observer could not easily judge. And nobody ever saw the storekeeper's
sleeves rolled up or the throat-latch of his shirt open.

Despite the fact that he held a thriving trade in his store on the Shell
Road (especially during the summer season) Cap'n Abe lived emphatically a
lonely life. Twenty years' residence meant little to Cardhaven folk.
Cap'n Abe was still an outsider to people who were so closely married and
intermarried that every human being within five miles of the Haven (not
counting the aristocrats of The Beaches) could honestly call each of the
others cousin in some degree.

The house and store was set on a lonely stretch of road. It was
unlighted at night, for the last street lamp had been fixed by the town
fathers at the Mariner's Chapel, as though they said to all mundane
illumination as did King Canute to the sea, "Thus far shalt thou come and
no farther."

Betty Gallup came cross lots each day to "rid up" Mr. Silt's living-room,
which was behind the store, the chambers being overhead. She was gone
home long before he put out the store lights and turned out the last
lingering idler, for Cap'n Abe preferred to cook for himself. He
declared the Widow Gallup did not know how to make a decent chowder,
anyway; and as for lobscouse, or the proper frying of a mess of
"blood-ends," she was all at sea. He intimated that there were digestive
reasons for her husband's death at the early age of sixty-eight.

Milt Baker had successfully introduced another topic of conversation, far
removed it would seem from any adventurous happening connected with Cap'n
Amazon Silt's career.