The Skipper and the Skipped: Being the Shore Log of Cap'n Aaron SproulDay, Holman
General
The Skipper and the Skipped: Being the Shore Log of Cap'n Aaron Sproul
Day, Holman
Ship captains -- Fiction
At the end of a long talk he sent her away with a pat on her shoulder
and a cheery word in her ear.
It was Old Man Jordan who, a week or so later, on his way to the village
with butter in his bucket, stood in the middle of the road and tossed
his arms so frenziedly that Colonel Ward, gathering up his speed
behind the willows, pulled up with an oath.
"Ye're jest gittin' back from up-country, ain't ye?" asked Uncle
Jordan.
"What do you mean, you old fool, by stoppin' me when I'm busy? What
be ye, gittin' items for newspapers?"
"No, Kun'l Ward, but I've got some news that I thought ye might like
to hear before ye went past the toll-house this time. Intentions
between Cap'n Aaron Sproul and Miss Jane Ward has been published."
"Wha-a-at!"
"They were married yistiddy."
"Wha--" The cry broke into inarticulateness.
"The Cap'n ain't goin' to be toll-man after to-day. Says he's goin'
to live on the home place with his wife. There!" Uncle Jordan stepped
to one side just in time, for the gaunt horse sprung under the lash
as though he had the wings of Pegasus.
The Cap'n was sitting in front of the toll-house. The tall horse
galloped down the hill, but the Colonel stood up, and, with elbows
akimbo and hands under his chin, yanked the animal to a standstill,
his splay feet skating through the highway dust. The Colonel leaped
over the wheel and reversed his heavy whip-butt. The Cap'n stood up,
gripping a stout cudgel that he had been whittling at for many hours.
While the new arrival was choking with an awful word that he was
trying his best to work out of his throat, the Cap'n pulled his little
note-book out of his pocket and slowly drawled:
"I reckoned as how ye might find time to stop some day, and I've got
your account all figgered. You owe thirteen tolls at ten cents each,
one thutty, and thirteen times three dollars fine--the whole
amountin' to jest forty dollars and thutty cents. Then there's a gate
to--"
"I'm goin' to kill you right in your tracks where you stand!" bellowed
the Colonel.
The Cap'n didn't wait for the attack. He leaped down off his porch,
and advanced with the fierce intrepidity of a sea tyrant.
"You'll pay that toll bill," he gritted, "if I have to pick it out
of your pockets whilst the coroner is settin' on your remains."
The bully of the countryside quailed.
"You've stole my sister!" he screamed. "This ain't about toll I'm
talkin'. You've been and robbed me of my sister!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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