“Well, well, Caleb, you was a mighty sick man—a mighty sick man.”
“I reckon I was,” responded the sailor reflectively.
“The doctor wouldn’t let me come in to see you,” said the merchant, smiling jovially; “so I had to content myself with sending up things.”
“Yes, you did,” said Caleb, turning on him sternly. “I did think, Adoniram, that you wouldn’t waste your money on such truck as that—a-sendin’ me white grapes, an’ jellies, an’ bunches o’ posies.”
He snorted in veriest scorn.
“Well, er—er—you see, Caleb, I told Frances about you and she took over the things herself,” said Adoniram hesitatingly.
“Hem!”
The old sea dog flushed up like a girl and mopped his suddenly heated face with a great bandanna, finally saying gruffly:
“You tell your sister, Miss Frances, that I am mightily obleeged for ’em, Adoniram. They—er—jest went to the right spot, you tell her; jest what I needed to tone me up!”
“You’d better come up and tell her yourself, Caleb,” said the merchant, with a sly smile.