The Skippers Wooing | Page 5

said Wilson, in a voice which he tried in vain to make
stronger. "When you say lost, ma'am, you mean missing?"
"Five years," said the old woman, shaking her head and folding her
hands in her lap. "How long do you say you've been looking for
Captain Jackson?"
"Seven," said the skipper with a calmness which surprised himself.
"And you haven't given up hope, I suppose?"
"Not while life lasts," said the other, studying the carpet.
"That's the way I feel," said the old woman energetically. "What a
surprise it'll be when you meet him!"
"For both of them," said the girl.
"It's five years last May--the 20th of May," said the old woman, "since
I last saw my poor husband. He--"
"It can't be of any interest to this gentleman, mother," interposed the
girl.
"I'm very much interested, ma'am," said the skipper defiantly; "besides,
when I'm looking for poor Jackson, who knows I mightn't run up
against the other."
"Ah! who knows but what you might," said the old woman. "There's
one gentleman looking for him now--Mr. Glover, my daughter's
husband that is to be."
There was a long pause, then the skipper, by dint of combining his
entire stock of Christianity and politeness, found speech. "I hope he

finds him," he said slowly.
"All that a man can do he's doing," said the old lady. "He's a
commercial traveller by trade, and he gets about a great deal in the way
of business."
"Have you tried advertising?" inquired the skipper, striving manfully to
keep his interest up to its former pitch.
The other shook her head and looked uneasily at her daughter.
"It wouldn't be any good," she said in a low voice--"it wouldn't be any
good."
"Well, I don't want to pry into your business in any way," said Wilson,
"but I go into a good many ports in the course of the year, and if you
think it would be any use my looking about I'll be pleased and proud to
do so, if you'll give me some idea of who to look for."
The old lady fidgeted with all the manner of one half desiring and half
fearing to divulge a secret.
"You see we lost him in rather peculiar circumstances," she said,
glancing uneasily at her daughter again. "He--"
"I don't want to know anything about that, you know, ma'am,"
interposed the skipper gently.
"It would be no good advertising for my father," said the girl in her
clear voice, "because he can neither read nor write. He is a very
passionate, hasty man, and five years ago he struck a man down and
thought he had killed him. We have seen nothing and heard nothing of
him since."
"He must have been a strong man," commented the skipper.
"He had something in his hand," said the girl, bending low over her
work. "But he didn't hurt him really. The man was at work two days
after, and he bears him no ill-will at all."

"He might be anywhere," said the skipper, meditating.
"He would be sure to be where there are ships," said the old lady; "I'm
certain of it. You see he was captain of a ship himself a good many
years, and for one thing he couldn't live away from the water, and for
another it's the only way he has of getting a living, poor man--unless
he's gone to sea again, which isn't likely."
"Coasting trade, I suppose?" said the skipper, glancing at two or three
small craft which were floating in oil round the walls.
The old lady nodded. "Those were his ships," she said, following his
glance; "but the painters never could get the clouds to please him. I
shouldn't think there was a man in all England harder to please with
clouds than he was."
"What sort of looking man is he?" inquired Wilson.
"I'll get you a portrait," said the old lady, and she rose and left the
room.
The girl from her seat in the window by the geraniums stitched on
steadily. The skipper, anxious to appear at his ease, coughed gently
three times, and was on the very verge of a remark--about the
weather--when she turned her head and became absorbed in something
outside. The skipper fell to regarding the clouds again with even more
disfavor than the missing captain himself could have shown.
"That was taken just before he disappeared," said the old lady, entering
the room again and handing him a photograph. "You can keep that."
The skipper took it and gazed intently at the likeness of a sturdy
full-bearded man of about sixty. Then he placed it carefully in his
breast-pocket and rose to his feet.
"And if I should happen to drop across him," he said slowly, "what
might his name be?"

"Gething,"