W. T.
able. "What d'you think— Th' old— Well, by damn!"
Sam ran his hands down his sides, squeezing the water from his shirt. He stooped to wring out his trousers legs stolidly. He said nothing.
Some of the men came down the plank, with the clumsy inquiries of an awkward solicitude for the captain. He did not understand the way in which they looked at Sam; he had not heard the scream that had betrayed the old sailor's voice.
"Are y' all right, Cap'n?" they asked him.
"All right," he quavered. "O' course I'm all right. Little water. Come on here, Sam. Come on an* have a drink an* get off them wet clothes. Course I'm all right. Go on with yer work."
They went back to the deck, and Captain Jim, still unaware of Sam's return to the use of his tongue, took him to the hotel. It was late in the afternoon; a chill wind had begun to blow, and the captain, for all his jovial and hearty gratitude, shivered so much that after a brief glass he sent Sam to' his shack and hurried home. Very much shaken and chilled through, he went to bed.
5
"Sophy," he said that evening to his daughter, as he sat up, smoking, among his pillows, "that old boy can't winter it in a shack. He'll freeze stiff. Better give 'm the room over the kitchen. He'll carry wood an' do chores fer you, anyway. Eh?"
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