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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 + +Release Date: October 10, 2008 [EBook #1808] +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, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE LOG OF THE “JOLLY POLLY” + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Richard Harding Davis + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + Temptation came to me when I was in the worst possible position to resist + it. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + And, to make it harder, I was only thirty years old. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Alarmed, lest at this I might take offense, Mrs. Farrell interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “The Fletchers and O'Farrells of Youghal,” she exclaimed, “were gentry. + What would they be doing in a trawler?” + </p> + <p> + I assured her that so far as I knew, 1750 being before my time, they might + have been smugglers and pirates. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + To my surprise, this information appeared to afford my visitors great + satisfaction. They exchanged hasty glances. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” exclaimed Mr. Farrell, eagerly; “if I understand you, you have no + living relations at all—barring those that are dead!” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly!” I agreed. + </p> + <p> + He drew a deep sigh of relief. With apparent irrelevance but with a + carelessness that was obviously assumed, he continued. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “When all the windows are lit up,” interjected Mrs. Farrell, “it's often + took for a Fall River boat!” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Eighteen men!” she protested, “with nothing to do but clean brass and eat + three meals a day!” + </p> + <p> + Farrell released his death grip on the silk hat to make a sweeping + gesture. + </p> + <p> + “They earn their wages,” he said generously. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't they taking us this week to Cap May?” + </p> + <p> + “They're taking the yacht to Cape May!” corrected Mrs. Farrell; “not ME!” + </p> + <p> + “The sea does not agree with her,” explained Farrell; “WE'RE going by + automobile.” Mrs. Farrell now took up the wondrous tale. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Mebbe later,” he said. Evidently he felt that as yet he had not + sufficiently impressed me. + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + As though challenging me to object, she paused. + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + Farrell shook his head firmly. “You don't need to write to Ireland,” he + said, “for what we want.” + </p> + <p> + “What DO you want?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “We want a SON,” said Farrell; “an adopted son. We want to adopt YOU!” + </p> + <p> + “You want to WHAT?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + I attempted to soothe him. + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It is quite impossible!” I said firmly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + At this, knowing none wanted my novels, I may have winced, for, misreading + my discontent, Farrell hastily interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “The farther the better,” exclaimed Mrs. Farrell with heat. “And when you + get it there, I hope you'll SINK it!” + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + “You told him that!” said Mrs. Farrell. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Farrell rose. + </p> + <p> + “We don't want to hurry you,” he said. “We want you to think it over. + Maybe if we get acquainted——” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farrell smiled upon me ingratiatingly. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I assured them, almost too hastily, that already was deeply engaged. + </p> + <p> + As they departed, Farrell again admonished me to think it over. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + It seemed an odd way to select a father, but I promised. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But to my amazement when I had finished he savagely attacked me. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you mad?” I demanded; “do you think I'd sell my honor!” + </p> + <p> + “For five million dollars?” cried Spencer. “Don't make me laugh! If they + want a REAL novelist for a son they can adopt me!” + </p> + <p> + I replied with dignity that I would not disgrace the memory of my parents. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + I told him where he could go. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Harbor Castle,” said the mate promptly. “It's on the other side of the + point I'd as soon live in a jail!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + But he was no longer listening. He pointed at the shore opposite. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “It is the only one in existence,” said the young lady. “At least, it is + the only one for sale!” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hatchardson, for later I learned it was he, took the book and showed + me the title-page. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “But it is for sale?” Mr. Hatchardson reluctantly assented. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will take it,” I said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is this place near here?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “This,” she explained, “is Harbor Castle from the bay. That is their yacht + in the foreground.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “HARBOR LIGHTS is a strange name for a yacht,” I ventured. Miss Briggs + smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Not for that yacht,” she said. “She never leaves it.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + But, when she believed that, like herself, I was working for my living, + she became more human. + </p> + <p> + “What car are you selling?” she asked. “I am TRYING to sell,” I corrected + her, “the Blue Bird, six cylinder.” + </p> + <p> + “I never heard of it,” said Miss Briggs. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Briggs raised her beautiful eyebrows skeptically. “Have you tried?” + she said. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I am an agent and demonstrator for the Phoenix also,” I said glibly; + “maybe I could show you one?” + </p> + <p> + “Show me one?” exclaimed Miss Briggs. “One sees them everywhere! They are + always under your feet!” + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” I explained, “might I take you for a drive in one?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What can I show you, Mrs. Scudder?” she asked cheerily; “and how is that + wonderful baby?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When surveying a completed country home, to make the owner thoroughly + incensed the correct thing to say is, “This place has great + possibilities!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “You had no right,” she said. “You may not have meant to be impertinent, + but you were!” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + In response to this astonishing statement I was delighted to hear a + well-trained male chorus exclaim in assent. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Then a new voice said importantly: “The marks on his suitcase are 'F. F., + New York.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I—I can't possibly thank you,” she stammered. “Are you badly hurt?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + I explained that in selling automobiles one became acquainted with many + people. + </p> + <p> + Polly shook her head and laughed. Then she turned and looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “You never sold an automobile in your life,” she said. + </p> + <p> + With difficulty I kept my eyes on the road; but I protested vigorously. + </p> + <p> + “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: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I HAVEN'T sold any, have I?” + </p> + <p> + “That is not the point,” protested Polly. “What was your reason for + telling me you were trying to earn a living selling automobiles?” + </p> + <p> + “So that I could take you driving in one,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” exclaimed Polly. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Better than I do?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + 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——” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I corrected, “we were talking about Fletcher Farrell.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens!” I exclaimed, “the man's not dead!” + </p> + <p> + “You know what I mean,” protested Polly. “As he was before he stopped + writing.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor has he stopped writing,” I objected; “his books have stopped + selling.” Polly turned upon me eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know him?” she demanded. I answered with caution that I had met + him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she exclaimed, “tell me about him!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know any man,” she exclaimed fervently, “I would so like to + meet!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What,” she asked, “is the number of this car? I forget.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Eight-two-eight,” she read, “owned by Fletcher Farrell, Hudson + Apartments, New York City.” She raised her eyes to mine. + </p> + <p> + “Is that true?” she gasped. “Are you Fletcher Farrell?” I leaned into the + car and got hold of her hand. + </p> + <p> + “That is not important,” I stammered. “What is important is this: Will you + be Mrs. Fletcher Farrell?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “How MUCH do you love me?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + It was a wasteful remark, for Polly instantly drew away. + </p> + <p> + “What DO you mean?” she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Fletcher Farrell of Harbor Castle,” I explained, “offered me those + things, minus you. But I wanted you.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor WHAT!” I yelled. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you know,” exclaimed Polly, “that Mrs. Farrell was a Briggs! She + was my father's sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Then YOU,” I said, “are the relation who was 'too high and mighty'!” + Polly shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “I didn't want to be dependent.” + </p> + <p> + “And you gave up all that,” I exclaimed, “and worked at Hatchardson's, + just because you didn't want to be dependent!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + In terror Polly fled into my arms. Even when NOT in terror it was a + practice I strongly encouraged. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + My uncle-in-law-elect agreed heartily; but made one condition: + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +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-h.htm or 1808-h.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, and David Widger + +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. 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