don't want none of your miser'ble money! Land knows how you made it,
anyhow, and I wouldn't soil my hands with it. After all I've put up
with, and the way I've done my work, and the things I've had to eat,
and--and--"

She paused for breath. Captain Cy scratched his chin. Asaph, gazing
open-mouthed at the trumpet, stirred in his chair. Mrs. Beasley swooped
down upon him like a gull on a minnow.

"And you!" she shrieked. "You! a miserable little, good-for-nothin',
lazy, ridiculous, dried-up-- . . . Oo--oo--OH! You call yourself a town
clerk! YOU do! I--I wouldn't have you clerk for a hen house! I'm an old
chromo, be I? Yes! that's nice talk, ain't it, to a woman old enough
to be--that is--er--er--'most as old as you be! You sneakin',
story-tellin', little, fat THING, you! You--oh, I can't lay my tongue to
words to tell you WHAT you are."

"You're doin' pretty well, seems to me," observed Captain Cy dryly. "I
wouldn't be discouraged if I was you."

The only effect of this remark was to turn the wordy torrent in his
direction. The captain bore it for a while; then he rose to his feet and
commanded silence.

"That's enough! Stop it!" he ordered, and, strange to say, Mrs. Beasley
did stop. "I'm sorry, Debby," he went on, "but you had no business to be
listenin' even if--" and he smiled grimly, "you have got a new fog horn
to hear with. You can go and pack your things as soon as you want to. I
made up my mind the first day you come that you and me wouldn't cruise
together long, and this only shortens the trip by a week or so. I'll pay