"This," said my father, smiling, "is indeed a pleasure. I had hoped for
this honor, and yet the years have so often disappointed me that I had
only hoped."

Captain Tracy, short and squat, his hands held out in the way old sailors
have, as though ready instinctively to grasp some rope or bulwark, thrust
a bull neck forward, and peered at my father with little, reddened eyes,
opened in wide incredulity.

"You what?" he demanded hoarsely.

"I said, Captain Tracy, that I hoped,"--and my father helped himself to
snuff--"Will you be seated, gentlemen?"

"No," said Major Proctor.

"I have always noted," my father remarked, "that standing is better for
the figure. The climate, Major, has agreed with you."

Major Proctor launched on a savage rejoinder, but Mr. Penfield leaned
towards him with a whispered admonition.

"I take it," he said to my father, "that you did not read our letter. You
made a mistake, Mr. Shelton, a grave mistake, in not doing so."

"I am fond of reading," said my father, "and I found your letter--pardon
my rudeness--but I must be frank--I found your letter most amusing."

Mr. Lane stretched a claw-like hand toward him.