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diff --git a/1808-0.txt b/1808-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8cb5698 --- /dev/null +++ b/1808-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1635 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Log of The “Jolly Polly”, by Richard Harding Davis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Log of The “Jolly Polly” + +Author: Richard Harding Davis + +Posting Date: October 10, 2008 [EBook #1808] +Release Date: May, 1999 +Last Updated: March 4, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOG OF THE “JOLLY POLLY” *** + + + + +Produced by Aaron Cannon + + + + + +THE LOG OF THE “JOLLY POLLY” + +By Richard Harding Davis + + + +Temptation came to me when I was in the worst possible position to +resist it. + +It is a way temptation has. Whenever I swear off drinking invariably I +am invited to an ushers' dinner. Whenever I am rich, only the highbrow +publications that pay the least, want my work. But the moment I am +poverty-stricken the MANICURE GIRL'S MAGAZINE and the ROT AND SPOT +WEEKLY spring at me with offers of a dollar a word. Temptation always is +on the job. When I am down and out temptation always is up and at me. + +When first the Farrells tempted me my vogue had departed. On my name and +“past performances” I could still dispose of what I wrote, but only to +magazines that were just starting. The others knew I no longer was +a best-seller. All the real editors knew it. So did the theatrical +managers. + +My books and plays had flourished in the dark age of the +historical-romantic novel. My heroes wore gauntlets and long swords. +They fought for the Cardinal or the King, and each loved a high-born +demoiselle who was a ward of the King or the Cardinal, and with feminine +perversity, always of whichever one her young man was fighting. With +people who had never read Guizot's “History of France,” my books were +popular, and for me made a great deal of money. This was fortunate, for +my parents had left me nothing save expensive tastes. When the tastes +became habits, the public left me. It turned to white-slave and crook +plays, and to novels true to life; so true to life that one felt the +author must at one time have been a masseur in a Turkish bath. + +So, my heroines in black velvet, and my heroes with long swords were +“scrapped.” As one book reviewer put it, “To expect the public of to-day +to read the novels of Fletcher Farrell is like asking people to give up +the bunny hug and go back to the lancers.” + +And, to make it harder, I was only thirty years old. + +It was at this depressing period in my career that I received a letter +from Fairharbor, Massachusetts, signed Fletcher Farrell. The letter was +written on the business paper of the Farrell Cotton Mills, and asked if +I were related to the Farrells of Duncannon, of the County Wexford, +who emigrated to Massachusetts in 1860. The writer added that he had a +grandfather named Fletcher and suggested we might be related. From the +handwriting of Fletcher Farrell and from the way he ill-treated the +King's English I did not feel the ties of kinship calling me very loud. +I replied briefly that my people originally came from Youghal, in County +Cork, that as early as 1730 they had settled in New York, and that all +my relations on the Farrell side either were still at Youghal, or dead. +Mine was not an encouraging letter; nor did I mean it to be; and I +was greatly surprised two days later to receive a telegram reading, +“Something to your advantage to communicate; wife and self calling +on you Thursday at noon. Fletcher Farrell.” I was annoyed, but also +interested. The words “something to your advantage” always possess a +certain charm. So, when the elevator boy telephoned that Mr. and Mrs. +Farrell were calling, I told him to bring them up. + +My first glance at the Farrells convinced me the interview was a waste +of time. I was satisfied that from two such persons, nothing to my +advantage could possibly emanate. On the contrary, from their lack of +ease, it looked as though they had come to beg or borrow. They resembled +only a butler and housekeeper applying for a new place under the +disadvantage of knowing they had no reference from the last one. Of the +two, I better liked the man. He was an elderly, pleasant-faced Irishman, +smooth-shaven, red-cheeked, and with white hair. Although it was July, +he wore a frock coat, and carried a new high hat that glistened. As +though he thought at any moment it might explode, he held it from him, +and eyed it fearfully. Mrs. Farrell was of a more sophisticated type. +The lines in her face and hands showed that for years she might have +known hard physical work. But her dress was in the latest fashion, and +her fingers held more diamonds than, out of a showcase, I ever had seen. + +With embarrassment old man Farrell began his speech. Evidently it had +been rehearsed and as he recited it, in swift asides, his wife prompted +him; but to note the effect he was making, she kept her eyes upon me. +Having first compared my name, fame, and novels with those of Charles +Dickens, Walter Scott, and Archibald Clavering Gunter, and to the +disadvantage of those gentlemen, Farrell said the similarity of our +names often had been commented upon, and that when from my letter he +had learned our families both were from the South of Ireland, he had +a premonition we might be related. Duncannon, where he was born, he +pointed out, was but forty miles from Youghal, and the fishing boats out +of Waterford Harbor often sought shelter in Blackwater River. Had any of +my forebears, he asked, followed the herring? + +Alarmed, lest at this I might take offense, Mrs. Farrell interrupted +him. + +“The Fletchers and O'Farrells of Youghal,” she exclaimed, “were gentry. +What would they be doing in a trawler?” + +I assured her that so far as I knew, 1750 being before my time, they +might have been smugglers and pirates. + +“All I ever heard of the Farrells,” I told her, “begins after they +settled in New York. And there is no one I can ask concerning them. My +father and mother are dead; all my father's relatives are dead, and +my mother's relatives are as good as dead. I mean,” I added, “we don't +speak!” + +To my surprise, this information appeared to afford my visitors great +satisfaction. They exchanged hasty glances. + +“Then,” exclaimed Mr. Farrell, eagerly; “if I understand you, you have +no living relations at all--barring those that are dead!” + +“Exactly!” I agreed. + +He drew a deep sigh of relief. With apparent irrelevance but with a +carelessness that was obviously assumed, he continued. + +“Since I come to America,” he announced, “I have made heaps of money.” + As though in evidence of his prosperity, he flashed the high hat. In +the sunlight it coruscated like one of his wife's diamonds. “Heaps of +money,” he repeated. “The mills are still in my name,” he went on, “but +five years since I sold them--We live on the income. We own Harbor +Castle, the finest house on the whole waterfront.” + +“When all the windows are lit up,” interjected Mrs. Farrell, “it's often +took for a Fall River boat!” + +“When I was building it,” Farrell continued, smoothly, “they called +it Farrell's Folly; but not NOW.” In friendly fashion he winked at +me, “Standard Oil,” he explained, “offered half a million for it. They +wanted my wharf for their tank steamers. But, I needed it for my yacht!” + +I must have sat up rather too suddenly, for, seeing the yacht had +reached home, Mr. Farrell beamed. Complacently his wife smoothed an +imaginary wrinkle in her skirt. + +“Eighteen men!” she protested, “with nothing to do but clean brass and +eat three meals a day!” + +Farrell released his death grip on the silk hat to make a sweeping +gesture. + +“They earn their wages,” he said generously. + +“Aren't they taking us this week to Cap May?” + +“They're taking the yacht to Cape May!” corrected Mrs. Farrell; “not ME!” + +“The sea does not agree with her,” explained Farrell; “WE'RE going by +automobile.” Mrs. Farrell now took up the wondrous tale. + +“It's a High Flyer, 1915 model,” she explained; “green, with white enamel +leather inside, and red wheels outside. You can see it from the window.” + +Somewhat dazed, I stepped to the window