“Even so, I think it ill-bred and unkind in him to make my husband the subject of a study in ethnology.”
“Ah!” gasped her grandfather, as though a sudden pain had struck his heart. Some new idea had flashed upon his brain, the laughter vanished from lips and the color from his face. He straightened up in his chair while a look of anxiety replaced the merriment that had sparkled in his eyes.
“Why, what is the matter, grandfather?” cried Lucy in undisguised alarm at the change in his countenance.
“Nothing, my darling, it will pass away. Please hand me a glass of water,” the old man answered.
Lucy hastened to fill a glass with water and while she was so engaged Mr. Dunlap struggled to master some emotion that had caused the sudden departure of all his jocoseness of the moment before she said that her husband had been made a subject of a study in ethnology.
“I am better now, thank you, dear; it was just a little twinge of pain that caught me unaware of its approach,” said the old gentleman forcing a smile to his pale lips.
“And now let us talk about your Cousin Jack, and leave alone the vagaries of a moth-eaten old scholar whom you will probably never see again,” he continued, as if eager to banish some disagreeable thought from his mind.
“Oh, yes! Do tell me some news of dear old Jack. His very name seems to bring the purity, freshness and freedom of the sea into this hot-house life one leads in society. Where is he and how is he?” cried Lucy enthusiastically at mention of the name of her sailor cousin.
“You recall, do you not, the brief mention that he made in the first letter that we received after he sailed of a fearful storm encountered by his ship when not less than a month out from Boston, and that his ship (so he wrote) had been fortunate enough to rescue some people from a foundered and sinking vessel during the gale?” asked Mr. Dunlap regaining gradually his composure as his mind dwelt upon a subject pleasant to contemplate.
“Yes, surely, I remember, grandfather, because the storm, I recall, was at its height on my wedding day and I wondered at the time if in all that fearful danger Jack even thought of me.”
“Well, then! to begin with I must let you into a state secret. Your good Uncle John the day before Jack sailed insisted that he should carry old Brice, who had been long in our service, as one of his mates. John’s object was this: knowing Jack’s pride and obstinacy, he feared that he might need help and not apply to us for it, so he sent for Brice and bribed him to stick by our young kinsman and keep us informed concerning his welfare. We have had only glowing accounts of Jack’s success as a ship-owner from Brice. Yesterday there came a letter and a copy of a London paper from him that filled my heart with pride and pleasure, and I know will overjoy your uncle.