"I never was good at guessing, Ichabod," she said simply. "I cal'late you'll jest have to tell me. I know from the way you speak that it must be something perfectly splendid." "Wall, now, you may think it more wuthless than plain seaweed, an' if ye do, why ye must speak right out, Sarah. What I have come to offer ye is Ichabod Jones' love!" Ichabod waited through a full minute for the answer that failed to come. The woman's eyes were gazing out over the broad expanse of the Atlantic, which opened so gloriously before them. He took one of her hands in his, and pressed it gently as he went on speaking. "It's true that I'm some old, but I ain't crippled. An' arter all these years o'--yes, oh, hell!--I want to be loved ag'in. Sarah, I'll tell ye, an' it's God's truth, I never did love that triflin' woman. I have come to that idea arter a long time o' thinkin'. I was young, an' I thought I loved her, but, Sarah, I just had my haid turned. Time is now tellin' my true feelin's." Still the woman made no answer, but her very silence gave encouragement to the wooer. "I'm through with fishin' an' lonely livin', whether or no, Sarah. All these years that I've hung around alone, it hain't cost me much to live, an' I've got a right smart o' money saved up. Ye know, this hotel ain't big 'nough fer all the Yankees that'd like to stop on the way up an' down offen their yachts. I was a-thinkin' las' night what a thing it'd be for me an' you to be real partners, an' let me spend some o' the savin's to double the size o' the hotel, an' hire 'nough help to take the strain offen you in runnin' o' it." The mingling of romance and practical worldly advantage won Miss Porter's consent to the plea of her suitor. Perhaps, either would have sufficed of itself; certainly, together, they were irresistible. Ichabod was all a-tremble with happiness and pride, as the spinster coyly offered her cheek to his kiss. He started guiltily a moment later, as a huge negress appeared in the doorway, and bawled at him: "Mr. Ichabod, the 'phone is a-callin' yoh-all." CHAPTER XIX BOTTLED UP Captain Ichabod Jones stepped briskly into Squire Chadwick's courtroom--which was otherwise the parlor in his modest home. Van Dusen, that very shrewd detective, observed that the old man trod with a jauntier step than heretofore, and that his expression was one of smug complacency. He wondered a little as to just what might have occurred to make this change so swiftly. He could not guess that a romance of twenty years was concerned, but his observant eyes told him that in some mysterious fashion this aged native had found a new happiness in life within the hour.