tain of her was such a great man that he hardly knew I was on board. No, I wasn’t captain of the Josephine.”
“Well,” insisted Billy, not to be put off, “what ship were you captain of?”
Captain Saulsby heaved a great sigh and was silent for a long time. He took up the little model from his knee and turned it over and over before he spoke.
“No, not of the Josephine,” he said again, “although I fully intended to be. Do you see that little catboat riding at anchor down by the wharf; the old, old grey one that’s needed a coat of paint these two years past and a new sail for at least five? Well, that’s the only craft that Ned Saulsby ever was skipper of, or ever will be.”
He made this statement very abruptly and fell immediately to work on stepping a mast of the little vessel.
“There’s a lot of kind-hearted folks in the world,” he went on after a pause, “and some of them started calling me ‘Captain’ about the time my rheumatism got so bad that I could never go to sea again. They thought giving me the name would make me feel bet-
