The Children

His presence filled their eyes. From their perches, the children could not conceive a realistic view of his stature.

One hand trimming the grey fedora to a rakish angle, the white scarf in contrast to his perfectly matched overcoat, he neatly did the last button.
A robust man, with a twinkle in his pale blue eyes, he was proud of himself, as the children were of him, their provider.
His shoes were blackened to a sparkle, by one, or more of the children.
His baritone singing voice would at times seem to tremble the brickwork in the kitchen. The children would relish the timbre in it, as he would call, “Hey you kids, get off of that roof!”

A different vista now, a new venue, the Captain looked pale, tired. The machines kept their cadence. It would be the last time he made a trip to ‘pump ship’.