Part 17

“Now, look here, captain--”

“I'm looking!” declared the master of the Polly in ominous tones.

“We don't mean to annoy you, captain.”

“Folks who don't know any better do a lot of things without meaning to.”

Captain Candage regularly entertained a sea-toiler's resentment for men who used the ocean as a mere playground. But more especially, during those later days, his general temper was touchy in regard to dapper young men, for he had faced a problem of the home which had tried his soul. He felt an unreasoning choler rising in him in respect to these chaps, who seemed to have no troubles of their own.

“I am a writer,” explained the other. “If I may be allowed on board I'll take a few pictures and--”

“And make fun of me and my bo't by putting a piece in the paper to tickle city dudes. Fend off!” he commanded, noticing that the tender was drifting toward the schooner's side and that one of the crew had set a boat-hook against the main chain-plate.

“Don't bother with the old crab,” advised the owner, sourly.

But the other persisted, courteously, even humbly. “I am afraid you do not understand me, captain. I would as soon make jest of my mother as of this noble old relic.”

“Go ahead! Call it names!”

“I am taking off my hat to it,” he declared, whipping his cap from his head. “My father's grandfather was in the war of eighteen twelve. I want to honor this old patriot here with the best tribute my pen can pay. If you will allow me to come on board I shall feel as though I were stepping upon a sacred spot, and I can assure you that my friends, here, have just as much respect for this craft as I have.”

But this honest appeal did not soften Captain Candage. He did not understand exactly from what source this general rancor of his flowed. At the same time he was conscious of the chief reason why he did not want to allow these visitors to rummage aboard the schooner. They would meet his daughter, and he was afraid, and he was bitterly ashamed of himself because he was afraid. Dimly he was aware that this everlasting fear on her account constituted an insult to her. The finer impulse to protect her privacy was not actuating him; he knew that, too. He was merely foolishly afraid to trust her in the company of young men, and the combination of his emotions produced the simplest product of mental upheaval--unreasonable wrath.

“Fend off, I say,” he commanded.

“Again I beg you, captain, with all respect, please may we come on board?”

“You get away from here and tend to your own business, if you've got any, or I'll heave a bunch of shingles at you!” roared the skipper.

“Father!” The voice expressed indignant reproof. “Father, I am ashamed of you!”

The girl came to the rail, and the yachtsmen stared at her as if she were Aphrodite risen from the sea instead of a mighty pretty girl emerging from a dark companion-way. She had appeared so suddenly! She was so manifestly incongruous in her surroundings.

“Mother o' mermaids!” muttered the yacht-owner in the ear of the man nearest. “Is the old rat still privateering?”

The men in the tender stood up and removed their caps.

“You have insulted these gentlemen, father!”

Captain Candage knew it, and that fact did not soften his anger in the least. At the same time this appearance of his own daughter to read him a lesson in manners in public was presumption too preposterous to be endured; her daring gave him something tangible for his resentment to attack.

He turned on her. “You go below where you belong.”

“I belong up here just now.”

“Down below with you!”

“I'll not go until you apologize to these gentlemen, father!”

“You ain't ashore now, miss, to tell me when to wipe my feet and not muss the tidies! You're on the high seas, and I'm cap'n of this vessel. Below, I say!”

“These gentlemen know the Polly, and they will find out the name of the man who commands her, and I don't propose to have it said that the Candages are heathens,” she declared, firmly. “If you do not apologize, father, I shall apologize for you.” She tried to crowd past him to the rail, but he clapped his brown hand over her mouth and pushed her back. His natural impulse as commander of his craft dominated his feelings as a father.

“I'll teach ye shipboard discipline, Polly Candage,” he growled, “even if I have to take ye acrost my knee.”