Capn Abe, Storekeeper | Page 8

seemed, had been everything on sea and land that
a mariner could be. No romance of the sea, or sea-going, was too
remarkable to be capped by a tale of one of Cap'n Amazon's
experiences. Some of these stories of wild and remarkable happenings,
the storekeeper had told over and over again until they were threadbare.
Cap'n Abe's brown, gray-streaked beard swept the breast of his blue
jersey. He was seldom seen without a tarpaulin on his head, and this
had made his crown as bare and polished as a shark's tooth. Under the
bulk of his jersey he might have been either thin or deep-chested, for
the observer could not easily judge. And nobody ever saw the
storekeeper's sleeves rolled up or the throat-latch of his shirt open.
Despite the fact that he held a thriving trade in his store on the Shell
Road (especially during the summer season) Cap'n Abe lived
emphatically a lonely life. Twenty years' residence meant little to
Cardhaven folk. Cap'n Abe was still an outsider to people who were so
closely married and intermarried that every human being within five
miles of the Haven (not counting the aristocrats of The Beaches) could
honestly call each of the others cousin in some degree.
The house and store was set on a lonely stretch of road. It was
unlighted at night, for the last street lamp had been fixed by the town
fathers at the Mariner's Chapel, as though they said to all mundane
illumination as did King Canute to the sea, "Thus far shalt thou come
and no farther."
Betty Gallup came cross lots each day to "rid up" Mr. Silt's living-room,
which was behind the store, the chambers being overhead. She was
gone home long before he put out the store lights and turned out the last
lingering idler, for Cap'n Abe preferred to cook for himself. He
declared the Widow Gallup did not know how to make a decent
chowder, anyway; and as for lobscouse, or the proper frying of a mess
of "blood-ends," she was all at sea. He intimated that there were
digestive reasons for her husband's death at the early age of sixty-eight.
Milt Baker had successfully introduced another topic of conversation,
far removed it would seem from any adventurous happening connected

with Cap'n Amazon Silt's career.
"I hear tell," said Milt, chewing Brown Mule with gusto, "that them
folks cavortin' down on The Beaches for a week past is movin' picture
actors. That so, Lawford?"
"There's a camera man and a director, and several handy men arrived,"
the son of the Salt Water Taffy King replied. "They are going to use
Bozewell's house for some pictures. The Bozewells are in Europe."
"But ain't none of the actorines come?" demanded Milt, who was a sad
dog--let him tell it! He had been motorman on a street car in
Providence for a couple of winters before he married Mandy Card, and
now tried to keep green his reputation for sophistication.
"I believe not," Lawford answered, with reflection. "I presume the
company will come later. The director is taking what he calls 'stills' of
the several localities they propose using when the films are really
made."
"One of 'em told me," chuckled Amiel Perdue, "that they was hopin' for
a storm, so's to get a real wreck in the picture."
"Hoh!" snorted Cap'n Joab. "Fine time o' year to be lookin' for a
no'theaster on the Cape."
"And do they reckon a craft'll drift right in here if there is a storm an'
wrack herself to please 'em?" piped up Washy Gallup--no relation to
Betty save through interminable cross-currents of Card and Baker
blood.
"Sometimes them fillum fellers buy a boat an' wreck it a-purpose. Look
what they did to the old Morning Star," Milt said. "I read once of a
comp'ny putting two locomotives on one track an' running 'em full-tilt
together so's to get a picture of the smashup."
"Crazy critters!" muttered Cap'n Joab.

"But wait till ye see the fillum actresses," Milt chuckled. "Tell ye what,
boys, some of 'em 'll make ye open your eyes!"
"Ye better go easy. Milt, 'bout battin' your eyes," advised Amiel Perdue.
"Mandy ain't lost her eyesight none either."
Washy's thin whine broke through the guffaw: "I seen a picture at
Paulmouth once't about a feller and a girl lost in the woods o' Borneo. It
was a stirrin' picture. They was chased by headhunters, and one o' these
here big man-apes tackled 'em--what d'ye call that critter now? Suthin'
like ringin' a bell."
"Orang-outang," suggested Lawford.
"That's it. Sounds jest like the Baptist Meetin' House bell. It's cracked."
"Them orang-outangs don't sound like no bell--not when they holler,"
put in Cap'n Abe, leaning on his counter and staring at the tireless
fishfly again. "Cap'n