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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+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 Rise of Roscoe Paine
+
+Author: Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+Release Date: June 3, 2006 [EBook #3137]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RISE OF ROSCOE PAINE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Donald Lainson
+
+
+
+
+
+THE RISE OF ROSCOE PAINE
+
+By Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+"I'm going up to the village," I told Dorinda, taking my cap from the
+hook behind the dining-room door.
+
+"What for?" asked Dorinda, pushing me to one side and reaching for the
+dust-cloth, which also was behind the door.
+
+"Oh, just for the walk," I answered, carelessly.
+
+"Um-hm," observed Dorinda.
+
+"Um-hm" is, I believe, good Scotch for "Yes." I have read that it
+is, somewhere--in one of Barrie's yarns, I think. I had never been in
+Scotland, or much of anywhere else, except the city I was born in, and
+my college town, and Boston--and Cape Cod. "Um-hm" meant yes on the
+Cape, too, except when Dorinda said it; then it might mean almost
+anything. When Mother asked her to lower the window shade in the
+bed-room she said "Um-hm" and lowered it. And, five minutes later, when
+Lute came in, loaded to the guards with explanations as to why he had
+forgotten to clean the fish for dinner, she said it again. And the
+Equator and the North Pole are no nearer alike, so far as temperature
+is concerned, than those two "Um-hms." And between them she had others,
+expressing all degrees from frigid to semi-torrid.
+
+Her "Um-hm" this time was somewhere along the northern edge of Labrador.
+
+"It's a good morning for a walk," I said.
+
+"Um-hm," repeated Dorinda, crossing over to Greenland, so to speak.
+
+I opened the outside door. The warm spring sunshine, pouring in, was a
+pleasant contrast and made me forget, for the moment, the glacier at my
+back. Come to think of it, "glacier" isn't a good word; glaciers move
+slowly and that wasn't Dorinda's way.
+
+"What are you going to do?" I asked.
+
+"Work," snapped Dorinda, unfurling the dust cloth. "It's a good mornin'
+for that, too."
+
+I went out, turned the corner of the house and found Lute sound asleep
+on the wash bench behind the kitchen. His full name was Luther Millard
+Filmore Rogers, and he was Dorinda's husband by law, and the burden
+which Providence, or hard luck, had ordered her to carry through this
+vale of tears. She was a good Methodist and there was no doubt in
+her mind that Providence was responsible. When she rose to testify in
+prayer-meeting she always mentioned her "cross" and everybody knew that
+the cross was Luther. She carried him, but it is no more than fair to
+say that she didn't provide him with cushions. She never let him forget
+that he was a steerage passenger. However, Lute was well upholstered
+with philosophy, of a kind, and, so long as he didn't have to work his
+passage, was happy, even if the voyage was a rather rough one.
+
+Just now he was supposed to be raking the back yard, but the rake was
+between his knees, his head was tipped back against the shingled wall
+of the kitchen, and he was sleeping, with the sunshine illuminating his
+open mouth, "for all the world like a lamp in a potato cellar," as his
+wife had said the last time she caught him in this position. She went on
+to say that it was a pity he wouldn't stand on his head when he slept.
+"Then I could see if your skull was as holler as I believe it is," she
+told him.
+
+Lute heard me as I passed him and woke up. The "potato cellar" closed
+with a snap and he seized the rake handles with both hands.
+
+"I was takin' a sort of observation," he explained hurriedly. "Figgerin'
+whether I'd better begin here or over by the barn. Oh, it's you, Roscoe,
+is it! Land sakes! I thought first 'twas Dorindy. Where you bound?"
+
+"Up to the village," I said.
+
+"Ain't goin' to the post-office, be you?"
+
+"I may; I don't know."
+
+Lute sighed. "I was kind of cal'latin' to go there myself," he observed,
+regretfully. "Thoph Newcomb and Cap'n Jed Dean and the rest of us
+was havin' a talk on politics last night up there and 'twas mighty
+interestin'. Old Dean had Thoph pretty well out of the race when I
+hauled alongside, but when I got into the argument 'twas different.
+'What's goin' to become of the laborin' men of this country if you have
+free trade?' I says. Dean had to give in that he didn't know. 'Might
+have to let their wives support 'em,' he says, pompous as ever. 'That
+would be a calamity, wouldn't it, Lute?' That wasn't no answer, of
+course. But you can't expect sense of a Democrat. I left him fumin' and
+come away. I've thought of a lot more questions to ask him since and
+I was hopin' I could get at him this mornin'. But no! Dorindy's sot on
+havin' this yard raked, so I s'pose I've got to do it."
+
+He had dropped the rake, but now he leaned over, picked it up, and rose
+from the wash bench.
+
+"I s'pose I've got to do it," he repeated, "unless," hopefully, "you
+want me to run up to the village and do your errand for you."
+
+"No; I hadn't any errand."
+
+"Well, then I s'pose I'd better start in. Unless there was somethin'
+else you'd ruther I'd do to-day. If there was I could do this
+to-morrer."
+
+"To-morrow would have one advantage: there would be more to rake then.
+However, judging by Dorinda's temper this morning, I think, perhaps, you
+had better do it to-day."
+
+"What's Dorindy doin'?"
+
+"She is dusting the dining-room."
+
+"I'll bet you! And she dusted it yesterday and the day afore. Do you
+know--" Lute sat down again on the bench--"sometimes I get real worried
+about her."
+
+"No! Do you?"
+
+"Yes, I do. I think she works too hard. Seems's if sometimes it had kind
+of struck to her brains--work, I mean. She don't think of nothin' else.
+Now take the dustin', for instance. Dustin's all right; I believe in
+dustin' things. But I don't believe in wearin' 'em out dustin' 'em. That
+ain't sense, is it?"
+
+"It doesn't seem like it, that's a fact."
+
+"You bet it don't! And it ain't good religion, neither. Now take--well,
+take this yard, for instance. What is it that I'm slavin' myself over
+this fine mornin'? Why, rakin' this yard! And what am I rakin'? Why,
+dead leaves from last fall, and straws and sticks and pieces of seaweed
+and such that have blowed in durin' the winter. And what blowed 'em in?
+Why, the wind, sartin! And whose wind was it? The Almighty's, that's
+whose! Now then! if the Almighty didn't intend to have dead leaves
+around why did he put trees for 'em to fall off of? If he didn't want
+straws and seaweed and truck around why did He send them everlastin'
+no'theasters last November? Did that idea ever strike you?"
+
+"I don't know that it ever did, exactly in that way."
+
+"No. Well, that's 'cause you ain't reasoned it out, same as I have.
+You've got the same trouble that most folks have, you don't reason
+things out. Now, let's look at it straight in the face." Lute let go of
+the rake altogether and used both hands to illustrate his point. "That
+finger there, we'll say, is me, rakin' and rakin' hard as ever I can.
+And that fist there is the Almighty, not meanin' anything irreverent.
+I rake, same as I'm doin' this mornin'. The yard's all cleaned up.
+Then--zing!" Lute's clenched fist swept across and knocked the
+offending finger out of the way. "Zing! here comes one of the Almighty's
+no'theasters, same as we're likely to have to-morrer, and the consarned
+yard is just as dirty as ever. Ain't that so?"
+
+I looked at the yard. "It seems to be about as it was," I agreed, with
+some sarcasm. Lute was an immune, so far as sarcasm was concerned.
+
+"Yup," he said, triumphantly. "Now, Dorindy, she's a good, pious woman.
+She believes the Powers above order everything. If that's so, then ain't
+it sacrilegious to be all the time flyin' in the face of them Powers by
+rakin' and rakin' and dustin' and dustin'? That's the question."
+
+"But, according to that reasoning," I observed, "we should neither rake
+nor dust. Wouldn't that make our surroundings rather uncomfortable,
+after a while?"
+
+"Sartin. But when they got uncomfortable then we could turn to and make
+'em comfortable again. I ain't arguin' against work--needful work, you
+understand. I like it. And I ain't thinkin' of myself, you know, but
+about Dorindy. It worries me to see her wearin' herself out with--with
+dustin' and such. It ain't sense and 'tain't good religion. She's my
+wife and it's my duty to think for her and look out for her."
+
+He paused and reached into his overalls pocket for a pipe. Finding it,
+he reached into another pocket for the wherewithal to fill it.
+
+"Have you suggested to her that she's flying in the face of Providence?"
+I asked.
+
+Lute shook his head. "No," he admitted, "I ain't. Got any tobacco about
+you? Dorindy hove my plug away yesterday. I left it back of the clock
+and she found it and was mad--dustin' again, of course."
+
+He took the pouch I handed him, filled his pipe and absently put the
+pouch in his pocket.
+
+"Got a match?" he asked. "Thanks. No, I ain't spoke to her about it,
+though it's been on my mind for a long spell. I didn't know but you
+might say somethin' to her along that line, Roscoe. 'Twouldn't sound so
+personal, comin' from you. What do you think?"
+
+I shook my head. "Dorinda wouldn't pay much attention to my ideas on
+such subjects, I'm afraid," I answered. "She knows I'm not a regular
+church-goer."
+
+Lute was plainly disappointed. "Well," he said, with a sigh, "maybe
+you're right. She does cal'late you're kind of heathen, though she hopes
+you'll see the light some day. But, just the same," he added, "it's a
+good argument. I tried it on the gang up to the post-office last night.
+I says to 'em, says I, 'Work's all right. I believe in it. I'm a workin'
+man, myself. But to work when you don't have to is wrong. Take Ros
+Paine,' I says--"
+
+"Why should you take me?" I interrupted, rather sharply.
