been young myself, and when I get to thinkin' how much I know
about you I try to set down and remember how much my dad didn't know
about me when I was your age. That--er--helps some toward givin' me my
correct position on the chart."

He paused. Albert's brain was vainly striving to guess what all
this meant. What was he driving at? The captain crossed his legs and
continued.

"I did think for a spell," he said, "that you and Helen Kendall were
gettin' to understand each other pretty well. Well, Helen's a good girl
and your grandma and I like her. Course we didn't cal'late anything
very serious was liable to come of the understandin', not for some time,
anyhow, for with your salary and--well, sort of unsettled prospects, I
gave you credit for not figgerin' on pickin' a wife right away. . . .
Haven't got much laid by to support a wife on, have you, Al?"

Albert's expression had changed during the latter portion of the speech.
Now he was gazing intently at his grandfather and at the letter in the
latter's hands. He was beginning to guess, to dread, to be fearful.

"Haven't got much to support a wife on, Al, have you?" repeated Captain
Zelotes.

"No, sir, not now."

"Um. . . . But you hope to have by and by, eh? Well, I hope you will.
But UNTIL you have it would seem to older folks like me kind of risky
navigatin' to--to . . . Oh, there was a letter in the mail for you this
mornin, Al."

He put down the envelope he had hitherto held in his hand and, reaching
into his pocket, produced another. Even before he had taken it from
his grandfather's hand Albert recognized the handwriting. It was from
Madeline.

Captain Zelotes, regarding him keenly, leaned back again in his chair.
"Read it if you want to, Al," he said. "Maybe you'd better. I can wait."

Albert hesitated a moment and then tore open the envelope. The note
within was short, evidently written in great haste and agitation and
was spotted with tear stains. He read it, his cheeks paling and his
hand shaking as he did so. Something dreadful had happened. Mother--Mrs.
Fosdick, of course--had discovered everything. She had found all
his--Albert's--letters and read them. She was furious. There had been
the most terrible scene. Madeline was in her own room and was smuggling
him this letter by Mary, her maid, who will do anything for me, and
has promised to mail it. Oh, dearest, they say I must give you up. They
say--Oh, they say dreadful things about you! Mother