he way
of business."

"Have you tried advertising?" inquired the skipper, striving manfully to
keep his interest up to its former pitch.

The other shook her head and looked uneasily at her daughter.

"It wouldn't be any good," she said in a low voice--"it wouldn't be any
good."

"Well, I don't want to pry into your business in any way," said Wilson,
"but I go into a good many ports in the course of the year, and if you
think it would be any use my looking about I'll be pleased and proud to
do so, if you'll give me some idea of who to look for."

The old lady fidgeted with all the manner of one half desiring and half
fearing to divulge a secret.

"You see we lost him in rather peculiar circumstances," she said,
glancing uneasily at her daughter again. "He--"

"I don't want to know anything about that, you know, ma'am," interposed
the skipper gently.

"It would be no good advertising for my father," said the girl in
her clear voice, "because he can neither read nor write. He is a very
passionate, hasty man, and five years ago he struck a man down and
thought he had killed him. We have seen nothing and heard nothing of him
since."

"He must have been a strong man," commented the skipper.

"He had something in his hand," said the girl, bending low over her
work. "But he didn't hurt him really. The man was at work two days
after, and he bears him no ill-will at all."

"He might be anywhere," said the skipper, meditating.

"He would be sure to be where there are ships," said the old lady; "I'm
certain of it. You see he was captain of a ship himself a good many
years, and for one thing he couldn't live away from the water, and for
another it's the only way he has of getting a living, poor man--unless
he's gone to sea again, which isn't likely."

"Coasting trade, I suppose?" said the skipper, glancing at two or three
small craft which were floating in oil round the walls.

The old lady nodded. "Those were his ships," she said, following his
glance; "but the painters never could get the clouds to please him. I
shouldn't think there was a man in all England harder to please with
clouds than he was."

"What sort of looking man is he?" inquired Wilson.

"I'll get you a portrait," said the old lady, and she rose and left the
room.

The girl from her seat in the window by the geraniums stitched on
steadily. The skipper, anxious to appear at his ease, coughed
gently three times, and was on the very verge of a r