Captain Pott's Minister Part 8

"Ain't in love, be you? I've heard tell how it affects people like that."

The young man turned toward his friend. The wry smile with which he tried to divert the seaman did not hide the hurt expression in his eyes.

The Captain caught the expression.

"Thought likely," he observed, pulling at his moustache. "But that ain't no reason for you losing sleep and flesh over, unless she ain't in love with you."

"There's no reason why she should be."

"Tush, tush, son. Don't ever try to hurry 'em. Let her take all the time she wants. Women are funny that way."

"Cap'n," said the minister in tense earnestness, "there is something vitally wrong in this town, and I can't seem to find out what it is."

"I know," nodded the Captain.

"Then I wish you would enlighten me."

"I cal'late I can't do that, Mack. All I can see is that there's something like mutiny brewing aboard your salvation sloop, and mutiny is a mighty funny thing. You can't put your finger on it and say, 'Lo, here, or lo, there,' according to scripture. Ain't that right?"

"You have certainly stated the situation much better than I could hope to."

"I was only hoping you wouldn't see it."

"I don't see it, and that's my whole trouble. I can only see the results. I can't say that this one or that one is to blame, for the thing seems to be in the very air."

"I know just how you feel, Mack. That's where a skipper is hog-tied against taking any action. You just sort of feel that there's something devilish afoot, but you don't know enough what it is to be ready to meet it. Puts me in mind of a song I heard once aboard one of my ships. One of the new mates sang it, and called it the microbe song. I ain't got any idea where he picked it up, but it went like this:

"'Johnnie, don't you see 'em on my head and chin, All them powerful microbes, both outside and in?

Johnnie, up and smite 'em, counting every one, With the strength that cometh with the pork and bun.

"'Johnnie, don't you feel 'em, how they work within, Striving, crowding, pulling, kicking just like sin?

Johnnie, don't you tremble, never be downcast, Gird ye for the battle, we'll kill 'em while it lasts.

"'Johnnie, don't you hear 'em, how they speak ye fair: "All of us are shipmates, not a bunk is bare!"

Johnnie, answer boldly: "While we breathe we smite!"

And peace shall follow battle, day shall end in night.'"

Mr. McGowan laughed heartily as the Captain brought his song to an unmusical close.

"That song ain't got much music in it, leastwise not as I sung it, but it's got a heap of truth. Fact is, Mack, I'm as chuck full of them d.a.m.n microbes as you be, and I ain't able to smite 'em. They are right in here,"--he tapped his head,--"and though I ain't able to say for sure, yet I've got a purty good idea that they're outside, too, and making a heap of trouble in this here burg.

"Now, take those pirates down to the Inn," continued the seaman.

"There's something brewing down there, and it smells like h.e.l.l-fire to me that's doing the boiling. Sim Hicks and his gang are whooping it up a mite too lively for comfort. That's microbe army number one. Then, there's Harry Beaver. He says they won't board you after your month is up."

"May army number two quickly advance! I shall gladly and willingly surrender."

"Hey? What's that? Where in the name of the ship's cook would you go, I'd like to know?"

"Right here."

"Right where? You board with me?"

"Why not?"

The old seaman's face slowly lighted up with appreciation as he fully grasped the meaning of Mr. McGowan's words, and then suddenly clouded.

"No, Mack. There ain't no sense in that," he declared, shaking his head emphatically. "I can keep soul and body together, but what I get on with would kill you. There's worse things in the world than Eadie's biscuits.

No, I ain't going to listen to any such out-and-out murder as my cooking would commit."

"Don't you think we could hire some one to come in and get our meals?"

asked the minister.

"I'm 'feared that ain't possible. And even if it was it would cause more talk about town. There's enough gossip aboard the old salvation craft to sink her now, beam-fust."

"Why should it cause talk for some one to take care of the house for us, and get our meals?"

"Why should any of this gab be floating round at all? There ain't no sense in it, but that don't stop it. Mack,"--the Captain leaned eagerly toward his young friend,--"don't tell me nothing you don't want to, but what happened up to Jim Fox's house that night you ate there the last time? Things ain't been going smooth since then. I hear he acted mighty queer. Was you to blame for it in any way?"

"Did Harold Fox talk to you before he left?"

"No. Harold ain't the gossiping kind."

"Some one has evidently been talking to you."

"Ain't denying that, Mack. There's plenty of 'em in this burg that's ready to talk, and I'd have to be deaf, dumb, and blind, not to get some of the gab. The doctor told more than he ought, I guess."

"It might pay him to take a few lessons in keeping his mouth closed,"

impatiently commented Mr. McGowan.

"I know, Mack. I reckon he was pumped pretty hard."

"That doesn't excuse him for----"

"There, Mack, don't get mad. I was asking you for your own good. There's something mighty mysterious about that affair, and I thought if you'd tell me just what took place that we'd be able to do something before that gang of rough-necks down to the Inn get the bits in their teeth."

"I don't see what the men at the Inn have to do with all this."

"They ain't got much to do with it, except to use it for a lever to pry you loose from the fellers who do like you. There's real trouble of some sort being hatched down there, but I ain't sure just what it's like.

Maybe there ain't no use my worrying you with these suspicions, but watch them skunks at the Inn, and don't give 'em the inside of the track. Cal'late you'd best go over to supper, and see if Harry's going to shut off the rations."

Three days after this conversation Mr. McGowan's month was up, and the hammer of Mr. Beaver's authority came down. Captain Pott stood in his door, watching the pantomime as Mr. Beaver pumped, backed, stuttered, and blinked out the minister's dismissal from his wife's table. The Captain had an extra griddle on the stove when Mr. McGowan returned.

Without question or comment he indicated a chair, and the minister smiled like a schoolboy as he drew it up before the place at the Captain's table which he was to occupy from now on.

"Best eat 'em while they're sizzling hot," invited the Captain, dumping a turnerful of cakes on the empty plate.

When the men had divided the last flapjack, the minister announced that he was going for a stroll along the beach.

He was no sooner out of sight than over came Mrs. Beaver, carrying a large tin filled with biscuits. Captain Pott took them to the pantry, and returned with the empty pan.

"Thanks, Eadie. Mr. McGowan will sure appreciate them."