+
+"'Cause you're the best example I could think of. Everybody knows you
+don't do no work. Shootin' and sailin' and fishin' ain't work, and
+that's about all you do. 'Take Ros,' says I. 'He might be to work. He
+was in a bank up to the city once and he knows the bankin' trade. He
+might be at it now, but what would be the use?' I says. 'He's got enough
+to live on and he lives on it, 'stead of keepin' some poor feller out of
+a job.' That's right, too, ain't it?"
+
+I didn't answer at once. There was no reason why I should be irritated
+because Luther Rogers had held me up as a shining example of the
+do-nothing class to the crowd of hangers-on in a country post-office.
+What did I care for Denboro opinion? Six years in that gossipy village
+had made me, so I thought, capable of rising above such things.
+
+"Well," I asked after a moment, "what did they say to that?"
+
+"Oh, nothin' much. They couldn't; I had 'em, you see. Some of 'em
+laughed and old Cap'n Jed he hove out somethin' about birds of a feather
+stickin' up for each other. No sense to it. But, as I said afore, what
+can you expect of a Democrat?"
+
+I turned on my heel and moved toward the back gate. "Ain't goin', be
+you?" asked Lute. "Hadn't you better set down and rest your breakfast a
+spell?"
+
+"No, I'm going. By the way, if you're through with that tobacco pouch of
+mine, I'll take it off your hands. I may want to smoke by and by."
+
+Lute coolly explained that he had forgotten the pouch; it had "gone
+clean out of his head." However, he handed it over and I left him seated
+on the wash bench, with his head tipped back against the shingles. I
+opened the gate and strolled slowly along the path by the edge of the
+bluff. I had gone perhaps a hundred yards when I heard a shrill voice
+behind me. Turning, I saw Dorinda standing by the corner of the kitchen,
+dust cloth in hand. Her husband was raking for dear life.
+
+I walked on. The morning was a beautiful one. Beside the path, on the
+landward side, the bayberry and beach-plum bushes were in bud, the green
+of the new grass was showing above the dead brown of the old, a bluebird
+was swaying on the stump of a wild cherry tree, and the pines and scrub
+oaks of the grove by the Shore Lane were bright, vivid splashes of color
+against the blue of the sky. At my right hand the yellow sand of the
+bluff broke sharply down to the white beach and the waters of the
+bay, now beginning to ebb. Across the bay the lighthouse at Crow Point
+glistened with new paint and I could see a moving black speck, which I
+knew was Ben Small, the keeper, busy whitewashing the fence beside
+it. Down on the beach Zeb Kendrick was overhauling his dory. In the
+distance, beyond the grove, I could hear the carpenters' hammers on the
+roof of the big Atwater mansion, which was now the property of James
+Colton, the New York millionaire, whose rumored coming to Denboro to
+live had filled the columns of the country weekly for three months. The
+quahaug boats were anchored just inside the Point; a clam digger was
+wading along the outer edge of the sedge; a lobsterman was hauling his
+pots in the channel; even the bluebird on the wild cherry stump had
+a straw in his beak and was plainly in the midst of nest building.
+Everyone had something to do and was doing it--everyone except Lute
+Rogers and myself, the "birds of a feather." And even Lute was working
+now, under compulsion.
+
+Ordinarily the sight of all this industry would not have affected me. I
+had seen it all before, or something like it. The six years I had spent
+in Denboro, the six everlasting, idle, monotonous years, had had their
+effect. I had grown hardened and had come to accept my fate, at first
+rebelliously, then with more of Lute's peculiar kind of philosophy.
+Circumstances had doomed me to be a good-for-nothing, a gentleman loafer
+without the usual excuse--money--and, as it was my doom, I forced myself
+to accept it, if not with pleasure, at least with resignation. And I
+determined to get whatever pleasure there might be in it. So, when I saw
+the majority of the human race, each with a purpose in life, struggling
+to attain that purpose, I passed them by with my gun or fishing rod
+on my shoulder, and a smile on my lips. If my remnant of a conscience
+presumed to rise and reprove me, I stamped it down. It had no reasonable
+excuse for rising; I wasn't what I was from choice.
+
+But, somehow, on this particular morning, my unreasonable conscience was
+again alive and kicking. Perhaps it was the quickening influence of the
+spring which resurrected it; perhaps Luther's quotation from the remarks
+of Captain Jedediah Dean had stirred it to rebellion. A man may know, in
+his heart, that he is no good and still resent having others say that he
+is, particularly when they say that he and Luther Rogers are birds of a
+feather. I didn't care for Dean's good opinion; of course I didn't! Nor
+for that of any one else in Denboro, my mother excepted. But Dean and
+the rest should keep their opinions to themselves, confound them!
+
+The path from our house--the latter every Denboro native spoke of as
+the "Paine Place"--wound along the edge of the bluff for perhaps three
+hundred yards, then turned sharply through the grove of scrub oaks and
+pitch pines and emerged on the Shore Lane. The Shore Lane was not a
+public road, in the strictest sense of the term. It was really a part of
+my land and, leading, as it did, from the Lower Road to the beach, was
+used as a public road merely because mother and I permitted it to be. It
+had been so used, by sufferance of the former owner, for years, and when
+we came into possession of the property we did not interfere with the
+custom. Land along the shore was worth precious little at that time and,
+besides, it was pleasant, rather than disagreeable, to hear the fish
+carts going out to the weirs, and the wagons coming to the beach for
+seaweed, or, filled with picnic parties, rattling down the Lane. We
+could not see them from the house until they had passed the grove and
+emerged upon the beach, but even the noise of them was welcome. The
+Paine Place was a good half-mile from the Lower Road and there were few
+neighbors; therefore, especially in the winter months, any sounds of
+society were comforting.
+
+I strode through the grove, kicking the dead branches out of my way, for
+my mind was still busy with Luther and Captain Dean. As I came out into
+the Lane I looked across at the Atwater mansion, now the property of the
+great and only Colton, "Big Jim" Colton, whose deals and corners in Wall
+Street supplied so many and such varied sensations for the financial
+pages of the city papers, just as those of his wife and family supplied
+news for the society columns; I looked across, I say, and then I stopped
+short to take a longer look.
+
+I could see the carpenters, whose hammers I had heard, at work upon the
+roof of the barn, now destined to do double duty as a stable and garage.
+They, and the painters and plumbers, had been busy on the premises for
+months. The establishment had been a big one, even when Major Atwater
+owned it, but the new owners had torn down and added and rebuilt until
+the house loomed up like a palace or a Newport villa. A Newport villa
+in Denboro! Why on earth any one should deliberately choose Denboro as a
+place to live in I couldn't understand; but why a millionaire, with
+all creation to select from, should build a Newport villa on the bluff
+overlooking Denboro Bay was beyond comprehension. The reason given in
+the Cape Cod Item was that Mrs. Colton was "in debilitated health,"
+whatever that is, and had been commanded by her doctors to seek sea air
+and seclusion and rest. Well, there was sea air and rest, not to mention
+seclusion or sand and mosquitoes, for a square mile about the new villa,
+and no one knew that better than I, condemned to live within the
+square. But if Mrs. Colton had deliberately chosen the spot, with malice
+aforethought, the place for her was a home for the feeble minded. At
+least, that was my opinion on that particular morning.
+
+It was not the carpenters who caused me to pause in my walk and look
+across the lane and over the stone wall at my new neighbor's residence.
+What caught my attention was that the place looked to be inhabited. The
+windows were open--fifty or so of them--smoke was issuing from one of
+the six chimneys; a maid in a white cap and apron was standing by the
+servants' entrance. Yes, and a tall, bulky man with a yachting cap
+on the back of his head and a cigar in his mouth was talking with Asa
+Peters, the boss carpenter, by the big door of the barn.
+
+I had not been up to the village for two days, having been employed at
+our boat-house on the beach below the house, getting my motor dory
+into commission for the summer. But now I remembered that Lute had said
+something about the Coltons being expected, or having arrived, and that
+he seemed much excited over it. He would have said more, but Dorinda had
+pounced on him and sent him out to shut up the chickens, which gave
+him the excuse to play truant and take his evening's trip to the
+post-office. It was plain that the Coltons HAD arrived. Very likely the
+stout man with the yachting cap was the mighty "Big Jim" himself. Well,
+I didn't envy him in his present situation. He had my pity, if anything.
+
+Possibly the fact that I could pity some one other than myself helped
+to raise my spirits. At any rate I managed to shake off a little of my
+gloom and tramped on up the Lane, feeling more like a human being and
+less like a yellow dog. Less as I should imagine a yellow dog ought
+to feel, I mean, for, as a matter of fact, most yellow dogs of my
+acquaintance seem to be as happy as their brown or white or black
+relatives. I walked up the Lane, turned into the Lower Road, and headed
+for the village. The day was a gorgeous one, the air bracing as a tonic,
+and my thirtieth birthday was not yet so far astern as to be lost in
+the fog. After all, there were some consolations in being alive and in a
+state of health not "debilitated." I began to whistle.
+
+A quarter of a mile from the junction of the Shore Lane, on the Lower
+Road, was a willow-shaded spot, where the brook which irrigated Elnathan
+Mullet's cranberry swamp ran under a small wooden bridge. It was there
+that I first heard the horn and, turning, saw the automobile coming from
+behind me. It was approaching at a speed of, I should say, thirty miles
+an hour, and I jumped to the rail of the bridge to let it pass. Autos
+were not as common on the Cape then as they have become since. Now the
+average pedestrian of common-sense jumps first and looks afterwards.
