"And they did," rejoined Cap'n Joab Beecher, "if they seen ha'f what they tell about." "I dunno," the storekeeper went on reflectively, staring at a huge fishfly booming against one of the dusty window panes. "I dunno. Cap'n Am'zon was tellin' me once't about what he and two others went through with after the _Posy Lass,_ out o' Bangor, was smashed up in a big blow off Hat'ras. What them fellers in the _Globe_ paper tell about ain't a patch on what Cap'n Am'zon suffered." There was an uncertain, troubled movement among Cap'n Abe's hearers. Even the fishfly stopped droning. Cap'n Beecher looked longingly through the doorway from which the sea could be observed as well as a strip of that natural breakwater called "The Neck," a barrier between the tumbling Atlantic and the quiet bay around which the main village of Cardhaven was set. All the idlers in the store on this June afternoon were not natives. There were several young fellows from The Beaches--on the Shell Road to which Cap'n Abe's store was a fixture. In sight of The Beaches the wealthy summer residents had built their homes--dwellings ranging in architectural design from the mushroom-roofed bungalow to a villa in the style of the Italian Renaissance. The villa in question had been built by I. Tapp, the Salt Water Taffy King, and Lawford Tapp, only son of the house, was one of the audience in Cap'n Abe's store. "Cap'n Amazon said," boomed the storekeeper a good deal like the fishfly--"Cap'n Amazon said the _Posy Lass_ was loaded with lumber and her cargo's 'bout all that kep' her afloat as fur as Hat'ras. Then the smashin' big seas that come aboard settled her right down like a wounded duck. "The deck load went o' course; and about ev'rything else was cleaned off the decks that warn't bolted to 'em. The seas rose up and picked off the men, one after t'other, like a person'd clean off a beach plum bush." "I shouldn't wonder," spoke up Cap'n Beecher, "if we seen some weather 'fore morning." He was squinting through the doorway at an azure and almost speckless sky. There was an uneasy shuffling of boots. One of the boys from The Beaches giggled. Cap'n Abe--and the fishfly--boomed on together, the storekeeper evidently visualizing the scene he narrated and not the half-lighted and goods-crowded shop. At its best it was never well illumined. Had the window panes been washed there was little chance of the sunshine penetrating far save by the wide open door. On either hand as one entered were the rows of hanging oilskins, storm boots, miscellaneous clothing and ship chandlery that made up only a part of Cap'n Abe's stock.