Making a Man of Him.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIII, Issue 8, 25 August 1909, Page 49

Making a Man of Him.

By

JOSEPH C. LINCOLN.

Author of “ Cap’n Eri, “ “Mr. Pratt, ” etc.

PENNIMAN and Mrs. ( ( Bradley looked at the boy, and the boy, stared fixedly at the carpet centre of the braided rug mat on the floor of the little sittin-room. The three faces, with the lamplight shining upon them, differed widely in expression. Mrs., Bradley, the Captain’s "widowed sister, had been crying, and her eyes were wet. Captain Penniman’s mouth was tight shut, his brows were drawn together in a frown, and he appeared to be holding his temper under control by main strength. Ed Copeland, the nephew, an overgrown youngster whose age was sixteen but who looked three years older, was frowning also, and his whole attitude indicated sullen obstinacy. “Oh, Eddie,” pleaded the widow, “won’t you go with your Uncle Zeke? He’ll make a man of you; you heard him say so yourself. You will, won’t you, ’Zekiel?” “You "bet!” replied the captain, with decision. “Eddie” sniffed contemptuously. “No,” he declared. “No, A’nt Elvira, I ain’t goin’! I don’t want to be no whaler. If you want to get rid of me, hand over the money that belongs to me, and I’ll start for Californy. There’s gold out there and Injun fightin’ and al! kinds of fun. I’ll go there quick enough. All I want’s the chance.” “If you want fightin’,” the Captain suggested tartly, “you ship along of me and I’ll give you all you want. Dori’t lay awake nights worrin’ about that.” Mrs. Bradley tried again. “Now Eddie,” she coaxed, “Calforny ain’t the place for a boy of your age. Everybody eays so. It’s a dreadful wild country, and you might be killed. And you know you ain’t to have the money till you’re twenty-one; ’twas left so In your ma’s will. I was to be your guardian and look out for yo.u till you come of age. ‘Take my boy,’ Sarah says to me on her dyin’ ibed, ‘and take care of him.’ Sarah loved me more’n anybody else in the world, poor thing.” “Darn funny way to show love!” growled Captain Zeke. Eddie kicked the corner of the mat. “Then take care of me,” heretorted. “Let me stay here in Bayport,. then. I’d rather go gold-huntin’, but if I can’t, I’ll stay here. Anyhow, I won’t go whalin’ with Uncle Zeke.” “But you can’t stay here, Eddie. I’m scared to have you, the way you act and the company you keep. You’re

goin’ right straight to the dogs, and I know it. Oh, dear dear!” She broke into sobs, covering her face with her apron. Her brother clenched hie big gnarled fists. “I wish to thunder Sarah’d made me your guardian,” he declared savagely. “You wouldn’t be robbin’ hen-yards nor hangin’ round billiard saloons, if she had, I bet you! Oh, see here, Ed! look at the chance Tin giving you. I’ll take you to Boston with me on the packet to-morrer, buy you a first-class seamen’s outfit, ahip you as cabin-boy on the Lucky Strike, and for three years you and m« cun be blubber-huntin’ and money-mak-

in’ up North. That’s more fun than a barrel of Californys—huskies to trade with, and bears to shoot, and—end—” Here the captain’s invention failed him and he paused, then added briskly: “Come on, Ed! you’ve got the makin’s of a decent feller in you, and three years under me’ll fetch it out. What d’you say? Will you go?” “No, I won’t. I’ll stay to home, and when I’m twenty-one I’ll have the money that was left to me to do what I please with. I won’t go; that’s settled.” Captain Zeke rose to his feet. “Elviry,” he roared, addressing the widow, “you go into the for’ard cabin and shut the door. I’ve offered this critter the chance of one kind of whalin’, and now I’m going to give him the other kind. No lubber can talk to me like— Let go of my arm, you fool woman!” But Mrs. Bradley would not let go. Indeed she clung more tightly to her brother and sobbed wildly. “No, no, ’Zekiel!” she begged. “You mustn’t! Don’t you know you mustn’t? I promised Sarah the very last thing never to whip him. ‘He’s a proud boy,’ says she, ‘and I wouldn’t have his spirit broke for anything.’ I ” “Sperit be hanged! You go in the other room, Elviry Bradley; and if you hear anything smash in here, don’t fret yourself that it’s his spirit. Who’s that?” Some one had knocked at the door that Opened from the porch into the diningroom. Captain Zeke dropped his threatening arm. His nephew, who had turned pale and was half-way to the stairs, regained courage and came back to his chair. Mrs. Bradley wiped her eyes, brushed her hair smooth, and peeped under the window-shade. “I declare, it’s Squire Pepper,” she whispered. “What do you s’ppose he wants?” Squire Pepper was chairman of the Bayport board of selectmen. At the name Captain Zeke started. An expression of guilty triumph shone in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he muttered hastily. “Come to say good-bye to me, maybe. He knows I sail to-morrer. Let him in, why don’t you?” Squire Pepper entered the room with the - dignity pertaining to portliness and high rank. He bowed condescendingly to Mrs. Bradley and her brother, and Regarded the would ; be gold-see'ker with stern disapproval. “Elvira,” he puffed, “ I have—er —come on an errand of—er—er—on an unpleas-

