Captain Dan's fears concerning the safety of his showcases were
groundless. Even as he sprang up the steps to the side door of his place
of business, he heard familiar voices in the store. He recognized
the voices, and, halting momentarily to wipe his forehead with his
handkerchief and to regain some portion of his composure and his breath,
he walked in.

Gertrude, his daughter, was seated in his chair by the desk, and John
Doane was leaning upon the desk, talking with her. In the front of the
store, Sam Bartlett, the boy, who had evidently returned from breakfast,
was doing nothing in particular, and doing it with his usual air of
enjoyment. It was only when required to work that Sam was unhappy.

Gertrude looked up as her father entered; prior to that she had been
looking at the blotter on the desk. John Doane, who had been looking at
Gertrude, also changed the direction of his gaze. Captain Dan struggled
with the breath and the composure.

"Why, Dad!" exclaimed Gertrude. "What is it?"

"What's the matter, Cap'n Dott?" asked Mr. Doane.

Daniel did his best to appear calm; it was a poor best. At fifty-two one
cannot run impromptu hurdle races against time, and show no effects.

"Hey?" he panted. "Matter? Nothin's the matter. I left the store alone
for a minute and I was in a kind of hurry to get back to it, that's
all."

The explanation was not entirely satisfactory. Gertrude looked more
puzzled than ever.

"A minute," she repeated. "Left it a minute! Why, John and I have been
here fifteen minutes, and Sam was here when we came."

The captain looked at his watch. "Well, maybe 'twas a little more'n a
minute," he admitted.

Master Bartlett sauntered up to take part in the conversation.

"I got here twenty minutes ago," he observed, grinning, "and you wasn't
here then, Cap'n Dan'l. I was wonderin' what had become of ye."

Daniel seized the opportunity to change the subject.

"Anybody been in since you came?" he asked, addressing Sam.

"No, nobody special. Abel Calvin was in to see if you wanted to buy some
beach plums for puttin' up. He said he had about a bushel of first-rate
ones, just picked."

"Beach plums! What in time would I want of beach plums? I don't put up
preserves, do I? Why didn't he go to the house?"

"I asked him that, myself, and he said 'twa'n't no use."

"No use! What did he mean by that?"

"Well, he said--he said--" Sam seemed suddenly to realize that he was
getting into deep wat