her next-door neighbor shouted the story across the back yards. She had just left the house, and Captain Jerry was delivering a sarcastic speech concerning "talkin' machines," when Daniel plodded through the gate, drawing the buggy containing Josiah, Mrs. Snow, and Captain Eri.
For a man who had been described as "half-dead," Captain Eri looked very well, indeed. Jerry ran to help him from the carriage, but he jumped out himself and then assisted the housekeeper to alight with an air of proud proprietorship. He was welcomed to the house like a returned prodigal, and Captain Jerry shook his well hand until the arm belonging to it seemed likely to become as stiff and sore as the other. While this handshaking was going on Captain Eri was embarrassed. He did not look his friend in the face, and most of his conversation was addressed to Elsie.
As soon as he had warmed his hands and told the story of the wreck and rescue, he said, "Jerry, come up to my room a minute, won't you? I've got somethin' I want to say."
Vaguely wondering what the private conversation might be, Jerry followed his friend upstairs. When they were in the room, Captain Eri closed the door and faced his companion. He was confused, and stammered a little, as he said, "Jerry, I've--I've got somethin' to say to you 'bout Mrs. Snow."
Then it was Captain Jerry's turn to be confused.
"Now, Eri," he protested, "'tain't fair to keep pesterin' me like this. I know I ain't said nothin' to her yit, but I'm goin' to. I had a week, anyhow, and it ain't ha'f over. Land sake!" he burst forth, "d'you s'pose I ain't been thinkin' 'bout it? I ain't thought of nothin' else, hardly. I bet you I've been over the whole thing every night sence we had that talk. I go over it and GO over it. I've thought of more 'n a million ways to ask her, but there ain't one of 'em that suits me. If I was goin' to be hung 'twouldn't be no worse, and now you've got to keep a-naggin'. Let me alone till my time is up, can't you?"
"I wa'n't naggin'. I was jest goin' to tell you that you won't have to ask. I've been talkin' to her myself, and--"
The sacrifice sprang out of his chair.
"Eri Hedge!" he exclaimed indignantly. "I thought you was a friend of mine! I give you my word I'd do it in a week, and the least you could have done, seems to me, would have been to wait and give me the chance. But no! all you think 'bout's yourself. So 'fraid she'd say no and you'd lose your old housekeeper, wa'n't you? The idea! She must think I'm a good one--can't do my own courtin', and have to git somebody to do it for me! What did she say?" he asked suddenly.
"She said yes to what I asked her," was the reply with a half smile.
Upon Captain Jerry's face settled the look of one who accepts the melancholy inevitable. He sat down again.
"I s'posed she would," he said with a sigh. "She's known me for quite a spell now, and she's had a chance to see what kind of a man I be. Well, what else did you do? Ain't settled the weddin' day, have you?" This with marked sarcasm.
"Not yit. Jerry, you've made a mistake. I didn't ask her for you."
"Didn't ask her--didn't--What are you talkin' 'bout, then?"
"I asked her for myself. She's goin' to marry me."
Captain Jerry was too much astonished even to get up. Instead, he simply sat still with open mouth while his friend continued.
"I've come to think a lot of Mrs. Snow sence she's been here," Captain Eri said slowly, "and I've found out that she's felt the same way 'bout me. I've kept still and said nothin' 'cause I thought you ought to have the fust chance and, besides, I didn't know how she felt. But to-day, while we was talkin', it all come out of itself, seems so, and--well, we're goin' to be married."
The sacrifice--a sacrifice no longer--still sat silent, but curious changes of expression were passing over his face. Surprise, amazement, relief, and now a sort of grieved resignation.
"I feel small enough 'bout the way I've treated you, Jerry," continued Captain Eri. "I didn't mean to--but there! it's done, and all I can do is say I'm sorry and that I meant to give you your chance. I shan't blame you if you git mad, not a bit; but I hope you won't."
Captain Jerry sighed. When he spoke it was in a tone of sublime forgiveness.
"Eri," he said, "I ain't mad. I won't say my feelin's ain't hurt, 'cause--'cause--well, never mind. If a wife and a home ain't for me, why I ought to be glad that you're goin' to have 'em. I wish you both luck and a good v'yage. Now, don't talk to me for a few minutes. Let me git sort of used to it."
So they shook hands and Captain Eri, with a troubled look at his friend, went out. After he had gone, Captain Jerry got up and danced three steps of an improvised jig, his face one broad grin. Then, with an effort, he sobered down, assumed an air of due solemnity, and tramped downstairs.
If the announcement of Captain Perez' engagement caused no surprise, that of Captain Eri's certainly did--surprise and congratulation on the part of those let into the secret, for it was decided to say nothing to outsiders as yet. Ralph came over that evening and they told him about it, and he was as pleased as the rest. As for the Captain, he was only too willing to shake hands with any and everybody, although he insisted that the housekeeper had nothing to be congratulated upon, and that she was "takin' big chances." The lady herself merely smiled at this, and quietly said that she was willing to take them.
The storm had wrecked every wire and stalled every train, and Orham was isolated for two days. Then communication was established once more, and the Boston dailies received the news of the loss of the life-savers and the crew of the schooner. And they made the most of it; sensational items were scarce just then, and the editors welcomed this one. The big black headlines spread halfway across the front pages. There were pictures of the wreck, "drawn by our artist from description," and there were "descriptions" of all kinds. Special reporters arrived in the village and interviewed everyone they could lay hands on. Abner Mayo felt that for once he was receiving the attention he deserved.
The life-saving station and the house by the shore were besieged by photographers and newspaper men. Captain Eri indignantly refused to pose for his photograph, so he was "snapped" as he went out to the barn, and had the pleasure of seeing a likeness of himself, somewhat out of focus, and with one leg stiffly elevated, in the Sunday Blanket. The reporters waylaid him at the post-office, or at his fish shanty, and begged for interviews. They got them, brief and pointedly personal, and, though these were not printed, columns describing him as "a bluff, big-hearted hero," were.
If ever a man was mad and disgusted, that man was the Captain. In the first place, as he said, what he had done was nothing more than any other man 'longshore would have done, and, secondly, it was nobody's business. Then again, he said, and with truth:
"This whole fuss makes me sick. Here's them fellers in the crew been goin' out, season after season, takin' folks off wrecks, and the fool papers never say nothin' 'bout it; but they go out this time, and don't save nobody and git drownded themselves, and they're heroes of a sudden. I hear they're raisin' money up to Boston to give to the widders and orphans. Well, that's all right, but they'd better keep on and git the Gov'ment to raise the sal'ries of them that's left in the service."
The climax came when a flashily dressed stranger called, and insisted upon seeing the Captain alone. The interview lasted just about three minutes. When Mrs. Snow, alarmed by the commotion, rushed into the room, she found Captain Eri in the act of throwing after the fleeing stranger the shiny silk hat that the latter had left behind.
"Do you know what that--that swab wanted?" hotly demanded the indignant Captain. "He wanted me to rig up in ileskins and a sou'wester and show myself in dime museums. Said he'd buy that dory of Luther's that I went out in, and show that 'long with me. I told him that dory was spread up and down the beach from here to Setuckit, but he said that didn't make no diff'rence, he'd have a dory there and say 'twas the reel one. Offered me a hundred dollars a week, the skate! I'd give ten dollars right now to tell him the rest of what I had to say."
After this the