ant errand. lam sorry that my business is—er —er —what it is, but, holdin’ the position which I do, it is sometimes necessary to —to—er —yes —ahem!” The widow looked frightened. Eddie cast another glanee in the direction of the stairs. Captain Zeke, however, was surprisingly calm. “Set right down, Squire,” ho urged. “Sorry you’ve got unpleasant business, but let’s get through with it quick, as the feller who married the homely woman said to the parson. Ain’t goin' to have me took up, are you?” The chairman of selectmen refused the proffered chair.

“No, Ezekiel,” he replied; “no, I ain’t goin’ to arrest you. I’ve come to speak concernin’ that young man,” indicating the trembling Eddie with a nod. “The hoard has about come to the conclusion that he is a element—er—er—a bad influence in the town, and that it may be necessary to send him to the reform school.” “The reform school!” Mrs. Bradley repeated the words in a horrified whisper. Her nephew turned white. “Yes,” said Mr. Pepper, nodding ponderously. “The reform school up to Boston. Bayport folks are long-sufferin’, as a general rule, and they think high of you and the cap’n, Elviry; but this boy here has gone on cuttin’ up one dido after another until he’s reached a stage where he’s a dangerous influent—er—element —er —as I said afore. Melon patches and apple orchards are bad enough, but ” “Why, Solon Pepper!” exclaimed Mrs. Bradley, “how you talk! When you was a boy I remember you stole father’s apples more’n once; and as for melons !” The Squire seemed rather taken aback by this attack from a supposedly friendly quarter. He cast a troubled glance at Captain Zeke.

“Yes, yes,” observed the latter promptly, “but hookin’ melons and apples ain’t all Eddie’s done. You was goin’ on further, wa’n’t you, Squire?” “I was—ahem—yes. As I said, we can forgive apples and melons, boys bein’ boys, but stealin’ chickens and smokin’ and drinkin’ and ” “Drinkin’ !” screamed the widow. “Eddie Copeland, do you drink?” “No, I don’t. All I ever took was some lemonade Gus Cummins had at the billiard saloon.” “Humph!” grunted Cap’n Zeke. “I cal’late there was a stick in that lemonade, wa’n’t there? I know there usually it.”

“How do you know, Zeke Penniman?” asked his sister suspiciously. The Captain, momentarily embarrassed, hesitated. Squire Pepper came to the rescue. “I guess 'twa’n’t lemonade.” he said. “But that’s neither here nor there. The selectmen have decided that your nephew must be taken care of. It’s as much for his sake as anybody else’s. And at the reform school, under strict discipline, there’s a chance to save him. You've told me often, Elvira, that you ean’t handle him. -o it’s our duly to step in. Ahem yes.” The widow began to cry. Eddie, too,

snKt-iied —a surprising procedure for K bloodthirsty, would-be Indian killer. “A Penniman sent to the reform achool!” sobbed Elvira. “The family m disgraced forever.” Captain Zeke felt that now was hi* time to come to the front. “Well, now, Squire,” he eaid, “let’s see. I cal’late that you ain’t real set on •endin’ the boy to the reformatory providin’ he’s took care of and trained proper. We was just settlin’ on a plan when you come in. I start to-morrer for Boston to join my ship. I’ve offered to take Eddie whalin’ with me, and he’s been thinkin’ it over. What do you say now, Ed? Is it the Lucky Strike or the reform school?”

