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Lantrim nodded ponderously. One story or slow monologue followed another of shipwrecks, frequent on that murderous coast, of rescues by wreckers, of "vyages" down the coast or to India, Africa, with plenty of sailors' superstition in it all. Neckart lay on his back smoking, his hands under his head. It seemed as if he were the boy he was on that day's fishing long ago.
Neckart had just made up his mind that Sutphen and the two Lantrims were as shrewd, common-sensed witnesses as he had ever examined. He was hungry too, and as they ate together he borrowed Sutphen's clamp-knife, and told some capital stories, and handed about his cigars when they had all finished. "I misjudged that black-a-vised fellow," said Ichabod to Lantrim. "He's consid'able of a man."
The men nodded over their pipes, keeping time: Jane held her father's hand quiet in her own, looking straight before her. "Thank you, sir. Very lively toon that," said Lantrim when it was ended. "Kind o' murnful too," ventured his wife. Jane, with the last note, rose and walked hastily down the beach, where the fog was heavy. She did not return. Mr.
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