ugh and
ready mariner, had little in common with the timid creature who had
tamely kept store on the Shell Road for twenty-odd years.

What would the neighbors think of Cap'n Amazon if he remained away from
the scene of excitement at such a time? He turned back into the store
for his hat and coat and later came out and closed the door. Then he
shuffled down the road.

At first he closed his eyes--squeezing the lids tight so as not to see
the gale-ridden sea. But finally, stumbling, he opened them. Far away
where the pale tower of the lighthouse lifted staunchly against the
greenish gray sky, the surf was rolling in from the open sea, the waves
charging up the strand one after the other like huge white horses,
their manes of spume tossed high by the breath of the gale. Black was
the sea, and streaked angrily with foam.

Thunderously did it roar and break over the Gull Rocks. A curtain of
spoondrift hung above that awful reef and almost shut from the view of
those ashore the open sea and what swam on it.

The old storekeeper reached the sands below the Shell Road. Scattered
in groups along the strand were the people of all classes and degrees
brought together by the word that a vessel was in peril. Here a group
of fishermen in guernseys and high boots, their sou'westers battened
down upon their heads. Yonder Bane and his fellow actors in natty
summer suits stood around the camera discussing with the director the
possibility of making a film of the scene. Farther away huddled a
party of women from the neighborhood, with shawls over their heads and
children at their skirts. Beyond them the people from the cottages on
the bluff were hurrying to the spot--women in silk attire and men in
the lounge suits that fashion prescribed for afternoon wear.

The storekeeper saw and appreciated all this. He stood squarely up to
the wind, the ends of the red bandana over his ears snapping in the
rifted airs, and shaded his eyes with his hand. With his other hand he
stroked the scar along his jaw. He had a feeling that he had been
cheated. That story of the mutiny of the _Galatea_ was destined to be
one of his very best narratives.

He had come to take great pride in these tales, had Cap'n Abe. He had
heard enough men relate personal reminiscences to realize that his
achievements in the story-telling line had a flavor all their own. He
could hold his course with any of them, was his way of expressing it.

And here