ainly finding it hard to
express his thought, "I--well, I used to think I knew consider'ble,
had what I liked to think was good, hard sense. 'Twas hard enough, I
cal'late--pretty nigh petrified in spots."

Albert laid a hand on his knee.

"Don't talk like that," he replied impulsively. "I don't like to hear
you."

"Don't you? Then I won't. But, you see, Al, it bothers me. Look how I
used to talk about makin' up poetry and writin' yarns and all that. Used
to call it silliness and a waste of time, I did--worse names than that,
generally. And look what you're makin' at it in money, to say nothin' of
its shovin' you into Congress, and keepin' the newspapers busy printin'
stuff about you. . . . Well, well," with a sigh of resignation, "I don't
understand it yet, but know it's so, and if I'd had my pig-headed way
'twouldn't have been so. It's a dreadful belittlin' feelin' to a man at
my time of life, a man that's commanded ten-thousand-ton steamers and
handled crews and bossed a business like this. It makes him wonder how
many other fool things he's done. . . . Why, do you know, Al," he added,
in a sudden burst of confidence, "I was consider'ble prejudiced against
you when you first came here."

He made the statement as if he expected it to come as a stunning
surprise. Albert would not have laughed for the world, nor in one way
did he feel like it, but it was funny.

"Well, perhaps you were, a little," he said gravely. "I don't wonder."

"Oh, I don't mean just because you was your father's son. I mean on your
own account, in a way. Somehow, you see, I couldn't believe--eh? Oh,
come in, Labe! It's all right. Al and I are just talkin' about nothin'
in particular and all creation in general."

Mr. Keeler entered with a paper in his hand.

"Sorry to bother you, Cap'n Lote," he said, "but this bill of Colby and
Sons for that last lot of hardware ain't accordin' to agreement. The
prices on those butts ain't right, and neither's those half-inch screws.
Better send it back to em, eh?"

Captain Zelotes inspected the bill.

"Humph!" he grunted. "You're right, Labe. You generally are, I notice.
Yes, send it back and tell 'em--anything you want to."

Laban smiled. "I want to, all right," he said. "This is the third time
they've sent wrong bills inside of two months. Well, Al," turning toward
him, "I cal'late this makes you kind of homesick, don't it, this talk
about bills and screws and bolts and such? Wa'n't teasin' for you