+
+However, I jumped in time, and stood still to watch the car as it went
+by. But it did not go by--not then. Its speed slackened as it
+approached and it came to a halt on the bridge beside me. A big car;
+an aristocratic car; a machine of pomp and price and polish, such as
+Denboro saw but seldom. It contained three persons--a capped and goggled
+chauffeur on the front seat, and a young fellow and a girl in the
+tonneau. They attracted my attention in just that order--first the
+chauffeur, then the young fellow, and, last of all, the girl.
+
+It was the chauffeur who hailed me. He leaned across the upholstery
+beside him and, still holding the wheel, said:
+
+"Say, Bill, what's the quickest way to get to Bayport?"
+
+Now my name doesn't happen to be Bill and just then I objected to the
+re-christening. At another time I might have appreciated the joke and
+given him the information without comment. But this morning I didn't
+feel like joking. My dissatisfaction with the world in general included
+automobilists who made common folks get out of their way, and I was
+resentful.
+
+"I should say that you had picked about as quick a way as any," I
+answered.
+
+The chauffeur didn't seem to grasp the true inwardness of this brilliant
+bit.
+
+"Aw, what--" he stammered. "Say, what--look here, I asked you--"
+
+Then the young man in the tonneau took charge of the conversation. He
+was a very young man, with blond hair and a silky mustache, and his
+clothes fitted him as clothes have no right to fit--on Cape Cod.
+
+"That'll do, Oscar," he ordered. Then, turning to me, he said:
+
+"See here, my man, we want to go to Bayport."
+
+I was not his man, and wouldn't have been for something. The chauffeur
+had irritated me, but he irritated me more. I didn't like him, his
+looks, his clothes, and, particularly, his manner. Therefore, because
+I didn't feel like answering, I showed my independence by remaining
+silent.
+
+"What's the matter?" he demanded, impatiently. "Are you deaf? I say we
+want to go to Bayport."
+
+A newspaper joke which I had recently read came to my mind. "Very well,"
+I said, "you have my permission."
+
+It was a rude thing to say, and not even original. I don't attempt to
+excuse it. In fact, I was sorry as soon as I had said it. It had its
+effect. The young man turned red. Then he laughed aloud.
+
+"Well, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "What have we here? A humorist, I do
+believe! Mabel, we've discovered a genuine, rural humorist. Another
+David Harum, by Jove! Look at him!"
+
+The girl in the tonneau swept aside her veil and looked, as directed.
+And I looked at her. The face that I saw was sweet and refined and
+delicate, a beautiful young face, the face of a lady, born and bred. All
+this I saw and realized at a glance; but what I was most conscious of at
+the time was the look in the dark eyes as they surveyed me from head
+to foot. Indifference was there, and contemptuous amusement; she
+didn't even condescend to smile, much less speak. Under that look my
+self-importance shrank until the yellow dog with which I had compared
+myself loomed as large as an elephant. She might have looked that way at
+some curious and rather ridiculous bug, just before calling a servant to
+step on it.
+
+The young man laughed again. "Isn't it a wonder, Mabel?" he asked. "The
+native wit on his native heath! Reuben--pardon me, your name is Reuben,
+isn't it?--now that you've had your little joke, would you condescend to
+tell us the road which we should take to reach Bayport in the shortest
+time? Would you oblige us to that extent?"
+
+The young lady smiled at this. "Victor," she said, "how idiotic you
+are!"
+
+I agreed with her. Idiot was one of the terms, the mildest, which I
+should have applied to that young man. I wanted very much to remove him
+from that car by what Lute would call the scruff of the neck. But most
+of all, just then, I wanted to be alone, to see the last of the auto and
+its occupants.
+
+"First turn to the right, second to the left," I said, sullenly.
+
+"Thank you, Reuben," vouchsafed the young man. "Here's hoping that your
+vegetables are fresher than your jokes. Go ahead, Oscar."
+
+The chauffeur threw in the clutch and the car buzzed up the road,
+turning the corner at full speed. There was a loose board projecting
+from the bridge just under my feet. As a member--though an inactive
+one--of the Village Improvement Society I should have trodden it back
+into place. I didn't; I kicked it into the brook.
+
+Then I walked on. But the remainder of my march was a silent one,
+without music. I did not whistle.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The post-office was at Eldredge's store, and Eldredge's store, situated
+at the corners, where the Main Road and the Depot Road--which is also
+the direct road to South Denboro--join, was the mercantile and social
+center of Denboro. Simeon Eldredge kept the store, and Simeon was also
+postmaster, as well as the town constable, undertaker, and auctioneer.
+If you wanted a spool of thread, a coffin, or the latest bit of gossip,
+you applied at Eldredge's. The gossip you could be morally certain of
+getting at once; the thread or the coffin you might have to wait for.
+
+I scarcely know why I went to Eldredge's that morning. I did not
+expect mail, and I did not require Simeon's services in any one of his
+professional capacities. Possibly Lute's suggestion had some sort of
+psychic effect and I stopped at the post-office involuntarily. At any
+rate, I woke from the trance in which the encounter with the automobile
+had left me to find myself walking in at the door.
+
+The mail was not yet due, to say nothing of having arrived or been
+sorted, but there was a fair-sized crowd on the settees and perched on
+the edge of the counter. Ezra Mullet was there, and Alonzo Black and
+Alvin Baker and Thoph Newcomb. Beriah Doane and Sam Cahoon, who lived
+in South Denboro, were there, too, having driven over behind Beriah's
+horse, on an errand; that is, Beriah had an errand and Sam came along to
+help him remember it. In the rear of the store, by the frame of letter
+boxes, Captain Jedediah Dean was talking with Simeon.
+
+Alvin Baker saw me first and hailed me as I entered.
+
+"Here's Ros Paine," he exclaimed. "He'll know more about it than anybody
+else. Hey, Ros, how many hired help does he keep, anyhow? Thoph says
+it's eight, but I know I counted more'n that, myself."
+
+"It's eight, I tell you," broke in Newcomb, before I could answer.
+"There's the two cooks and the boy that waits on 'em--"
+
+"The idea of having anybody wait on a cook!" interrupted Mullet. "That's
+blame foolishness."
+
+"I never said he waited on the cooks. I said he waited on them--on the
+family. And there's a coachman--"
+
+"Why do they call them kind of fellers coachmen?" put in Thoph. "There
+ain't any coach. I see the carriages when they come--two freight cars
+full of 'em. There was a open two-seater, and a buckboard, and that
+high-wheeled thing they called a dog-cart."
+
+Beriah Doane laughed uproariously. "Land of love!" he shouted. "Does the
+dog have a cart all to himself? That's a good one! You and me ain't got
+no dog, Sam, but we might have a couple of cat-carts, hey? Haw! haw!"
+
+Thoph paid no attention to this pleasantry. "There was the dog-cart," he
+repeated, "and another thing they called the 'trap.' But there wan't any
+coach; I'll swear to it."
+
+"Don't make no difference," declared Alvin; "there was a man along that
+SAID he was the coachman, anyhow. And a big minister-lookin' feller
+who was a butler, and two hired girls besides the cooks. That's nine,
+anyhow. One more'n you said, Thoph."
+
+"And that don't count the chauffeur, the chap that runs the
+automobiles," said Alonzo Black. "He's the tenth. Say, Ros," turning to
+me, "how many is there, altogether?"
+
+"How many what?" I asked. It was my first opportunity to speak.
+
+"Why, hired help--servants, you know. How many does Mr. Colton keep?"
+
+"I don't know how many he keeps," I said. "Why should I?"
+
+The group looked at me in amazement. Thoph Newcomb voiced the general
+astonishment.
+
+"Why should you!" he repeated. "Why shouldn't you, you mean! You're
+livin' right next door to 'em, as you might say! My soul! If I was you I
+cal'late I'd know afore this time."
+
+"No doubt you would, Thoph. But I don't. I didn't know the Coltons had
+arrived until I came by just now. They have arrived, I take it."
+
+Arrived! There was no question of the arrival, nor of its being
+witnessed by everyone present, myself and the South Denboro delegates
+excepted. Newcomb and Baker and Mullet and Black began talking all
+together. I learned that the Colton invasion of Denboro was a spectacle
+only equaled by the yearly coming of the circus to Hyannis, or the
+opening of the cattle show at Ostable. The carriages and horses had
+arrived by freight the morning before; the servants and the family on
+the afternoon train.
+
+"I see 'em myself," affirmed Alonzo. "I was as nigh to 'em as I be to
+you. Mrs. Colton is sort of fleshy, but as handsome a woman as you'd
+want to see. I spoke to her, too. 'It's a nice day,' I says, 'ain't
+it?'"
+
+"What did she say?" asked Newcomb.
+
+"She didn't say nothin'. Engine was makin' such a noise she didn't hear,
+I presume likely."
+
+"Humph!" sniffed Baker, evidently envious; "I guess she heard you, all
+right. Fellers like you make me tired. Grabbin' every chance to curry
+favor with rich folks! Wonder you didn't tell her you drove a fish-cart
+and wanted her trade! As for me, I'm independent. Don't make no
+difference to me how well-off a person is. They're human, just the same
+as I am, and _I_ don't toady to 'em. If they want to talk they can send
+for me. I'll wait till they do."
+
+"Hope you've got lots of patience, Alvin," observed Mullet drily.
+During the hilarity which followed, and while the offended apostle of
+independence was trying to think of a sufficiently cutting reply, I
+walked to the rear of the store.
