“I tell you,” said the skipper, “that the boy calls everybody his father. I dare say he’s claimed another by this time.”
Even as he spoke the handle turned, and the door opening a few inches disclosed the anxious face of Master Jones. Mrs. Hunt, catching the skipper’s eye, pointed to it in an ecstasy of silent wrath. There was a breathless pause, broken at last by the boy.
“Mother!” he said, softly.
Mrs. Hunt stiffened in her chair and her arms fell by her side as she gazed in speechless amazement. Master Jones, opening the door a little wider, gently insinuated his small figure into the room. The skipper gave one glance at his wife and then, turning hastily away, put his hand over his mouth, and, with protruding eyes, gazed out of the window.
“Mother, can I come in?” said the boy.
“Oh, Polly!” sighed the skipper. Mrs. Hunt strove to regain the utterance of which astonishment had deprived her.
“I... what... Joe... don’t be a fool!”
“Yes, I’ve no doubt,” said the skipper, theatrically. “Oh, Polly! Polly! Polly!”
He put his hand over his mouth again and laughed silently, until his wife, coming behind him, took him by the shoulders and shook him violently.
“This,” said the skipper, choking; “this is what—you’ve been worried about—— This is the secret what’s—”