ent "vacation" which the youth could notice.
Certain vivid remembrances of his father's bad humor on mornings
following convivial evenings recurred to him. Was it possible that this
odd, precise, dried-up little man had been on a spree for four days? It
did not seem possible. He looked more as if he might be expected to rap
on the desk and ask the school to come to order.

"Albert's goin' to take hold here with us in the office," went on
Captain Lote. "You'll remember I spoke to you about that when we talked
about his comin'. Al, Labe--Mr. Keeler here--will start you in larnin'
to bookkeep. He'll be your first mate from now on. Don't forget you're
a fo'mast hand yet awhile and the way for a fo'mast hand to get ahead
is to obey orders. And don't," he added, with a quiet chuckle, "do any
play-actin' or poetry-makin' when it's your watch on deck. Laban nor I
ain't very strong for play-actin', are we, Labe?"

Laban, to whom the reference was anything but clear, replied rather
vaguely that he didn't know as he was, very. Albert's temper flared
up again. His grandfather was sneering at him once more; he was always
sneering at him. All right, let him sneer--now. Some day he would be
shown. He scowled and turned away. And Captain Zelotes, noticing the
scowl, was reminded of a scowl he had seen upon the face of a Spanish
opera singer some twenty years before. He did not like to be reminded of
that man.

He went out soon afterward and then Laban, turning to Albert, asked a
few questions.

"How do you think you're goin' to like South Harniss, Ansel?" he asked.

Albert was tempted to reply that he, Keeler, had asked him that very
question before, but he thought it best not to do so.

"I don't know yet," he answered, carelessly. "Well enough, I guess."

"You'll like it fust-rate bimeby. Everybody does when they get used
to it. Takes some time to get used to a place, don't you know it does,
Ansel?"

"My name is Albert."

"Eh? Yes, yes, so 'tis. Yes, yes, yes. I don't know why I called you
Ansel, 'less 'twas on account of my knowin' an Ansel Olsen once . . .
Hum . . . Yes, yes. Well, you'll like South Harniss when you get used to
it."

The boy did not answer. He was of the opinion that he should die long
before the getting used process was completed. Mr. Keeler continued.

"Come on yesterday's train, did you?" he asked.

Albert looked at him. Was the fellow joking? He did not look as if he
was.

"Why no," he replied.