Albert gasped. “For heaven's sake how did you know that?” he demanded. “She--Why, she must have told you, after all! But she said--” “Hold on, boy, hold on!” Captain Lote chuckled quietly. “No,” he said, “Rachel didn't tell me; I guessed she was the one. And it didn't take a Solomon in all his glory to guess it, neither. Labe Keeler's been talkin' to ME, and when you come down here and began proposin' the same scheme that I was just about headin' up to your room with to propose to you, then--well, then the average whole-witted person wouldn't need more'n one guess. It couldn't be Labe, 'cause he'd been whisperin' in MY ear, so it must have been the other partner in the firm. That's all the miracle there is to it.” Albert's brain struggled with the situation. “I see,” he said, after a moment. “She hinted that someone had been talking to you along the same line. Yes, and she was so sure you would agree. I might have known it was Laban.” “Um-hm, so you might. . . . Well, there have been times when if a man had talked to me as Labe did to-night I'd have knocked him down, or told him to go to--um--well, the tropics--told him to mind his own business, at least. But Labe is Labe, and besides MY conscience was plaguin' me a little mite, maybe . . . maybe.” The young man shook his head. “They must have talked it over, those two, and agreed that one should talk to you and the other to me. By George, I wonder they had the nerve. It wasn't their business, really.” “Not a darn bit.” “Yet--yet I--I'm awfully glad she said it to me. I--I needed it, I guess.” “Maybe you did, son. . . . And--humph--well, maybe I needed it, too. . . . Yes, I know that's consider'ble for me to say,” he added dryly. Albert was still thinking of Laban and Rachel. “They're queer people,” he mused. “When I first met them I thought they were about the funniest pair I ever saw. But--but now I can't help liking them and--and--Say, Grandfather, they must think a lot of your--of our family.” “Cal'late they do, son. . . . Well, boy, we've had our sermon, you and me, what shall we do? Willin' to sign for the five years trial cruise if I will, are you?” Albert couldn't help smiling. “It was three years Rachel proposed, not five,” he said. “Was, eh? Suppose we split the difference and make it four? Willin' to try that?” “Yes, sir.” “Agreement bein' that you shall stick close to Z. Snow and Co. durin' work hours and write as much poetry as you darned please other times, neither side to interfere with those arrangements? That right?” “Yes, sir.” “Good! Shall we shake hands on it?” They shook, solemnly. Captain Lote was the first to speak after ratification of the contract.