The Merry Anne. Merwin Samuel

sometime.”

      When Spencer had shown his guest the mill and the houses of his men, he led the way to his own home and seated his guest in the living room. Here from a corner cupboard he produced a bottle and two glasses.

      “I’ve got a little something to offer you here, Mr. Smiley,” said he, “that I think you ‘ll find drinkable. I usually keep some on hand in case anybody comes along. I don’t take much myself, but it’s sociable to have around.” Dick tossed off a glass and smacked his lips. “Well, say, that’s the real stuff.”

      “Guess there ain’t no doubt about that.”

      “Where do you get it from?”

      “I bought that in Detroit last time I was down. Couldn’t say what house it’s from.”

      “Oh, you get out of here now and then, do you r

      “Not often – have another?”

      “Thanks, don’t care if I do.”

      “You see I’ve got a little schooner of my own, the Estelle, – named her after my wife’s sister, – and now and then I take a run down the shore to Saginaw or Port Huron, or somewhere.”

      “Do you get much lumber out?”

      “Enough for a living.”

      “I noticed you had a mark on the end of every big stick – looked like a groove cut in a circle – most a foot across.”

      “Yes, that’s my mark.”

      “The idea being that people will know your stuff, I suppose.”

      Spencer nodded shortly. “I’m getting out the best lumber on the Great Lakes – that’s why I mark it – help yourself to that bottle – there, I ‘ll just set it where you can reach it.” Dick would have stopped ordinarily at two glasses. To-day he stopped at nothing. “Much obliged. I haven’t touched anything as strong as this for two years.”

      “Swore off?”

      “Sort of, but I don’t know that I’ve been any better off for it. There’s nothing so good after sailing the best part of a week.”

      “You’re right, there ain’t. And that’s the pure article there – wouldn’t hurt a babe in arms. Take another. You haven’t been working for Cap’n Stenzenberger many years, have you?”

      Throughout this conversation Spencer was studying Smiley’s face.

      “No, nothing like so long as Henry.”

      “How do you get along with him?”

      “The Cap’n? Oh, all right. He’s a little too smart for me, but I guess he’s square enough.”

      “Doing a good business, is he?”

      “Couldn’t say. I don’t know much about his business.”

      “Oh, you don’t?” There was a shade of disappointment in the lumberman’s voice as he said this, but Dick, who was reaching for the bottle, failed to observe it.

      “McGlory been with you long?”

      “No, this is his first trip.”

      “You don’t say so! Wasn’t he with your cousin a while back?”

      “Yes, for a year.”

      “Thought I’d seen him on the Schmidt. Is he a good man?”

      “Good enough.”

      “Let’s see, wasn’t he in with Stenzenberger once?”

      “Couldn’t say.”

      “Oh, you couldn’t?”

      “No. Say, I ‘ll have to step down and see how things are going. Here, I ‘ll just have another nip out o’ that bottle.”

      “Nonsense, Cap’n; sit down, sit down. I guess McGlory’s competent to get the load aboard all right. I ain’t hardly begun to get acquainted with you yet. We ‘ll have dinner pretty soon now, and when you’ve put a little something solid inside you, we ‘ll go down and have a look at things. Don’t get bashful about the bottle. There’s plenty more where that come from.”

      “I don’t know but what I’ve had all that’s good for me.”

      “Pshaw! A man of your inches? Here now, here’s to you!”

      They drank together, and a little later they drank again.

      When Mrs. Spencer, a tired, faded out little body, came to the door and said, “Dinner is ready, Ed,” Dick’s spirits were soaring amazingly, and his voice had risen to a pitch slightly above the normal. Spencer nodded toward his guest and remarked, “This is Cap’n Smiley, Josie.”

      “Glad to make your acquaintance,” exclaimed Dick, boisterously, striding forward to shake her hand.

      “Show the Cap’n to the dining room, will you, Josie?” Spencer said. “I ‘ll step out and call the boys.”

      Mrs. Spencer led the way through the short hall to the dining room, where a table was spread for Spencer’s eight or ten men (Mc-Glory and the crew were to eat on the Merry Anne). Dick, stepping high, followed her, and found himself being presented to a blond young woman with blue eyes and an agreeable expression. “My sister Estelle, Cap’n Smiley,” said Mrs. Spencer.

      “Glad to meet you,” said Dick, looking so hard at her as they shook hands that she blushed and dropped her eyes.

      Mrs. Spencer slipped out to the kitchen after the introduction, leaving them to await the men.

      “You’ve never been here before?” she ventured.

      “Never have. Do you live here?”

      “Yes, I’ve been with sister four years now.”

      “Well, say, this is a pretty lonely place for a girl like you. I ‘ll have to sail around often.”

      “I guess you will.”

      “Yes, ma’am, you’re too pretty for this corner of the woods.”

      Estelle blushed and shook her head.

      “But that’s the gospel truth, sure as I’m Dick Smiley. And I can see you’re too sensible to get mad at any one for telling the truth.”

      “Oh, Captain, I’m afraid you’re a flirt,” simpered Estelle.

      “Me, flirt? Never. Not on your diamond ear-rings!”

      “Sh! What would Ed think if he was to come in and hear you talking like that?”

      Spencer, in truth, was already on the steps; in another moment he came into the room at the head of his men. And Dick, suddenly aware that his tongue was taking liberties with him, shut his lips tight and refused to speak another word throughout the meal. In vain the lumberman rallied him; in vain the men made advances; in vain Estelle, who was waiting on table, threw him glances from behind Spencer’s chair or let her hand brush his in passing him the potatoes; from a flushed, talkative man, Dick had turned abruptly into a silent, moody one, and he ate steadily, with eyes for nothing but his food.

      The meal was nearly over when Spencer, looking around the table, said, “Hello, where’s Pete?”

      “He’s busy,” replied one of the men, “said he’d be a little late.”

      “Well, if he likes his vittles cold, I guess it’s his own funeral.”

      “There he is now, outside there.”

      At this Spencer pushed back his chair and went to the window. “Hello, there, Pete,” he called. “Ain’t you coming to dinner?”

      “Yes, be right along.”

      Dick stopped eating at the sound of the last voice, and listened, his fork in the air, for what was coming next. Hearing nothing further, he faced around and watched the door. A moment later in came Roche, trying to greet the men without looking at his former captain, and sliding into