The captain regarded her over the top of the Transcript. “I shouldn't say a word, Olive,” he answered, solemnly. “I should be down sick by the time it got up as far as a thousand, and anything past two thousand you could use to buy my tombstone with. . . . There, there, Mother,” he added, noticing the hurt look on her face, “don't feel bad. I'm only jokin'. One of these days Al's goin' to make a nice, comf'table livin' sellin' lumber and hardware right here in South Harniss. I can SEE that money in the offin'. All this million or two that's comin' from poetry and such is out of sight in the fog. It may be there but--humph! well, I KNOW where Z. Snow and Co. is located.” Olive was not entirely placated. “I must say I think you're awful discouragin' to the poor boy, Zelotes,” she said. Her husband put down his paper. “No, no, I ain't, Mother,” he replied, earnestly. “At least I don't mean to be. Way I look at it, this poetry-makin' and writin' yarns and that sort of stuff is just part of the youngster's--er--growin' up, as you might say. Give him time he'll grow out of it, same as I cal'late he will out of this girl business, this--er--Madel--humph--er--ahem. . . . Looks like a good day to-morrow, don't it.” He pulled up suddenly, and with considerable confusion. He had kept the news of his grandson's infatuation and engagement even from his wife. No one in South Harniss knew of it, no one except the captain. Helen Kendall knew, but she was in Boston. Rachel Ellis picked up the half knitted Red Cross mitten in her lap. “Well, I don't know whether he's right or you are, Cap'n Lote,” she said, with a sigh, “but this I do know--I wish this awful war was over and he was back home again.” That remark ended the conversation. Olive resumed her own knitting, seeing it but indistinctly. Her husband did not continue his newspaper reading. Instead he rose and, saying something about cal'latin' he would go for a little walk before turning in, went out into the yard.