CHAPTER III
THE RED BALDWIN
It was the fifth Sunday, or Sabbath (for it was always that in Salthaven) since Ben's return. The sun was coppery. Even the landward breeze had expired, and the lightest leaf seemed to weight the swooning air. Captain Fell sat, jelled on the porch and quivering with heat.
At last he opened his eyes. He hadn't been asleep, just slyly cogitating a plan, as Sally knew from the next question:
"Sally, will you swap a promise with me?"
"Oh, Father, do you mean it?"
"Yes, even if it's the worst fool contraption ever a female wanted, you can have it."
"Cross your heart?"
Now if frequently he talked to her as a child, it was because he thought she was one, while she kept her conversation in kind because she knew he was. So with a maternal tolerance, her eyes followed the puffy fingers as they registered the vow.
"Now, do you know what it is?"
"Of course, haven't you asked me often enough the past six months? A little benzine gig to throw dust in the eyes of honest people that walk, and spoil the wash on Mondays."
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