and found you could see it from +almost anywhere. It was as large as a freight car; and was entirely +surrounded by taxi-starters, bellboys, and nurse-maids. The chauffeur, +and a deputy chauffeur, in a green livery with patent-leather leggings, +were frowning upon the mob. They possessed the hauteur of ambulance +surgeons. I returned to my chair, and then rose hastily to ask if I +could not offer Mr. Farrell some refreshment. + +“Mebbe later,” he said. Evidently he felt that as yet he had not +sufficiently impressed me. + +“Harbor Castle,” he recited, “has eighteen bedrooms, billiard-room, +music-room, art gallery and swimming-pool.” He shook his head. “And no +one to use 'em but us. We had a boy.” He stopped, and for an instant, as +though asking pardon, laid his hand upon the knee of Mrs. Farrell. +“But he was taken when he was four, and none came since. My wife has a +niece,” he added, “but----” + +“But,” interrupted Mrs. Farrell, “she was too high and mighty for +plain folks, and now there is no one. We always took an interest in +you because your name was Farrell. We were always reading of you in +the papers. We have all your books, and a picture of you in the +billiard-room. When folks ask me if we are any relation--sometimes I +tell 'em we ARE.” + +As though challenging me to object, she paused. + +“It's quite possible,” I said hastily. And, in order to get rid of them, +I added: “I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll write to Ireland and----” + +Farrell shook his head firmly. “You don't need to write to Ireland,” he +said, “for what we want.” + +“What DO you want?” I asked. + +“We want a SON,” said Farrell; “an adopted son. We want to adopt YOU!” + +“You want to WHAT?” I asked. + +To learn if Mrs. Farrell also was mad, I glanced toward her, but her +expression was inscrutable. The face of the Irishman had grown purple. + +“And why not?” he demanded. “You are a famous young man, all right, and +educated. But there's nothing about me I'm ashamed of! I'm worth five +million dollars and I made every cent Of it myself--and I made it +honest. You ask Dun or Bradstreet, ask----” + +I attempted to soothe him. + +“THAT'S not it, sir,” I explained. “It's a most generous offer, a most +flattering, complimentary offer. But you don't know me. I don t know +you. Choosing a son is a very----” + +“I've had you looked up,” announced Mrs. Farrell. “The Pinkertons give +you a high rating. I hired 'em to trail you for six months.” + +I wanted to ask WHICH six months, but decided to let sleeping dogs lie. +I shook my head. Politely but firmly I delivered my ultimatum. + +“It is quite impossible!” I said firmly. + +Mrs. Farrell continued the debate. She talked in a businesslike manner +and pronounced the arrangement one by which both sides would benefit. +There were thousands of other Farrells, she pointed out, any one of +whom they might have adopted. But they had selected me because in so +choosing, they thought they were taking the least risk. They had decided +she was pleased to say, that I would not disgrace them, and that as a +“literary author” I brought with me a certain social asset. + +A clever, young businessman they did not want. Their business affairs +they were quit able to manage themselves. But they would like as an +adopted son one who had already added glory to the name of Farrell, +which glory he was willing to share. + +“We wouldn't tie you down,” she urged “but we would expect you to live +at Harbor Castle a part of your time, and to call us Ma and Pa. +You would have your own rooms, and your own servant, and there is a +boat-house on the harbor front, where you could write your novels.” + +At this, knowing none wanted my novels, I may have winced, for, +misreading my discontent, Farrell hastily interrupted. + +“You won't have to work at all,” he protested heartily. “My son can +afford to live like a lord. You'll get all the spending money you want, +and if you're fond of foreign parts, you can take the yacht wherever you +please!” + +“The farther the better,” exclaimed Mrs. Farrell with heat. “And when +you get it there, I hope you'll SINK it!” + +“Maybe your friends would come and visit You,” suggested Farrell, +I thought, a trifle wistfully. “There's bathing, tennis, eight... +bedrooms, billiard-room, art gallery----” + +“You told him that!” said Mrs. Farrell. + +I was greatly at a loss. Their offer was preposterous, but to them, it +was apparently a perfectly possible arrangement. Nor were they acting +on impulse. Mrs. Farrell had admitted that for six months she had had me +“trailed.” How to say “No” and not give offense, I found difficult. They +were deeply in earnest and I could see that Farrell, at least, was by +instinct generous, human, and kind. It was, in fact, a most generous +offer. But how was I to tell them tactfully I was not for sale, that I +was not looking for “ready-to-wear” parents, and that if I were in the +market, they were not the parents I would choose. I had a picture of +life at Harbor Castle, dependent upon the charity of the Farrells. I +imagined what my friends would say to me, and worse, what they would say +behind my back. But I was not forced to a refusal. + +Mr. Farrell rose. + +“We don't want to hurry you,” he said. “We want you to think it over. +Maybe if we get acquainted----” + +Mrs. Farrell smiled upon me ingratiatingly. + +“Why don't we get acquainted now?” she demanded. “We're motoring down +to Cape May to stay three weeks. Why don't you come along--as our +guest--and see how you like us?” + +I assured them, almost too hastily, that already was deeply engaged. + +As they departed, Farrell again admonished me to think it over. + +“And look me up at Dun's and Bradstreet's,” he advised. “Ask 'em about +me at the Waldorf. Ask the head waiters and bellhops if I look twice at +a five spot!” + +It seemed an odd way to select a father, but I promised. + +I escorted them even to the sidewalk, and not without envy watched them +sweep toward the Waldorf in the High Flyer, 1915 model. I caught myself +deciding, were it mine, I would paint it gray. + +I was lunching at the Ritz with Curtis Spencer, and I looked forward to +the delight he would take in my story of the Farrells. He would probably +want to write it. He was my junior, but my great friend; and as a +novelist his popularity was where five years earlier mine had been. But +he belonged to the new school. His novels smelled like a beauty parlor; +and his heroines, while always beautiful, were, on occasions, virtuous, +but only when they thought it would pay. + +Spencer himself was as modern as his novels, and I was confident his +view of my adventure would be that of the great world which he described +so accurately. + +But to my amazement when I had finished he savagely attacked me. + +“You idiot!” he roared. “Are you trying to tell me you refused five +million dollars--just because you didn't like the people who wanted to +force it on you? Where,” he demanded, “is Cape May? We'll follow them +now! We'll close this deal before they can change their minds. I'll make +you sign to-night. And, then,” he continued eagerly, “we'll take their +yacht and escape to Newport, and you'll lend me five thousand dollars, +and pay my debts, and give me back the ten you borrowed. And you might +buy me a touring-car and some polo ponies and--and--oh, lots of things. +I'll think of them as we go along. Meanwhile, I can't afford to give +luncheons to millionaires, so you sign for this one; and then we'll +start for Cape May.” + +“Are you mad?” I demanded; “do you think I'd sell my honor!” + +“For five million dollars?” cried Spencer. “Don't make me laugh! If they +want a REAL novelist for a son they can adopt me!” + +I replied with dignity that I would not disgrace the memory of my +parents. + +“You have disgraced them!” retorted Spencer, “with your Musketeer novels +for infants. You need money. To get it you may be tempted to write more +novels. Here's your chance! Stop robbing the public, and lead an honest +life. Think of all the money you could give to the poor, think of all +the money you and I could lose at Monte Carlo!” + +When he found I would not charter an auto-mobile and at once pursue the +Farrells he changed his tactics. If I would not go to Cape May, then, he +begged, I would