So the following evening at six Mary and her uncle met Crawford at the Quincy House and the three dined together, after which they saw the performance of “The Music Master” at the Tremont Theater.  Crawford found the dinner quite as entertaining as the play.  Captain Shadrach was in high good humor and his remarks during the meal were characteristic.  He persisted in addressing the dignified waiter as “Steward” and in referring to the hotel kitchen as the “galley.”  He consulted his young guests before ordering and accepted their selections gracefully if not always silently.

“All right, Mary-’Gusta,” he observed.  “All right, just as you say.  You’re the skipper of this craft tonight, and me and Crawford here are just passengers.  If you say we’ve got to eat—­what is it?—­consummer soup—­why, I suppose likely we have.  I’ll take my chances if Crawford will.  Course, if I was alone here, I’d probably stick to oyster stew and roast beef.  I know what they are.  And it’s some comfort to be sure of what you’re gettin’, as the sick feller said when the doctor told him he had the smallpox instead of the measles.  You don’t mind my callin’ you ‘Crawford,’ do you?” he added, turning to that young gentleman.  “I’m old enough to be your father, for one thing, and for another a handle’s all right on a jug or a sasspan, but don’t seem as if ’twas necessary to take hold of a friend’s name by.  And I hope we’re goin’ to be friends, we three.”

Crawford said he hoped so, too, and he said it with emphasis.

“Good!” exclaimed the Captain with enthusiasm.  “And we’ll cement the friendship—­the book fellers are always tellin’ about cementin’ friendships—­with this supper of ours, eh?  If we only had some of Isaiah’s last batch of mincemeat we could sartinly do it with that; it was the nighest thing to cement ever I saw put on a table.  I asked him if he filled his pies with a trowel and you ought to have heard him sputter.  You remember Isaiah, don’t you, Crawford?  Tall, spindlin’ critter, sails cook for Zoeth and me at the house down home.  He ain’t pretty, but his heart’s in the right place.  That’s kind of strange, too,” he added with a chuckle, “when you consider how nigh his shoulder-blades are to the top of his legs.”

Between his stories and jokes he found time to ask his male guest a few questions and these questions, although by no means offensively personal, were to the point.  He inquired concerning the young man’s home life, about his ambitions and plans for the future, about his friends and intimates at college.  Crawford, without being in the least aware that he was being catechized, told a good deal, and Captain Shadrach’s appraising regard, which had learned to judge men afloat and ashore, read more than was told.  The appraisal was apparently satisfactory for, after the young man had gone and the Captain and Mary were saying good night in the Wyeth parlor, Shadrach said: 

“A nice boy, I should say.  Yes, sir, a real nice young feller, as young fellers go.  I like him fust-rate.”