“What?” he quavered shrilly. “Wha--what's that?” Brown was surprised. “I asked if you were married, that's all,” he said. “I can't see--” “Stop!” Seth's voice shook, and he bent down to glare through the darkness at his companion's face. “Stop!” he ordered. “You asked me if I was--married?” “Yes. Why shouldn't I?” “Why shouldn't you? See here, young feller, you--you--what made you ask that?” “What made me?” “Stop sayin' my words after me. Are you a man or a poll-parrot? Can't you understand plain United States language? What made you? Or WHO made you? Who told you to ask me that question?” He pounded the bench with his fist. The pair stared at each other for a moment; then Brown leaned back and began to whistle. Seth seized him by the shoulders. “Quit that foolishness, d'you hear?” he snarled. “Quit it, and answer me!” The answer was prefaced by a pitying shake of the head. “It's the mosquitoes,” observed the young man, musingly. “They get through and puncture the brain after a time, I presume. I'm not surprised exactly, but,” with a sigh, “I'm very sorry.” “What are you talkin' about,” demanded Atkins. “Be you crazy?” “No-o. I'M not.” “YOU'RE not! Do you mean that I am?” “Well,” slowly, “I'm not an expert in such cases, but when a perfectly simple, commonplace question sets a chap to pounding and screaming and offering violence, then--well, it's either insanity or an attempt at insult, one or the other. I've given you the benefit of the doubt.” He scratched a match on his heel and relit his pipe. The lightkeeper still stared, suspicious and puzzled. Then he drew a long breath. “I--I didn't mean to insult you,” he stammered. “Glad to hear it, I'm sure. If I were you, however, I should see a doctor for the other trouble.” “And I ain't crazy, neither. I beg your pardon for hollerin' and grabbin' hold of you.” “Granted.” “Thank ye. Now,” hesitatingly, “would you mind tellin' me why you asked me if I was married?” “Not in the least. I asked merely because it occurred to me that you might be. Of course, I had seen nothing of your wife, but it was barely possible that she was away on a visit, or somewhere. There is no regulation forbidding lightkeepers marrying--at least, I never heard of any--and so I asked; that's all.” Seth nodded. “I see,” he said, slowly; “yes, yes, I see. So you didn't have no special reason.” “I did not. Of course, if I had realized that you were subject to--er--fits, I should have been more careful.” “Hum! . . . Well, I--I beg your pardon again. I--I am kind of touchy on some p'ints. Didn't I tell you no women came here? Married! A wife! Do I look like a dum fool?” “Not now.” “Well, then! And I've apologized for bein' one a few minutes ago, ain't I.” “Yes, you have. No grudge on my part, I assure you. Let's forget it and talk of something else.”