go to Fairharbor. He asked that I would, at least, find +out what I was refusing. Before making their offer, for six months, the +Farrells had had me “looked up,” but, without knowing anything of them, +after a talk of ten minutes I had turned them down. “Was that,” he +asked, “intelligent? Was it fair to the Farrells?” He continued to tempt +me. + +“They told you to think it over,” he persisted. “Very well, then, think +it over at Fairharbor! For the next three weeks the Farrells will be at +Cape May. The coast is clear. Go to Fairharbor as somebody else and be +your own detective. Find out if what they tell you is true. Get inside +information. Get inside Harbor Castle. Count the eighteen bedrooms and +try the beds. Never mind the art gallery, but make sure there is a wine +cellar. You can't start too soon, and I WILL GO WITH YOU!” + +I told him where he could go. + +We then tossed to see who should pay for the lunch and who should tip +the head waiter. I lost and had to tip the head waiter. We separated, +and as I walked down the Avenue, it seemed as though to the proprietor +of every shop I passed I owed money. Owing them the money I did not so +much mind; what most distressed me was that they were so polite about +it. I had always wanted to reward their patience. A favorite dream of +mine was to be able to walk down Fifth Avenue, my pockets stuffed with +yellow bills, paying off my debts. Compared with my steadily decreasing +income, how enormous my debts appeared; but when compared with the +income of a man worth--say-five million dollars, how ridiculous! I had +no more than reached my apartment, than a messenger-boy arrived with an +envelope. It contained a ticket for a round trip on the New Bedford Line +boat leaving that afternoon, a ticket for a stateroom, and a note from +Curtis Spencer. The latter read: “The boat leaves at six to-night. +You arrive at New Bedford seven to-morrow morning. New Bedford and +Fairharbor are connected by a bridge. CROSS IT!” + +I tore the note in tiny fragments, and tossed them through the open +window. I was exceedingly angry. As I stood at the window adding to the +name of Curtis Spencer insulting aliases, the street below sent up hot, +stifling odors: the smoke of taxicabs, the gases of an open subway, the +stale reek of thousands of perspiring, unwashed bodies. From that one +side street seemed to rise the heat and smells of all New York. For +relief I turned to my work-table where lay the opening chapters of +my new novel, “The White Plume of Savoy.” But now, in the light +of Spencer's open scorn, I saw it was impudently false, childish, +sentimental. My head ached, the humidity sapped my strength, at heart +I felt sick, sore, discouraged. I was down and out. And seeing this, +Temptation, like an obsequious floorwalker, came hurrying forward. + +“And what may I show you to-day?” asked Temptation. He showed me the +upper deck of the New Bedford boat feeling her way between the green +banks of the Sound. A cool wind swept past me bearing clean, salty +odors; on the saloon deck a band played, and from the darkness the +lighthouses winked at me, and in friendly greeting the stars smiled. +Temptation won. In five minutes I was feverishly packing, and at +five-thirty I was on board. I assured myself I had not listened to +Temptation, that I had no interest in Fairharbor. I was taking the trip +solely because it would give me a night's sleep on the Sound. I promised +myself that on the morrow I would not even LOOK toward Harbor Castle; +but on the evening following on the same boat, return to New York. +Temptation did not stop to argue, but hastened after another victim. + +I turned in at nine o'clock and the coolness, and the salt air, blessed +me with the first sleep I had known in weeks. And when I woke we were +made fast to the company's wharf at New Bedford, and the sun was well +up. I rose refreshed in body and spirit. No longer was I discouraged. +Even “The White Plume of Savoy” seemed a perfectly good tale of +romance and adventure. And the Farrells were a joke. Even if I were at +Fairharbor, I was there only on a lark, and at the expense of Curtis +Spencer, who had paid for the tickets. Distinctly the joke was on Curtis +Spencer. I lowered the window screen, and looked across the harbor. It +was a beautiful harbor. At ancient stone wharfs Jay ancient whalers +with drooping davits and squared yards, at anchor white-breasted yachts +flashed in the sun, a gray man-of-war's man flaunted the week's laundry, +a four-masted schooner dried her canvas, and over the smiling surface of +the harbor innumerable fishing boats darted. With delight I sniffed +the odors of salt water, sun-dried herring, of oakum and tar. The shore +opposite was a graceful promontory crowned with trees and decorous +gray-shingled cottages set in tiny gardens that reached to the very edge +of the harbor. The second officer was passing my window and I asked what +the promontory was called. + +“Fairharbor,” he said. He answered with such proprietary pride and +smiled upon Fairharbor with such approval that I ventured to guess it +was his home. + +“That's right,” he said; “I used to live at the New York end of the +run-in a flat. But never again! No place for the boy to play but in the +street. I found I could rent one of those old cottages over there for +the same money I paid for the flat. So I cut out New York. My boy lives +in a bathing suit now, and he can handle a catboat same as me. We have +a kitchen garden, and hens, and the fishermen here will give you all +the fish you can carry away--fish right out of the water. I guess I've +smashed the high cost of living problem all right. I wouldn't go back to +living in New York now--not if they gave me the PILGRIM.” + +As though trying to prod my memory, I frowned. It was my conception of +the part of a detective. “Hasn't Fletcher Farrell,” I asked, “a house in +Fairharbor?” + +“Harbor Castle,” said the mate promptly. “It's on the other side of the +point I'd as soon live in a jail!” + +“Why?” I exclaimed. + +But he was no longer listening. He pointed at the shore opposite. + +“See that flag running up the staff in that garden?” he cried. “That's +my boy signalling. I got to get to the boat deck and wave back!” + +I felt as a detective. I had acquired important information. The mate, +a man of judgment, preferred Fairharbor to New York. Also, to living in +Harbor Castle, he preferred going to jail. + +The boat on which I had arrived was listed to start back at six the same +evening on her return trip to New York. So, at the office of the line I +checked my valise, and set forth to explore New Bedford. + +The whaling vessels moored to a nearby wharf, I inspected from hatches +to keels, and by those on board was directed to a warehouse where were +stored harpoons, whalebone, and wooden figure-heads. My pleasure in +these led to my being passed on to a row of “antique” shops filled with +relics of the days of whaling and also with genuine pie-crust tables, +genuine flint-lock muskets, genuine Liverpool pitchers. I coveted +especially old-time engravings of the whalers, and was told at +Hatchardson's book-store on the main street others could be found in +profusion. + +Hatchardson's proved to be a place of great delight. As you entered +there were counters for magazines and post-cards, popular music, and +best-selling novels, while in the rear of the shop tables and shelves +were stocked with ancient volumes, and on the wall surrounding them hung +engravings, prints and woodcuts of even the eighteenth century. Just as +the drugstore on the corner seemed to be a waiting station for those +of New Bedford who used the trolley-cars, so for those who moved in +automobiles, or still clung to the family carriage, Hatchardson's +appeared to be less a shop than a public meeting-place. I noticed that +the clerks, most of whom were women, were with the customers on a most +friendly footing, addressing them, and by them being addressed by name. +Finding I was free to wander where I pleased, I walked to the rear of +the shop and from one of the tables picked up a much-worn volume. It was +entitled “The Log of the JOLLY POLLY”, and was illustrated with wood cuts +showing square-rigged ships and whales Spouting. For five minutes, lost +to my