"I don't know, ma'am. But names are risky pilots, ain't they? I've run against a consider'ble number of Solomons, but there wa'n't one of 'em that carried more'n a deckload of wisdom. They christened me Elisha, but I can't even prophesy the weather with sartinty enough to bet. However, I daresay in your husband's case it's all right."

The lady had turned away, and he was afraid he might have offended her.

The fear was groundless; she was merely offering another sacrifice, the sugar this time.

"Yes?" she asked, turning, "you were saying--"

"Why--er--nothin' of account. I cal'late the C. stands for Charles, then."

"No-o. Mr. d.i.c.kens's Christian name is Cornelius; but don't mention it before him, he is very sensitive on that point."

The d.i.c.kenses "tickled" the captain exceedingly, and, after the meal was over, he spoke of them to Pearson.

"Say," he said, "you're in notorious company, ain't you, Jim? What has Cornelius Charles turned out so far, in the way of masterpieces?"

Pearson laughed. "I believe he is employed by a subscription house,"

he replied. "Doing hack work on an encyclopedia. A great collection of freaks, aren't they, Captain Warren?"

"Kind of. But that old book-shop man and his wife seem nice folks. And, as for freaks, the average boardin' house, city or country, seems to draw 'em like flies. I guess most anybody would get queer if they boarded all the time."

"Perhaps so. Or, if they weren't queer, they wouldn't board permanently from choice. There are two or three good fellows who dine and breakfast here. The food isn't bad, considering the price."

"No, it ain't. Tasted more like home than any meal I've had for a good while. I'm afraid I never was cut out for swell livin'."

Mrs. Hepton approached them as they stood in the hall. She wished to know if Mr. Pearson's friend was thinking of finding lodgings. Because Mr. Saks--the artist's name--was giving up the second floor back in a fortnight, and it was a very pleasant room. "We should be delighted to add you to our little circle, Captain Warren."

Pearson told her that his companion was already lodged, and she said good-by and left them. The captain smiled broadly.

"Everything in New York seems to be circles," he declared. "Well, Jim, you come up and circulate with me, first chance you get. I'm dependin'

on you to call, remember."

The young man was still doubtful.

"I'll see," he said. "I can't promise yet--perhaps I will."

"You will--after you've thought it out to a finish. And come soon. I'm gettin' interested in that second edition of your Uncle Jim, and I want to keep along with him as fast as you write. Good-by. Much obliged for the dinner--there I go again!--luncheon, I mean."

CHAPTER XII

Pearson called. He appeared at the apartment a week after the luncheon at the boarding house and was welcomed by the Captain Elisha, who, hearing his voice, strode into the hall, sent the shocked Edwards to the right-about in a hurry, seized his friend's hand, and ushered him into the library. Pearson said nothing concerning his change of mind, the course of reasoning which led him to make the visit, and the captain asked no questions. He took it for granted that the young fellow's common sense had turned the trick, and, the result being what it was, that was sufficient.

They spent a pleasant afternoon together. Caroline was out, and they had the library to themselves. The newest chapters of the novel were read and discussed, and the salty flavor of the talk was as p.r.o.nounced as ever. Pearson left early, but promised to come again very soon.

When Caroline returned her uncle told her of his visitor. She seemed unfeignedly pleased, but regretted that she had not been there. "He was such a friend of father's," she said, "that seeing him here would be almost like the old days. And so many of those whom we thought were his friends and ours have left us."

This was true. Rodgers Warren and his children had had many acquaintances, had been active in church and charitable work, and their former home was a center of entertainment and gayety while he lived. But his death and the rumors of shrinkage in the family fortune, the giving up of the Fifth Avenue residence, the period of mourning which forbade social functions, all these helped to bring about forgetfulness on the part of the many; and Caroline's supersensitiveness and her firm resolve not to force her society where it might be unwelcome had been the causes of misunderstanding in others, whose liking and sympathy were genuine.

"I don't see what has come over Caroline Warren," declared a former girl friend, "she isn't a bit as she used to be. Well, I've done my part. If she doesn't wish to return my call, she needn't. _I_ sha'n't annoy her again. But I'm sorry, for she was the sweetest girl I knew."

