“No, no, no,” he growled, “‘tain’t any such thing.  Your boardin’ there’s a good thing for Martha.  She needs the money.”

Galusha was troubled.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.  “She is not—­ah—­not pinched for means, I hope.  Not that that is my business, of course,” he added, hastily.

Captain Jeth’s reply was gruff and rather testy.

“She’ll come out all right,” he said, “if she’s willin’ to do as I do and wait.  I know I’ll come out right.  Julia told me so, herself.”

Galusha had forgotten, momentarily.

“Julia?” he repeated.

“My wife.”

“Oh—­oh, yes, yes, of course.”

In these conversations Bangs learned to steer the talk as far as possible from the subjects of life beyond the grave or of spirit communications.  The slightest touch here and the captain was off, his eyes shining beneath his heavy brows, and his face working with belligerent emotion.  A hint of doubt or contradiction and trouble followed immediately.

“Don’t argue with me,” roared Cap’n Jethro.  “I know.”

Lulie and Galusha had many chats together.  He had liked her at first sight and soon she came to like him.

“He’s as funny and odd as can he,” she told Martha, “and you never can tell what he may say or do next.  But he’s awfully nice, just the same.”

Little by little she confided to him her hopes and doubts and fears, the hopes of her own love story and the doubts and fears concerning her father.

“He isn’t well,” she said, referring to the latter.  “He pretends he is, but he isn’t.  And all this consulting with mediums and getting messages and so on is very bad for him, I know it is.  Do you believe in it at all, Mr. Bangs?”

Galusha looked doubtful.

“Well,” he replied, “it would be presumptuous for one like me to say it is all nonsense.  Men like Conan Doyle and Lodge and Doctor Hyslop are not easy dupes and their opinions are entitled to great respect.  But it seems—­ah—­well, I am afraid that a majority of the so-called mediums are frauds.”

“All of father’s mediums are that kind,” declared Lulie, emphatically.  “I know it.  Most of them are frauds for money, but there are some, like that ridiculous Marietta Hoag, who pretend to go into trances and get messages just because they like to be the center of a sensation.  They like to have silly people say, ’Isn’t it wonderful!’ Marietta Hoag’s ‘control,’ as she calls it, is a Chinese girl.  She must speak spirit Chinese, because no Chinese person on earth ever talked such gibberish.  Control!  She ought to be controlled—­by the keeper of an asylum.”

The indignation expressed upon Lulie’s pretty face was so intense that Galusha suspected an especial reason.

“Is—­ah—­is this Marietta person the medium who—­who—­” he began.