"And the other gentleman, too," said Mrs. Raybrock.

"Well now, ma'am," said the captain, glancing shrewdly at the other
gentleman, "you are that nigh right, that he goes to sea,--if that makes
him a sailor. This is my steward, ma'am, Tom Pettifer; he's been a'most
all trades you could name, in the course of his life,--would have bought
all your chairs and tables once, if you had wished to sell 'em,--but now
he's my steward. My name's Jorgan, and I'm a ship-owner, and I sail my
own and my partners' ships, and have done so this five-and-twenty year.
According to custom I am called Captain Jorgan, but I am no more a
captain, bless your heart, than you are."

"Perhaps you'll come into my parlour, sir, and take a chair?" said Mrs.
Raybrock.

"Ex-actly what I was going to propose myself, ma'am. After you."

Thus replying, and enjoining Tom to give an eye to the shop, Captain
Jorgan followed Mrs. Raybrock into the little, low back-room,--decorated
with divers plants in pots, tea-trays, old china teapots, and
punch-bowls,--which was at once the private sitting-room of the Raybrock
family and the inner cabinet of the post-office of the village of
Steepways.

"Now, ma'am," said the captain, "it don't signify a cent to you where I
was born, except--" But here the shadow of some one entering fell upon
the captain's figure, and he broke off to double himself up, slap both
his legs, and ejaculate, "Never knew such a thing in all my life! Here
he is again! How are you?"