It was some hours before he succeeded in mastering the various adjustments of the phonograph, and ventured to hear himself "pop." Listening with critical intentness, he discovered that two sentences were missing. Grimly he tried again. The word that had been so long his stumbling block suddenly showed its vindictiveness once more. "'It is with painful trep-trep-' darn it!" repeated the phonograph with startling distinctness. Wrathfully the captain snatched the record and hurled it under the bed. A number of others soon kept it company. The next day the captain went to Boston again. This time even the phonograph dealer was astonished at the number of blank records Captain Enoch demanded. With reckless abandon the captain proceeded to use the new supply of records. Dripping with perspiration from the heat of his closely-shut room and from his strenuous mental exertion, he finally came to the last one, and word by word and sentence by sentence heard himself make an absolutely correct and flawless proposal to Miss Macy. Solemnly the captain wiped his brow. "I declare I wish Abner could hear it," he remarked proudly. "There ain't a single mistake, big words an' all. It ought to please M'lissy, if anything will." At the thought of Melissa Captain Enoch's honest heart began to beat faster. He threw open his window with all the eagerness of a lover, and looked over toward Melissa's old-fashioned house with its comfortable veranda and wide chimney. His bronzed face turned suddenly white and he gripped the window sill with all the strength of his powerful hands. Two men were turning in at Melissa's gate. The short fat man was Thomas Peters, the tall thin one the village clergyman. To Captain Enoch the fact that Peters and the minister were calling upon Melissa together could mean but one thing. Hours and years of the captain's life seemed to pass, as he watched the two men go slowly up Melissa's gravel walk. When the door closed behind them, he turned about, dazed and trembling. He was breathing hard like a man at the end of a race. Half an hour later he had packed his bag and paid his board bill, leaving Mrs. Crowell in a state of bewilderment and curiosity that was sufficient to disturb her peace of mind for many a day. From Boston the tramp had wallowed her way around the Horn to San Francisco and back again as far as Rio Janiero when Captain Enoch received his first mail from home. A travel-stained letter, bearing Abner Crowell's cramped handwriting, threw the captain into a sudden panic. "I don't know whether to open it, or not," he debated nervously. "I want to know what's in it, an' I'm scared to find out. I'm a good mind to throw it overboard and forget I ever got it." Curiosity finally overcame his dread. The letter was encouragingly brief.