+
+Our letter box was Number 218, in the center of the rack, and, as I
+approached, I glanced at it involuntarily. To my surprise there was a
+letter in it; I could see it through the glass of the box door. Lute
+had, as I knew, got the mail the previous evening and the morning's mail
+had not yet arrived. Therefore this letter must have been written by
+some one in Denboro and posted late the night before or early that
+morning. It was not the custom for Denboro residents to communicate with
+each other through the medium of the post. They preferred to save the
+two cents stamp money, as a general thing. Bills sometimes came by mail,
+but this was the tenth, not the first, of the month; and, besides, our
+bills were paid.
+
+I reached into my pocket for my keys, unlocked the box and took out the
+letter. The envelope was square, of an expensive quality, and eminently
+aristocratic. It was postmarked Denboro, dated that morning, and
+addressed in a sharp, clear masculine hand unfamiliar to me, to "Roscoe
+Paine, Esq." The "Esq." would have settled it, if the handwriting had
+not. No fellow-townsman of my acquaintance would address me, or any
+one else, as Esquire. Misters and Captains were common enough, but
+Esquires--no.
+
+It was a Denboro custom, when one received a mysterious letter, to get
+the fullest enjoyment out of the mystery before solving it. I had known
+Dorinda Rogers to guess, surmise and speculate for ten minutes before
+opening a patent medicine circular. But, though mysteries were uncommon
+enough in my life, I think I should have reached the solution of
+this one in the next second--in fact, I had torn the end from the
+envelope--when I was interrupted.
+
+It was Captain Dean who interrupted me. He had evidently concluded his
+conversation with the postmaster and now was bearing down majestically
+upon me, like a ten thousand ton steamer on a porgie schooner.
+
+"Hey, you--Ros!" he roared. He was at my elbow, but he roared just the
+same. Skipper of a coaster in his early days, he had never outgrown the
+habit of pitching his voice to carry above a fifty-mile gale. "Hey, Ros.
+See here; I want to talk to you."
+
+I did not want to talk with any one, particularly with him. He was the
+individual who, according to Lute, had bracketed Mr. Rogers and myself
+as birds of a feather, the remark which was primarily responsible for my
+ill humor of the morning. If he had not said that, and if Lute had not
+quoted the saying to me, I might have behaved less like a fool when that
+automobile overtook me, I might not have given that young idiot, whose
+Christian name it seemed was Victor, the opportunity to be smart at my
+expense. That girl with the dark eyes might not have looked at me as if
+I were a worm or a June bug. Confound her! what right had she to look at
+me like that? Victor, or whatever his name was, was a cub and a cad and
+as fresh as the new paint on Ben Small's lighthouse, but he had deigned
+to speak. Whereas that girl--!
+
+No, I did not want to talk with Jedediah Dean. However, he wanted to
+talk to me, and what he wanted he usually got.
+
+Captain Dean was one of Denboro's leading citizens. His parents had been
+as poor as Job's turkey, but Jedediah had determined to get money and
+now he had it. He was reputed to be worth "upwards of thirty thousand,"
+owned acres and acres of cranberry swamps, and the new house he had just
+built was almost as big as it was ugly, which is saying considerable. He
+had wanted to be a deacon in the church and, though the church was by no
+means so eager, deacon he became. He was an uncompromising Democrat, but
+he had forced himself into the Board of Selectmen, every other member
+a Republican. He was director in the Denboro bank, and it was town talk
+that his most ardent desire at the present time was to see his daughter
+Helen--Nellie, we all called her--married to George Taylor, cashier of
+that bank. As George and Nellie were "keeping company" it seemed likely
+that Captain Jed would be gratified in this, as in all other desires.
+He was a born boss, and did his best to run the town according to his
+ideas. Captain Elisha Warren, who lived over in South Denboro and was
+also a director in the bank, covered the situation when he said: "Jed
+Dean is one of those fellers who ought to have a big family to order
+around. The Almighty gave him only one child and so he adopted Denboro
+and is bossin' that."
+
+"I want to talk to you, Ros," repeated Captain Jed. "Come here."
+
+He led the way to the settee by the calico and dress goods counter. I
+put the unread letter in my pocket and followed him.
+
+"Set down," he ordered. "Come to anchor alongside."
+
+I came to anchor.
+
+"How's your mother?" he asked. "Matilda was cal'latin' to go down and
+set with her a spell this afternoon, if she didn't have anything else to
+do--if Matilda didn't, I mean."
+
+Matilda was his wife. In her husband's company she was as dumb as a
+broken phonograph; when he was not with her she talked continuously,
+as if to get even. A call from Matilda Dean was one of the additional
+trials which made Mother's invalid state harder to bear.
+
+"Course she may not come," Jedediah hastened to say. "She's pretty busy
+these days. But if she don't have anything else to do she will. I told
+her she'd better."
+
+"Mother will be charmed," I said. Captain Jed was no fool and he looked
+at me sharply.
+
+"Um; yes," he grunted. "I presume likely. You're charmed, too, ain't
+you?"
+
+I was not expecting this. I murmured something to the effect that I was
+delighted, of course.
+
+"Sartin. Well, that's all right. I didn't get you on this settee to
+charm you. I want to talk business with you a minute."
+
+"Business! With me?"
+
+"Yup. Or it may be business later on. I've been thinkin' about that
+Shore Lane, the one that runs through your land. Us town folks use that
+a whole lot. I cal'late most everybody's come to look at it as a reg'lar
+public road to the beach."
+
+"Why, yes, I suppose they have," I said, puzzled to know what he was
+driving at. "It is a public road, practically."
+
+"No, 'tain't, neither. It's a private way, and if you wanted to you
+could shut it off any day. A good many folks would have shut it off
+afore this."
+
+"Oh, I guess not."
+
+"I guess yes. I'd shut it off myself. I wouldn't have Tom, Dick and
+Harry drivin' fish wagons and tip carts full of seaweed through my
+premises free gratis for nothin'."
+
+"Why?" I asked. "What harm does it do?"
+
+"I don't know as it does any. But because a tramp sleepin' on my front
+piazza might not harm the piazza, that's no reason why I'd let him sleep
+there."
+
+I laughed. "The two cases aren't exactly alike, are they?" I said. "The
+land is of no value to us at present. Mother and I are glad to have the
+Lane used, if it is a convenience, as I suppose it is."
+
+"It's that, sartin. Ros, who owns that land the Lane runs through--you
+or your mother?"
+
+"It is in my name," I said.
+
+"Um-hm. Well, would you sell it?"
+
+"Sell it! Sell that strip of sand and beach grass! Who would buy it?"
+
+"I don't know as anybody would. I just asked if you'd sell it, that's
+all."
+
+"Perhaps I would. I presume I should, if I had the chance."
+
+"Ain't had any chance yet, have you?"
+
+"What do you mean by that?"
+
+"Oh, nothin', nothin'! Well, you just think it over. If you decide you
+would sell it and get so fur as fixin' a price on it, let me know, will
+you?"
+
+"Captain, what in the world do you want of that land? See here! you
+don't want to shut off the Shore Lane, do you?"
+
+"What in time would I want to shut it off for? I use it as much as
+anybody, don't I?"
+
+"Then I don't see--"
+
+"Maybe there ain't nothin' TO see. Only, if you decide to sell, let me
+know. Yes, and don't sell WITHOUT lettin' me know. Understand?"
+
+"No, I don't."
+
+"Well, you understand enough, I cal'late. All I want you to do is to
+promise not to sell that land the Lane's on without speakin' to me fust.
+Will you promise that?"
+
+I considered for a moment. "Yes," I said, "I'll promise that. Though I
+can't imagine what you're driving at."
+
+"You don't need to. Maybe I'm just drivin' blind; I hope I am. That's
+all I wanted to talk about," rising from the settee. "Oh, by the way,"
+he added, "your neighborhood's honored just now, ain't it? The King of
+New York's arrived, they tell me."
+
+"King of New York? Oh! I see; you mean the Coltons."
+
+"Sartin. Who else? Met his Majesty yet?"
+
+"No. Have you?"
+
+"I met him when he was down a month ago. Sim Eldredge introduced me
+right here in the store. 'Mr. Colton,' says Sim, proud but humble, so
+to speak, 'let me make you acquainted with one of our selectmen, Cap'n
+Dean. Cap'n, shake hands with Mr. Colton of New York.' We shook, and I
+cal'late I'd ought to have kept that hand in a glass case ever since.
+But, somehow or other, I ain't."
+
+"What sort of a chap is Colton?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, all right of his kind, I guess. In amongst a gang of high financers
+like himself he'd size up as a pretty good sport, I shouldn't wonder.
+And he was polite enough to me, I suppose. But, darn him, I didn't like
+the way he looked at me! He looked as if--as if--well, I can't tell you
+how he looked."
+
+"You don't need to," I said, brusquely. "I know."
+
+"You do, hey? He ain't looked at you, has he? No, course he ain't! You
+said you hadn't met him."
+
+"I've met others of his kind."
+
+"Yes. Well, I'm a hayseed and I know it. I'm just a countryman and he's
+a millionaire. He'll be the big show in this town from now on. When he
+blows his nose seven-eighths of this community 'll start in workin' up a
+cold in the head."
+
+He turned on his heel and started to go.
+
+"Will you?" I asked, slily.
+
+He looked back over his shoulder. "I ain't subject to colds--much," he
+snapped. "But YOU better lay in a supply of handkerchiefs, Ros."
