of a job I used to have in Wellmouth."

"I am," replied Captain Stitt. "That is, I was. Just now I've run over
here to see about contractin' for a supply of clams and quahaugs for our
boarders. You never see such a gang to eat as them summer folks, in your
life. Barzilla Wingate, he says the same about his crowd. He's comin' on
the mornin' train from Wellmouth."

"You don't tell me. I ain't seen Barzilla for a long spell. Where you
stoppin'? Come up to the house, won't you?"

"Can't. I'm goin' to put up over to Obed Gott's. His sister, Polena
Ginn, is a relation of mine by marriage. So long! Obed's gone on ahead
to tell Polena to put the kettle on. Maybe Obed and I'll be back again
after I've had supper."

"Do. I'll be round here for two or three hours yet."

He entered the depot. Except the forlorn Issy, who sat in a corner,
holding the express package in his lap, Simeon Phinney was the only
person in the waiting room.

"Come on now, Sol!" pleaded Sim. "I want to hear the rest of that about
you and Williams. You left off in the most ticklish place possible,
out of spite, I do believe. I'm hangin' on to that boat in the breakers
until I declare I believe I'm catchin' cold just from imagination."

"Wait a minute, Sim," said the depot master. Then he turned to his
assistant.

"Issy," he said, "this is about the nineteenth time you've done just
this sort of thing. You're no earthly use and I ought to give you your
clearance papers. But I can't, you're too--well--ornamental. You've
got to be punished somehow and I guess the best way will be to send you
right up to Major Hardee's and let you give him the remnants. He'll
want to know how it happened, and you tell him the truth. The TRUTH,
understand? If you invent any fairy tales out of those novels of yours
I'll know it by and by and--well, YOU'LL know I know. No remarks,
please. Git!"

Issy hesitated, seemed about to speak, thought better of it, took up
package and cap, and "got."

"Let's see," said the Captain, sitting down in one of the station chairs
and lighting a fresh cigar; "where was Williams and I in that yarn of
mine? Oh, yes, I could see land and cal'lated we was goin' to bump.
Well, we did. Steerin' anyways but dead ahead was out of the question,
and all I could do was set my teeth and trust in my bein' a member
of the church. The Shootin' Star hit that beach like she was the real
article. Overboard went oar and canvas and grub pails, and everything