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Updated: June 1, 2025
Course she didn't live there, her father thought she was visitin' him, I guess likely, but she was with Cap'n Lote and Olive most of the time. Rachel says she never made a fuss, you understand, just was there and helped and was quiet and soft-spoken and capable and and comfortin', that's about the word, I guess. Rachel always thought a sight of Helen afore that, but since then she swears by her."
The boy, his foot upon the buggy step, still hesitated. "Then you're you're not my grandfather?" he faltered. "Eh? Who? Your grandfather? Me? He, he, he!" He chuckled shrilly. "No, no! No such luck. If I was Cap'n Lote Snow, I'd be some older'n I be now and a dum sight richer. Yes, yes. No, I'm Cap'n Lote's bookkeeper over at the lumber consarn.
Instead the pair greeted each other as if they had parted in that office at the close of business on the previous day. "Mornin', Cap'n Lote," said Laban, quietly. "Mornin', Labe," replied the captain, just as calmly. He went on and opened his own desk, leaving his grandson standing by the door, not knowing whether to speak or offer to shake hands.
Yes, sir, cigarettes, by crimustee! Who's been smokin' cigarettes in here? If Cap'n Lote knew anybody'd smoked a cigarette in here I don't know's he wouldn't kill 'em. Who done it?" Albert shivered. The girl with the dark blue eyes flashed a quick glance at him. "I think perhaps someone went by the window when it was open just now," she suggested. "Perhaps they were smoking and the smoke blew in."
At last, the perplexed wit, getting more irascible as he grew more bewildered, suddenly seized the vast incumbrance by the arm, and said to him in a sharp, querulous tone, "Pray, Monsieur, why are you like the lote tree in Mahomet's Seventh Heaven?" "Sir!" cried the astonished Frenchman. Vincent steered by, and, joining me, hiccuped out, "In rebus adversis opponite pectora fortia."
If he had hunted a lifetime for something to please and interest his grandfather he could not have hit the mark nearer the center. Cap'n Lote, of course, pretended a certain measure of indifference, but that was for Olive and Rachel's benefit. It would never do for the scoffer to become a convert openly and at once.
The quiet note of sarcasm in his grandfather's voice was making him furiously angry once more, just as it had done on the previous night. "Do you want me to?" he asked, shortly. "Why, yes, I cal'late I do." Albert, without another word, walked to the hat-rack in the hall and began putting on his coat. Captain Lote watched him for a moment and then put on his own.
She's been disappointed times enough before, poor woman. . . . There, Cap'n Lote, don't let's talk about it any more. Please don't get the notion that I'm askin' for pity or anything like that. And don't think I'm comparin' what I call my fight to the real one like Al's. There's nothin' much heroic about me, eh? No, no, I guess not. Tell that to look at me, eh?"
As they came away the captain and his grandson exchanged a few significant words. "It is likely to be almost any time, Grandfather," said Albert, quietly. "They are beginning to send them now, as you know by the papers, and we have had the tip that our turn will be soon. So " Captain Lote grasped the significance of the uncompleted sentence. "I see, Al," he answered, "I see.
No answer being volunteered, they shouted to their women to await them, and betook themselves to walking with the party. One of the three ambassadors, a graceful rogue of twenty-five, marked all over with rocoa and lote, so as to earn for himself the nickname of "the Panther," gamboled and caracoled in front of the procession as if to give it an entertainment.
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