“She is not a Benson.”
“Well, that's so, too,” admitted the captain.
He stared into the fire in silence for a moment; a smile hovered about the comers of his mouth. He was thinking of this windfall, old Tucker's money, as he squinted and blinked at the dancing flames. At last he roused from his revery; a sigh of deep content burst from his swelling chest.
“I suppose it will be best for her to dispose of the property here?” he said.
The lawyer nodded slightly. Gibbs laughed.
“Oh, come now, Jake, wherever he is, Tuckers all right; God Almighty makes it up to the losers, I'm Christian enough to think that; so you'd better thaw out and take stock with the living. I'm happy clean through! I'd be an infernal cheat to pretend otherwise.”
“What do you wish me to do?” asked Benson coldly.
“Oh, come nearer to the fire, or your words will freeze to your lips. Let out a tuck in your morals, man; be human; be glad with me!”
“What do you wish me to do?” repeated Benson sternly.
“Wishing don't seem to do any good,” said the captain plaintively. “In enlightened society, to be the father of a baby, to be elected to a public office, or to inherit money—means whisky.”