When the door closed behind them, he turned about,
dazed and trembling. He was breathing hard like a man at the end of
a race. Half an hour later he had packed his bag and paid his board
bill, leaving Mrs. Crowell in a state of bewilderment and curiosity
that was sufficient to disturb her peace of mind for many a day.
From Boston the tramp had wallowed her way around the Horn to San
Francisco and back again as far as Rio Janiero when Captain Enoch
received his first mail from home. A travel-stained letter, bearing
Abner Crowell's cramped handwriting, threw the captain into a sudden
panic.
"I don't know whether to open it, or not," he debated nervously.
"I want to know what's in it, an' I'm scared to find out. I'm a good
mind to throw it overboard and forget I ever got it."
Curiosity finally overcame his dread. The letter was encouragingly
brief.
"'Dere Enoch,'" he read. "'I'd like to know what you blowed up an'
went off the way you did for. Abner Crowell." "P.S. Mrs. Crowell
sends her respecks, and Miss Melissa Macy her regards, if you want
'em. A.C." "P.
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