er?" she said, in a shrill voice. "You pretty
smart?"

Bailey hastened to explain.

"I ain't Cap'n Whittaker," he roared. "I'm Bailey Bangs, the one that
wrote to you."

"Hey?"

Mr. Lumley and Asaph chuckled. Bailey colored and tried again.

"I ain't the cap'n," he whooped. "Here he is--here!"

He led her over to her prospective employer and tapped the latter on the
chest.

"How d'ye do, sir?" said the housekeeper. "I don't know's I just caught
your name."

In five minutes or so the situation was made reasonably clear. Mrs.
Beasley then demanded her trunk and carpet bag. The grinning Lumley bore
them into the house. Then he drove away, still grinning. Bailey looked
fearfully at Captain Cy.

"She IS kind of hard of hearin', ain't she?" he said reluctantly. "You
remember I said she was."

The captain nodded.

"Yes," he answered, "you're a truth-tellin' chap, Bailey, I'll say that
for you. You don't exaggerate your statements."

"Hard of hearin'!" snapped Mr. Tidditt. "If the last trump ain't a steam
whistle she'll miss Judgment Day. I'll stop into Simmons's on my way
along and buy you a bottle of throat balsam, Cy; you're goin' to need
it."

The captain needed more than throat balsam during the fortnight which
followed. The widow Beasley's deafness was not her only failing. In fact
she was altogether a failure, so far as her housekeeping was concerned.
She could cook, after a fashion, but the fashion was so limited that
even the bill of fare at the perfect boarding house looked tempting in
retrospect.

"Baked beans again, Cy!" exclaimed Asaph, dropping in one evening after
supper. "'Tain't Saturday night so soon, is it?"

"No," was the dismal rejoinder. "It's Tuesday, if my almanac ain't out
of joint. But we had beans Saturday and they ain't all gone yet, so I
presume we'll have 'em till the last one's swallowed. Aunt Debby's got
what the piece in the Reader used to call a 'frugal mind.' She don't
intend to waste anything. Last Thursday I spunked up courage enough to
yell for salt fish and potatoes--fixed up with pork scraps, you know,
same's we used to have when I was a boy. We had 'em all right, and if
beans of a Saturday hadn't been part of her religion we'd be warmin' 'em
up yet. I took in a cat for company 'tother day, but the critter's
run away. To see it look at the beans in its saucer and then at me was
pitiful; I felt like handin' myself over to the Cruelty to Animals'
folks."

"Is she nea