higher than Gilroy’s kite. And her mother was as sweet a girl as you ever saw!” He drew his son into a little, low-browed, dingy room at the end of the hall. Its grimy untidiness matched the old Captain’s clothes, but it was his one spot of refuge in his own house; here he could scatter his tobacco ashes almost unrebuked, and play on his harmonicon without seeing Gussie wince and draw in her breath; for Mrs. Cyrus rarely entered the “cabin.” “I worry so about its disorderliness that I won’t go in,” she used to say, in a resigned way. And the Captain accepted her decision with resignation of his own. “Crafts of your bottom can’t navigate in these waters,” he agreed, earnestly; and,[Page 40] indeed, the room was so cluttered with his belongings that voluminous hoop-skirts could not get steerageway. “He has so much rubbish,” Gussie complained; but it was precious rubbish to the old man. His chest was behind the door; a blow-fish, stuffed and varnished, hung from the ceiling; two colored prints of the “Barque Letty M., 800 tons,” decorated the walls; his sextant, polished daily by his big, clumsy hands, hung over the mantel-piece, on which were many dusty treasures—the mahogany spoke of an old steering-wheel; a whale’s tooth; two Chinese wrestlers, in ivory; a fan of spreading white coral; a conch-shell, its beautiful red lip serving to hold a loose bunch of cigars. In the chimney-breast was a little door, and the Captain, pulling his son into the room after that call upon Mrs. North,[Page 41] fumbled in his pocket for the key. “Here,” he said; “(as the Governor of North Carolina said to the Governor of South Carolina)—Cyrus, she handed round beef tea!”

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[Page 40]

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But Cyrus was to receive still further enlightenment on the subject of his opposite neighbor:

“She called him in. I heard her, with my own ears! ‘Alfred,’ she said, ‘come in.’ Cyrus, she has designs; oh, I worry so about it! He ought to be protected. He is very old, and, of course, foolish. You ought to check it at once.”

“Gussie, I don’t like you to talk that way about my father,” Cyrus began.

“You’ll like it less later on. He’ll go and see her to-morrow.”

“Why shouldn’t he go and see her to-morrow?” Cyrus said, and added a modest bad word; which made Gussie[Page 42] cry. And yet, in spite of what his wife called his “blasphemy,” Cyrus began 

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