about home?"

"I don't think he is."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"He said he would try to find a job."

"Why didn't you keep him? Didn't you know I wanted to see him?"

"You didn't ask me to keep him," said Mrs. Trafton nervously.

"I see how it is," said the fisherman; "you're in league with him."

"What do you mean by that, John?"

"You know well enough what I mean. You don't want him to give me that
money."

Mrs. Trafton plucked up courage enough to say: "You ought not to ask for
it, John."

"Why shouldn't I ask for it?" he demanded, pounding forcibly on the
table.

"Because he means to spend it for things we need and you want it to
spend at the tavern."

"There you are again--always twitting me because, after exposing myself
to storm and the dangers of the sea, I take a little something to warm
me up and make me comfortable."

To hear John Trafton's tone one might think him a grievously injured
man.

"For two years, John Trafton, you have spent three-fourths of your
earnings at the tavern," said his wife quietly. "You have left me to
suffer want and privation that you might indulge your appetite for
drink."

"You seem to be alive still," he said with an ugly sneer. "You don't
seem to have starved."

"I might have done so but for Robert. He has brought me fish and bought
groceries with what little money he could earn in various ways."

"Oh, it's Robert always!" sneered Trafton. "He is an angel, is he? He's
only done his duty. Haven't I given him the shelter of my roof?"

"You haven't given him much else," retorted his wife.

"I've heard enough of that; now shut up," said the fisherman roughly.
"What have you got for breakfast?"

Mrs. Trafton pointed to the table, on which, while her husband had been
speaking, she had placed his breakfast.

"Humph!" said he discontentedly, "that's a pretty poor breakfast!"

"It is the best I can give you," said his wife coldly.

"I don't care for tea. I'd as soon drink slops."

"What do you prefer?"

"I prefer coffee."

"I have none in the house. If you will bring me home some from the
store, I will make you a cup every morning, but I don't think you would
like it without milk."

"Do you think I am made of money? How do you expect me to buy coffee?"

"With the money you would otherwise spend for drink."

"Stop that, will you?" said Trafton angrily. "I'm tired of it."

A moment later he said in a milder tone:

"When I get that money of