Surroundings, I turned the pages; and then became conscious that +across the table some one was watching me. I raised my eyes and beheld a +face of most surprising charm, intelligence and beauty. It was so lovely +that it made me wince. The face was the fortune, and judging from the +fact that in her hand she held a salesbook, the sole fortune, of a tall +young girl who apparently had approached to wait on me. She was looking +toward the street, so that, with the book-shelves for a back-ground, her +face was in profile, and I determined swiftly that if she were to wait +on me she would be kept waiting as long as my money lasted. I did not +want “The Log of the JOLLY POLLY,” but I did want to hear the lovely +lady speak, and especially I desired that the one to whom she spoke +should be myself. + +“What is the price of this?” I asked. With magnificent self-control I +kept my eyes on the book, but the lovely lady was so long silent that I +raised them. To my surprise, I found on her face an expression of +alarm and distress. With reluctance, and yet within her voice a certain +hopefulness, she said, “Fifty dollars.” + +Fifty dollars was a death blow. I had planned to keep the young lady +selling books throughout the entire morning, but at fifty dollars a +book, I would soon be owing her money. I attempted to gain time. + +“It must be very rare!” I said. I was afraid to look at her lest my +admiration should give offense, so I pretended to admire the book. + +“It is the only one in existence,” said the young lady. “At least, it is +the only one for sale!” + +We were interrupted by the approach of a tall man who, from his playing +the polite host and from his not wearing a hat, I guessed was Mr. +Hatchardson himself. He looked from the book in my hand to the lovely +lady and said smiling, “Have you lost it?” + +The girl did not smile. To her, apparently, it was no laughing matter. +“I don't know--yet,” she said. Her voice was charming, and genuinely +troubled. + +Mr. Hatchardson, for later I learned it was he, took the book and showed +me the title-page. + +“This was privately printed in 1830,” he said, “by Captain Noah Briggs. +He distributed a hundred presentation copies among his family and +friends here in New Bedford. It is a most interesting volume.” + +I did not find it so. For even as he spoke the young girl, still with a +troubled countenance, glided away. Inwardly I cursed Captain Briggs and +associated with him in my curse the polite Mr. Hatchardson. But, at his +next words my interest returned. Still smiling, he lowered his voice. + +“Miss Briggs, the young lady who just left us,” he said, “is the +granddaughter of Captain Briggs, and she does not want the book to go +out of the family; she wants it for herself.” I interrupted eagerly. + +“But it is for sale?” Mr. Hatchardson reluctantly assented. + +“Then I will take it,” I said. + +Fifty dollars is a great deal of money, but the face of the young lady +had been very sad. Besides being sad, had it been aged, plain, and +ill-tempered, that I still would have bought the book, is a question I +have never determined. + +To Mr. Hatchardson, of my purpose to give the book to Miss Briggs, I +said nothing. Instead I planned to send it to her anonymously by mail. +She would receive it the next morning when I was arriving in New York, +and, as she did not know my name, she could not possibly return it. +At the post-office I addressed the “Log” to “Miss Briggs, care of +Hatchardson's Bookstore,” and then I returned to the store. I felt I +had earned that pleasure. This time, Miss Briggs was in charge of the +post-card counter, and as now a post-card was the only thing I could +afford to buy, at seeing her there I was doubly pleased. But she was +not pleased to see me. Evidently Mr. Hatchardson had told her I had +purchased the “Log” and at her loss her very lovely face still showed +disappointment. Toward me her manner was distinctly aggrieved. + +But of the “Log” I said nothing, and began recklessly purchasing +post-cards that pictured the show places of New Bedford. Almost the +first one I picked up was labelled “Harbor Castle. Residence of Fletcher +Farrell.” I need not say that I studied it intently. According to the +post-card, Harbor Castle stood on a rocky point with water on both +sides. It was an enormous, wide-spreading structure, as large as a +fort. It exuded prosperity, opulence, extravagance, great wealth. I felt +suddenly a filial impulse to visit the home of my would-be forefathers. + +“Is this place near here?” I asked. + +Miss Briggs told me that in order to reach it I should take the ferry to +Fairharbor, and then cross that town to the Buzzards Bay side. + +“You can't miss it,” she said. “It's a big stone house, with red and +white awnings. If you see anything like a jail in ruffles, that's it.” + +It was evident that with the home I had rejected Miss Briggs was +unimpressed; but seeing me add the post-card to my collection, she +offered me another. + +“This,” she explained, “is Harbor Castle from the bay. That is their +yacht in the foreground.” + +The post-card showed a very beautiful yacht of not less than two +thousand tons. Beneath it was printed “HARBOR LIGHTS; steam yacht owned +by Fletcher Farrell.” I always had dreamed of owning a steam yacht, and +seeing it stated in cold type that one was owned by “Fletcher Farrell,” + even though I was not that Fletcher Farrell, gave me a thrill of guilty +pleasure. I gazed upon the post-card with envy. + +“HARBOR LIGHTS is a strange name for a yacht,” I ventured. Miss Briggs +smiled. + +“Not for that yacht,” she said. “She never leaves it.” + +I wished to learn more of my would-be parents, and I wished to keep +on talking with the lovely Miss Briggs, so, as an excuse for both, I +pretended I was interested in the Farrells because I had something I +wanted to sell them. + +“This Fletcher Farrell must be very rich,” I said. “I wonder,” I asked, +“if I could sell him an automobile?” The moment I spoke I noticed that +the manner of Miss Briggs toward Me perceptibly softened. Perhaps, from +my buying offhand a fifty-dollar book she had thought me one of the +rich, and had begun to suspect I was keeping her waiting on me only +because I found her extremely easy to look at. Many times before, in a +similar manner, other youths must have imposed upon her, and perhaps, +also, in concealing my admiration, I had not entirely succeeded. + +But, when she believed that, like herself, I was working for my living, +she became more human. + +“What car are you selling?” she asked. “I am TRYING to sell,” I +corrected her, “the Blue Bird, six cylinder.” + +“I never heard of it,” said Miss Briggs. + +“Nor has any one else,” I answered, with truth. “That is one reason why +I can't sell it. I arrived here this morning, and,” I added with pathos, +“I haven't sold a car yet!” + +Miss Briggs raised her beautiful eyebrows skeptically. “Have you tried?” + she said. + +A brilliant idea came to me. In a side street I had passed a garage +where Photaix cars were advertised for hire. I owned a Phoenix, and +I thought I saw a way by which, for a happy hour, I might secure the +society of Miss Briggs. + +“I am an agent and demonstrator for the Phoenix also,” I said glibly; +“maybe I could show you one?” + +“Show me one?” exclaimed Miss Briggs. “One sees them everywhere! They +are always under your feet!” + +“I mean,” I explained, “might I take you for a drive in one?” + +It was as though I had completely vanished. So far as the lovely Miss +Briggs was concerned I had ceased to exist. She turned toward a nice old +lady. + +“What can I show you, Mrs. Scudder?” she asked cheerily; “and how is +that wonderful baby?” + +I felt as though I had been lifted by the collar, thrown out upon a +hard sidewalk, and my hat tossed after me. Greatly shaken, and mentally +brushing the dust from my hands and knees, I hastened to the ferry and +crossed to Fairharbor. I was extremely angry. By an utter stranger I +had been misjudged, snubbed and cast into outer darkness. For myself I +readily found excuses. If a young woman was so attractive that at the +first sight of her men could not resist buying her fifty-dollar books +and hiring automobiles in which to take her driving, the fault was hers. +I assured myself that girls as lovely