“My father was probably pleased with this delicate manner of eating oysters on a moving ship.  He considered it good form, refined, and, going up to my mother and sisters, he asked: 

“‘Would you like me to offer you some oysters?’

“My mother hesitated on account of the expense, but my two sisters immediately accepted.  My mother said in a provoked manner: 

“’I am afraid that they will hurt my stomach.  Offer the children some, but not too much, it would make them sick.’  Then, turning toward me, she added: 

“‘As for Joseph, he doesn’t need any.  Boys shouldn’t be spoiled.’

“However, I remained beside my mother, finding this discrimination unjust.  I watched my father as he pompously conducted my two sisters and his son-in-law toward the ragged old sailor.

“The two ladies had just left, and my father showed my sisters how to eat them without spilling the liquor.  He even tried to give them an example, and seized an oyster.  He attempted to imitate the ladies, and immediately spilled all the liquid over his coat.  I heard my mother mutter: 

“‘He would do far better to keep quiet.’

“But, suddenly, my father appeared to be worried; he retreated a few steps, stared at his family gathered around the old shell opener, and quickly came toward us.  He seemed very pale, with a peculiar look.  In a low voice he said to my mother: 

“‘It’s extraordinary how that man opening the oysters looks like Jules.’

“Astonished, my mother asked: 

“‘What Jules?’

“My father continued: 

“’Why, my brother.  If I did not know that he was well off in America, I should think it was he.’

“Bewildered, my mother stammered: 

“’You are crazy!  As long as you know that it is not he, why do you say such foolish things?’

“But my father insisted: 

“’Go on over and see, Clarisse!  I would rather have you see with your own eyes.’

“She arose and walked to her daughters.  I, too, was watching the man.  He was old, dirty, wrinkled, and did not lift his eyes from his work.

“My mother returned.  I noticed that she was trembling.  She exclaimed quickly: 

“’I believe that it is he.  Why don’t you ask the captain?  But be very careful that we don’t have this rogue on our hands again!’

“My father walked away, but I followed him.  I felt strangely moved.

“The captain, a tall, thin man, with blond whiskers, was walking along the bridge with an important air as if he were commanding the Indian mail steamer.

“My father addressed him ceremoniously, and questioned him about his profession, adding many compliments: 

“’What might be the importance of Jersey?  What did it produce?  What was the population?  The customs?  The nature of the soil?’ etc., etc.

“’You have there an old shell opener who seems quite interesting.  Do you know anything about him?’