Capn Dans Daughter | Page 9

very grave, observed that he "wanted to
know." John Doane cleared his throat once more, and took a fresh start.
"Yes, sir," he said, "I have something to say to you--er--something
that--that may surprise you."
A faint smile disturbed the gravity of the captain's face.
"May surprise me, hey?" he repeated. "Is that so?"
"Yes. You see, I--Gertie and I--have--are--"
Daniel looked up.
"Hard navigatin', ain't it, John?" he inquired, whimsically. "Maybe I
could help you over the shoals. You and Gertie think you'd like to get
married sometime or other, I presume likely. Is that what you're tryin'
to tell me?"
There was no doubt of it. The young man's face expressed several
emotions, relief that the great secret was known, and surprise that
anyone should have guessed it.
"Why, yes, sir," he admitted, "that is it. Gertie and I have known each

other for years, ever since we were children, in fact; and, you see--you
see--" he paused once more, began again, and then broke out
impatiently with, "I'm making an awful mess of this. I don't know
why."
Captain Dan's smile broadened.
"I made just as bad a one myself, once on a time," he observed. "Just as
bad, or worse--and I didn't know why either. There, John, you sit down.
Come to anchor alongside here, and let's talk this thing over in
comfort."
Mr. Doane "came to anchor" on an empty packing case beside the desk.
As he was tall and big, and the box was low and small, the "comfort"
was doubtful. However, neither of the pair noticed this at the time.
"So you think you want Gertie, do you, John?" said the captain.
"I know it," was the emphatic answer.
"So. And she thinks she wants you?"
"She says so."
"Humph!" with a sidelong glance. "Think she means it?"
"I'm trying to believe she does."
The tone in which this was uttered caused Captain Dan to chuckle. "'Tis
strange, I'll give in," he remarked, drily. "No accountin' for taste, is
there--Well," his gravity returning, "I suppose likely you realize that
her mother and I think consider'ble of her."
"I realize that thoroughly."
"You don't realize it as much as you will some day, perhaps. Yes, we
think Gertie's about right. She's a smart girl and, what's more, she's a
good girl, and she's all the child we've got. Of course we've realized
that she was growin' up and that--Oh, good mornin', Alphy. Fine

weather, ain't it. Lookin' for somethin', was you?"
He hurried out into the store to sell Mrs. Theophilus Berry, known
locally as "Alphy Ann," a box of writing paper and a penholder. The
transaction completed, he returned to his chair. John Doane, who had
recovered, in a measure, from his embarrassment, was ready for him.
"Cap'n Dott," said the young man, "I know how you feel, I think. I
know what Gertie is to you and how anxious you and her mother must
be concerning her future. If I did not feel certain--practically
certain--that I could give her a good home and all that goes with it, I
should not have presumed to speak to her, or to you, concerning
marriage. My business prospects are good, or I think they are. I--"
The captain held up his hand. "Er--er--John," he said, uneasily, "maybe
you'd better tell about that part of it when Serena's around. She's the
practical one of us two, I guess, far's money's concerned, anyway. I
used to think I was pretty practical when I was on salt water, but--but
lately I ain't so sure. I'm afraid--"
He stopped, began to speak again, and then relapsed into silence,
seeming to forget his companion altogether. The latter reminded him
by saying:
"I shall be glad to tell Mrs. Dott everything, of course. I have been with
the firm now employing me for eight years, ever since I left high school.
They seem to like me. I have been steadily advanced, my salary is a
fairly good one, and in another year I have the promise of a partnership.
After that my progress will depend upon myself."
He went on, in a manly, straightforward manner, to speak of his hopes
and ambitions. Daniel listened, but the most of what he heard was
incomprehensible. Increased output and decreased manufacturing costs
were Greek to him. When the young man paused, he brought the
conversation back to what, in his mind, was the essential.
"And you're certain sure that you two care enough for each other?" he
asked. "Not just care, but care enough?"

"Yes."
"Well, then, I guess I ain't got much to say. There's one thing, though.
Gertie's young. She ain't finished her schoolin' yet, and--"
"And you think she should. So do I. She wishes to do it, herself, and I
should be the