"Wal," was the captain's final comment, "she does good with some of her money, I haven't a doubt. But--for--ty--thou--sand--dol--lars! Whatever! A sheer of that would purty near put a man on his feet, Truitt." 'Liphalet did not utter another word until they entered Cap'n Abe's store. Supper time at this season of the year came early, that there might be a long evening before nine-thirty o'clock, which was most people's bedtime, and always Cap'n Abe's closing hour. The lamplight bathed the crowded store and the ring of loungers about the glowing stove with a soft radiance. This light glistened, too, on tarpaulins and oil-skins, on varnished sea-boots and rubber "hips," all of which garments and other gear hanging in rows looked like whispering men jostling one another as they listened to the jest and comment that went around the circle of which Cap'n Abe's stove was the center. Milt Baker lounged in his favorite place at the tobacco showcase, with simple Amiel Perdue beside him. "I guess, Cap'n Abe, you'll haf to reach me another piece o' Brown Mule," Milt said. "I seem to be all out." "In more ways than one, Milt, you air out," rejoined the bewhiskered storekeeper briskly. "You know what the motto of this store is. If you want to _buy_ tobacco, Milt----" "Sho, now! can't you be a good feller, Cap'n Abe? 'Mandy'll be in for her week's buyin' by an' by and she'll pay you," said the disappointed Milt. "I dunno will she or not. You've got a bad mem'ry, Milt. And tobacco ain't good for small boys, anyway----Good evening, 'Liphalet! How be ye, Cap'n Hand?" "Wal," said the philosophical Milt Baker, "mebbe I'll have to wait for another chaw of tobacco till the Christmas tree's hung. 'Liphalet won't never forgit me, I know." Milt occupied the throne of local humorist. He thus quickly turned attention from his own chagrin to the beclouded countenance of the ex-steward. "Ye-as," said Cap'n Abe. "'Liphalet ought to be right busy purty soon." "Le's see," continued Milt, grinning knowingly, "have ye taken that annual trip of yours to town yet to buy the stuffin' for Santa Claus's bag on Christmas night, 'Liphalet? The kids ain't goin' to be disappointed, be they? Ye got more children to buy presents for than the old woman that lived in a shoe." "Ha!" ejaculated the rather crabbed Cap'n Joab Beecher, "a man might's well be a Mormon as to be fixed like 'Liphalet." "Tell ye what 'tis," rose Washy Gallup's shrill voice, "I sartain sure wouldn't let no passel of women and young'uns pull my laig for all my spare change like 'Liphalet's done." "And that wouldn't take no 'long pull an' a strong pull an' a pull all together,' now, would it, Washy?" observed Milt, grinning broadly.