Young Bradley looked at the trio be.fore him. His aunt, her hands clasped, wtis gazing at him appealingly. Captain Zeke was smiling with the confidence of a victor. Squire Pepper’s face wore a stern and uncompromising frown. “I don’t know as it won’t be triflin’ with my duty,” observed the Squire, “but I’ll take the responsibility. If you sail with the Cap’n, boy, we’ll let yon off on the reform school. But it must be one or t’other.” Eddie rubbed his eoat-sleeves across his eyes. He sniffed, glanced once more at the stern face of the Squire, and muttered, “I’ll—l’ll go with you, Undo Zeke.” On the porch, with the door carefully shut, Captain Zeke took leave of Jjis visitor. “Ever so much obliged to you, Squire,” he whispered. “It worked fine, didn’t it? Do you know, I clean forgot you was cornin’? You scared him, all right. But for the land sakes, don’t let Elviry know we fixed it up a forehand.” 11. Captain Zeke and Eddie boarded the little packet schooner at 2 o’clock on the following afternoon. Passengers are now whizzed from Bayport to Boston, on the express train, in two hours and ten minutes, but this was before the days of Cape Cod expresses, and packets, like the whaling industry, were not yet obsolete. Mrs. Bradley came down to the beach to sec them off. A spinster cousin from Or ham was coming over to live with her, so she would not be altogether alone; nevertheless, her farewells were rather tearful. She was used to seeing her brother only at long intervals, and then merely for a few weeks at a time; but Eddie had been her charge for ten worrisome years. It was a great relief to know that he would be away from temptation and under watchful care, but she would miss him dreadfully. “Take good care of him, ’Zekiel, won’t you?” she pleaded. “Remember, he’s poor Sarah’s only child.” “Only child!” repeated the Captain, in amazement. “Great land! you ain’t hankerin’ to have him twins, are yout He’ll be all right. Three years of fun, and then come home to find money in the bank waitin’ for him to spend. 'Oiat and his wage and share’ll give him & pretty pocketful. Big luck, I call it. Hey, Ed?” As an additional guard against possible rebidlion on the part of the nephew, the captain was taking with him fifty dollars of the money left by the boy’ll mother, to be deposited at interest a Boston bank. When the new wha’er should return from his arctic adventure, this sum would be his to spend as he pleased. The packet, with a fair wind to help her, moved out from her anchorage. Before the sandy bluffs of Bay port had sunk below the horizon. Eddie was heartily homesick. Seasick he was not, having had considerable experience in sailboats, but. as the fear of the reform school became more remote, the dread of the long voyage under his uncle’s iron discipline grew stronger. He had a taste of the discipline during his first hour aboard the packet. Captain Zeke had found a crony among the passengers, another old salt, one Cap’n Solomon Badger of Harniss, who also was going to the city to set sail for foreign parts. Eddie, not finding the conversation of the skippers particularly interesting, had wandered forward. His uncle suddenly became aware of his absence. “Here. Ed!” he hailed. “Where’s that boy gone to? TTi. Ed! What you doin’ up there? Come aft and set down alongside.” Eddie. leaning over the rail, did not stir. “I’m all right.” he answered lazily. *1 like it better here.”

' The next minute a tar-toughened thumb? and finger closed on the lobe of his left ear, and he was lid past a dozen grinning passengers and fo’mast hands, back to a seat near the wheel. Into this ■eat he was plumped without ceremony. “When I speak to you, son,” observed the Captain serenely, “you want to do two things right off. One is to say, ‘ Aye, aye, sir,’ and t’other is to mind on the jump. It’s your skipper that’s bossin’ you now, not your A’nt Elviry, and the sooner you splice that into your memory the l>etter for you. I’m shippin’ this young fellow, Cap’n Sol,” he added to his friend from Harniss, “as cabinboy, and I want to begin right. His

a'ntie’s spiled him a little, but I eal’late to fix that in a day or so.” Captain Badger nodded. “A good beginnin’ saves a bad endin’,” he remarked sagely. “You mind your superior officer, boy, and you’ve lamed the fust lesson of a seaman. I’ve been aboard ships where answer same as you gave your uncle would land you in the scuppers with your topriggin’ busted. Yes, indeed.” Eddie, very red in the face, and with a tingling ear, made no answer; but, like the famous parrot, he thought much. The two captains were discussing a salt-water subject—namely, the ethics of the process known as “shanghaing” sailors. “I don’t believe in it myself,” affirmed Captain Sol. “It don't seem to me Christian nor moral. And yet there’s times when ” “I agree with you exactly,” concurred Captain Zeke. “I never shanghaied a fo’mast hand in my life. Me and my fust mate, Obed Coffin—you know him. Sol; one of the Nantucket Coffins—we’ve had more arguments than a few about it. V\ Halin’s whalin,’ I give in to that, and men are hard to get for v’yages that last same as mine do. But I won’t shanghai nobody, and I tell Obed so. ‘lf you want to take the responsibility,’ I says to him, ‘ I won't interfere; but I don’t want to know nothin’ of the details.’ Then my conscience is clear, anyhow.” “ And yet,” continued his companion, “I s’pose it’s just as well for ’em as to be gettin’ drunk in crimps’ boardin’ houses. All’s, done, they tell me, is to put a little sleepin’ stuff—opium or such —in their grog, and there they be. Wake

