Abbie'll have somethin' for us to eat
in a jiffy. Pull up a chair."
The lawyer came forward hesitatingly. The doubts which had troubled him
ever since he entered the house were still in his mind.
"Thank you, Captain," he said. "But before I accept more of your
hospitality I feel I should be sure there is no mistake. I have come on
important business, and--"
"Hold on!" The captain held up a big hand. "Don't you say another word,"
he commanded. "There's just one business that interests me this minute,
and that's supper. There's no mistake about THAT, anyhow. Did you say
'Come ahead,' Abbie? or was you just going to? Good! Right into the
dinin' room, Mr. Graves."
The dining room was long and low. The woodwork was white, the floor
green painted boards, with braided rag mats scattered over them.
There were old-fashioned pictures on the walls, pictures which brought
shudders to the artistic soul of Atwood Graves. A broad bay window
filled one side of the apartment, and in this window, on shelves and in
wire baskets, were Miss Baker's cherished and carefully tended plants.
As for the dining table, it was dark, old-fashioned walnut, as were the
chairs.
"Set right down here, Mr. Graves," ordered the captain. "I'll try
to keep you supplied with solid cargo, and Abbie'll 'tend to the
moistenin'.
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