The After House

With the submission of the case to the jury, the witnesses were

given their freedom. McWhirter had taken a room for me for a day

or two to give me time to look about; and, his own leave of absence

from his hospital being for ten days, we had some time together.

My situation was better than it had been in the summer. I had my

strength again, although the long confinement had told on me. But

my position was precarious enough. I had my pay from the Ella,

and nothing else. And McWhirter, with a monthly stipend from his

hospital of twenty-five dollars, was not much better off.

My first evening of freedom we spent at the theater. We bought the

best seats in the house, and we dressed for the occasion--being in

the position of having nothing to wear between shabby everyday wear

and evening clothes.

"It is by way of celebration," Mac said, as he put a dab of

shoe-blacking over a hole in his sock; "you having been restored to

life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That's the game, Leslie

--the pursuit of happiness."

I was busy with a dress tie that I had washed and dried by pasting

it on a mirror, an old trick of mine when funds ran low. I was

trying to enter into Mac's festive humor, but I had not reacted yet

from the horrors of the past few months.

"Happiness!" I said scornfully. "Do you call this happiness?"

He put up the blacking, and, coming to me, stood eyeing me in the

mirror as I arranged my necktie.

"Don't be bitter," he said. "Happiness was my word. The Good Man

was good to you when he made you. That ought to be a source of

satisfaction. And as for the girl--"

"What girl?"

"If she could only see you now. Why in thunder didn't you take

those clothes on board? I wanted you to. Couldn't a captain wear

a dress suit on special occasions?"

"Mac," I said gravely, "if you will think a moment, you will

remember that the only special occasions on the Ella, after I

took charge, were funerals. Have you sat through seven days of

horrors without realizing that?"

Mac had once gone to Europe on a liner, and, having exhausted his

funds, returned on a cattle-boat.

"All the captains I ever knew," he said largely, "were a fussy lot

--dressed to kill, and navigating the boat from the head of a

dinner-table. But I suppose you know. I was only regretting that

she hadn't seen you the way you're looking now. That's all. I

suppose I may regret, without hurting your feelings!"

He dropped all mention of Elsa after that, for a long time. But

I saw him looking at me, at intervals, during the evening, and

sighing. He was still regretting!