up aboard a clean ship, out of temptation’s way. and no chance to drink nor fight. Lookin’ at it that way. it seems almost a mercy to ’em, don’t it?. And the sleepin’ stuff don't do ’em no harm.” “ Harm? Not a mite of it. Why, 1 tell you. Sol. I’m subject to rheumatiz when I get amongst the ice or in cold weather ashore, and when it’s got me good I can’t sleep nights. Old Dr. Penrose, down home, he gave me some opium pills. One of ’em stops pain, and 1 get to sleep soon’s I turn in. Got a couple of boxes now in niy satchel. Well, one time I was sort of"absent-minded—been havin’ dinner with some fellers 1 knew—and I took two of them pills by.mistake. Sleep! Say! I s'ept fourteen hours on a stretch, and they had to stick pins into me to wake me up. But I felt fust-rato after it; nothin' but a little headache, same as anybody’s likely to have after a dinner like—after a dinner. I could take fifty of them pills and not mind it. No, •o! drugs may hurt a land lubber, but a

sailor's head’s too tough. Whats’ the matter, boy? Goin’ to sleep?” Eddie looked up. “ No, no, sir,” he replied. “ I was thinkin’, that’s all.” Captain Zeke smiled approval of the “ sir.” “ That’s the way to talk, my son,” he said. “ You’ll larn, give you time.” “ Yes, sir,” said Eddie, “ I guess so.” His meditations had brought him to a definite conclusion, namely, that iie would run away as soon after arriving in Boston as was possible. He would not go on that whaling voyage. The packet reached the city in the early hours of the morning. First of all, on landing, Captain Zeke arranged for his trunk and his nephew’s bag to be sent aboard the Lucky Strike. The ship was lying at Long Wharf, and she was to sail at nine that evening, “ goin’ out on the ebb,” her skipper said. Then satchel in hand, the Captain led the way uptown. “Hadn’t I better go aboard the ship and wait for you, Uncle Zeke?” asked Eddie, with studied carelessness. “ No, no, son. You come right along with me. Got errands to do, you and me have. Got to buy your fit-out, for one thing. Y’ou can’t go to sea in them shore togs.” Eddie covered his chagrin with a question. “ What you takin’ that satchel for?” he asked. “ Got papers and one thing or 'nother in it. Besides, it’s handy to put bundles in.” They walked through lower Commercial Street, lined, at this period, with ship-chandler’s stores, seamen’s boardinghouses, shipping offices, and the like. The city was brand new to Eddie, and he looked about him with wide-eyed interest. Captain Zeke nodded to various acquaintances whom he passed. “ Who’s that ?” inquired the nephew, referring to one of these, a burly, redhaired man in soiled shirt-sleeves, who was standing in the doorway of a dingy shop, the windows of which were filled with bottles. Various signs hung about indicated that “ Choice Wines and Liqours ” were sold within, that “ Comfortable Beds” might be had at thirty-five cents a night, that sailors could secure berths in ships for all parts of the world, and that “Passages for the Gold Diggings ” might be booked at reasonable prices.

“ Him?” replied the captain absently. “ Oh, his name’s Reilly. Runs a sailor’s boardin-house and— Well, what do you want?” This to the red-haired man, who had run after them. “ Why. Captain,” said Mr. Reilly, “ I just wanted to say that them two fo’mast hands you need ain’t turned up yet, but I’ll- ” “ I don’t want to know nothin’ about it,” was the quick reply. “ That’s between you and Mr. Coffin. I can’t stop to talk. I'm busy.” They hurried on- Eddie appeared fascinated by Mr. Reilly and his place of business, for he kept glancing back as if to fix the locality in his mind. By noon many errands had been done. In a little clothing-store, kept by a former Cape Codder, Captain Zeke bought his nephew a sailor’s outfit, ineluding everything needed for a long voyage in an arctic climate. The purchase consumed much time, for nothing was bought at the price first named, and. the “beatingdown ” process was lengthy and argumentative. The shopkeeper finally agreed to “ throw in ” a black and yellow neckerchief, for good measure, and on this basis the deal was made. At last, the satchel being stuffed to the top, and the boy’s arms filled with bundles, they entered the door of the Bay State House, a hotel on Hanover-street. Here also the

