about all your help that the craft would stand, as 'twas.Any more might sink her.See here, young feller--" Captain Zelotes dropped his quiet sarca** and spoke sharp and brisk: "See here," he said, "do you realize that this sheet of paper I've got here is what stands for a day's work done by you yesterday? And on this sheet there was no less than four silly mistakes that a child ten years old hadn't ought to make, that an able-bodied idiot hadn't ought to make.But YOU made 'em, and they kept Labe Keeler here till three o'clock this mornin'.Now what have you got to say for yourself?"As a matter of fact, Albert had very little to say, except that he was sorry, and that his grandfather evidently did not consider worth the saying.He waved the protestation aside.
"Sorry!" he repeated impatiently."Of course you're sorry, though even at that I ain't sure you're sorry enough.Labe was sorry, too, I don't doubt, when his bedtime went by and he kept runnin'
afoul of one of your mistakes after another.I'm sorry, darned sorry, to find out that you can make such blunders after three years on board here under such teachin' as you've had.But bein'
sorry don't help any to speak of.Any fool can be sorry for his foolishness, but if that's all, it don't help a whole lot.Is bein' sorry the best excuse you've got to offer? What made you make the mistakes in the first place?"Albert's face was darkly red under the lash of his grandfather's tongue.Captain Zelotes and he had had disagreements and verbal encounters before, but never since they had been together had the captain spoken like this.And the young fellow was no longer seventeen, he was twenty.The flush began to fade from his cheeks and the pallor which meant the rise of the Speranza temper took its place.
"What made you make such fool blunders?" repeated the captain.
"You knew better, didn't you?"
"Yes," sullenly, "I suppose I did."
"You know mighty well you did.And as nigh as I can larn from what I got out of Laban--which wasn't much; I had to pump it out of him word by word--this ain't the first set of mistakes you've made.
You make 'em right along.If it wasn't for him helpin' you out and coverin' up your mistakes, this firm would be in hot water with its customers two-thirds of the time and the books would be fust-rate as a puzzle, somethin' to use for a guessin' match, but plaguey little good as straight accounts of a goin' concern.Now what makes you act this way? Eh? What makes you?""Oh, I don't know.See here, Grandfather--""Hold on a minute.You don't know, eh? Well, I know.It ain't because you ain't smart enough to keep a set of books and keep 'em well.I don't expect you to be a Labe Keeler; there ain't many bookkeepers like him on this earth.But I do know you're smart enough to keep my books and keep 'em as they'd ought to be, if you want to keep 'em.The trouble with you is that you don't want to.
You've got too much of your good-for-nothin--" Captain Lote pulled up short, cleared his throat, and went on: "You've got too much 'poet' in you," he declared, "that's what's the matter."Albert leaned forward."That wasn't what you were going to say,"he said quickly."You were going to say that I had too much of my father in me."It was the captain's turn to redden."Eh?" he stammered."Why, I--I-- How do you know what I was goin' to say?""Because I do.You say it all the time.Or, if you don't say it, you look it.There is hardly a day that I don't catch you looking at me as if you were expecting me to commit murder or do some outrageous thing or other.And I know, too, that it is all because I'm my father's son.Well, that's all right; feel that way about me if you want to, I can't help it.""Here, here, Al! Hold on! Don't--"
"I won't hold on.And I tell you this: I hate this work here.You say I don't want to keep books.Well, I don't.I'm sorry I made the errors yesterday and put Keeler to so much trouble, but I'll probably make more.No," with a sudden outburst of determination, "I won't make any more.I won't, because I'm not going to keep books any more.I'm through."Captain Zelotes leaned back in his chair.
"You're what?" he asked slowly.
"I'm through.I'll never work in this office another day.I'm through."The captain's brows drew together as he stared steadily at his grandson.He slowly tugged at his beard.
"Humph!" he grunted, after a moment."So you're through, eh?
Goin' to quit and go somewheres else, you mean?""Yes."
"Um-hm.I see.Where are you goin' to go?""I don't know.But I'm not going to make a fool of myself at this job any longer.I can't keep books, and I won't keep them.I hate business.I'm no good at it.And I won't stay here.""I see.I see.Well, if you won't keep on in business, what will you do for a livin'? Write poetry?""Perhaps."
"Um-m.Be kind of slim livin', won't it? You've been writin'
poetry for about a year and a half, as I recollect, and so far you've made ten dollars.""That's all right.If I don't make it I may starve, as you are always saying that writers do.But, starve or not, I shan't ask YOU to take care of me.""I've taken care of you for three years or so.""Yes.But you did it because--because-- Well, I don't know why you did, exactly, but you won't have to do it any longer.I'm through."The captain still stared steadily, and what he saw in the dark eyes which flashed defiance back at him seemed to trouble him a little.
His tugs at his beard became more strenuous.
"Humph!" he muttered."Humph!...Well, Al, of course I can't make you stay by main force.Perhaps I could--you ain't of age yet--but I shan't.And you want to quit the ship altogether, do you?""If you mean this office--yes, I do."
"I see, I see.Want to quit South Harniss and your grandmother--and Rachel--and Labe--and Helen--and all the rest of 'em?""Not particularly.But I shall have to, of course.""Yes....Um-hm....Yes.Have you thought how your grandmother's liable to feel when she hears you are goin' to clear out and leave her?"Albert had not thought in that way, but he did now.His tone was a trifle less combative as he answered.
