Guess you don't oft'n get tea o' this
strength in your country, anyway. Give a man two pinches o'
Wapshott's best, properly cooked, an' I reckon it'll last _him_.
You won't find him coming to complain."
"No?"
"No. But I ain't sayin' nuthin'," added Captain Potter, "about his
widder."
And his smile, as he regarded his hearers, was both engaging and
expansive.
CHAPTER XVII.
HOW ONE THAT WAS DISSATISFIED WITH HIS PAST SAW A VISION, BUT
DOUBTED.
Caleb Trotter watched his master's behaviour during the next few days
with a growing impatience.
"I reckon," he said, "'tes wi' love, as Sally Bennett said when her
old man got cotched i' the dreshin'-machine,' you'm in, my dear, an'
you may so well go dro'.'"
Nevertheless, he would look up from his work at times with anxiety.
"Forty-sax. That's the forty-saxth time he've a-trotted up that
blessed beach an' back; an' five times he've a-pulled up to stare at
the watter. I've a-kep' count wi' these bits o' chip. An' at night
'tes all round the house, like Aaron's dresser, wi' a face, too, like
as ef he'd a-lost a shillin' an' found a thruppeny-bit. This 'ere
pussivantin' [1] may be relievin' to the mind, but I'm darned ef et
can be good for shoe-leather. 'Tes the wear an' tear, that's what
'tes, as Aunt Lovey said arter killin' her boy wi' whackin'.
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