captain was known. After an interview with the clerk, they climbed four flights of stairs to a room under the eaves. “There!” exclaimed Captain Zeke, dumping satchel and bundles on the bed. “There, Ed! here we be and here you’ll stay until it’s time to go aboard ship. You can get on your new togs and look out of the window till I come baek. 1 got to see my owners and the like of that.” He opened the satchel and extracted a bundle of papers. Then he turned to the door and fumbled with the key. Eddie had received the command to wait at the hotel with marked cheerfulness- Now, however, he looked troubled. “ You ain’t goin’ to lock me in, are you?” he inquired anxiously. “ That’s what, son- I brought you here for just that reason. If I leave you in a room up under the hurricane-deck with the door locked, I eal’late you’ll stay put till I come back. Otherwise I wouldn’t be so sure. By-by. Think of the fun you’ll have blubber-huntin’; ’twill keep you from gettin’ lonesome.” The door slammed and the key rattled. The disappointed “ blubber - hunter ” thumped on the panel. “Aw, Uncle Zeke,” he pleaded; “let’s have dinner first. I’m hungry.” “ We’ll fed later on, son,” was the muffled response. “ A sailor has to I’arn to do without reg’lar meals.” His footsteps died away on the stairs. Disconsolately, Eddie turned to survey his prison. His first move was to open the window and peer out. Roofs and chimneys across the street made up the discouraging prospect in that directionThere was a transom over the door, but it was too small to crawl through. Obviously there was no escape. The Captain’s satchel lay open on the bed. For the sake of doing something, the boy began looking over the purchases of the morning. He took out one bundle

after another. Beneath those that contained the boy’s outfit were other bundles hurriedly thrown in by the skipper before leaving Bayport. A small package, wrapped in white paper with writing on it, caught Eddie’s eye. He picked it up and read the inscription. Then he started violently. Fragments of a conversation heard the previous afternoon came back to him For a full five minutes he sat staring at the package in his hand.

The captain’s business with his owners took more time than he expected. He visited the bank also. It was nearly 4 o’clock when he unlocked the door of the room “under the hurricane-deck.” Eddie, dressed, as per orders, in his new seagoing clothes, was seated by the window. “Well, boy,” observed the skipper approvingly, “now you begin to look like salt water, sure enough. Hungry yet, are you? That’s all right. Waitin’ for grub helps a feller’s appetite. Hey! What’s that ?” He pointed to the little table by the bed. On it stood a coffee-pot, a plate of bread and butter, and another of cold ham. “Why, Uncle Zeke,” explained Eddie, “you didn’t come back, and I got awful empty. There’s one of them pipes that you talk through in the wall, over there, and I hollered down-stairs and told ’em I wanted somethin’ to eat. They said, ‘Come down and get it,’ I told ’em I couldn't, ’cause you'd gone off and locked

the door, but if they sent somethin* up perhaps they could push it through that little skylight.” He indicated the transom. “Humph!” grunted Captain Zeke. “Sc they done it, hey? Well, I must say I like your brass. And me chasin’ around to banks depositin’ your money and goin’ without my own fodder while you’re livin’ like a fighting cock! All right, I'll have you aboard ship pretty soon, and then we’ll see. How much did them victuals cost ?” “Oh, they was the cheapest I could pick out; though things are dear here, ain’t they? But I’ve saved some for you, and the coffee ain’t cold yet. Do have some coffee, anyhow. I’ll feel better about orderin’ it if you do.” His uncle hesitated. His smart nephew had stolen a march on him, hut the food was there, and it must be paid for, so . . . He sat down beside the table. “Here’s your cup, Uncle Zeke,” said Eddie. “I’ll fill it for you. One spoonful of sugar, ain’t it, sir? You always take one at home.” “Put in two. Might’s well—got to get my money’s worth somehow. Here! let that bread alone. You’ve had yours.” He finished the last of the eatables. Then, his temper somewhat improved, he sat, sipping his coffee and complacently regarding his companion. The latter returned the look. In fact, he watched his relative with a curious intentness. “Humph!” grunted Captain Zeke, putting down the emptied cup and peering into the coffee-pot. “Took care not to leave more’n was good for me, didn’t you All right, son, I ain’t complainin’. I s’pose you figgered you sort of got a leetle mite the best of the old man on this grub business. Well, maybe you did, but your Uncle Zeke ain’t so slow that he can't catch himself. I eal’late you wouldn’t have come along with me on this trip if it hadn’t been for Squire Pepper—would, you, hey?”

