“You take that money—­you and your gang of black-flaggers that has captured this town on the high seas—­and you rub it onto your carkisses where it will do the most good,” snorted the Cap’n.  “Light cigars with it—­feed it to your elephant—­send it up in a balloon—­I don’t give a kihooted dam what you do with it.  But don’t you try to enlist me under the skull and cross-bones!”

After this unpromising fashion did the conference begin.  It was in progress at noon—­and Hiram remained to dinner.  Breaking bread with a friend has a consolatory effect—­that cannot be denied.  When they were smoking after dinner, the first selectman grudgingly consented to take charge of spending the money.  He agreed finally with Hiram that with him—­the Cap’n—­on the safety-valve, mere wasteful folderols might be avoided—­and the first selectman had seen enough of the temper of his constituents to fear for consequences should they get their hands into the treasury when he was not standing by.

“Now,” said Hiram, in conclusion, “the committee is well organized.  There’s a representative from each of the societies in town to act with you and advise.”

“I’d ruther try to steer a raft of lashed hen-coops from here to Bonis Airs and back, under a barkentine rig,” snapped the Cap’n.  “I know the kind o’ critters they be.  We won’t get nowhere!”

“I had to put ’em onto the committee,” apologized the people’s representative.  “But, you see, you and the secretary will do practically all the work.  All you’ve got to do is just to make ’em think they’re workin’.  But you and the secretary will be the whole thing.”

“Who is this secretary that I’ve got to chum with?” demanded the Cap’n, suspiciously.

“You see”—­Hiram choked and blinked his eyes, and looked away as he explained—­“it sort of had to be done, to please the people, because he’s the feller that thought it up—­and he’s the only lit’ry chap we’ve got in town, and he—­”

Cap’n Sproul got up and held his pipe away from his face so that no smoke-cloud could intervene.

“Do you mean to tell me,” he raved, “that you’ve gone to work and pinned me into the same yoke with that long-legged cross between a blue heron and a monkey-wrench that started this whole infernal treasury steal?”

“Consetena—­” began Hiram.

The Cap’n dashed his clay pipe upon the brick hearth and ground the bits under his heel.

“I ain’t any hand to make love to Portygee sailors,” he cried; “I don’t believe I could stand it to hold one on my knee more’n half an hour at a time.  I don’t like a dude.  I hate a land-pirut lawyer.  But a critter I’ve al’ays reckoned I’d kill on sight is a grown man that writes portry and lets his folks support him.  I’ve heard of that Concert—­whatever his name is—­Tate.  I ain’t ever wanted to see him.  I’ve been afraid of what might happen if I did.  Him and me run this thing together?  Say, look here, Hiram!  You say a few more things like that to me and I shall reckon you’re tryin’ to give me apoplexy and get rid of me that way!”