The Skipper and the Skipped | Page 9

if he'd been a pindlin' ten-year-old, and
drove off toward the Ward home place. And that Cap'n don't seem
savage, nuther."
"Wal, near's I can find out," said Odbar Broadway from behind his
counter, where he was counting eggs out of Old Man Jordan's bucket,

"the Cap'n had a club in one hand and power of attorney from Kun'l
Gid's sister in the other--and a threat to divide the Ward estate. The way
Gid's bus'ness is tied up jest at present would put a knot into the tail of
'most any kind of a temper."
"I'm told the Cap'n is makin' her a turrible nice husband," observed one
of the store loungers.
Broadway folded his specs into their case and came from behind the
counter.
"Bein' a bus'ness man myself," he said, "I come pretty nigh knowin'
what I'm talkin' about. Kun'l Gid Ward can never flout and jeer that the
man that has married his sister was nothin' but a prop'ty-hunter. I'm
knowin' to it that Cap'n Sproul has got thutty thousand in vessel prop'ty
of his own, 'sides what his own uncle Jerry here left to him. Gid Ward
has trompled round this town for twenty-five years, and bossed and
browbeat and cussed, and got the best end of every trade. If there's
some one come along that can put the wickin' to him in good shape, I
swow if this town don't owe him a vote of thanks."
"There's a movement on already to ask Cap'n Sproul to take the office
of first s'lec'man at the March meetin'," said one of the loafers.
"I sha'n't begretch him one mite of his popularity," vowed the
storekeeper. "Any man that can put Kun'l Gid Ward where he belongs
is a better thing for the town than a new meetin'-house would be."
But during all this flurry of gossip Cap'n Aaron Sproul spent his bland
and blissful days up under the shade of the big maple in the Ward
dooryard, smoking his pipe, and gazing out over the expanse of
meadow and woodland stretching away to the horizon.
Most of the time his wife was at his elbow, peering with a species of
adoration into his browned countenance as he related his tales of the
sea. She constantly carried a little blank-book, its ribbon looped about
her neck, and made copious entries as he talked. She had conceived the
fond ambition of writing the story of his life. On the cover was

inscribed, in her best hand:
FROM SHORE TO SHORE
LINES FROM A MARINER'S ADVENTURES
The Life Story of the Gallant Captain Aaron Sproul
Written by His Affectionate Wife
"I reckon that Providunce put her finger on my compass when I steered
this way. Louada Murilla," said the Cap'n one day, pausing to relight
his pipe.
He had insisted on renaming his wife "Louada Murilla," and she had
patiently accepted the new name with the resignation of her patient
nature. But the name pleased her after her beloved lord had explained.
"I was saving that name for the handsomest clipper-ship that money
could build," he said. "But when I married you, little woman, I got
something better than a clipper-ship; and when you know sailorman's
natur' better, you'll know what that compliment means. Yes,
Providunce sent me here," continued the Cap'n, poking down his
tobacco with broad thumb. "There I was, swashin' from Hackenny to
t'other place, livin' on lobscouse and hoss-meat; and here you was,
pinin' away for some one to love you and to talk to you about
something sensibler than dropped stitches and croshayed lamp-mats.
Near's I can find out about your 'sociates round here, you would have
got more real sense out of talkin' with Port and Starboard up there," he
added, pointing to his pet parrots, which had followed him in his
wanderings. "We was both of us hankerin' for a companion--I mean a
married companion. And I reckon that two more suiteder persons never
started down the shady side--holt of hands, hey?"
He caught her hands and pulled her near him, and she bent down and
kissed his weather-beaten forehead.
At that instant Col. Gideon Ward came clattering into the yard in his

tall wagon. He glared at this scene of conjugal affection, and then
lashed his horse savagely and disappeared in the direction of the barn.
"I read once about a skelington at a feast that rattled his dry bones
every time folks there started in to enjoy themselves," said the Cap'n,
after he watched the scowling Colonel out of sight. "For the last two
weeks, Louada Murilla, it don't seem as if I've smacked you or you've
smacked me but when I've jibed my head I've seen that ga'nt
brother-in-law o' mine standing off to one side sourer'n a home-made
cucumber pickle."
"It's aggravatin'