“The idea of a grown man telling tales,” said Chrissie scornfully. “Baby!”
“Why, just now you were all going to tell him yourselves,” said the bewildered boatswain.
The two elder women rose and regarded him with looks of pitying disdain. Miss Polson’s glance said “Fool!” plainly; Susan, a simple child of nature, given to expressing her mind freely, said “Blockhead!” with conviction.
“I see ’ow it is,” said the boatswain, after ruminating deeply. “Well, I won’t split, ladies. I can see now you was all in it, and it was a little job to get me out of the house.”
“What a head he has got,” said the irritated Susan; “isn’t it wonderful how he thinks of it all! Nobody would think he was so clever to look at him.”
“Still waters run deep,” said the boatswain, who was beginning to have a high opinion of himself.
“And pride goes before a fall,” said Chrissie; “remember that, Mr. Tucker.”
Mr. Tucker grinned, but, remembering the fable of the pitcher and the well, pressed his superior officer that evening to relieve him from his duties. He stated that the strain was slowly undermining a constitution which was not so strong as appearances would warrant, and that his knowledge of female nature was lamentably deficient on many important points. “You’re doing very well,” said the captain, who had no intention of attending any more Dorcases, “very well indeed; I am proud of you.”
“It isn’t a man’s work,” objected the boatswain. “Besides, if anything happens you’ll blame me for it.”
“Nothing can happen,” declared the captain confidently. “We shall make a start in about four days now. You’re the only man I can trust with such a difficult job, Tucker, and I shan’t forget you.”