And so for many days.Little by little he learned to invoice and journalize and "post in the ledger" and all the rest of the detail of bookkeeping.Not that his instructor permitted him to do a great deal of actual work upon the books of Z.Snow and Co.Those books were too spotless and precious for that.Looking over them Albert was surprised and obliged to admit a grudging admiration at the manner in which, for the most part, they had been kept.Page after page of the neatest of minute figures, not a blot, not a blur, not an erasure.So for months; then, in the minor books, like the day-book or journal, would suddenly break out an eruption of smudges and scrawls in the rugged handwriting of Captain Zelotes.When he first happened upon one of these Albert unthinkingly spoke to Mr.Keeler about it.He asked the latter what it meant.
Laban slowly stroked his nose with his thumb and finger, a habit he had.
"I cal'late I was away for a spell then," he said, gravely."Yes, yes...Yes, yes, yes.I was away for a little spell."He went soberly back to his desk.His new assistant, catching a glimpse of his face, felt a pang of real pity for the little man.
Of course the reason for the hiatus in the books was plain enough.
He knew about those "little spells." Oddly enough Laban seemed to feel sorry for them.He remembered how funny the bookkeeper had appeared at their first meeting, when one "spell" was just developing, and the contrast between the singing, chirruping clown and the precise, grave little person at the desk struck even his youthful mind as peculiar.He had read "Doctor Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde," and now here was an example of something similar.He was beginning to like Laban Keeler, although he was perfectly sure that he should never like bookkeeping.
He did not slave at the books all the time, of course.For stretches, sometimes lasting whole days, his slavery was of another sort.Then he was working in the lumber yard with Issachar, or waiting on customers in the hardware shop.The cold of winter set in in earnest now and handling "two by fours" and other timber out where the raw winds swept piercingly through one's overcoat and garments and flesh to the very bone was a trying experience.His hands were chapped and cracked, even though his grandmother had knit him a pair of enormous red mittens.He appreciated the warmth of the mittens, but he hated the color.Why in the name of all that was inartistic did she choose red; not a deep, rich crimson, but a screeching vermilion, like a fireman's shirt?
Issachar, when he had the opportunity, was a hard boss.It suited Mr.Price to display his superior knowledge and to find fault with his helper's lack of skill.Albert's hot temper was at the boiling point many times, but he fought it down.Occasionally he retorted in kind, but his usual and most effective weapon was a more or less delicate sarca**.Issachar did not understand sarca** and under rapid fire he was inclined to lose his head.
"Consarn it!" he snapped, irritably, on one occasion."Consarn it, Al, why don't you h'ist up on t'other end of that j'ist? What do you cal'late you're out here along of me for; to look harnsome?"Albert shook his head."No, Is," he answered, gravely."No, that wouldn't be any use.With you around nobody else has a look-in at the 'handsome' game.Issy, what do you do to your face?""Do to it? What do you mean by do to it?""What do you do to it to make it look the way it does? Don't tell me it grew that way naturally.""Grew! Course it grew! What kind of talk's that?""Issy, with a face like yours how do you keep the birds away?""Eh? Keep the birds away! Now look here, just--""Excuse me.Did I say 'birds,' Issy? I didn't mean birds like--like crows.Of course a face like yours would keep the crows away all right enough.I meant girls.How do you keep the girls away?
I should think they would be ****** love all the time.""Aw, you shut up! Just 'cause you're Cap'n Lote's grandson Ipresume likely you think you can talk any kind of talk, don't ye?""Not any kind, Is.I can't talk like you.Will you teach me?""Shut up! Now, by Crimus, you--you furriner--you Speranzy--"Mr.Keeler appeared at the office window.His shrill voice rose pipingly in the wintry air as he demanded to know what was the trouble out there.
Mr.Price, still foaming, strode toward the window; Albert laughingly followed him.
"What's the matter?" repeated Laban."There's enough noise for a sewin' circle.Be still, Is, can't you, for a minute.Al, what's the trouble?""Issy's been talking about his face," explained Albert, soberly.
"I ain't neither.I was h'istin' up my end of a j'ist, same as I'm paid to do, and, 'stead of helpin' he stands there and heaves out talk about--about--""Well, about what?"
"Aw, about--about me and--and girls--and all sorts of dum foolishness.I tell ye, I've got somethin' else to do beside listen to that kind of cheap talk.""Um.Yes, yes.I see.Well, Al, what have you got to say?""Nothing.I'm sure I don't know what it is all about.I was working as hard as I could and all at once he began pitching into me.""Pitchin' into you? How?"
"Oh, I don't know.Something about my looks he didn't like, Iguess.Wanted to know if I thought I was as handsome as he was, or something like that.""Eh? I never neither! All I said was--"Mr.Keeler raised his hand."Seems to be a case for an umpire," he observed."Um.Seem's if 'twas, seems so, seems so.Well, Captain Lote's just comin' across the road and, if you say the word, I'll call him in to referee.What do you say?"They said nothing relevant to the subject in hand.Issachar made the only remark."Crimus-TEE!" he ejaculated."Come on, Al, come on."The pair hurried away to resume lumber piling.Laban smiled slightly and closed the window.It may be gathered from this incident that when the captain was in charge of the deck there was little idle persiflage among the "fo'mast hands." They, like others in South Harniss, did not presume to trifle with Captain Lote Snow.
