"I think," he said, with emphasis, "that Al was comin' to understand you better every day he lived, Cap'n.Yes, and to think more and more of you, too.He was gettin' older, for one thing--older, more of a man--yes, yes."Captain Zelotes smiled sadly."He was more boy than man by a good deal yet," he observed."Well, Labe, he's gone and I'm just beginnin' to realize how much of life for me has gone along with him.He'd been doin' better here in the office for the last two or three years, seemed to be catchin' on to business better.Didn't you think so, Labe?""Sartin.Yes indeed.Fust-rate, fust-rate.""No, not first-rate.He was a long ways from a business man yet, but I did think he was doin' a lot better.I could begin to see him pilotin' this craft after I was called ashore.Now he's gone and...well, I don't see much use in my fightin' to keep it afloat.I'm gettin' along in years--and what's the use?"It was the first time Laban had ever heard Captain Zelotes refer to himself as an old man.It shocked him into sharp expostulation.
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed."You ain't old enough for the scrap heap by a big stretch.And besides, he made his fight, didn't he? He didn't quit, Al didn't, and he wouldn't want us to.No sir-ee, he wouldn't! No, sir, no!...I--I hope you'll excuse me, Cap'n Lote.I--declare it must seem to you as if I was talkin' pretty fresh.I swan I'm sorry.I am so...sorry; yes, yes, I be."The captain was not offended.He waved the apologies aside.
"So you think it's worth while my fightin' it out, do you, Labe?"he asked, reflectively.
"I--I think it's what you ought to do anyhow, whether it's worth while or not.The whole world's fightin'.Uncle Sam's fightin'.
Al was fightin'.You're fightin'.I'm fightin'.It's a darn sight easier to quit, a darn sight, but--but Al didn't quit.And--and we mustn't--not if we can help it," he added, drawing a hand across his forehead.
His agitation seemed to surprise Captain Zelotes."So all hands are fightin', are they, Labe," he observed."Well, I presume likely there's some truth in that.What's your particular fight, for instance?"The little bookkeeper looked at him for an instant before replying.
The captain's question was kindly asked, but there was, or so Laban imagined, the faintest trace of sarca** in its tone.That trace decided him.He leaned across the desk.
"My particular fight?" he repeated."You--you want to know what 'tis, Cap'n Lote? All right, all right, I'll tell you."And without waiting for further questioning and with, for him, surprisingly few repetitions, he told of his "enlistment" to fight John Barleycorn for the duration of the war.Captain Zelotes listened to the very end in silence.Laban mopped his forehead with a hand which shook much as it had done during the interview with Albert in the room above the shoe store.
"There--there," he declared, in conclusion, "that's my fight, Cap'n Lote.Al and I, we--we kind of went into it together, as you might say, though his enlistin' was consider'ble more heroic than mine--yes indeed, I should say so...yes, yes, yes.But I'm fightin'
too...er...I'm fightin' too."
Captain Zelotes pulled his beard.
"How's the fight goin', Labe?" he asked, quietly.
"Well--well, it's kind of--kind of spotty, as you might say.
There's spots when I get along fairly smooth and others when--well, when it's pretty rough goin'.I've had four hard spots since Al went away, but there's two that was the hardest.One was along Christmas and New Year time; you know I 'most generally had one of my--er--spells along about then.And t'other is just now; I mean since we got word about--about Al.I don't suppose likely you surmised it, Cap'n, but--but I'd come to think a lot of that boy--yes, I had.Seems funny to you, I don't doubt, but it's so.And since the word come, you know--I--I--well, I've had some fight, some fight.I--I don't cal'late I've slept more'n four hours in the last four nights--not more'n that, no.Walkin' helps me most, seems so.Last night I walked to West Orham.""To West Orham! You WALKED there? Last NIGHT?""Um-hm.Long's I can keep walkin' I--I seem to part way forget--to forget the stuff, you know.When I'm alone in my room I go 'most crazy--pretty nigh loony....But there! I don't know why I got to talkin' like this to you, Cap'n Lote.You've got your troubles and--""Hold on, Labe.Does Rachel know about your fight?""No.No, no.Course she must notice how long I've been--been straight, but I haven't told her.I want to be sure I'm goin' to win before I tell her.She's been disappointed times enough before, poor woman....There, Cap'n Lote, don't let's talk about it any more.Please don't get the notion that I'm askin' for pity or anything like that.And don't think I'm comparin' what Icall my fight to the real one like Al's.There's nothin' much heroic about me, eh? No, no, I guess not.Tell that to look at me, eh?"Captain Zelotes rose and laid his big hand on his bookkeeper's shoulder.
"Don't you believe it, Labe," he said."I'm proud of you....
And, I declare, I'm ashamed of myself....Humph!...Well, to-night you come home with me and have supper at the house.""Now, now, Cap'n Lote--"
"You do as I tell you.After supper, if there's any walkin' to be done--if you take a notion to frog it to Orham or San Francisco or somewheres--maybe I'll go with you.Walkin' may be good for my fight, too; you can't tell till you try....There, don't argue, Labe.I'm skipper of this craft yet and you'll obey my orders;d'you hear?"
The day following the receipt of the fateful telegram the captain wrote a brief note to Fletcher Fosdick.A day or two later he received a reply.Fosdick's letter was kindly and deeply sympathetic.He had been greatly shocked and grieved by the news.
