moment, and then broke into a loud laugh as the
absurdity of the whole thing burst upon him. Then
dropping back a step, he stood leaning against the
old-fashioned sideboard, his elbows behind him, his
large frame thrust toward her.

"Well, what if they were--ain't she pretty
enough?" he burst out. "I told her she'd have
'em all crazy, and I hear Bart ain't done nothin'
but follow in her wake since he seen her launched."

Martha stepped closer to the captain and held her
fist in his face.

"He's got to stop it. Do ye hear me?" she
shouted. "If he don't there'll be trouble, for you
and him and everybody. It's me that's crazy, not
him."

"Stop it!" roared the captain, straightening up,
the glasses on the sideboard ringing with his sudden
lurch. "My boy keep away from the daughter of
Morton Cobden, who was the best friend I ever had
and to whom I owe more than any man who ever
lived! And this is what you traipsed up here to
tell me, is it, you mollycoddle?"

Again Martha edged nearer; her body bent forward,
her eyes searching his--so close that she could
have touched his face with her knuckles.