+
+I smiled. I knew what was troubling him. A little tin god has a pleasant
+time of it, no doubt, until the coming of the eighteen carat gold idol.
+Captain Jed had been boss of Denboro--self-appointed to that eminent
+position, but holding it nevertheless--and to be pushed from his
+perch by a city rival was disagreeable. If I knew him he would not be
+dethroned without a fight. There were likely to be some interesting and
+lively times in our village.
+
+I could understand Dean's dislike of Colton, but his interest in the
+Shore Lane was a mystery. Why should he wish to buy that worthless strip
+of land? And what did he mean by asking if I had chances to sell it?
+Still pondering over this puzzle, I walked toward the front of the
+store, past the group waiting for the mail, where the discussion
+concerning the Coltons was still going on, Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker
+both talking at once.
+
+"You ask Ros," shouted Alvin, pounding the counter beside him. "Say,
+Ros, Newcomb here seems to think that because a feller comes from the
+city and is rich that that gives him the right to order the rest of us
+around as if we was fo'mast hands. He says--"
+
+"I don't neither!" yelled Thoph. "What I say is that money counts,
+and--"
+
+"You do, too! Ros, do YOU intend to get down on your knees to them
+Coltons?"
+
+I laughed and went on without replying. I left the store and strolled
+across the road to the bank, intending to make a short call on George
+Taylor, the cashier, my most intimate acquaintance and the one person in
+Denboro who came nearest to being my friend.
+
+But George was busy in the directors' room, and, after waiting a few
+moments in conversation with Henry Small, the bookkeeper, I gave it up
+and walked home, across the fields this time; I had no desire to meet
+more automobilists.
+
+Dorinda had finished dusting the dining room and was busy upstairs.
+I could hear the swish-swish of her broom overhead. I opened the door
+leading to Mother's bedroom and entered, closing the door behind me.
+
+The curtains were drawn, as they always were on sunny days, and the room
+was in deep shadow. Mother had been asleep, I think, but she heard my
+step and recognized it.
+
+"Is that you, Boy?" she asked. If I had been fifty, instead of
+thirty-one, Mother would have called me "Boy" just the same.
+
+"Yes, Mother," I said.
+
+"Where have you been? For a walk? It is a beautiful morning, isn't it."
+
+Her only way of knowing that the morning was a beautiful one was that
+the shades were drawn. She had not seen the sunlight on the bay, nor the
+blue sky; she had not felt the spring breeze on her face, or the green
+grass beneath her feet. Her only glimpses of the outside world were
+those which she got on cloudy or stormy days when the shades were raised
+a few inches and, turning her head on the pillow, she could see beneath
+them. For six years she had been helpless and bedridden in that little
+room. But she never complained.
+
+I told her that I had been uptown for a walk.
+
+"Did you meet any one?" she asked.
+
+I said that I had met Captain Dean and Newcomb and the rest. I said
+nothing of my encounter with the motor car.
+
+"Captain Jed graciously informed me that his wife might be down to sit
+with you this afternoon," I said. "Provided she didn't have anything
+else to do; he took pains to add that. You mustn't see her, of course."
+
+She smiled. "Why not?" she asked. "Matilda is a little tiresome at
+times, but she means well."
+
+"Humph! Mother, I think you would make excuses for the Old Harry
+himself. That woman will talk you to death."
+
+"Oh, no! Not as bad as that. And poor Matilda doesn't talk much at home,
+I'm afraid."
+
+"Her husband sees to that; I don't blame him. By the way, the Captain
+had a queer bee in his bonnet this morning. He seems to be thinking of
+buying some of our property."
+
+I told her of Jedediah's interest in the Shore Lane and his hint
+concerning its possible purchase. She listened and then said
+thoughtfully:
+
+"What have you decided to do about it, Roscoe?"
+
+"I haven't decided at all. What do you think, Mother?"
+
+"It seems to me that I shouldn't sell, at least until I knew his reason
+for wanting to buy. It would be different if we needed the money, but,
+of course, we don't."
+
+"Of course," I said, hastily. "But why not sell? We don't use the land."
+
+"No. But the Denboro people need that Lane. They use it a great deal.
+If it were closed it would put many of them to a great inconvenience,
+particularly those who get their living alongshore. Every one in Denboro
+has been so kind to us. I feel that we owe them a debt we never can
+repay."
+
+"No one could help being kind to you, Mother. Oh! I have another
+piece of news. Did you know that our new neighbors, the Coltons, have
+arrived?"
+
+"Yes. Dorinda told me. Have you met any of them?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Dorinda says Mrs. Colton is an invalid. Poor woman! it must be hard
+to be ill when one has so much to enjoy. Dorinda says they have a very
+pretty daughter."
+
+I made no comment. I was not interested in pretty daughters, just then.
+The memory of the girl in the auto was too fresh in my mind.
+
+"Did you go to the post-office, Roscoe?" asked Mother. "I suppose there
+were no letters. There seldom are."
+
+Then I remembered the letter in my pocket. I had forgotten it
+altogether.
+
+"Why, yes, there was a letter, a letter for me. I haven't read it yet."
+
+I took the envelope from my pocket and drew out the enclosure. The
+latter was a note, very brief and very much to the point. I read it.
+
+"Well, by George!" I exclaimed, angrily.
+
+"What is it, Roscoe?"
+
+"It appears to be a summons from what Captain Jed called the King of New
+York. A summons to appear at court."
+
+"At court?"
+
+"Oh, not the criminal court. Merely the palace of his Majesty. Just
+listen."
+
+This was the letter:
+
+
+Roscoe Paine, Esq.
+
+Dear Sir:
+
+I should like to see you at my house this--Thursday--forenoon, on a
+matter of business. I shall expect you at any time after ten in the
+morning.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+JAMES W. COLTON.
+
+
+"From Mr. Colton!" exclaimed Mother. "Why! what can he want of you?"
+
+"I don't know," I answered. "And I don't particularly care."
+
+"Roscoe!"
+
+"Mother, did you ever hear such a cool, nervy proposition in your life?
+He wants to see me and he orders me to come to him. Why doesn't he come
+to me?"
+
+"I suppose he didn't think of it. He is a big man in New York and he has
+been accustomed to having people come at his convenience. It's his way
+of doing things, I suppose."
+
+"Then I don't like the way. This is Denboro, not New York. He will
+expect me at any time after ten, will he? Well, as Mullet said to Alvin
+Baker just now at the post-office, I hope he has lots of patience. He'll
+need it."
+
+"But what can he want of you?"
+
+"I don't know. Wants to look over his nearest jay neighbor, I should
+imagine, and see what sort of a curio he is. He thinks it may be
+necessary to put up barbed wire fences, I suppose."
+
+"Roscoe, don't be narrow-minded. Mr. Colton's ways aren't ours and we
+must make allowances."
+
+"Let him make a few, for a change."
+
+"Aren't you going to see him?"
+
+"No. At least not until I get good and ready."
+
+Dorinda came in just then to ask Mother some questions concerning
+dinner, for, though Mother had not seen the dining room since that day,
+six years ago, when she was carried from it to her bedroom, she kept
+her interest in household affairs and insisted on being consulted on all
+questions of management and internal economy. I rose from my chair and
+started toward the door.
+
+"Are you going, Roscoe?" asked Mother.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Oh, just out of doors; perhaps to the boat-house."
+
+"Boy."
+
+"Yes, Mother?"
+
+"What is the matter? Something has gone wrong; I knew it as soon as you
+came in. What is it?"
+
+"Nothing. That is, nothing of any consequence. I'm a little out of sorts
+to-day and that man's letter irritates me. I'll get over it. I'll be
+back soon. Good-by, Mother."
+
+"Good-by, Boy."
+
+I went out through the dining room and kitchen, to the back yard, where,
+seating myself on Lute's favorite resting place, the wash bench, I lit
+my pipe and sat thinking, gloomily thinking.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+It is a dreadful thing to hate one's own father; to hate him and be
+unable to forgive him even though he is dead, although he paid for his
+sin with his life. Death is said to pay all debts, but there are some
+it cannot pay. To my father I owed my present ambitionless, idle,
+good-for-nothing life, my mother's illness, years of disgrace, the loss
+of a name--everything.
+
+Paine was my mother's maiden name; she was christened Comfort Paine. My
+own Christian name is Roscoe and my middle name is Paine. My other name,
+the name I was born with, the name that Mother took when she married,
+we dropped when the disgrace came upon us. It was honored and respected
+once; now when it was repeated people coupled it with shame and crime
+and dishonor and broken trust.
+
+As a boy I remember myself as a spoiled youngster who took the luxuries
+of this world for granted. I attended an expensive and select private
+school, idled my way through that somehow, and entered college, a
+happy-go-lucky young fellow with money in my pocket. For two-thirds
+of my Freshman year--which was all I experienced of University life--I
+enjoyed myself as much as possible, and studied as little. Then came the
+telegram. I remember the looks of the messenger who brought it, the cap
+he wore, and the grin on his young Irish face when the fellow sitting
+next me at the battered black oak table in the back room of Kelly's
+asked him to have a beer. I remember the song we were singing, the crowd
+of us, how it began again and then stopped short when the others saw the
+look on my face. The telegram contained but four words: "Come home at
+once." It was signed with the name of my father's lawyer.
