Seth was not aware that there was anything humorous in his statement.

“Yes,” he said, “I was single and—­and happy, by jiminy!  I was skipper of a mack’rel schooner down Cape Ann way, never mind where, and Seth Atkins is only part of my name; never mind that, neither.  I sailed that schooner and I run that schooner—­I run her; and when I said ‘boo’ all hands aboard jumped, I tell you.  When I’ve got salt water underneath me, I’m a man.  But I told you that afore.

“However, this is what I didn’t tell you nor nobody else in this part of the state:  I stayed single till I got to be past forty.  Everybody set me down as an old bach.  Then I met a woman; yes, sir, I met a woman.”

He made this assertion as if it was something remarkable.  His companion on the bench made no comment.

“She was a widow woman,” went on Seth, “and she had a little property left her by her first husband.  Owned a house and land, she did, and had some money in the bank.  Some folks cal’lated I married her for that, but they cal’lated wrong.  I wanted her for herself.  And I got her.  Her name was Emeline.  I always thought Emeline was a sort of pretty name.”

He sighed.  Brown observed that Emeline was a very pretty name, indeed.

“Um-hm.  That’s what I thought, and Emeline was a real pretty woman, for her age and heft—­she was fleshy.  She had some consider’ble prejudice against my goin’ to sea, so I agreed to stay on shore a spell and farm it, as you might say.  We lived in the house she owned and was real happy together.  She bossed me around a good deal, but I didn’t mind bein’ bossed by her.  ’Twas a change, you see, for I’d always been used to bossin’ other folks.  So I humored her.  And, bein’ on land made me lose my—­my grip or somethin’; ’cause I seemed to forget how to boss.  But we was happy, and then—­then Bennie D. come.  Consarn him!”

His teeth shut with a snap, and he struck his knee with his fist.  “Consarn him!” he repeated, and was silent.

The substitute assistant ventured to jog his memory.

“Who was Bennie D.?” he asked.

“What?  Hey?  Bennie D.?  Oh, he was her brother-in-law, her husband’s brother from up Boston way.  He was a genius—­at least, he said he was—­and an inventor.  The only invention I ever could l’arn he’d invented to a finish was how to live without workin’, but he’d got that brought to a science.  However, he was forever fussin’ over some kind of machine that was sartin sure to give power to the universe, when ’twas done, and Emeline’s husband—­his name was Abner—­thought the world and all of him.  ’Fore he died he made Emeline promise to always be kind to Bennie D., and she said she would.  Abner left him a little money, and he spent it travelin’ ‘for his health.’  I don’t know where he traveled to, but, wherever ’twas, the health must have been there.  He was the healthiest critter ever I see—­and the laziest.