Salthaven | Page 5

good enough for her," said the captain, shaking his head. "But
then, nobody is. Looked at that way it's all right."
"You seem to take a great interest in it," said Robert.
"He came to me with his troubles," said Captain Trimblett, bunching up
his gray beard in his hand reflectively. "Leastways, he made a remark
or two which I took up. Acting under my advice he is taking up
gardening."
Mr. Vyner glanced at him in mystification.
"Hartley is a great gardener," explained the other with a satisfied smile.
"What is the result? He can go there when he likes, so to speak. No
awkwardness or anything of that sort. He can turn up there bold as
brass to borrow a trowel, and take three or four hours doing it."
"You're a danger to society," said Robert, shaking his head.
"People ought to marry while they're young," said the captain. "If they
don't, like as not they're crazy to marry in their old age. There's my
landlord here at Tranquil Vale, fifty-two next birthday, and over his
ears in love. He has got it about as bad as a man can have it."
"And the lady?" inquired Robert.
"She's all right," said the captain. He lowered his voice confidentially.
"It's Peter's sister, that's the trouble. He's afraid to let her know. All we
can do is to drop a little hint here and a little hint there, so as to prepare
her for the news when it's broken to her."
"Is she married?" inquired Robert, pausing as they reached the office.

"No," said Captain Trimblett; "widow."
Mr. Vyner gave a low whistle. "When do you sail, cap'n?" he inquired,
in a voice oily with solicitude.
"Soon as my engine-room repairs are finished, I suppose," said the
other, staring.
"And you--you are giving her hints about courtship and marriage?"
inquired Mr. Vyner, in tones of carefully-modulated surprise.
"She's a sensible woman," said the captain, reddening, "and she's no
more likely to marry again than I am."
"Just what I was thinking," said Mr. Vyner.
He shook his head, and, apparently deep in thought, turned and walked
slowly up the stairs. He was pleased to notice as he reached the first
landing that the captain was still standing where he had left him, staring
up the stairs.
CHAPTER III
IN a somewhat ruffled state of mind Captain Trimblett pursued his way
toward Tranquil Vale, a. row of neat cottages situated about a mile and
a half from the town, and inhabited principally by retired mariners. The
gardens, which ran down to the river, boasted a particularly fine strain
of flag-staffs; battered figure-heads in swan-like attitudes lent a
pleasing touch of colour, and old boats sawn in halves made convenient
arbours in which to sit and watch the passing pageant of the sea.
At No. 5 the captain paused to pass a perfectly dry boot over a scraper
of huge dimensions which guarded the entrance, and, opening the door,
finished off on the mat. Mrs. Susanna Chinnery, who was setting tea,
looked up at his entrance, and then looked at the clock.
"Kettle's just on the boil," she remarked.

"Your kettle always is," said the captain, taking a chair--"when it's time
for it to be, I mean," he added, hastily, as Mrs. Chinnery showed signs
of correcting him.
"It's as easy to be punctual as otherwise," said Mrs. Chinnery; "easier,
if people did but know it."
"So it is," murmured the captain, and sat gazing, with a sudden wooden
expression, at a picture opposite of the eruption of Vesuvius.
"Peter's late again," said Mrs. Chinnery, in tones of hopeless
resignation.
"Business, perhaps," suggested Captain Trimblett, still intent on
Vesuvius.
"For years and years you could have set the clock by him," continued
Mrs. Chinnery, bustling out to the kitchen and bustling back again with
the kettle; "now I never know when to expect him. He was late
yesterday."
Captain Trimblett cleared his throat. "He saw a man nearly run over,"
he reminded her.
"Yes; but how long would that take him?" retorted Mrs. Chinnery. "If
the man had been run over I could have understood it."
The captain murmured something about shock.
"On Friday he was thirty-three minutes late," continued the other.
"Friday," said the faithful captain. "Friday he stopped to listen to a man
playing the bagpipes--a Scotchman."
"That was Thursday," said Mrs. Chinnery.
The captain affected to ponder. "So it was," he said, heartily. "What a
memory you have got! Of course, Friday he walked back to the office
for his pipe."

"Well, we won't wait for him," said Mrs. Chinnery, taking the head of
the table and making the tea. "If he can't come in to time he must put up
with his tea being cold. That's the way we were brought