way while I sneaked down to the Port and bought a bass, we'd have had to
eat dogfish--we would, as sure as I'm a foot high.

Stumpton and his daughter, Maudina, was at the Old Home House.
'Twas late in September, and the boarders had cleared out. Old
Dillaway--Peter's father-in-law--had decoyed the pair on from Montana
because him and some Wall Street sharks were figgering on buying some
copper country out that way that Stumpton owned. Then Dillaway was took
sick, and Peter, who was just back from his wedding tower, brought the
Montana victims down to the Cape with the excuse to give 'em a good time
alongshore, but really to keep 'em safe and out of the way till Ebenezer
got well enough to finish robbing 'em. Belle--Peter's wife--stayed
behind to look after papa.

Stumpton was a great tall man, narrer in the beam, and with a figgerhead
like a henhawk. He enjoyed himself here at the Cape. He fished, and
loafed, and shot at a mark. He sartinly could shoot. The only thing he
was wishing for was something alive to shoot at, and Brown had promised
to take him out duck shooting. 'Twas too early for ducks, but that
didn't worry Peter any; he'd a-had ducks to shoot at if he bought all
the poultry in the township.

Maudina was like her name, pretty, but sort of soft and mushy. She had
big blue eyes and a baby face, and her principal cargo was poetry. She
had a deckload of it, and she'd heave it overboard every time the wind
changed. She was forever ordering the ocean to "roll on," but she didn't
mean it; I had her out sailing once when the bay was a little mite
rugged, and I know. She was just out of a convent school, and you could
see she wasn't used to most things--including men.