the truth ends--"just as Mary Polly was shaking out her mat. He came up
like a whipped dog, stuck his hands in his pockets and started to
whistle, for all the world like a whipped dog, you understand? Any fool
could see the man had something on his mind and wanted to break it
gentle. But not she! Went on banging the mat, if you'll believe me,
till my flesh ached to see a woman so dull-minded. Of course it wasn'
no business of mine, tho' you _would_ think, after living with a man
thirty years--" and so on, and so on.

But when Mary Polly had relieved her feelings, and the two old souls
were in the kitchen with the door shut behind them, they came very near
to breaking down. You see, Captain Jacka had followed the trade in
Polperro all his days, and his heart was in it till Mr. Job pulled him
up by the roots. He and Mary Polly had saved a little, and looked
forward to leaving it to their only child--my wife's mother, that was;
and anyway it wasn't enough to maintain them, let be that to touch a
penny of it would have burnt their fingers. No; Captain Jacka must find
a new billet.

But in a month or so, when folks had given up sympathising--for Mary
Polly hated to be pitied, and gave them no encouragement--he saw plain
enough that there was no billet for him in a small place like Polperro
where Mr. Job ruled the roost. Before Christmas his mind was made up;
and early in Christmas week he said good-bye to his wife, marched up to
Four Turnings with his kit on his back, and shipped on board Boutigo's
Two-Horse Conveyance for Falmouth.

There was a Mr. Rogers living at Falmouth who had been a shareholder in
the old "Hand and Glove" company, but had sold out over some quarrel
with Mr. Job; and to him Jacka applied.

"I'm told that seamen are scarce, sir," says he. "I was wondering if
you could find me a berth anywhere, for I've 'arned forty per cent. for
my employers before now, and could do it again, but for a man of my
unfortunate looks 'tis hard to get a start."

Mr. Rogers tapped the desk with his ruler, like one considering.
"Why have they turned you out?" he asked. "Anything professional?"

"How could _I_ help Mr. Job's sitting down on a lump of honey?
I put it to you, sir, as a business man."

"I'm sure I don't know," said Mr. Rogers. "Let's have the story."

So out it all came. "He's a man of wrath," said Captain Jacka,
"and he'll be sorry for it when he comes to die."

"There's one or two," said