He rose and went in, taking his place at the head of the table.  His aunt’s head was bowed and her lips moved soundlessly.  He respected her whispered grace and always felt that he could add nothing to it in thankfulness or reverence if he uttered an orison himself.  During the cheerful and plentiful meal the young captain of the Seamew related certain matters he thought would interest the woman regarding his purchase of the schooner and the voyage down to the Cape.  He told her he was sure the Seamew was fast enough for a Boston market boat.

“Speed is what is wanted now to compete with the Old Colony,” Tunis declared.  “We’ve got fish and clams and cranberries in season, and some vegetables, that have to be shaken up and jounced together and squashed on those jolting steam trains.  I’ll lay down a crate of lobsters at the T-wharf without a hair being ruffled.  I know how to stow a cargo.”

She nodded both her understanding and her belief that Tunis was right.  The legacy he had received from the estate of Peleg Latham, Medford Latham’s brother, had enabled Tunis to buy this beautiful schooner.  Undoubtedly an eye for the beauty of the craft had more than a little drawn the young man into her purchase.  Yet there was a foundation of solid sense under his streak of romance.

In this day a man must serve a long apprenticeship before he gets a command unless he owns the craft on which he is skipper.  To own a schooner of the size of the Seamew is not enough.  One must be a good merchant as well as a good skipper.

The coast trade from port to port along the North Atlantic shore must be fostered and coaxed like a stumbling baby.  The tentacles of the hated railroad reach to many of the Cape ports.  Yet everybody knows that a cargo properly stowed in a seaworthy craft reaches market in much the better condition than by rail, though perhaps it is some hours longer on the way.

There were docks, too, at which Tunis Latham could pick up well-paying freights which would have to be carted over bad roads to the nearest railway station.  And there were always full or part cargoes to be had at Boston for certain single consignees along the Cape, which would pay a fair profit on the upkeep of the schooner.  Medford Latham had lost almost all his fortune before he died so unhappily, leaving only the homestead and small farm to his son.  The son, Captain Randall Latham, had lost the ship Ada May and every cent he possessed.  Tunis had only his great uncle’s legacy to begin on, and he had waited for that until he was thirty.

In the morning the young man arose early, for the tide was then low, and started forth with basket and clam hoe on his arm.  Aunt Lucretia had promised him, by a smiling nod, a mess of fritters for dinner if he would supply the necessary clams.  Alongshore the soft clam is the only clam used for fritters; the tough, long-keeping quahog is shipped to the less-enlightened “city trade.”