“Well,” I says to Jonadab, “it looks to me as if we was getting out of soundings.  What do you say to coming about and making a quick run for Orham again?”

But he wouldn’t hear of it.  “S’pose I’ve spent all that money on duds for nothing?” he says.  “No, sir, by thunder!  I ain’t scared of Peter Brown, nor her that’s going to be his wife; and I ain’t scared of Ebenezer neither; no matter if he does live in the Manufacturers’ Building, with two or three thousand fathom of front fence,” he says.

Some years ago Jonadab got reckless and went on a cut-rate excursion to the World’s Fair out in Chicago, and ever sence then he’s been comparing things with the “Manufacturers’ Building” or the “Palace of Agriculture” or “Streets of Cairo,” or some other outlandish place.

“All right,” says I.  “Darn the torpedoes!  Keep her as she is!  You can fire when ready, Gridley!”

So we sot sail for what we jedged was Ebenezer’s front-gate, and just as we made it, a man comes whistling round the bend in the path, and I’m blessed if ’twa’n’t Peter T. Brown.  He was rigged to kill, as usual, only more so.

“Hello, Peter!” I says.  “Here we be.”

If ever a feller was surprised, Brown was that feller.  He looked like he’d struck a rock where there was deep water on the chart.

“Well, I’ll be ——­” he begun, and then stopped.  “What in the ——­” he commenced again, and again his breath died out.  Fin’lly he says:  “Is this you, or had I better quit and try another pipe?”

We told him ’twas us, and it seemed to me that he wa’n’t nigh so tickled as he’d ought to have been.  When he found we’d come to the wedding, ’count of Ebenezer sending us word, he didn’t say nothing for a minute or so.

“Of course, we had to come,” says Jonadab.  “We felt ’twouldn’t be right to disapp’int Mr. Dillaway.”

Peter kind of twisted his mouth.  “That’s so,” he says.  “It’ll be worth more’n a box of diamonds to him.  Do him more good than joining a ‘don’t worry club.’  Well, come on up to the house and ease his mind.”

So we done it, and Ebenezer acted even more surprised than Peter.

I can’t tell you anything about that house, nor the fixings in it; it beat me a mile—­that house did.  We had a room somewheres up on the hurricane deck, with brass bunks and plush carpets and crocheted curtains and electric lights.  I swan there was looking glasses in every corner—­big ones, man’s size.  I remember Cap’n Jonadab hollering to me that night when he was getting ready to turn in: 

“For the land’s sake, Barzilla!” says he, “turn out them lights, will you?  I ain’t over’n’ above bashful, but them looking glasses make me feel’s if I was undressing along with all hands and the cook.”