“Humph!” he muttered. “Humph! . . . Well, Al, of course I can't make you stay by main force. Perhaps I could--you ain't of age yet--but I shan't. And you want to quit the ship altogether, do you?” “If you mean this office--yes, I do.” “I see, I see. Want to quit South Harniss and your grandmother--and Rachel--and Labe--and Helen--and all the rest of 'em?” “Not particularly. But I shall have to, of course.” “Yes. . . . Um-hm. . . . Yes. Have you thought how your grandmother's liable to feel when she hears you are goin' to clear out and leave her?” Albert had not thought in that way, but he did now. His tone was a trifle less combative as he answered. “She'll be sorry at first, I suppose,” he said, “but she'll get over it.” “Um-hm. Maybe she will. You can get over 'most anything in time--'MOST anything. Well, and how about me? How do you think I'll feel?” Albert's chin lifted. “You!” he exclaimed. “Why, you'll be mighty glad of it.” Captain Zelotes picked up the pencil stump and twirled it in his fingers. “Shall I?” he asked. “You think I will, do you?” “Of course you will. You don't like me, and never did.” “So I've heard you say. Well, boy, don't you cal'late I like you at least as much as you like me?” “No. What do you mean? I like you well enough. That is, I should if you gave me half a chance. But you don't do it. You hate me because my father--” The captain interrupted. His big palm struck the desk. “DON'T say that again!” he commanded. “Look here, if I hated you do you suppose I'd be talkin' to you like this? If I hated you do you cal'late I'd argue when you gave me notice? Not by a jugful! No man ever came to me and said he was goin' to quit and had me beg him to stay. If we was at sea he stayed until we made port; then he WENT, and he didn't hang around waitin' for a boat to take him ashore neither. I don't hate you, son. I'd ask nothin' better than a chance to like you, but you won't give it to me.” Albert's eyes and mouth opened. “_I_ won't give YOU a chance?” he repeated. “Sartin. DO you give me one? I ask you to keep these books of mine. You could keep 'em A Number One. You're smart enough to do it. But you won't. You let 'em go to thunder and waste your time makin' up fool poetry and such stuff.” “But I like writing, and I don't like keeping books.” “Keepin' books is a part of l'arnin' the business, and business is the way you're goin' to get your livin' by and by.” “No, it isn't. I am going to be a writer.” “Now DON'T say that silly thing again! I don't want to hear it.” “I shall say it because it is true.” “Look here, boy: When I tell you or anybody else in this office to do or not to do a thing, I expect 'em to obey orders. And I tell you not to talk any more of that foolishness about bein' a writer. D'you understand?” “Yes, of course I understand.” “All right, then, that much is settled. . . . Here! Where are you goin'?”