A. SILT General Merchandise There was nobody on the porch, but the two-leaved door to the store was open. Inside was a rusty-legged stove, in which a handful of fire burned despite the warmth of the late October sun. It was cool indoors and a little damp. Before the visitor mounted the steps he saw that a full quorum of the Loungers' Club held sway around Cap'n Abe's stove. The few decrepit armchairs, as well as several boxes, an overturned nail keg or two, and even an upended chopping block were occupied by an audience that listened with more or less impatience to a booming voice that dominated them in spite of themselves. "There the _Betsy Brown_ was, hove to and with a sea-anchor to lee'ard, kickin' up didoes like one o' these busted broncos ye hear tell of in the Wild West shows. There warn't a feller aboard but the supercargo that warn't down with the fever, an' he didn't scurcely know the maintruck from the keelson. "He didn't durst tetch the tiller, nor bear a hand with sheet nor halyard. All he could do was to drag himself by aid of a lubberline from fo'c'stle to after cabin, and give the hands and the afterguard water to drink. Water and ship's biscuit soaked in it was all the hull ship's comp'ny put past their lips for two endurin' weeks. "Yes, sir! The old _Betsy Brown_ strained every timber in her frame an' when the crew began to crawl about deck again--naught but skeletons of what they had been--the water was seepin' through half a hundred seams, with the bilge oozing through the lower deck-planks. Her cargo of box-shooks was 'bout all that kep' her afloat. "You kin figger," went on the voice, "in what shape the crew was for a spell at the pumps and caulkin' ship, even when the sea and gale went down. It would ha' been a mess in a dead ca'm---- "Af'noon, sir! What can I do for you?" The booming voice changed instantly to the brisk challenge of the merchant. Through the brown gloom of the place the visitor saw the guernsey-coated figure of the man behind the hacked counter, his hairy fists resting easily upon it. Above his torso thus revealed was a sweeping beard, humorous and twinkling blue eyes, and a pair of silver-bowed spectacles pushed high upon a very bald forehead. The storekeeper wore an old tarpaulin stuck upon the back of his head, and altogether made a very salt-flavored picture indeed. "What can I do for you, sir?" he repeated, leaving his audience to wait with more or less apathy for the remainder of his tale. The group around the stove divided to allow Cap'n Jonah to stride through. The stock in trade of this seamanlike looking storekeeper was of such variety, and in such quantity, that there was not much room in the passage to the counter. As Pearl Holden had intimated, Cap'n Abe's stock included an incongruous collection of wares.