Even Mr. Hamilton, to whom most of the things of this world--his beloved
store excepted--seemed to be unessential trivialities, spoke of the
table linen.

"Seems to me," he observed, in his gentle and hesitating way, "this
tablecloth's sort of spotted up. Don't you think so, Shadrach?"

Captain Shad's reply was emphatic and to the point.

"Looks as if 'twas breakin' out with chicken-pox," he replied. "Ain't we
got a clean one in the locker, Isaiah?"

Mr. Chase's face assumed an aggrieved expression.

"Course we have," he answered, "but I didn't know you was goin' to have
company."

"Neither did we. But we could stand a clean table-cloth, even at that."

"I've got somethin' to do besides changin' tablecloths every day."

"Every day! Every Thanksgivin' Day, you mean. This one--"

"Now, look-a-here, Cap'n Shad; you know well as I do that Sarah J.
never come to do the washin' last week. She was down with the grip and
couldn't move. If you expect me to do washin' as well as cook and sweep
and keep house and--and shovel snow, and--"

"Shovel snow! What kind of talk's that? There ain't been any snow since