“I don’t know, sir.” The boy was very; respectful. “You don’t know? Well, I know. And you had a suspicion that you might slip your cable and run away when you struck the city. Hey? How about that?” Eddie flushed and hesitated; also he appeared somewhat alarmed. The captain chuckled. “Lord love you, son,” he exclaimed; “did you s’pose I was as green as that comes to ? I ain’t been handlin’ men and boys all these years for nothin’. But ’twas funny to see your face when I locked that door. Haw! haw!” He laughed uproariously. His nephew laughed too, just a little. His momentary alarm had vanished, and, for no apparent reason, he seemed easier in his mind.

“Now. son,” continued Captain Zeke, “I’m goin’ to give you a few p’ints regardin’ what you’re to do aboard ths Lucky Strike. You’ll have to work, understand. Bein’ relation to the old man don’t count aboard a vessel of mine. But, at the end of the v’yage, if you ain’t a well-behaved, good-habited, spry young feller, I’ll eat my hat. Now, listen.” Eddie listened. Captain Zeke’s few points were not so few, after all. The prospective cabin boy gathered that hia berth was to be anything but a sinecure. Also he noted that his uncle’s discourse was becoming a trifle incoherent. “As I was sayin’,” went on the captain, “as 1 was sayin’—you'll have to . . ( .

to ... . I don’t see what makes me so overlastin’ sleepy.” He yawned cavernously. Eddie, in his chair,by the window, smiled. “A body’d think,” observed Captain Zeke; “a body’d think—th—think—th—that < . .” • His eyelids drooped, and he leaned sidewise in his chair, saving himself from falling only by a violent effort. “A body’d th-th-think . . .” said the captain. “A body’d think,” remarked Eddie nonchalantly, ‘‘that you’d been shanghaied, wouldn’t they?” “Hey? H-hey? Wh-whash that?’ “But never mind, Uncle Zeke. There’s no harm in it. Drugs may be bad for a landlubber, but a sailor’s head’s too tough. Nothin’ but a little headache same as anyone’s likely to have after dinner. I ” “Boy!” The captain probably had an idea that he was shouting, but his utterance was merely a husky whisper. “Boy, whash been doin’? Has—have you . . . er . . .” He paused, staggered to the bed, and, murmuring that he guessed he’d “turn in for a spell,” fell fast asleep. 111. Obed Coffin, first mate of the Lucky Strike, was distinctly nervous. He was anything but a nervous man, generally speaking, but at 11 o’clock, with, the tide three hours on the ebb, full crew aboard, and the ship waiting to be cast off,

it was disquieting to be minus a skipper. And Captain Zeke Penniman was usually the most punctual of men. “Land knows what’s become of him,” he said to Mr Nye, the second mate. “Somethin’s happened, sure. If ’twas three hours ahead of time I’d expect him any minute; but more’n two hours behind .... I’m scart.” “Maybe he’s drunk,” suggested Nye, who had never sailed with Captain Penniman. “Drunk! Zeke Penniman? Don’t talk foolish; he’s a teetotaller—on board ship or night sailin’ time, anyhow.” The second mate spat disgustedly. “Thunder!” he exclaimed. “He ain’t, is he ? Why didn’t you tell me that afore I signed articles? A teetotal whaler! I didn’t believe there was such a thing.” “Well, there is, and ... Hi! I cal’late this is him now. Yes, ’tis. But how in the world did he come to be so extravagant with his money’ ? Zeke Penniman in a hired hack! I’ll b’lieve the millennium’s struck, pretty near.” It was Captain Zeke, sure enough, and in a cab. The captain alighted from the vehicle, or, more strictly speaking, fell out of its door, and staggered to the string-piece of the wharf. “Obed,” he called. “Obed Coffin, where in time are you ?” “Aye, aye, skipper,” replied the wondering first mate. “I’m mighty glad to see you. I was beginnin’ to think ” “Shut up! Goin’ to stand talkin’ all night? 'Pay this feller” —indicating the cab driver —“fifty cents—no more, understand. Hurry up, will ylou! Oh, Lord, my head!” Mr. Coffin paid the driver, and the Captain of the Lucky Strike prepared to climb aboard his vessel. He seemed to find it a difficult task. “Hear!” he growled. “Give me a hand, won’t you? And be lively about 4tr