Stephen had never been very popular, and his absence at college still further reduced the number of young people who might be inclined to call. Their not calling confirmed Caroline's belief that she and her brother were deliberately shunned because of their change in circ.u.mstances, and she grew more sensitive and proudly resentful in consequence. Naturally she turned for comfort to those who remained faithful, the Dunns in particular. They were loyal to her. Therefore, with the intensity of her nature, she became doubly loyal to them. The rector of St. Denis dropped in frequently, and others occasionally, but she was lonely. She craved the society of those nearer her own age.

Pearson's coming, then, was psychologically apt. When he made his next call upon Captain Elisha, to find the latter out but his niece at home, she welcomed him cordially and insisted upon his waiting until her guardian returned. The conversation was, at first, embarra.s.sing for the ex-reporter; she spoke of her father, and Pearson--the memory of his last interview with the latter fresh in his mind, and painfully aware that she knew nothing of it--felt guilty and like a hypocrite. But soon the subject changed, and when the captain entered the library he found the pair laughing and chatting like old acquaintances, as, of course, they were.

Captain Elisha, paying no attention to his friend's shakes of the head, invited his niece to be present at the reading of the latest addition to what he called "mine and Jim's record-breakin' sea yarn."

"It's really mine, you understand, Caroline," he observed, with a wink.

"I'm silent partner in the firm--if you can call the one that does all the talkin' silent--and Jim don't do nothin' but make it up and write it and get the profits. Course, you mustn't mention this to him, 'cause he thinks he's the author, and 'twould hurt his feelin's."

"He's quite right," declared Pearson, emphatically. "If the thing is ever finished and published he will deserve all the credit. His advice had already remade it. This uncle of yours, Miss Warren," he added, turning to her, "is like the admiral Kipling wrote about--he has 'lived more stories' than ever I could invent."

The captain, fearful that his niece might take the statement seriously, hastened to protest.

"He's just foolin', Caroline," he said. "All I've done is set and talk and talk and talk. I've used up more of his time and the surroundin' air than you'd believe was possible. When I get next to salt water, even in print, it's time to muzzle me, same as a dog in July. The yarn is Jim's altogether, and it's mighty interestin'--to me anyhow."

"I'm sure it will be to me, also," declared the young lady. "Captain Warren has told me all about it, Mr. Pearson, and I'm very eager to hear the new portion."

"There!" Captain Elisha slapped his knee. "There, Jim!" he exclaimed, "you hear that? Now you've _got_ to read it. Anchor's apeak! Heave ahead and get under way."

So, because he could not well refuse, the author reluctantly began to read. And, as usual, his nautical friend to interrupt and comment.

Caroline listened, her eyes twinkling. When the reading and the arguments were at an end, she declared it was all splendid; "Just like being at sea one's self," she said. "I positively refuse to permit another installment to be submitted unless I am--on deck. That's the proper phrase, isn't it, Captain?"

"Aye, aye, ma'am! Jim, we've shipped a new second mate, and she's goin'

to be wuth her salt. You hear _me_!"

She proved to be worth all of that, at least in Pearson's opinion. His calls and the readings and discussions became more and more frequent.

Each of the trio enjoyed them greatly, Caroline quite as much as the others. Here was something new and fresh, something to furnish a real interest. The story advanced rapidly, the character of the nautical hero shaped itself better and better, and the heroine, also, heretofore a somewhat shadowy and vague young woman, began to live and breathe.

She changed surprisingly, not only in mental but in physical characteristics.

Captain Elisha was first to notice the latter peculiarity.

"Say, Jim!" he interrupted, one afternoon, "what was that you just read about Mary? Her hat blowin' off to leeward and her brown hair blowin'

after it? Or somethin' of that sort?"

Caroline laughed merrily. The author turned to the pa.s.sage mentioned.

"Not exactly, Captain," he replied, smiling. "I said her hat had blown away, and her brown curls tossed in the wind. What's wrong with that?

Hats do blow away in a sou'wester; I've seen them."

"Perhaps he thinks she should have been more careful in pinning it on,"

suggested the feminine member of the advisory board.

Captain Elisha shook his head. "No," he observed calmly, "but why was she wearin' that kind of hair? She's pretty young to use a switch, ain't she?"

"Switch?" repeated "Mary's" creator, with some indignation. "What are you talking about? When I first described her, I said that her hair was luxuriant and one of her chief beauties."

"That's a fact! So you did. What made her dye it?"