the
combination had an attraction for a good many women folks. Al keeps his
hair cut, though, I'll say that for him," he added. "It curls some, but
it ain't long. I wouldn't have him in the office if 'twas."

"Well, Mr. Fosdick," he continued, "what other objections are they?
Manners? Family and relations? Education? Any objections along that
line?"

"No-o, no; I--well, I don't know; you see, I don't know much about the
young fellow."

"Perhaps I can help you out. As to manners--well, you can judge them for
yourself when you see him. He seems to be in about every kind of social
doin's there is down here, and he's as much or more popular with the
summer folks than with the year-'rounders. Education? Well, that's
fair to middlin', as I see it. He spent nine or ten years in a mighty
expensive boardin' school up in New York State."

"Did he? What school?"

The captain gave the name of the school. Fosdick looked surprised.

"Humph! That IS a good school," he said.

"Is it? Depends on what you call good, I cal'late. Al learned a good
deal of this and that, a little bit of foreign language, some that they
call dead and some that ought to be dead--and buried, 'cordin' to my
notion. When he came to me he couldn't add up a column of ten figgers
without makin' a mistake, and as for business--well, what he knew about
business was about equal to what Noah knew about a gas engine."

He paused to chuckle, and Fosdick chuckled with him.

"As to family," went on Captain Lote, "he's a Snow on his mother's side,
and there's been seven generations of Snow's in this part of the Cape
since the first one landed here. So far as I know, they've all managed
to keep out of jail, which may have been more good luck than deservin'
in some cases."

"His father?" queried Fosdick.

The captain's heavy brows drew together. "His father was a Portygee--or
Spaniard, I believe is right--and he was a play-actor, one of
those--what do you call 'em?--opera singers."

Fosdick seemed surprised and interested. "Oh, indeed," he exclaimed, "an
opera singer? . . . Why, he wasn't Speranza, the baritone, was he?"

"Maybe; I believe he was. He married my daughter and--well, we won't
talk about him, if you don't mind."

"But Speranza was a--"

"IF you don't mind, Mr. Fosdick."

Captain Lote lapsed into silence, drumming the desk with his big
fingers. His visitor waited for a few moments. At length he said:

"Well, Captain Snow, I have answered you