Obed helped him over the rail, while Mr. Nye assisted by holding a lantern. ’ “Ain’t sick, sir, are you?” asked the first .mate. - “No!” sputtered Captain Zeke, savagely. ’ "Course he ain’t!” put in Nye, hugely delighted. “You’re all right, hey, skipper? Sea legs ain’t on, that’s all.” Then in Mr. Coffin’s ear he whispered: “This what you call a teetotaler?” The Captain heard him. “What’s that?” he demanded. “You dast to hint that I’ve been drinkin’ liquor, and I’ll —oh, my head!” “Hadn’t we better get under way?” asked Obed, hurriedly. “■Have you—have you seen anything of—of a nephew of mine?” Captain Zeke blurted out the question. “No, sir. Was that the new cabinboy? He hasn’t turned up. Thought you was gloin’ to fetch him from Bayport.” The skipper groaned aloud. In his coat pocket was a note, which he had found in the room at the Bay State House after being shaken into wakefulness by the night clerk. Its every word was burned into his memory. It ran as follows:—

“Dear Uncle Zeke, —I decided riot to go whaling, and I put two of your rheumatiz pills in that coffee drank. You said yourself you could take fifty of ’em, so I know two won’t hurt you. I’m off Do dig gold. When I come hack rich maybe I will call on you and Aunt Elvira. “Your loving nephew, “Edward Copeland. «P ? S.—I took what money you had in yiour pockets to pay my fare. You can take enough to make us square out of the bank, where you put my titty.

“Shall I get under way?” repeated Mr. Coffin, watching his superior. Captain Zeke, sick, wrathful, and humiliated, his head splitting, and his stomach turning somersaults, groaned again. “I—l guess not, Obed,” h e stammered. “I cal’late we won’t sail to-night. We ain’t got a full ship’s company, so ” “Yes, we have, sir. Reilly fetched the final-pair aboard about eight. Had to shanghai ’em, of course. He come pretty nigh not gettiri the last one, but luck was with. him. Seems a green young feller iin sailor’s, rig drifted into his .place, and. asked, for a ticket to Californy; wanted to go to the diggin’s, like the rest of . the fools. When he found out what passage would cost, he was consider’ble set back —-hadn’t got money enough, you understand. Then he wanted to know if he couldn’t ship’ as fo’mast hand aboard a ’Frisco vessel. Reilly see that Providence was helpin’ us along, and he asks the young cub to have somethin’ just: for sociableness; Well, you know what that means—-means the Lucky Strike’s got her full crew.”

The first mate laughed at Mr. Reilly’s little joke. Captain Zeke did not laugh. “Where did this young chap want to go?” he demanded excitedly. “To Californy. He ” “What sort of a lookin’ feller was he? How was he dressed?” “Oh, he’s quite a likely youngster, I should say. Freekle-faced and sort of tew->headed. Had a nice new fit-out of togs, blue shirt and ” “Obed Coffin, don’t you lie to me! Don’t you dare say that shanghaied lubber had on a speckled yeller neckhandkerchief if he didn’t! Don’t ” “But he did. How’d you know? A yeller handkerchief with black spots. Want fro see him? He’s down in the fc’castle now, sleepin’ like a lamb.” A few minutes later, Mr. Nye, holding the lantern by the forward companion, looked full into the face of the skipper, as the latter ascended the ladder from the fo’castle. The Captain was smiling—grimly, perhaps, but smiling nevertheless. “Obed,” queried Captain Zeke, turning tlo the first mate, who was behind him on the ladder, “three years is quite a spell, ain’t it?” “Why—why, yes, sir.” “I cal’late in that time, and with proper discipline a skipper that knew his business might make a man even out of a young rip like that one down there, hey?” “Aye, aye, sir. I impose he could.” “Yes. And anyhow,” Captain Zeke’s grim smile broadened', and his right fist clenched, “anyhow he could have consider’ble fun tryin*. Mr. Coffin, you may get the ship under way, sir.”