as Miss Briggs were a menace to +the public. They should not be at large. An ordinance should require +them to go masked. For Miss Briggs also I was able to make excuses. Why +should she not protect herself from the advances of strange young men? +If a popular novelist, and especially an ex-popular one, chose to go +about disguised as a drummer for the Blue Bird automobile and behaved +as such, and was treated as such, what right had he to complain? So +I persuaded myself I had been punished as I deserved. But to salve my +injured pride I assured myself also that any one who read my novels +ought to know my attitude toward any lovely lady could be only +respectful, protecting, and chivalrous. But with this consoling thought +the trouble was that nobody read my novels. + +In finding Harbor Castle I had no difficulty. It stood upon a rocky +point that jutted into Buzzards Bay. Five acres of artificial lawn and +flower-beds of the cemetery and railroad-station school of horticulture +surrounded it, and from the highroad it was protected by a stone wall so +low that to the passerby, of the beauties of Harbor Castle nothing was +left to the imagination. Over this wall roses under conflicting banners +of pink and red fought fiercely. One could almost hear the shrieks +of the wounded. Upon the least thorny of these I seated myself and in +tender melancholy gazed upon the home of my childhood. That is, upon the +home that might-have-been. + +When surveying a completed country home, to make the owner thoroughly +incensed the correct thing to say is, “This place has great +possibilities!” + +Harbor Castle had more possibilities than any other castle I ever +visited. But in five minutes I had altered it to suit myself. I had +ploughed up the flower-beds, dug a sunken garden, planted a wind screen +of fir, spruce, and Pine, and with a huge brick wall secured warmth and +privacy. So pleased was I with my changes, that when I departed I was +sad and downcast. The boat-house of which Mrs. Farrell had spoken +was certainly an ideal work-shop, the tennis-courts made those at +the Newport Casino look like a ploughed field, and the swimming-pool, +guarded by white pillars and overhung with grape-vines, was a cool +and refreshing picture. As, hot and perspiring, I trudged back through +Fairharbor, the memory of these haunted me. That they also tempted me, +it is impossible to deny. But not for long. For, after passing through +the elm-shaded streets to that side of the village that faced the +harbor, I came upon the cottages I had seen from the New Bedford shore. +At close range they appeared even more attractive than when pointed +out to me by the mate of the steamboat. They were very old, very +weather-stained and covered with honeysuckle. Flat stones in a setting +of grass led from the gates to the arched doorways, hollyhocks rose +above hedges of box, and from the verandas one could look out upon the +busy harbor and the houses of New Bedford rising in steps up the sloping +hills to a sky-line of tree-tops and church spires. The mate had told +me that for what he had rented a flat in New York he had secured one of +these charming old world homes. And as I passed them I began to pick out +the one in which when I retired from the world I would settle down. This +time I made no alterations. How much the near presence of Miss Briggs +had to do with my determination to settle down in Fairharbor, I cannot +now remember. But, certainly as I crossed the bridge toward New Bedford, +thoughts of her entirely filled my mind. I assured my self this was +so only because she was beautiful. I was sure her outward loveliness +advertised a nature equally lovely, but for my sudden and extreme +interest I had other excuses. Her in dependence in earning her living, +her choice in earning it among books and pictures, her pride of family +as shown by her efforts to buy the family heirloom, all these justified +my admiration. And her refusing to go joy-riding with an impertinent +stranger, even though the impertinent stranger was myself, was an act I +applauded. The more I thought of Miss Briggs the more was I disinclined +to go away leaving with her an impression of myself so unpleasant as +the one she then held. I determined to remove it. At least, until I had +redeemed myself, I would remain in New Bedford. The determination gave +me the greatest satisfaction. With a light heart I returned to the +office of the steamboat line and retrieving my suit-case started with it +toward the Parker House. It was now past five o'clock, the stores were +closed, and all the people who had not gone to the baseball game with +Fall River were in the streets. In consequence, as I was passing the +post-office, Miss Briggs came down the steps, and we were face to face. + +In her lovely eyes was an expression of mingled doubt and indignation +and in her hand freshly torn from the papers in which I had wrapped it, +was “The Log of the JOLLY POLLY.” In action Miss Briggs was as direct +as a submarine. At sight of me she attacked. “Did you send me this?” she +asked. + +I lowered my bag to the sidewalk and prepared for battle. “I didn't +think of your going to the post-office,” I said. “I planned you'd get +it to-morrow after I'd left. When I sent it, I thought I would never see +you again.” + +“Then you did send it!” exclaimed Miss Briggs. As though the book were +a hot plate she dropped it into my hand. She looked straight at me, but +her expression suggested she was removing a caterpillar from her pet +rosebush. + +“You had no right,” she said. “You may not have meant to be impertinent, +but you were!” + +Again, as though I had disappeared from the face of the earth, Miss +Briggs gazed coldly about her, and with dignity started to cross the +street. Her dignity was so great that she glanced neither to the left +nor right. In consequence she did not see an automobile that swung +recklessly around a trolley-car and dived at her. But other people saw +it and shrieked. I also shrieked, and dropping the suit-case and the +“Log,” jumped into the street, grabbed Miss Briggs by both arms, and +flung her back to the sidewalk. That left me where she had been, and the +car caught me up and slammed me head first against a telegraph pole. +The pole was hard, and if any one counted me out I did not stay awake to +hear him. When I came to I was conscious that I was lying on a sidewalk; +but to open my eyes, I was much too tired. A voice was saying, “Do you +know who he is, Miss?” + +The voice that replied was the voice of the lovely Miss Briggs. But now +I hardly recognized it. It was full of distress, of tenderness and pity. + +“No, I don't know him,” it stammered. “He's a salesman--he was in the +store this morning--he's selling motor-cars.” The first voice laughed. + +“Motor-cars!” he exclaimed. “That's why he ain't scared of 'em. He +certainly saved you from that one! I seen him, Miss Briggs, and he most +certainly saved your life!” + +In response to this astonishing statement I was delighted to hear a +well-trained male chorus exclaim in assent. + +The voices differed; some spoke in the accents of Harvard, pure and +undefiled, some in a “down East” dialect, others suggested Italian +peanut venders and Portuguese sailors, but all agreed that the life of +Miss Briggs had been saved by myself. I had intended coming to, but +on hearing the chorus working so harmoniously I decided I had better +continue unconscious. + +Then a new voice said importantly: “The marks on his suitcase are 'F. +F., New York.” + +I appreciated instantly that to be identified as Fletcher Farrell meant +humiliation and disaster. The other Fletcher Farrells would soon return +to New Bedford. They would learn that in their absence I had been spying +upon the home I had haughtily rejected. Besides, one of the chorus +might remember that three years back Fletcher Farrell had been a popular +novelist and might recognize me, and Miss Briggs would discover I was +not an automobile agent and that I had lied to her. I saw that I must +continue to lie to her. I thought of names beginning with “F,” and +selected “Frederick Fitzgibbon.” To christen yourself while your eyes +are shut and your head rests on a curb-stone is not easy, and later I +was sorry I had not called myself Fairchild as being