Captain Pott's Minister Part 36

"Can't just now, Beth. I'm watching----"

"Oh, please tell me all about it!"

"There ain't nothing more to tell."

"You did not leave the _Jennie P._ in dry-dock for repairs!" she cried with apprehension.

He did not reply, but tightly gripped the hand which had been slipped into his.

"Tell me, please!" she implored. "You said a little while ago that you were singing to keep up your spirits. Something dreadful has happened.

Did you wreck your boat?"

"Hey? Me wreck the _Jennie P._? I tell you honest, Beth, there ain't nothing----"

Elizabeth lifted her hand and turned his face toward her. He looked down and gave up.

"There ain't no use pretending to you. I sold her."

"You sold the _Jennie P._?"

"I sold the _Jennie P._," he repeated slowly, as though it were hard for him to comprehend that fact. "You see, I didn't have no more real need for her, and 'twas kind of expensive to keep her afloat."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the girl.

"It was a mite expensive, honest, Beth."

"Uncle Josiah! Why didn't you come to me if you were in need of money?"

"I owe your father more now than I'd otter."

"But I love you so!"

The big shoulders gave a decided heave. "That's wuth more to me than all the money in the world."

"Then, why didn't you come to me?"

"I didn't think of doing that."

"Oh, Uncle Josiah!"

"Yes, I sold my boat. There wa'n't no wonder I was singing, was there?"

he asked, pa.s.sing his hand across his face as if to clear his vision. "I cal'late that song wa'n't much like music to you, but I just naturally had to do something to keep my feelings afloat, didn't I, Beth?"

"Yes."

"I sold her," he said, speaking as though his thoughts were coming by way of his tongue. "It wa'n't easy. Just like parting with an old friend. It sort of pulled on me. Odd, ain't it, how an old boat like that can get a hold on a feller?"

"No, it is not odd. Some of the happiest moments of my life were spent on board the _Jennie P._"

"Do you honest feel that way about her?"

"Yes."

"I'm mighty glad, Beth," he said, his eyes gleaming with pride. "She sartin was a worthy craft."

"Who bought your boat?"

"Feller by the name of Peters, who runs a fish business down on East River near Brooklyn bridge. I knew him years ago. His wife's name is Jennie, and I named my boat after her 'cause he was the first man to help me sail her."

"Why did you go to him without first telling me?"

"There wa'n't no time to tell no one. You'd not likely----"

"Oh, you men! You treat us women as if we were numskulls. If you had given me the slightest idea that you intended to sell I should have put in my bid along with others."

"Do you mean you would have bought my _Jennie P._?"

"Why not, pray tell? Haven't I as much right to own a boat as any man you know?"

"I do believe you'd have bought her, sartin as death!"

"Of course I should. If----" Her eyes suddenly widened. "Why did you sell?"

"Same as I said afore, I didn't have no need of her, and she was getting expensive to keep up." His face darkened, and an expression of pain shot through the shadows.

"You said you were not going to pretend to me. Tell me the real reason."

"I can't."

"In other words, that is the secret of your mysterious trip to the city."

"Yes, that's my secret."

"My dear old Uncle!" she cried. "I know your secret! You sold your boat to get money with which to pay Father. You've sold your one little luxury to pay a debt you can never pay."

"You're mistook. I can pay your father every cent I got from him to overhaul my place."

"But that isn't all!"

"It ain't all?"

"I thought I could tell you all about it, but I can't!"

"Do you mean you've something you want to say to me, Beth?"

"I can't! I can't! It is so----"

She broke down and cried without restraint. The old seaman put his arm about her.