it, and was kept by Pemberton himself--gone, now, alas! with his
venerable dusty hair and red face, imperturbably amiable. He was no
seaman. Throughout his long life he had anchored to his own
chimneyside, which was a solid and steady chimney, whose red-brick
complexion resembled its owner's. His wife was dead, and he ran the
hotel much alone, except for the company of Uncle Abimelech, Captain
Buckingham, Stevey Todd, and such others as came and went, or
townsfolk who liked the anchorage. But the three I have named were
seamen, and I always found them by Pemberton's chimney. Abe
Dalrimple, or Uncle Abe, was near Pemberton's age, and had lived with
him for years; but Stevey Todd and Captain B. were younger, and, as I
gathered, they had been with Pemberton only for some months past, the
captain boarding, and Stevey Todd maybe boarding as well; I don't
know; but I know Stevey Todd did some of the cooking, and had been a
ship's cook the main part of his life. It seemed to me they acted
like a settled family among them anyway.

Captain Thomas Buckingham was a smallish man of fifty, with a
bronzed face, or you might say iron, with respect to its rusty
colour, and also it was dark and immobile. But now and then there
would come a glimmer and twist in his eyes, sometimes he would start
in talking and flow on like a river, calm, sober, and untiring, and
yet again he would be silent for hours. Some might have thought him
melancholy, for his manner was of the gravest.

We were speaking of hotels, that stormy afternoon when the distant
surf was moaning and the wind heaping the snow against the doors, and
when the clock had struck, he said slowly:

"I kept a hotel once. It was in '72 or a bit before. It's a good