+
+I presume I shall never forget even the smallest incident of that night
+journey in the train and the home-coming. The lawyer's meeting me at the
+station in the early morning; his taking care that I should not see the
+newspapers, and his breaking the news to me. Not of the illness or death
+which I had feared and dreaded, but of something worse--disgrace. My
+father was an embezzler, a thief. He had absconded, had run away, like
+the coward he was, taking with him what was left of his stealings. The
+banking house of which he had been the head was insolvent. The police
+were on his track. And, worse and most disgraceful of all, he had not
+fled alone. There was a woman with him, a woman whose escapades had
+furnished the papers with sensations for years.
+
+I had never been well acquainted with my father. We had never been
+friends and companions, like other fathers and sons I knew. I remember
+him as a harsh, red-faced man, whom, as a boy, I avoided as much as
+possible. As I grew older I never went to him for advice; he was to me a
+sort of walking pocket-book, and not much else. Mother has often told
+me that she remembers him as something quite different, and I suppose it
+must be true, otherwise she would not have married him; but to me he was
+a source of supply coupled with a bad temper, that was all. That I was
+not utterly impossible, that, going my own gait as I did, I was not a
+complete young blackguard, I know now was due entirely to Mother. She
+and I were as close friends as I would permit her to be. Father had
+neglected us for years, though how much he had neglected and ill-treated
+her I did not know until she told me, afterward. She was in delicate
+health even then, but, when the blow fell, it was she and not I who bore
+up bravely and it was her pluck and nerve, not mine, which pulled us
+through that dreadful time.
+
+And it was dreadful. The stories and pictures in the papers! The
+rumors, always contradicted, that the embezzler had been caught! The
+misrepresentation and lies and scandal! The loss of those whom we had
+supposed were friends! Mother bore them all, wore a calm, brave face
+in public, and only when alone with me gave way, and then but at rare
+intervals. She clung to me as her only comfort and hope. I was sullen
+and wrathful and resentful, an unlicked cub, I suspect, whose complaints
+were selfish ones concerning the giving up of my college life and its
+pleasures, and the sacrifice of social position and wealth.
+
+Mother had--or so we thought at the time--a sum in her own name which
+would enable us to live; although not as we had lived by a great deal.
+We took an apartment in an unfashionable quarter of the city, and thanks
+to the lawyer--who proved himself a real and true friend--I was given
+a minor position in a small bank. Oddly enough, considering my former
+life, I liked the work, it interested me, and during the next few years
+I was made, by successive promotions, bookkeeper, teller, and, at last,
+assistant cashier. No news came from the absconder. The police had lost
+track of him, and it seemed probable that he would never be heard of
+again. But over Mother and myself hung always the dread that he might
+be found and all the dreadful business revived once more. Mother never
+mentioned it, nor did I, but the dread was there.
+
+Then came the first breakdown in Mother's health which necessitated her
+removal to the country. Luther and Dorinda Rogers were distant relatives
+of our friend, the lawyer. They owned the little house by the shore at
+Denboro and the lawyer had visited them occasionally on shooting and
+fishing trips. They were in need of money, for, as Dorinda said: "We've
+got two mouths in this family and only one pair of hands. One of the
+mouths is so big that the hands can't fill it, let alone the mouth that
+belongs to THEM." Mother--as Mrs. Paine, a widow--went there first as
+a boarder, intending to remain but a few months. Dorinda took to her at
+once, being attracted in the beginning, I think, by the name. "They call
+you Comfort Paine," she said, "and you are a comfort to everybody else's
+pain. Yet you ain't out of pain a minute scurcely, yourself. I never see
+anything like it. If 'twan't wicked I'd say that name was give you by
+the Old Scratch himself, as a sort of divilish joke. But anybody can see
+that the Old Scratch never had anything in common with you, even a hand
+in the christenin'."
+
+Dorinda was very kind, and Lute was a never-ending joy in his peculiar
+way. Mother would have been almost happy in the little Denboro home,
+if I had been with her. But she was never really happy when we were
+separated, a condition of mind which grew more acute as her health
+declined. I came down from the city once every month and those Sundays
+were great occasions. The Denboro people know me as Roscoe Paine.
+
+For a time Mother seemed to be holding her own. In answer to my
+questions she always declared that she was ever so much better. But
+Doctor Quimby, the town physician, looked serious.
+
+"She must be kept absolutely quiet," he said. "She must not be troubled
+in any way. Worry or mental distress is what I fear most. Any sudden bad
+news or shock might--well, goodness knows what effect it might have. She
+must not be worried. Ros--" after one has visited Denboro five times in
+succession he is generally called by his Christian name--"Ros, if you've
+got any worries you keep 'em to yourself."
+
+I had worries, plenty of them. Our little fortune, saved, as we thought,
+from the wreck, suffered a severe shrinkage. A considerable portion
+of it, as the lawyers discovered, was involved and belonged to the
+creditors. I said nothing to Mother about this: she supposed that we
+had a sufficient income for our needs, even without my salary. Without
+telling her I gave up our city apartment, stored our furniture, and took
+a room in a boarding-house. I was learning the banking business, was
+trusted with more and more responsibility, and believed my future was
+secure. Then came the final blow.
+
+I saw the news in the paper when I went out to lunch. "Embezzler and His
+Companion Caught in Rio Janeiro. He Commits Suicide When Notified of
+His Arrest." These headlines stared at me as I opened the paper at the
+restaurant table. My father had shot himself when the police came. I
+read it with scarcely more than a vague feeling of pity for him. It was
+of Mother that I thought. The news must be kept from her. If she should
+hear of it! What should I do? I went first of all to the lawyer's
+office: he was out of town for the day. I wandered up and down the
+streets for an hour. Then I went back to the bank. There I found a
+telegram from Doctor Quimby: "Mrs. Paine very ill. Come on first train."
+I knew what it meant. Mother had heard the news; the shock which the
+doctor dreaded had had its effect.
+
+I reached Denboro the next morning. Lute met me at the station. From his
+disjointed and lengthy story I gathered that Mother had been "feelin'
+fust-rate for her" until the noon before. "I come back from the
+post-office," said Lute, "and I was cal'latin' to read the newspaper,
+but Dorindy had some everlastin' chore or other for me to do--I believe
+she thinks 'em up in her sleep--and I left the paper on the dinin'-room
+table and went out to the barn. Dorindy she come along to boss me, as
+usual. When we went back to the house there was Mrs. Comfort on the
+dinin'-room floor--dead, we was afraid at fust. The paper was alongside
+of her, so we judge she was just a-goin' to read it when she was took.
+The doctor says it's a paralysis or appleplexy or somethin'. We carried
+her into the bedroom, but she ain't spoke sence."
+
+She did not speak for weeks and when she did it was to ask for me.
+She called my name over and over again and, if I left her, even for a
+moment, she grew so much worse that the doctor forbade my going back to
+the city. I obtained a leave of absence from the bank for three months.
+By that time she was herself, so far as her reason was concerned, but
+very weak and unable to bear the least hint of disturbance or worry. She
+must not be moved, so Doctor Quimby said, and he held out no immediate
+hope of her recovering the use of her limbs. "She will be confined to
+her bed for a long time," said the doctor, "and she is easy only when
+you are here. If you should go away I am afraid she might die." I did
+not go away. I gave up my position in the bank and remained in Denboro.
+
+At the end of the year I bought the Rogers house and land, moved a
+portion of our furniture down there, sold the rest, and resigned myself
+to a period of idleness in the country. Dorinda I hired as housekeeper,
+and when Dorinda accepted the engagement she threw in Lute, so to speak,
+for good measure.
+
+And here I have been ever since. At first I looked upon my stay in
+Denboro as a sort of enforced vacation, which was to be, of course, only
+temporary. But time went on and Mother's condition continued unchanged.
+She needed me and I could not leave her. I fished and, shot and sailed
+and loafed, losing ambition and self-respect, aware that the majority of
+the village people considered me too lazy to earn a living, and
+caring little for their opinion. At first I had kept up a hit or miss
+correspondence with one or two of my associates in the bank, but after
+a while I dropped even this connection with the world. I was ashamed
+to have my former acquaintances know what I had become, and they,
+apparently, were quite willing to forget me. I expected to live and die
+in Denboro, and I faced the prospect with indifference.
+
+The summer people, cottagers and boarders, I avoided altogether and my
+only friend, and I did not consider him that, was George Taylor, the
+Denboro bank cashier. He was fond of salt-water and out-door sports and
+we, occasionally enjoyed them together.
+
+Thanks to the lawyer, our names had been scarcely mentioned in the
+papers at the time of my father's death. No one in the village knew our
+identity or our story. And, because I knew that Mother would worry if
+she were told, I kept from her the fact that our little income was but
+half of what it had been. Our wants were few, and if my clothes were no
+longer made by the best tailors, if they were ready-made and out-of-date
+and lacked pressing, they were whole, at all events, because Dorinda was
+a tip-top mender. In fact, I had forgotten they were out-of-date until
+the sight of the immaculately garbed young chap in the automobile
+brought the comparison between us to my mind.
+
+But now, as I sat on the wash-bench, thinking of all this, I looked down
+at my baggy trousers and faded waistcoat with disgust. One of the surest
+signs of the loss of self-respect is a disregard of one's personal
+appearance. I looked like a hayseed--not the independent countryman who
+wears old clothes on week days from choice and is proudly conscious of
+a Sunday suit in the closet--but that other variety, the post-office and
+billiard-room idler who has reached the point of utter indifference, is
+too shiftless to care. Captain Jed was not so far wrong, after all--Lute
+Rogers and I were birds of a feather in more ways than one.
