s
tip-toeing up and peeking in the winder to watch them two old coots
squinting through a telescope at the sky or scribbling rubbish on paper.
And Beriah was right 'most every time. I don't know why--my notion
is that he was born that way, same as some folks are born lightning
calculators--but I'll never forget the first time Peter asked him how he
done it.

"Wall," drawls Beriah, "now to-day looks fine and clear, don't it? But
last night my left elbow had rheumatiz in it, and this morning my bones
ache, and my right toe-j'int is sore, so I know we'll have an easterly
wind and rain this evening. If it had been my left toe now, why--"

Peter held up both hands.

"That'll do," he says. "I ain't asking any more questions. ONLY, if the
boarders or outsiders ask you how you work it, you cut out the bones
and toe business and talk science and temperature to beat the cars.
Understand, do you? It's science or no eight-fifty in the pay envelope.
Left toe-joint!" And he goes off grinning.

We had to have Eben, though he wasn't wuth a green hand's wages as a
prophet. But him and Beriah stuck by each other like two flies in the
glue-pot, and you couldn't hire one without t'other. Peter said
'twas all right--two prophets looked better'n one, anyhow; and, as
subscriptions kept up pretty well, and the Bureau paid a fair profit,
Jonadab and me didn't kick.

In July, Mrs. Freeman--she had charge of the upper decks in the "Old
Home" and was rated head chambermaid--up and quit, and being as we
couldn't get another capable Cape Codder just then, Peter fetched down
a woman from New York; one that a friend of old Dillaway's recommended.
She was able seaman so far's the work was concerned, but she'd been
good-looking once and couldn't forget it, and she was one of them
clippers that ain't happy unless they've got a man in tow. You know the
kind: pretty nigh old enough to be a coal-barge, but all rigged up with
bunting and frills like a yacht.

Her name was Kelly, Emma Kelly, and she was a widow--whether from choice
or act of Providence I don't know. The other women servants was all down
on her, of course, 'cause she had city ways and a style of wearing
her togs that made their Sunday gowns and bonnets look like distress
signals. But they couldn't deny that she was a driver so far's her work
was concerned. She'd whoop through the hotel like a no'theaster and have
everything done, and done well, by two o'clock in the afternoon. Then
she