Then followed a long discussion over a point of seamanship, the handling of a bark in a gale. It developed that the young author's knowledge of saltwater strategy was extensive and correct in the main, though somewhat theoretical. That of his critic was based upon practice and hard experience. He cited this skipper and that as examples, and carried them through no'theasters off Hatteras and typhoons in the Indian Ocean. The room, in spite of the open window, grew thick with pipe smoke, and the argument was punctuated by thumps on the desk and chair arms, and illustrated by diagrams drawn by the captain's forefinger on the side of the dresser. The effects of oil on breaking rollers, the use of a "sea-anchor" over the side to "hold her to it," whether or not a man was justified in abandoning his ship under certain given circumstances, these were debated pro and con. Always Pearson's "Uncle Jim" was held up as the final authority, the paragon of sea captains, by the visitor, and, while his host pretended to agree, with modest reservations, in this estimate of his relative, he was more and more certain that his hero was bound to become a youthful edition of Elisha Warren himself--and he thanked the fates which had brought this fine, able, old-school mariner to his door.
At length, Captain Elisha, having worked "Uncle Jim" into a safe harbor after a hundred mile cruise under jury jig, with all hands watch and watch at the pumps, leaned forward in triumph to refill his pipe. Having done so, his eyes remained fixed upon a photograph standing, partially hidden by a leather collar box, upon the dresser. He looked at it intently, then rose and took it in his hand.
"Well, I swan!" he exclaimed. "Either what my head's been the fullest of lately has struck to my eyesight, or else--why, say, Jim, that's Caroline, ain't it?"Pearson colored and seemed embarrassed. "Yes," he answered, "that is Miss Warren.""Humph! Good likeness, too! But what kind of rig has she got on?
I've seen her wear a good many dresses--seems to have a different one for every day, pretty nigh--but I never saw her in anything like that. Looks sort of outlandish; like one of them foreign girls at Geneva--or Leghorn, say.""Yes. That is an Italian peasant costume. Miss Warren wore it at a fancy dress ball a year ago.""Want to know! I-talian peasant, hey! Fifth Avenue peasant with diamonds in her hair. Becomin' to her, ain't it.""I thought so."
"Yup. She looks pretty ENOUGH! But she don't need diamonds nor hand-organ clothes to make her pretty."Then, looking up from the photograph, he asked, "Give you this picture, did she?"His friend's embarrassment increased. "No," he answered shortly.
Then, after an instant's hesitation. "That ball was given by the Astorbilts and was one of the most swagger affairs of the season.
The Planet--the paper with which I was connected--issues a Sunday supplement of half-tone reproductions of photographs. One page was given up to pictures of the ball and the costumes worn there.""I see. Astonishin' how folks do like to get their faces into print. I used to know an old woman--Aunt Hepsibah Tucker, her name was--she's dead now. The pride of Aunt Hepsy's heart was that she took nineteen bottles of 'Balm of Burdock Tea' and the tea folks printed her picture as a testimonial that she lived through it.
Ho, ho! And society big-bugs appear to have the same cravin'.""Some of them do. But that of your niece was obtained by our society reporter from the photographer who took it. Bribery and corruption, of course. Miss Warren would have been at least surprised to see it in our supplement. I fancied she might not care for so much publicity and suppressed it.""Um-hm. Well, I guess you did right. I'll thank you for her. By the way, I told Caroline where I was cal'latin' to go this mornin', and she wished to be remembered to you."Pearson seemed pleased, but he made no comment. Captain Elisha blew a smoke ring from his pipe.
"And say, Jim," he added, embarrassed in his turn, "I hope you won't think I'm interferin' in your affairs, but are you still set against comin' up to where I live? I know you said you had a reason, but are you sure it's a good one?"He waited for an answer but none came. Pearson was gazing out of the window. The captain looked at his watch and rose.
"I guess I'll have to be goin'," he said. "It's after twelve now."His host swung around in his chair. "Sit down, Captain," he said.
"I've been doing a lot of thinking since I saw you, and I'm not sure about that reason. I believe I'll ask your advice. It is a delicate matter, and it involves your brother. You may see it as he did, and, if so, our friendship ends, I suppose. But I'm going to risk it.
"Mr. Rodgers Warren and I," he went on, "were well acquainted during the latter part of my newspaper work. I was financial man on the Planet, and some articles I wrote took your brother's fancy.
At all events, he wrote me concerning them in highly complimentary terms and asked me to call and see him at his office. I did so and--well, we became very friendly, so much so that he invited me to his house. I dined there several times, was invited to call often, and--I enjoyed it. You see, I had few friends in the city, outside my journalistic acquaintances, and I suppose I was flattered by Mr. Warren's kindness and the fancy he seemed to have taken to me. And I liked Miss Warren--no one could help that--and I believed she liked me.""She does like you," interrupted his companion, with surprise.
"Caroline's a good girl."
"Yes, she is. However, she isn't in this story, except as a side-issue. At this time my ambitions were for a newspaper career, and I thought I was succeeding. And her father's marked interest and the things he said to me promised more than an ordinary success.
He was a well known man on the street, and influential. So my head began to swell, and I dreamed--a lot of foolishness. And then--"He paused, put down his empty pipe, and sighed.