+
+No wonder that girl in the auto had looked at me as if I were something
+too contemptible for notice. Yet I hated her for that look. I had
+behaved like a boor, of course. Because I was a failure, a country
+loafer with no prospect of ever being anything else, because I could
+not ride in automobiles and others could--these were no good reasons
+for insulting strangers more fortunate than I. Yet I did hate that girl.
+Just then I hated all creation, especially that portion of it which
+amounted to anything.
+
+I took the letter from my pocket and read it again. "I should like
+to see you . . . on a matter of business." What business could "Yours
+truly, James W. Colton" have with me? And Captain Jed also had talked
+business. I supposed that I had given up business long ago and for good;
+now, all at once, it seemed to be hunting me. Well, all the hunting
+should be on its side.
+
+At another time I might have treated the great Colton's "summons to
+court" as a joke. I might, like Mother, have regarded the curtness
+of the command and its general tone of taking my prompt obedience for
+granted as an expression of the Wall Street magnate's habit of mind,
+and nothing more. He was used to having people jump when he snapped his
+fingers. But now it made me angry. I sympathized with Dean and Alvin
+Baker. The possession of money did not necessarily imply omnipotence.
+This was Cape Cod, not New York. His Majesty might, as Captain Jed put
+it, have blown his Imperial nose, but I, for one, wouldn't "lay in a
+supply of handkerchiefs"--not yet.
+
+I heard a rustle in the bushes and, turning my head, saw Lute coming
+along the path. He was walking fast--fast for him, that is--and seemed
+to be excited. His excitement, however, did not cause him to forget
+prudence. He looked carefully about to be sure his wife was not in
+sight, before he spoke.
+
+"Dorindy ain't been here sence I've been gone, has she?" was his first
+question.
+
+"I guess not," said I. "She has been in the house since I got back. But
+I don't know how long you've been gone."
+
+"Only a few minutes. I--I just stepped over 'cross the Lane for a jiffy,
+that's all. Say, by time; them Coltons must have money!"
+
+"That's a habit of millionaires, I believe."
+
+"Hey? What do you mean by that? If they didn't have money they couldn't
+be millionaires, could they? How'd you like to be a millionaire, Ros?"
+
+"I don't know. I never tried."
+
+"By time! I'D like to try a spell. I've been over lookin' 'round their
+place. You never see such a place! Why, their front doorstep's big as
+this yard, pretty nigh."
+
+"Does it have to be raked?" I asked.
+
+"Raked! Whoever heard of rakin' a doorstep?"
+
+"Give it up! But it does seem to me that I have heard of raking a yard.
+I think Dorinda mentioned that, didn't she?"
+
+Lute looked at me: then he hurried over and picked up the rake which
+was lying near the barn, a pile--a very small pile--of chips and leaves
+beside it.
+
+"When did she mention it?" he asked.
+
+"A week ago, I think, was the first time. She has referred to it
+occasionally since. She was mentioning it to you when I went up town
+this morning. I heard her."
+
+Lute looked relieved. "Oh, THEN!" he said. "I thought you meant lately.
+Well, I'm rakin' it, ain't I? Say, Ros," he added, eagerly, "did you
+go to the post-office when you was uptown? Was there a letter there for
+you?"
+
+"What makes you think there was?"
+
+"Asa Peters' boy, the bow-legged one, told me. The chauffeur, the feller
+that pilots the automobiles, asked him where the post-office was and he
+see the address on the envelope. He said the letter was for you. I told
+him he was lyin'--"
+
+"What in the world did you tell him that for?" I interrupted. I had
+known Lute a long time, but he sometimes surprised me, even yet.
+
+"'Cause he is, nine times out of ten," replied Lute, promptly. "You
+never see such a young-one for dodgin' the truth. Why, one time he told
+his grandmother, Asa's ma, I mean, that--"
+
+"What did he say about the letter?"
+
+"Said 'twas for you. And the chauffeur said Mr. Colton told him to mail
+it right off. 'Twan't for you, was it, Ros?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"It WAS! Well, by time! What did a man like Mr. Colton write to you
+about?"
+
+Among his other lackings Lute was conspicuously short of tact. This was
+no time for him to ask me such a question, especially to emphasize the
+"you."
+
+"Why shouldn't he write to me?" I asked, tartly.
+
+"But--but HIM--writin' to YOU!"
+
+"Humph! Even a god stoops once in a while. Read your mythology, Lute."
+
+"Hey? Say, look here, what are you swearin' about?"
+
+"Swearing? Oh, that's all right. The god I referred to was a heathen
+one."
+
+"Well, it's a good thing Dorindy didn't hear you; she's down on
+swearin', heathen or any other kind. But what did Mr. Colton write to
+you for?"
+
+"He says he wants to see me."
+
+"See you? What for?"
+
+"Don't know. Perhaps he wants to borrow money."
+
+"Borrow--! I believe you're crazy!"
+
+"No, I'm tolerably sane. There! there! don't look at me like that.
+Here's his letter. Read it, if you want to."
+
+Lute's fingers were so eager to grasp that letter that they were all
+thumbs. He dropped it on the grass, picked it up with as much care as if
+it was a diamond, and holding it a foot from his nose--he had broken
+his spectacles and was afraid to ask Dorinda for the money to have them
+repaired--he spelt it out to the last word.
+
+"Well, by time!" he exclaimed, when he had finished. "He wants to see
+you at his house this forenoon! And--and--why, the forenoon's all but
+gone now! What are you settin' here for?"
+
+"Well, I thought I should enjoy watching you rake the yard. It is a
+pleasure deferred so far."
+
+"Watchin' me--! Roscoe Paine, you are out of your head! Ain't you goin'
+to see him?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You AIN'T!"
+
+"No."
+
+"Ros Paine, have you jined in with them darn fools uptown?"
+
+"Who's swearing now? What fools do you mean?"
+
+"Darn ain't swearin'. Dorindy herself says that once in a while. I mean
+Alvin Baker, and Jed Dean and the rest of 'em. They was goin' on about
+Mr. Colton last night; said THEY wan't goin' to run at his beck and
+call. I told 'em, says I, 'You ain't had the chance. You'll run fast
+enough when you do.'"
+
+"Did you say that to Captain Jed?"
+
+"No-o. I said it to Alvin, but old Jed's just as bad. He's down on
+anybody that's got more'n he has. But Ros, you ain't foolish enough to
+side with Jed Dean. Just think! Here's Mr. Colton, richer'n King Solomon
+and all his glory. He's got servants and butlers and bonds and cowpons
+and horses and teams and automobiles and--"
+
+I rose from the wash bench.
+
+"I know what he's got, Lute," I interrupted. "And I know what he hasn't
+got."
+
+"What? Is there anything he ain't got?"
+
+"He hasn't got me--not yet. If he wants to see me he may. I expect to be
+at home for the next day or two."
+
+"You don't mean you expect a millionaire like him to come cruisin' after
+YOU! Well, by time! I think I see him!"
+
+"When you do, let me know," I said. "I should like to be prepared."
+
+"Well,--by--time!" said Lute, by way of summing up. I ate dinner with
+Dorinda. Her husband did not join us. Dorinda paid a visit to the back
+yard and, seeing how little raking had been done, announced that until
+the job was finished there would be "no dinner for some folks." So she
+and I ate and Lute raked, under protest, and vowing that he was so faint
+and holler he cal'lated to collapse 'most any time.
+
+After the meal was finished I went down to the boathouse. The boathouse
+was a little building on the beach at the foot of the bluff below the
+house. It was a favorite resort of mine and I spent many hours there.
+My eighteen foot motor launch, the Comfort, the one expensive luxury I
+allowed myself and which I had bought second-hand two years before,
+was jacked up in the middle of the floor. The engine, which I had taken
+apart to clean, was in pieces beside it. On the walls hung my two shot
+guns and my fishing rod. Outside, on the beach, was my flat-bottomed
+skiff, which I used for rowing about the bay, her oars under the
+thwarts. In the boathouse was a comfortable armchair and a small shelf
+of books, novels for the most part. A cheap clock and a broken-down
+couch, the latter a discard from the original outfit of the cottage,
+made up the list of furniture.
+
+My idea in coming to the boathouse was to continue my work with the
+engine. I tried it for a half hour or so and then gave it up. It did not
+interest me then. I shut the door at the side of the building, that by
+which I had entered--the big double doors in front I had not opened at
+all--and, taking a book from the shelf, stretched myself on the couch to
+read.
+
+The book I had chosen was one belonging to the Denboro Ladies' Library;
+Miss Almena Doane, the librarian, had recommended it highly, as a "real
+interesting story, with lots of uplifting thoughts in it." The thoughts
+might be uplifting to Almena, but they did not elevate my spirits. As
+for the story--well, the hero was a young gentleman who was poor but
+tremendously clever and handsome, and the heroine had eyes "as dark and
+deep as starlit pools." The poor but beautiful person met the pool-eyed
+one at a concert, where he sat, "his whole soul transfigured by the
+music," and she had been "fascinated in spite of herself" by the look on
+his face. I read as far as that and dropped the book in disgust.
+
+After that I must have fallen asleep. What awakened me was a knock
+on the door. It was Lute, of course. Probably mother wanted me for
+something or other, and Dorinda had sent her husband to hunt me up.
+
+The knock was repeated.
+
+"Come in," I said, sleepily.
+
+The door opened and in came, not Lute, but a tall, portly man, with a
+yachting cap on the back of his gray head, and a cigar in his mouth. He
+looked at me as I lay on the couch and I lay on the couch and looked at
+him.
+
+"Afternoon," he said, curtly. "Is your name Paine?"
