In addition, Cap'n Ira found himself as popular with the young men
as he was wont to be in the old days when he was making up his crew
at the port for the _Susan Gatskill_.
"Prudence," he said to his wife, but quite loud enough for the girl
to hear as they drove sedately homeward, "I cal'late I shall have to
buy me some shot and powder and load up the old gun I put away in
the attic, thinking I wouldn't never go hunting no more."
"Goodness gracious gallop!" ejaculated his wife. "What for? I
cal'late you _won't_ go hunting at your time of life!"
"I dunno. I may be forced to load it up for protection. But maybe
rock salt will do instead of shot," said Cap'n Ira, still with
soberness. "A feller has got a right to protect himself and his
family."
"Against what, I want to know?"
"I can see the Ball place is about to be overrun with a passel of
young sculpins that are going to be more annoying than a dose of
snuff in your eye. That's right."
"Why, how you talk!"
"Didn't ye see 'em all standing around as we drove away from the
church, casting sheep's eyes? And they're hating each other already
like a hen hates dishwater. I swan!"
"For the land's sake!"
"No. For Ida May's sake," chuckled Cap'n Ira.
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