"Nineteen last June," replied the girl with eager promptness, that
must have come from shame from the blunder she had made. Lemuel was
twenty, the 4th of July.

"Weight?" pursued the captain.

"Well, I hain't been weighed very _lately_," answered the girl,
with increasing interest. "I don't know as I been weighed since I
left home."

The captain looked at her judicially.

"That so? Well, you look pretty solid. Guess I'll put you down at a
hundred and twenty."

"Well, I guess it's full as _much_ as that," said the girl,
with a flattered laugh.

"Dunno how high you are?" suggested the captain, glancing at her
again.

"Well, yes, I _do_. I am just five feet two inches and a half."

"You don't look it," said the captain critically.

"Well, I _am_," insisted the girl, with a returning gaiety.

The captain apparently checked himself and put on a professional
severity.