Harbor Tales Down North Part 30

"I've p.r.i.c.ked your pride, sir," says he. "I'm sorry."

"Answer me, then, in a mannerly way," says I, "Come now! Would I pa.s.s muster as a pa for a lad like you?"

He turned solemn an' earnest.

"You wish you was my pa?" says he.

"'Tis a sudden question," says I, "an' a poser."

"You doesn't, then?"

"I didn't say that," says I. "What you wishin' yourself?"

"I isn't wishin' nothin' at all about it," says he. "All I really wants to know is why you called me your son when I isn't no such thing."

"An' you wants an answer t' that?"

"I'd be grateful, sir."

Skipper Harry got the notion from all this talk, mixed with the eager, wistful look o' the lad, as he searched me with questions, t' ease the wonder that gripped an' hurt un, whatever it was--Skipper Harry got the notion that the lad had no father at all that he knowed of, an'

that he sorrowed with shame on that account.

"I wish you was _my_ son," says he, t' hearten un. "Danged if I don't!"

The lad flashed 'round on Skipper Harry an' stared at un with his eyes poppin'.

"What you say jus' then?" says he.

"You heared what I said."

"Say it again, sir, for my pleasure."

"I will," says the skipper, "an' glad to. I says I wish you belonged t' me."

"Is you sure about that?"

Skipper Harry couldn't very well turn back then. Nor was he the man t'

withdraw. An' he didn't reef a rag o' the canvas he had spread in his kindly fervor.

"I is," says he. "Why?"

"It makes me wonder. What if you was my pa? Eh? What if you jus'

happened t' be?"

"I'd be glad. That's what."

"That's queer!"

"Nothin' queer about it."

"Ah-ha!" says the lad; "'tis wonderful queer!" He c.o.c.ked his head an'

peered at the skipper like an inquisitive bird. "n.o.body never said nothin' like that t' me afore," says he. "What you wish I was your son for? Eh?"

"You is clever an' good enough, isn't you?"

"Maybe I is clever. Maybe I'm good, too. I'll not deny that I'm both.

What I wants t' know, though, is what you wants me for?"

"I'd be proud o' you."

"What for?"

Skipper Harry lost patience.

"Don't pester me no more," says he. "I've no lad o' my own. That's reason enough."

The wee feller looked the skipper over from his shock o' red hair to his sea-boots, at leisure, an' turned doleful with pity.

"My duty, sir," says he. "I'm sore an' sorry for you."

"Don't you trouble about that."

"You sees, sir," says the lad, "I can't help you none. I got a pa o'

my own."

"That's good," says the skipper. "I'm glad o' that."

"Moreover, sir," says the lad, "I'm content with the pa I got. Yes, sir--I'm wonderful proud o' my pa, an' I 'low my pa's wonderful proud o' me, if the truth was knowed. I 'low not many lads on this coast is got such a wonderful pa as I got."

"No?" says I. "That's grand!"

"No, sir-ee! Is they, Anthony Lot?"

Anthony Lot begun t' t.i.tter an' chuckle. I fancied he cast a wink.

'Twas a broad joke he was playin' with, whatever an' all; an' I wished I knowed what amused the dolt.

"You got it right, Sammy," says he.

The lad slapped his knee. "Yes, sir-ee!" says he. "You jus' bet I got it right!"

"You got a wonderful ma, too?" says I.

"All I got is a wonderful pa," says he. "My ma died long, long ago.

Didn't she, Anthony Lot? An' my pa's sailin' foreign parts jus' now.

Isn't he, Anthony Lot? I might get a letter from un by the next mail-boat. No tellin' when a letter will come. Anytime at all--maybe next boat. An' my pa might turn up here hisself. Mightn't he, Anthony Lot? Might turn up right here in Hide-an'-Seek Harbor without givin'

me the least word o' warnin'. Any day at all, too. Eh, Anthony Lot?"

"Skipper of a steam vessel in the South American trade," says Anthony.