more aristocratic. +But then it was too late. As Fitzgibbon I had come back to life, and as +Fitzgibbon I must remain. + +When I opened my eyes I found the first voice belonged to a policeman +who helped me to my feet and held in check the male chorus. The object +of each was to lead me to a drink. But instead I turned dizzily to Miss +Briggs. She was holding my hat and she handed it to me. Her lovely eyes +were filled with relief and her charming voice with remorse. + +“I--I can't possibly thank you,” she stammered. “Are you badly hurt?” + +I felt I had never listened to words so original and well chosen. In +comparison, the brilliant and graceful speeches I had placed on the lips +of my heroines became flat and unconvincing. + +I assured her I was not at all hurt and endeavored, jauntily, to replace +my hat. But where my head had hit the telegraph pole a large bump had +risen which made my hat too small. So I hung it on the bump. It gave me +a rakish air. One of the chorus returned my bag and another the “Log.” + Not wishing to remind Miss Briggs of my past impertinences; I guiltily +concealed it. + +Then the policeman asked my name and I gave the one I had just invented, +and inquired my way to the Parker House. Half the chorus volunteered to +act as my escort, and as I departed, I stole a last look at Miss Briggs. +She and the policeman were taking down the pedigree of the chauffeur +of the car that had hit me. He was trying to persuade them he was +not intoxicated, and with each speech was furnishing evidence to the +contrary. + +After I had given a cold bath to the bump on my head and to the rest of +my body which for the moment seemed the lesser of the two, I got into +dry things and seated myself on the veranda of the hotel. With a cigar +to soothe my jangling nerves, I considered the position of Miss Briggs +and myself. I was happy in believing it had improved. On the morrow +there was no law to prevent me from visiting Hatchardson's Bookstore, +and in view of what had happened since last I left it, I had reason to +hope Miss Briggs would receive me more, kindly. Of the correctness of +this diagnosis I was at once assured. In front of the hotel a district +messenger-boy fell off his bicycle and with unerring instinct picked +me out as Mr. Fitzgibbon of New York. The note he carried was from Miss +Briggs. It stated that in the presence of so many people it had been +impossible for her to thank me as she wished for the service I had +rendered her, and that Mrs. Cutler, with whom she boarded, and herself, +would be glad if after supper I would call upon them. I gave the +messenger-boy enough gold to enable him to buy a new bicycle and in my +room executed a dance symbolizing joy. I then kicked my suit-case under +the bed. I would not soon need it. Now that Miss Briggs had forgiven me, +I was determined to live and die in New Bedford. + +The home of Mrs. Cutler, where Miss Briggs lodged and boarded, was in +a side street of respectable and distinguished antiquity. The street +itself was arched with the branches of giant elms, and each house was an +island surrounded by grass, and over the porches climbed roses. It was +too warm to remain indoors, so we sat on the steps of the porch, and +through the leaves of the elms the electric light globe served us as a +moon. For an automobile salesman I was very shy, very humble. + +Twice before I had given offense and I was determined if it lay with +me, it would not happen again. I did not hope to interest Miss Briggs +in myself, nor did I let it appear how tremendously I was interested +in her. For the moment I was only a stranger in a strange land making +a social call. I asked Miss Briggs about New Bedford and the whaling, +about the books she sold, and the books she liked. It was she who +talked. When I found we looked at things in the same way and that the +same things gave us pleasure I did not comment on that astonishing fact, +but as an asset more precious than gold, stored it away. When I returned +to the hotel I found that concerning Miss Briggs I had made important +discoveries. I had learned that her name was Polly, that the JOLLY POLLY +had been christened after her grandmother, that she was an orphan, that +there were relatives with whom she did not “hit it off,” that she was +very well read, possessed of a most charming sense of humor, and that I +found her the most attractive girl I had ever met. + +The next morning I awoke in an exalted frame of mind. I was in love with +life, with New Bedford, and with Polly Briggs. I had been in love before +but never with a young lady who worked in a shop, and I found that +loving a lady so occupied gives one a tremendous advantage. For when you +call she must always be at home, nor can she plead another engagement. +So, before noon, knowing she could not deny herself, I was again at +Hatchardson's, purchasing more postal-cards. But Miss Briggs was not +deceived. Nor apparently was any one else. The BEDFORD MERCURY had told +how, the previous evening, Frederick Fitzgibbon, an automobile salesman +from New York, had been knocked out by an automobile while saving Miss +Polly Briggs from a similar fate; and Mr. Hatchardson and all the old +ladies who were in the bookstore making purchases congratulated me. It +was evident that in Miss Briggs they took much more than a perfunctory +interest. They were very fond of her. She was an institution; and I +could see that as such to visitors she would be pointed out with pride, +as was the new bronze statue of the Whaleman in Court House Square. Nor +did they cease discussing her until they had made it quite clear to me +that in being knocked out in her service I was a very lucky man. I did +not need to be told that, especially as I noted that Miss Briggs was +anxious lest I should not be properly modest. Indeed, her wish that in +the eyes of the old ladies I should appear to advantage was so evident, +and her interest in me so proprietary, that I was far from unhappy. + +The afternoon I spent in Fairharbor. From a real estate agent I obtained +keys to those cottages on the water-front that were for rent, and I +busied myself exploring them. The one I most liked I pretended I had +rented, and I imagined myself at work among the flower-beds, or with +my telescope scanning the shipping in the harbor, or at night seated +in front of the open fire watching the green and blue flames of the +driftwood. Later, irresolutely, I wandered across town to Harbor Castle, +this time walking entirely around it and coming upon a sign that read, +“Visitors Welcome. Do not pick the flowers.” + +Assuring myself that I was moved only by curiosity, I accepted the +invitation, nor, though it would greatly have helped the appearance of +the cemetery-like beds, did I pick the flowers. On a closer view Harbor +Castle certainly possessed features calculated to make an impecunious +author Stop, look, and listen. I pictured it peopled with my friends. I +saw them at the long mahogany table of which through the French window +I got a glimpse, or dancing in the music-room, or lounging on the wicker +chairs on the sweeping verandas. I could see them in flannels at tennis, +in bathing-suits diving from the spring-board of the swimming pool, +departing on excursions in the motor-cars that at the moment in front +of the garage were being sponged and polished, so that they flashed like +mirrors. And I thought also of the two-thousand-ton yacht and to what +far countries, to what wonderful adventures it might carry me. + +But all of these pictures lacked one feature. In none of them did +Polly Briggs appear. For, as I very well knew, that was something the +ambitions of Mrs. Farrell would not permit. That lady wanted me as a son +only because she thought I was a social asset. By the same reasoning, +as a daughter-in-law, she would not want a shop-girl, especially not one +who as a shop-girl was known to all New Bedford. My mood as I turned my +back upon the golden glories of Harbor Castle and walked to New Bedford +was thoughtful. + +I had telegraphed my servant to bring me more clothes and my Phoenix +car; and as I did not want him inquiring for Fletcher Farrell had +directed him to come by boat to Fall River. Accordingly, the next +morning, I took the trolley to that city, met him at