public. She was married—and here we have nothing less than the authority of Queer Hat—to a tailor, for whom she acted as forewoman for a while—but only for that, shortly after settling down to the erecting of a living stairway like her own parents'. In fact she threatens to become a fleshy, girdleless "momma" herself.
About once a year, Spanish Dick drifts into the front yard of the old Pell place to talk to Don Alfonso, who rises painfully now, for he is old, and very stiff and rheumatic. The children hang on his collar, pull his sausage of a tail, and poke their chubby ringers in his eyes. But he is quite patient, waiting for that Heaven to which, his bearded master assures him, as a "good doggie" he will go. A legion of new tales the gypsy has invented, and a cycle of songs he has sung to little Henry and Sally, the perfect miniatures, by the way, of the captain and owner of the Sally Fell, and his wife.
Of some "misery" did Aunt Abigail die, and nobody really much cared, and not long after old Cap'n Bluster himself, in a fit of laughter at one of Gus Peter's sallies, which was better than passing in one of his old choleric squalls.
As for Benson and Jack Beam, they are still sailing the seas, as tars worth their salt should be doing, and Cap'n Harve each day saunters from his home, not far away from the old Fell place, to play with the youngsters there.
Linda and the lovable stranger were married—after they were dropped at that tropical port where lay the Café of Many Tongues—of that, without any concrete confirmation, Sally was sure. It would have been his way, she knew.
