“Fred, you’ve whipped me!”

“Nonsense! whip yourself,” exclaimed Fred, “if you’re going to stop drinking.”

The captain turned his face to the wall and said nothing; but he seemed to be so persistently swallowing something that Fred suspected a secreted bottle, and moved an investigation so suddenly that the captain had not time in which to wipe his eyes.

“Hang it, Fred,” said he, rather brokenly; “how can what’s babyish in men whip a full-grown steamboat captain?”

“The same way that it whipped a full-grown woolen-mill manager once, I suppose, old boy,” said Macdonald.

“Is that so?” exclaimed the captain, astonishment getting so sudden an advantage over shame that he turned over and looked his companion in the face.  “Why—­how are you, Fred?  I feel as if I was just being introduced.  Didn’t anybody else help?”

“Yes,” said Fred, “a woman; but—­you’ve got a wife, too.”

Crayme fell back on his pillow and sighed.  “If I could only think about her, Fred!  But I can’t; whisky’s the only thing that comes into my mind.”

“Can’t think about her!” exclaimed Fred; “why, are you acquainted with her yet, I wonder? I’ll never forget the evening you were married.”

“That was jolly, wasn’t it?” said Crayme.  “I’ll bet such sherry was never opened west of the Alleghanies before or—­”

“Hang your sherry!” roared Fred; “it’s your wife that I remember. You couldn’t see her, of course, for you were standing alongside of her; but the rest of us—­well, I wished myself in your place, that’s all.”

“Did you, though?” said Crayme, with a smile which seemed rather proud; “well, I guess old Major Pike did too, for he drank to her about twenty times that evening.  Let’s see; she wore a white moire antique, I think they called it, and it cost twenty-one dollars a dozen, and there was at least one broken bottle in every—­”

“And I made up my mind she was throwing herself away, in marrying a fellow that would be sure to care more for whisky than he did for her,” interrupted Fred.

“Ease off, Fred, ease off now; there wasn’t any whisky there; I tried to get some of the old Twin Tulip brand for punch, but—­”

“But the devil happened to be asleep, and you got a chance to behave yourself,” said Fred.

Crayme looked appealingly.  “Fred,” said he, “tell me about her yourself; I’ll take it as a favor.”

“Why, she looked like a lot of lilies and roses,” said Fred, “except that you couldn’t tell where one left off and the other began.  As she came into the room I felt like getting down on my knees.  Old Bayle was telling me a vile story just then, but the minute she came in he stopped as if he was shot.”

“He wouldn’t drink a drop that evening,” said Crayme, “and I’ve puzzled my wits over that for five years—­”

“She looked so proud of you” interrupted Fred, with some impatience.