Winslow put down his work and began to hunt.  From one drawer of his work bench, amid nails, tools and huddles of papers, he produced a small bundle of banknotes; from another drawer another bundle.  These, however, did not seem to satisfy him entirely.  At last, after a good deal of very deliberate search, he unearthed more paper currency from the pocket of a dirty pair of overalls hanging on a nail, and emptied a heap of silver and coppers from a battered can on the shelf.  Captain Hunniwell, muttering to himself, watched the collecting process.  When it was completed, he asked: 

“Is this all?”

“Eh?  Yes, I guess ’tis.  I can’t seem to find any more just now.  Maybe another batch’ll turn up later.  If it does I’ll keep it till next time.”

The captain, suppressing his emotions, hastily counted the money.

“Have you any idea how much there is here?” he asked.

“No, I don’t know’s I have.  There’s been quite consider’ble comin’ in last fortni’t or so.  Summer folks been payin’ bills and one thing or ’nother.  Might be forty or fifty dollars, I presume likely.”

“Forty or fifty!  Nearer a hundred and fifty!  And you keep it stuffed around in every junk hole from the roof to the cellar.  Wonder to me you don’t light your pipe with it.  I shouldn’t wonder if you did.  How many times have I told you to deposit your money every three days anyhow?  How many times?”

Mr. Winslow seemed to reflect.

“Don’t know, Sam,” he admitted.  “Good many, I will give in.  But—­ but, you see, Sam, if—­if I take it to the bank I’m liable to forget I’ve got it.  Long’s it’s round here somewheres I—­why, I know where ’tis and—­and it’s handy.  See, don’t you?”

The captain shook his head.

“Jed Winslow,” he declared, “as I said to you just now you beat all my goin’ to sea.  I can’t make you out.  When I see how you act with money and business, and how you let folks take advantage of you, then I think you’re a plain dum fool.  And yet when you bob up and do somethin’ like gettin’ Leander Babbitt to volunteer and gettin’ me out of that row with his father, then—­well, then, I’m ready to swear you’re as wise as King Solomon ever was.  You’re a puzzle to me, Jed.  What are you, anyway—­the dum fool or King Solomon?”

Jed looked meditatively over his spectacles.  The slow smile twitched the corners of his lips.

“Well, Sam,” he drawled, “if you put it to vote at town meetin’ I cal’late the majority’d be all one way.  But, I don’t know”—­; he paused, and then added, “I don’t know, Sam, but it’s just as well as ’tis.  A King Solomon down here in Orham would be an awful lonesome cuss.”

CHAPTER III