“No danger of that around here, Rachel,” he said serenely. “So long as my hearin's good I couldn't forget--not in this house.” Olive detained her grandson as he was following Captain Zelotes from the dining room. “What's wrong with him, Albert?” she whispered. “Do you know?” “No, I don't, Grandmother. Do you think there is anything wrong?” “I know there's somethin' troublin' him. I've lived with him too many years not to know the signs. Oh, Albert--you haven't done anything to displease him, have you?” “No, indeed, Grandmother. Whatever it is, it isn't that.” When they reached the office, the captain spoke to Mr. Keeler. “Had your dinner, Labe?” he asked. “Yes--yes, indeed. Don't take me long to eat--not at my boardin' house. A feller'd have to have paralysis to make eatin' one of Lindy Dadgett's meals take more'n a half hour. Um-hm--yes.” Despite his preoccupation, Captain Zelotes could not help smiling. “To make it take an hour he'd have to be ossified, wouldn't he, like the feller in the circus sideshow?” he observed. Laban nodded. “That--or dead,” he replied. “Yes--just about--just so, Cap'n.” “Where's Issachar?” “He's eatin' yet, I cal'late. He don't board at Lindy's.” “When he gets back set him to pilin' that new carload of spruce under Number Three shed. Keep him at it.” “Yes, sir. Um-hm. All right.” Captain Zelotes turned to his grandson. “Come in here, Al,” he said. “I want to see you for a few minutes.” Albert followed him into the inner office. He wondered what in the world his grandfather wished to see him about, in this very private fashion. “Sit down, Al,” said the captain, taking his own chair and pointing to another. “Oh, wait a minute, though! Maybe you'd better shut that hatch first.” The “hatch” was the transom over the door between the offices. Albert, remembering how a previous interview between them had been overheard because of that open transom, glanced at his grandfather. The twinkle in the latter's eye showed that he too, remembered. Albert closed the “hatch.” When he came back to his seat the twinkle had disappeared; Captain Zelotes looked serious enough. “Well, Grandfather?” queried the young man, after waiting a moment. The captain adjusted his spectacles, reached into the inside pocket of his coat and produced an envelope. It was a square envelope with either a trade-mark or a crest upon the back. Captain Lote did not open the envelope, but instead tapped his desk with it and regarded his grandson in a meditative way. “Al,” he said slowly, “has it seemed to you that your cruise aboard this craft of ours here had been a little smoother the last year or two than it used to be afore that?” Albert, by this time well accustomed to his grandfather's nautical phraseology, understood that the “cruise” referred to was his voyage as assistant bookkeeper with Z. Snow and Co. He nodded. “I have tried to make it so,” he answered. “I mean I have tried to make it smoother for you.”