He was not so soft, this yacht man, as I used to think. He stood the
rough winter trips with me well. I learned to like him--rarely. I could
talk to him about the work, and he'd try to understand--as so few of his
kind would. He understood better after he'd been some trips with me, and
I came to love him--almost. When I was away on those trips, my wife
would be at home--until the time her aunt took sick. I recollect her
speakin' of her aunt--or did I? No matter. She lived out West somewhere,
and didn't want her to marry me--or so I made out. I didn't go too deep
into it. When she hinted that she hadn't told me of her aunt before for
fear of hurtin' my feelin's, it was enough. Women feel things more than
men, and no use to rake 'em over. I knew I was a rough man, not the kind
many women folks might take to--I never quite got over Her likin'
me--nor did a whole lot of people--and 'twas natural a woman of the kind
her aunt must be, didn't like her marryin' a man like me. But no matter;
her aunt was bein' reconciled, she used to write me, and when your wife
is makin' up to her only livin' relative, and she dyin', it's no time to
be exactin'. So she stayed on in the West. I've forgotten where--Chicago
maybe?--too far, anyway, for me to go to her, because I had to stand
ready in my business to leave at a minute's notice. A gale c'd rise in
an hour, the coast be cluttered with wrecks in one day. And there were
so many big people, steamboat people and big shippin' firms, who counted
on me, would 'a' been disappointed, you see, if I wasn't on deck when
needed. It's something, after all, to be honest in your work all your
life, not leave it to careless helpers.

He lost his interest in the wreckin' after a while, and natural, too. He
hadn't to build up his family's name or provide a livin' for anybody by
it. And her aunt still lingered, she wrote. And then I wrote that I
would give up the business if she said so, and go out there. I could