the wharf, and sent +him back to New York. I gave him a check with instructions to have it +cashed in that city and to send the money, and my mail, to Frederick +Fitzgibbon. This ALIAS I explained to him by saying I was gathering +material for an article to prove one could live on fifty cents a day. +He was greatly relieved to learn I did not need a valet to help me prove +it. + +I returned driving the Phoenix to New Bedford, and as it was a Saturday, +when the store closed at noon, I had the ineffable delight of taking +Polly Briggs for a drive. As chaperons she invited two young friends of +hers named Lowell. They had been but very lately married, and regarded +me no more than a chauffeur they had hired by the hour. This left Polly +who was beside me on the front seat, and myself, to our own devices. +Our devices were innocent enough. They consisted in conveying the +self-centred Lowells so far from home that they could not get back for +supper and were so forced to dine with me. Polly, for as Polly I now +thought of her, discovered the place. It was an inn, on the edge of a +lake with an Indian name. We did not get home until late, but it had +been such a successful party that before we separated we planned another +journey for the morrow. That one led to the Cape by way of Bourne and +Wood's Hole, and back again to the North Shore to Barnstable, where we +lunched. It was a grand day and the first of others just as happy. After +that every afternoon when the store closed I picked up the Lowells; and +then Polly, and we sought adventures. Sometimes we journeyed no farther +than the baseball park, but as a rule I drove them to some inn for +dinner, where later, if there were music, we danced, if not, we returned +slowly through the pine woods and so home by the longest possible route. +The next Saturday I invited them to Boston. We started early, dined at +the Touraine and went on to a musical comedy, where I had reserved seats +in the front row. This nearly led to my undoing. Late in the first act +a very merry party of young people who had come up from Newport and +Narragansett to the Coates-Islip wedding filled the stage boxes and +at sight of me began to wave and beckon. They were so insistent that +between the acts I thought it safer to visit them. They wanted to know +why I had not appeared at the wedding, and who was the beautiful girl. + +The next morning on our return trip to New Bedford Polly said, “I read +in the papers this morning that those girls in that theatre party last +night were the bridesmaids at the Coates-Islip wedding. They seemed to +know you quite well.” + +I explained that in selling automobiles one became acquainted with many +people. + +Polly shook her head and laughed. Then she turned and looked at me. + +“You never sold an automobile in your life,” she said. + +With difficulty I kept my eyes on the road; but I protested vigorously. + +“Don't think I have been spying,” said Polly; “I found you out quite by +accident. Yesterday a young man I know asked me to persuade you to turn +in your Phoenix and let him sell you one of the new model. I said +you yourself were the agent for the Phoenix, and he said that, on the +contrary, HE was, and that you had no right to sell the car in his +TERRITORY.” I grinned guiltily and said: + +“Well, I HAVEN'T sold any, have I?” + +“That is not the point,” protested Polly. “What was your reason for +telling me you were trying to earn a living selling automobiles?” + +“So that I could take you driving in one,” I answered. + +“Oh!” exclaimed Polly. + +There was a pause during which in much inward trepidation I avoided +meeting her eyes. Then Polly added thoughtfully, “I think that was a +very good reason.” + +In our many talks the name of the Fletcher Farrells had never been +mentioned. I had been most careful to avoid it. As each day passed, and +their return imminent, and in consequence my need to fly grew more near, +and the name was still unspoken, I was proportionately grateful. But +when the name did come up I had reason to be pleased, for Polly spoke +it with approval, and it was not of the owner of Harbor Castle she was +speaking, but of myself. It was one evening about two weeks after we +had met, and I had side-stepped the Lowells and was motoring with Polly +alone. We were talking of our favorite authors, dead and alive. + +“You may laugh,” said Polly, and she said it defiantly, “and I don't +know whether you would call him among the dead or the living, but I am +very fond of Fletcher Farrell!” + +My heart leaped. I was so rattled that I nearly ran the car into a stone +wall. I thought I was discovered and that Polly was playing with me. But +her next words showed that she was innocent. She did not know that the +man to whom she was talking and of whom she was talking were the same. +“Of course you will say,” she went on, “that he is too romantic, that he +is not true to life. But I never lived in the seventeenth century, so +I don't know whether he is true to life or not. And I like romance. The +life I lead in the store gives me all the reality I want. I like to read +about brave men and great and gracious ladies.” + +“I never met any girls like those Farrell write about, but it's nice to +think they exist. I wish I were like them. And, his men, too--they make +love better than any other man I ever read about.” + +“Better than I do?” I asked. + +Polly gazed at the sky, frowning severely. After a pause, and as though +she had dropped my remark into the road and the wheels had crushed it, +she said, coldly, “Talking about books----” + +“No,” I corrected, “we were talking about Fletcher Farrell.” + +“Then,” said Polly with some asperity, “don't change the subject. Do you +know,” she went on hurriedly, “that you look like him--like the pictures +of him--as he was.” + +“Heavens!” I exclaimed, “the man's not dead!” + +“You know what I mean,” protested Polly. “As he was before he stopped +writing.” + +“Nor has he stopped writing,” I objected; “his books have stopped +selling.” Polly turned upon me eagerly. + +“Do you know him?” she demanded. I answered with caution that I had met +him. + +“Oh!” she exclaimed, “tell me about him!” + +I was extremely embarrassed. It was a bad place. About myself I could +not say anything pleasant, and behind my back, as it were, I certainly +was not going to say anything unpleasant. But Polly relieved me of the +necessity of saying anything. + +“I don't know any man,” she exclaimed fervently, “I would so like to +meet!” + +It seemed to me that after that the less I said the better. So I told +her something was wrong with the engine and by the time I had pretended +to fix it, I had led the conversation away from Fletcher Farrell as a +novelist to myself as a chauffeur. + +The next morning at the hotel, temptation was again waiting for me. This +time it came in the form of a letter from my prospective father-in-law. +It had been sent from Cape May to my address in New York, and by my +servant forwarded in an envelope addressed to “Frederick Fitzgibbon.” + +It was what in the world of commerce is called a “follow-up” letter. It +recalled the terms of his offer to me, and improved upon them. It made +it clear that even after meeting me Mr. Farrell and his wife were still +anxious to stand for me as a son. They were good enough to say they had +found me a “perfect gentleman.” They hoped that after considering their +proposition I had come to look upon it with favor. + +As his son, Mr. Farrell explained, my annual allowance would be the +interest on one million dollars, and upon his death his entire fortune +and property he would bequeath to me. He was willing, even anxious, to +put this in writing. In a week he would return to Fairharbor when he +hoped to receive a favorable answer. In the meantime he enclosed a +letter to his housekeeper. + +“Don't take anything for granted,” he urged, “but go to Fairharbor and +present this letter. See the place for yourself. Spend the week there +and act like you were the owner. My housekeeper has orders to take her +orders from you. Don't refuse something you have never seen!” + +This part of the letter made me feel as mean and uncomfortable as a +wet hen. The open, almost too open, methods of Mr. Farrell made my own +methods appear contemptible. He was urging