“Why, because I wanted to help you,” she said. “I've been alone in the world ever since mother died, years ago. I've had few real friends. Your friendship had come to mean a great deal to me. The splendid fight you were making for that little girl proved what a man you were. And you fought so bravely when almost everyone was against you, I couldn't help wanting to do something for you. How could I? And now it has come to nothing--my part of it. I'm so sorry.” “It ain't, neither. It's come to everything. Phoebe, I didn't mean to say very much more than to beg your pardon when I headed for here. But I've got to--I've simply got to. This can't go on. I can't have you keep comin' to see me--and Bos'n. I can't keep meetin' you every day. I CAN'T.” She looked up, as if to speak, but something, possibly the expression in his face, caused her to look quickly down again. She did not answer. “I can't do it,” continued the captain desperately. “'Tain't for what folks might say. They wouldn't say much when I was around, I tell you. It ain't that. It's because I can't bear to have you just a friend. Either you must be more'n that, or--or I'll have to go somewheres else. I realized that when I was in Washin'ton and cruisin' to California and back. I've either got to take Bos'n and go away for good, or--or--” She would not help him. She would not speak. “You see?” he groaned. “You see, Phoebe, what an old fool I am. I can't ask you to marry me, me fifty-five, and rough from knockin' round the world, and you, young and educated, and a lady. I ain't fool enough to ask such a thing as that. And yet, I couldn't stay here and meet you every day, and by and by see you marry somebody else. By the big dipper, I couldn't do it! So that's why I can't shake hands with you to-day--nor any more, except when I say good-by for keeps.” Then she looked up. The color was still bright in her face, and her eyes were moist, but she was smiling. “Can't shake hands with me?” she said. “Please, what have you been doing for the last five minutes?” Captain Cy dropped her hand as if his own had been struck with paralysis. “Good land!” he stammered. “I didn't know I did it; honest truth, I didn't.” Phoebe's smile was still there, faint, but very sweet. “Why did you stop?” she queried. “I didn't ask you to.” “Why did I stop? Why, because I--I--I declare I'm ashamed--” She took his hand and clasped it with both her own. “I'm not,” she said bravely, her eyes brightening as the wonder and incredulous joy grew in his. “I'm very proud. And very, very happy.”