folks set and talk while I see to them pies. They’re in the oven now.”
The door slammed. Clem looked at the captain’s white-whiskered face and frowned.
“What’s the matter, cap’n?” he asked directly. “You’re looking kind of peaked around the gills. Rheumatism bad again?”
“No-o, I reckon not.” Captain Saunders stroked his beard, and summoned up the ghost of his olden-days smile. “I’m hungerin’ for salt water, I reckon.”
“First time I ever knew you to lie to me, cap’n,” said Clem quietly.
Captain Saunders flushed. He looked at Ed Davis, and then met Clem’s accusing brown eyes. With fumbling fingers he began to fill his pipe.
“Got a match, Clem?” he asked, with a little quaver in his voice.