me to be his guest and I +was playing the spy. But against myself my indignation did not last. +A letter, bearing a special delivery stamp which arrived later in the +afternoon from Mrs. Farrell turned my indignation against her, and with +bitterness. She also had been spying. Her letter read: + +The Pinkerton I employed to report on you states that after losing you +for a week he located you at New Bedford, that you are living under +the name of Fitzgibbon, and that you have made yourself conspicuous by +attentions to a young person employed in a shop. This is for me a +great blow and disappointment, and I want you to clearly understand Mr. +Farrell's offer is made to you as an unmarried man. I cannot believe +your attentions are serious, but whether they are serious or not, they +must cease. The detective reports the pair of you are now the talk of +Fairharbor. You are making me ridiculous. I do not want a shop-girl for +a daughter-in-law and you will either give up her acquaintance or give +up Harbor Castle! + +I am no believer in ultimatums. In attaining one's end they seldom prove +successful. I tore the note into tiny pieces, and defiantly, with Polly +in the seat beside me, drove into the open country. At first we picked +our way through New Bedford, from the sidewalks her friends waved to +her, and my acquaintances smiled. The detective was right. We had indeed +made ourselves the talk of the town, and I was determined the talk must +cease. + +We had reached Ruggles Point when the car developed an illness. I got +out to investigate. On both sides of the road were tall hemlocks and +through them to the west we could see the waters of Sippican Harbor in +the last yellow rays of the sun as it sank behind Rochester. Overhead +was the great harvest moon. + +Polly had taken from the pocket of the car some maps and guide-books, +and while I lifted the hood and was deep in the machinery she was +turning them over. + +“What,” she asked, “is the number of this car? I forget.” + +As I have said, I was preoccupied and deep in the machinery; that +is, with a pair of pliers I was wrestling with a recalcitrant wire. +Unsuspiciously I answered: “Eight-two-eight.” + +A moment later I heard a sharp cry, and raised my head. With eyes wide +in terror Polly was staring at an open book. Without appreciating my +danger I recognized it as “Who's Who in Automobiles.” The voice of Polly +rose in a cry of disbelief. + +“Eight-two-eight,” she read, “owned by Fletcher Farrell, Hudson +Apartments, New York City.” She raised her eyes to mine. + +“Is that true?” she gasped. “Are you Fletcher Farrell?” I leaned into +the car and got hold of her hand. + +“That is not important,” I stammered. “What is important is this: Will +you be Mrs. Fletcher Farrell?” + +What she said may be guessed from the fact that before we returned to +New Bedford we drove to Fairharbor and I showed her the cottage I liked +best. It was the one with the oldest clapboard shingles, the oldest box +hedge, the most fragrant honeysuckles, and a lawn that wet its feet in +the surf. Polly liked it the best, too. + +By now the daylight had gone, and on the ships the riding lights were +shining, but shining sulkily, for the harvest moon filled the world with +golden radiance. As we stood on the porch of the empty cottage, in the +shadow of the honeysuckles, Polly asked an impossible question. It was: + +“How MUCH do you love me?” + +“You will never know,” I told her, “but I can tell you this: I love you +more than a two-thousand-ton yacht, the interest on one million dollars, +and Harbor Castle!” + +It was a wasteful remark, for Polly instantly drew away. + +“What DO you mean?” she laughed. + +“Fletcher Farrell of Harbor Castle,” I explained, “offered me those +things, minus you. But I wanted you.” + +“I see,” cried Polly, “he wanted to adopt you. He always talks of that. +I am sorry for him. He wants a son so badly.” She sighed softly, “Poor +uncle!” + +“Poor WHAT!” I yelled. + +“Didn't you know,” exclaimed Polly, “that Mrs. Farrell was a Briggs! She +was my father's sister.” + +“Then YOU,” I said, “are the relation who was 'too high and mighty'!” + Polly shook her head. + +“No,” she said, “I didn't want to be dependent.” + +“And you gave up all that,” I exclaimed, “and worked at Hatchardson's, +just because you didn't want to be dependent!” + +“I like my uncle-in-law very much,” explained Polly, “but not my aunt. +So, it was no temptation. No more,” she cried, looking at me as though +she were proud of me, “than it was to you.” + +In guilty haste I changed the subject. In other words, I kissed her. I +knew some day I would have to confess. But until we were safely married +that could wait. Before confessing I would make sure of her first. The +next day we announced our engagement and Polly consented that it should +be a short one. For, as I pointed out, already she had kept me waiting +thirty years. The newspapers dug up the fact that I had once been a +popular novelist, and the pictures they published of Polly proved her so +beautiful that, in congratulation, I received hundreds of telegrams. The +first one to arrive came from Cape May. It read: + +My dear boy, your uncle elect sends his heartiest congratulations to +you and love to Polly. Don't make any plans until you hear from me--am +leaving to-night. FLETCHER FARRELL. + +In terror Polly fled into my arms. Even when NOT in terror it was a +practice I strongly encouraged. + +“We are lost!” she cried. “They will adopt us in spite of ourselves. +They will lock us up for life in Harbor Castle! I don't WANT to be +adopted. I want YOU! I want my little cottage!” + +I assured her she should have her little cottage; I had already bought +it. And during the two weeks before the wedding, when I was not sitting +around Boston while Polly bought clothes, we refurnished it. Polly +furnished the library, chiefly with my own books, and “The Log of +the JOLLY POLLY.” I furnished the kitchen. For a man cannot live on +honeysuckles alone. My future uncle-in-law was gentle but firm. + +“You can't get away from the fact,” he said, “that you will be my nephew, +whether you like it or not. So, be kind to an old man and let him give +the bride away and let her be married from Harbor Castle.” + +In her white and green High Flier car and all of her diamonds, Mrs. +Farrell called on Polly and begged the same boon. We were too happy to +see any one else dissatisfied; so though we had planned the quietest of +weddings, we gave consent. Somehow we survived it. But now we recall +it only as that terrible time when we were never alone. For once in the +hands of our rich relations the quiet wedding we had arranged became a +royal alliance, a Field of the Cloth of Gold, the chief point of attack +for the moving-picture men. + +The youths who came from New York to act as my ushers informed me that +the Ushers' Dinner at Harbor Castle-from which, after the fish course, +I had fled--was considered by them the most successful ushers' dinner in +their career of crime. My uncle-in-Law also testifies to this. He ought +to know. At four in the morning he was assisting the ushers in throwing +the best man and the butler into the swimming-pool. + +For our honeymoon he loaned us the yacht. “Take her as far as you like,” + he said. “After this she belongs to you and Polly. And find a better +name for her than Harbor Lights. It sounds too much like a stay-at-home. +And I want you two to see the world.” I thanked him, and suggested he +might rechristen her the JOLLY POLLY. + +“That was the name,” I pointed out, “of the famous whaler owned by +Captain Briggs, your wife's father, and it would be a compliment to +Polly, too.” + +My uncle-in-law-elect agreed heartily; but made one condition: + +“I'll christen her that,” he said, “if you will promise to write a new +Log of the JOLLY POLLY.” I promised. This is it. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Log of The “Jolly Polly”, by +Richard Harding Davis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOG OF THE “JOLLY POLLY” *** + +***** This file should be named 1808-0.txt or 1808-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/0/1808/ + +Produced by Aaron Cannon + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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