In front of the house Martha had two great tubs of hydrangeas, which she colored a ghastly blue with bluing
water from her weekly wash. Captain Joe did not approve of the unnatural blue.
"Why didn't ye leave the posies the way the Lord made 'em?" he inquired.
"They have them this way at a lot of the grand places," replied Martha. "The big-bugs color them."
"Ruther guess the big-bugs ain't any bigger than the Lord A'mighty," returned Captain Joe. "I guess if He had
thought them posies would look better blue He would have made 'em blue in the fust place."
Captain Joe, having spoken his mind, puffed his pipe amiably over the tops of the blue flowers. He sat on his
bit of a porch, tipping back comfortably in his old chair.
Martha did not prolong the discussion. She was not much of a talker. Captain Joe always claimed that a
voyage with him around the world in a sailing-vessel had cured her of talking too much in her youth.
"Poor Marthy used to be a regular buzz-saw at the talk," he would say, "but rockin' round the world with such
a gale that she couldn't hear her own tongue wag, and bein' scared 'most to death, cured her."
Whether the great, primeval noises of the world had, in fact, subdued the woman to silence, rendering her
incapable of much sounding of her own little note all through her life, or not, she was a very still woman. She
went silently about her household tasks. When they were done there was much mending while her husband
smoked.
Over across the road the littered, wave-marked beach sloped broadly to the sea. There were several boats
anchored. One was Captain Joe's, the Martha Dickson. He had been out in it fishing that very morning, had
had a good catch, and sold well to the customers who flocked on the beach when the fishing-boats came in.
The rich people sent their servants with baskets for the fresh fish.
Joe had sold his catch, with the exception of one fine cod, which Martha was making into a savory chowder.
Captain Joe sniffed with pleasure the odor of frying onions which were to make the foundation of the good
dish. He gazed at the sea, which now and then lapped into view with a foaming crest over the beach. There
was no passing, as a rule. The fine road for driving and motoring stopped several yards before Joe's house was
reached. He was mildly surprised, therefore, when a runabout with a red cross on the front, with a young man
at the wheel and a pretty young girl by his side, came skidding over the sand and stopped.
"Any fresh fish?" inquired the young man, who was Dr. Tom Ellerton.
Joe shook his head.
"Know where I can get any?"
"Guess mebbe you can get a cod at the third house from me. He was late gettin' in, and didn't sell the hull. But
you'll capsize if you try to go there in that."
Tom eyed the road billowing with sand. "Sit here while I find out," he told Margy, his sister. She nodded.
After Tom had gone, plowing through the sand, Captain Joe rose stiffly. He was not a very old man, but a
broken leg had not been set properly, and kept him from his life-work of cruising the high seas.
He limped up to the car. "Pooty hot day," he remarked.