Gabriel's eyes opened.
"Huh?" he grunted in astonishment, as if the possibility had never
until that moment occured to him. "Why, say, Jed, don't you like
to be called 'Shavin's'?"
No answer. A blue collar was added to the white shirt of the
sailor.
"Don't you, Jed?" repeated Gabe.
Mr. Winslow's gaze was lifted from his work and his eyes turned
momentarily in the direction of his caller.
"Gabe," he drawled, "did you ever hear about the feller that was
born stone deef and the Doxology?"
"Eh? What-- No, I never heard it."
The eyes turned back to the wooden sailor and Mr. Winslow chose
another brush.
"Neither did he," he observed, and began to whistle what sounded
like a dirge.
Mr. Bearse stared at him for at least a minute. Then he shook his
head.
"Well, by Judas!" he exclaimed. "I--I--I snum if I don't think you
BE crazy, same as some folks say you are! What in the nation has--
has your name got to do with a deef man and the Doxology?"
"Eh? . . . Oh, nothin'."
"Then what did you bust loose and tell me about 'em for? They
wan't any of MY business, was they?"
"No-o. That's why I spoke of 'em."
"What? You spoke of 'em 'cause they wan't any of my business?"
"Ye-es . . . I thought maybe--" He paused, turned the sailor over
in his hand, whistled a few more bars of the dirge and then
finished his sentence.
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