He got a little initial
satisfaction by throwing after her the dirty dishes in the sink,
listening to their crashing with supreme satisfaction. Then he
proceeded to get supper.

It had been a long time since he had indulged his natural taste for
cookery. In a half-hour he had forgotten his anger and was revelling
in the domain of pots and pans. He felt a sudden appetite of his own
for the good, old-fashioned plum-duff of shipboard days, and started
one going. Then gingercake--his own kind--came to his memory. He
stirred up some of that. He sent Hiram on a dozen errands to the
grocery, and Hiram ran delightedly.

"I'll show you whether I can cook or not," was the Cap'n's proud boast
to the showman when the latter bustled eagerly in from one of his
trips. He held out a smoking doughnut on a fork. "There ain't one
woman in ten can fry 'em without 'em soakin' fat till they're as heavy
as a sinker."

Hiram gobbled to the last mouthful, expressing his admiration as he
ate, and the Cap'n glowed under the praise.

His especial moment of triumph came when his wife and Mrs. Look,
adventuring to seek their truant husbands, sat for a little while
in the tavern kitchen and ate a doughnut, and added their astonished
indorsement. In the flush of his masterfulness he would not permit
them to lay finger on dish, pot, or pan.

Hiram served as waiter to the lonely guest in the dining-room, and
was the bearer of several messages of commendation that seemed to
anger the Cap'n as much as other praise gratified him.

"Me standin' here cookin' for that sculpin!" he kept growling.

However, he ladled out an especially generous portion of
plum-duff--the climax of his culinary art--and to his wrathful
astonishment Hiram brought it back untasted.

"Mebbe it's all right," he said, apologetically, "but he was filled
full, and he said it was a new dish to him and didn't look very good,
and--"

The Cap'n grabbed the disparaged plum-duff with an oath and started
for the dining-room.

"Hold on!" Hiram expostulated; "you've got to remember that he's a
guest, Cap. He's--"

"He's goin' to eat what I give him, after I've been to all the
trouble," roared the old skipper.

Mr. Brackett was before the fire in the office, hiccuping with
repletion and stuffing tobacco into the bowl of his clay pipe.

"Anything the matter with that duff?" demanded the irate cook,
pushing the dish under Mr. Brackett's retreating nose. "Think I don't
know how to