+
+I nodded. I was waking rapidly, but I was too astonished to speak.
+
+"Roscoe Paine?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, mine's Colton. I sent you a letter this morning. Did you get it?"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+I sat up on the couch. Mr. Colton knocked the ashes from his cigar,
+waited an instant, and then repeated his question.
+
+"Did you get my letter?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," I said.
+
+"Oh, you did. I was afraid that man of mine might have forgotten to mail
+it."
+
+"No, I got it. Won't you--er--won't you sit down?" He pulled the
+armchair toward him and sat down. I noticed that he had a habit of doing
+things quickly. His sentences were short and to the point and he spoke
+and acted like one accustomed to having his own way. He crossed his
+knees and looked about the little building.
+
+"It is a pleasant day," I observed, for the sake of saying something.
+He did not seem to hear me, or, if he did, he was not interested in the
+weather. For my part I found the situation embarrassing. I knew what his
+next question would be, and I did not know how to answer. Sure enough,
+he asked it.
+
+"I wrote you to come over to my place this forenoon," he said. "You
+didn't come."
+
+"No. I--"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+Here was the issue joined. Here, if ever, was the opportunity to assert
+my independence a la Jed Dean and Alvin Baker. But to assert it now,
+after he had done the unexpected, after the mountain had come to
+Mahomet, seemed caddish and ridiculous. So I temporized, weakly.
+
+"I didn't read your letter until about noon," I said.
+
+"I see. Well, I waited until two o'clock and then I decided to hunt you
+up. I called at your house. The woman there said you were down here.
+Your mother?"
+
+"No." My answer was prompt and sharp enough this time. It was natural,
+perhaps, that he should presume Dorinda to be my mother, but I did not
+like it.
+
+He paid absolutely no attention to the tone of my reply or its curtness.
+He did not refer to Dorinda again. She might have been my wife or my
+great-aunt for all he cared.
+
+"This your workshop?" he asked, abruptly. Then, nodding toward the
+dismembered engine, "What are you? a boat builder?"
+
+"No, not exactly."
+
+"What's the price of a boat like that?" indicating the Comfort with a
+kick in her direction.
+
+"About two hundred and fifty dollars, I believe," I answered.
+
+"You believe! Don't you know?"
+
+"No. I bought that boat second-hand."
+
+He did not refer to the boat again; apparently forgot it altogether. His
+next move was to rise and turn toward the door. I watched him, wondering
+what was going to happen next. He had a habit of jumping from one
+subject to another which was bewildering.
+
+"What's that fellow doing off there?" he asked, suddenly.
+
+I looked where he was pointing.
+
+"That is Zeb Kendrick," I answered. "He's raking for quahaugs."
+
+"Raking for what hogs?"
+
+"Quahaugs. What you New Yorkers call clams."
+
+"Oh! Sell 'em, does he?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Tell him to call at my house next time you see him. And for heaven's
+sake tell him to come to the servants' door. Don't you people down here
+have any servants' doors to your houses? There have been no less than
+fifty peddlers on my porch since yesterday and my butler will die of
+apoplexy if it keeps on. He's a good one, for a wonder, and I don't want
+to lose him."
+
+I made no reply to this observation and he did not seem to expect any.
+He watched Zeb rake for a moment and then he turned back to me.
+
+"Can you come over to my house now?" he asked.
+
+I was not expecting this and again I did not have an answer ready.
+
+"Can you?" he went on. "I've got a business deal to make with you and
+I'd rather make it there. I've got a lot of carpenters and painters
+at work and they ask me ten questions a minute. They are unnecessary
+questions but if I don't answer them the fellows are sure to make some
+fool mistake or other. They need a governess. If you'll come over with
+me I'll be in touch with them and you and I can talk just as well. Can
+come, can't you?"
+
+I did not know what to say. I wanted to say no, that if he had any
+business with me it could be discussed in that boathouse. I did not like
+his manner, yet I had a feeling that it was his usual one and that he
+had not meant to be rude. And I could think of no good reason for not
+going with him.
+
+"You can come, can't you?" he repeated.
+
+"I suppose I can. But--"
+
+"Of course if you're too busy to leave--"
+
+I remembered the position he had found me in and I rather think I had
+turned red. He did not smile, but there was a sort of grim twinkle in
+his eyes.
+
+"I'll come," I said.
+
+"Much obliged. I won't keep you long. Come on."
+
+He led the way and I followed, rebellious, and angry, not so much with
+him as with myself. I wished now that I had gone over to the Colton
+place when I first received the summons to court, instead of making
+proclamations of defiance to mother and Lute Rogers. This seemed such
+a complete backdown. As we passed the house I saw Lute peering from the
+barn. I devoutly hoped he might not see me, but he did. His mouth opened
+and he stared. Then, catching my eye, he winked triumphantly. I wanted
+to punch his head.
+
+The King of New York walked briskly on in silence until we were just at
+the edge of the grove by the Shore Lane. Then he stopped and turned to
+me.
+
+"You own all this land, don't you?" he asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Humph! Get a good view from here."
+
+I admitted that the view was good. At that particular point it embraced
+nearly the whole of the bay in front, and a large portion of the village
+at the side.
+
+He waved his hand toward the cluster of houses.
+
+"There are eighteen hundred people in this town, they tell me," he said.
+"Permanent residents, I mean. What do they all do?"
+
+"Do?"
+
+"Yes. How do they get a living? They must get it somehow. In the regular
+summer resorts they squeeze it out of the city people, I know that. But
+there aren't so many cottagers and boarders here. What do you all do for
+a living?"
+
+I told him that most of masculine Denboro fished or farmed or kept
+store.
+
+"Which do you do?" he asked. "You said you weren't a boat-builder."
+
+"I'm not doing anything at present," I replied, shortly.
+
+"Out of a job?"
+
+"You might call it that. Is this a part of the business you wished to
+see me about, Mr. Colton?"
+
+I was boiling inwardly and a little of the heat was expressed in my
+tone. I don't know whether he took the hint or merely lost interest in
+the subject. At any rate his reply was a brief "No," and we continued
+our walk.
+
+As we reached the Shore Lane he paused again, and I thought he was about
+to speak. He did not, however, and we crossed the boundary line of my
+property and entered the Colton grounds. As we drew nearer to the house
+I was surprised to see how large it was. When the Atwaters owned it
+I was an occasional caller there, for old Major Atwater was fond of
+shooting and sometimes borrowed my decoys. But, since it changed hands,
+I had not been nearer to it than the Lane. With the new wing and the
+other additions it was enormous. It fairly reeked of money, though, so
+far as I was a judge, the taste shown in rebuilding and decorating was
+good. We turned the corner, where Asa Peters, the head carpenter, came
+hurrying up. Asa looked surprised enough to see me in company with his
+employer and regarded me wonderingly. "Mr. Colton," he said, "I wanted
+to ask you about them skylights." I stepped back out of hearing, but I
+inferred from Colton's actions that the question was another one of the
+"unnecessary" ones he had so scornfully referred to in the boathouse.
+
+"Jackass!" he exclaimed, as he rejoined me. I judged he was classifying
+Asa, but, if so, he did not trouble to lower his voice. "Come on,
+Paine," he added, and we passed a long line of windows, hung with costly
+curtains, and stepped up on a handsome Colonial portico before two big
+doors.
+
+The doors were opened by an imposing personage in dark blue and brass
+buttons, who bowed profoundly before Colton and regarded me with
+condescending superiority. This personage, whom I recognized, from
+Alvin's description, as the "minister-lookin'" butler, led us through
+a hall about as large as our sitting-room, dining-room and kitchen
+combined, but bearing no other resemblance to these apartments, and
+opened another door, through which, bowing once more, he ushered us.
+Then he closed the door, leaving himself, to my relief, outside. It had
+been a long time since I was waited upon by a butler and I found this
+specimen rather overpowering.
+
+The room we were in was the library, and, though it was bigger and far
+more sumptuous than the library I remembered so well as a boy, the sight
+of the books in their cases along the walls gave me a feeling almost of
+homesickness. My resentment against my millionaire neighbor increased.
+Why should he and his have everything, and the rest of us be deprived of
+the little we once had?
+
+Colton seated himself in a leather upholstered chair and waved his hand
+toward another.
+
+"Sit down," he said. He took a cigar from his pocket. "Smoke?" he asked.
+
+I was a confirmed smoker, but I was not going to smoke one of his
+cigars--not then.
+
+"No thank you," said I. He did not comment on my refusal, but lit the
+cigar himself, from the stump of his former one. Then he crossed his
+legs and proceeded, with characteristic abruptness, to his subject.
+
+"Paine," he began, "you own this land next to me, you say. Your property
+ends at the fence this side of that road we just crossed, doesn't it?"
+
+"It ends where yours begins," I announced.
+
+"Yes. Just this side of that road."
+
+"Of the Shore Lane. It isn't a road exactly."
+
+"I don't care what you call it. Road or lane or cow-path. It ends
+there?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And it IS your land? It belongs to you, personally, all of it, free and
+clear?"
+
+"Why--yes; it does." I could not see what business of his my ownership
+of that land might be.
+
+"All right. I asked that because, if it wasn't yours, if it was tied up
+or mortgaged in any way, it might complicate matters. But it isn't."
+
+"No."
+
+"Good! Then we can get down to brass tacks and save time. I want a piece
+of that land."
+
+I looked at him.
+
+"You want--?" I repeated, slowly.
+
+"I want a strip of your land. Want to buy it, of course. I don't expect
+you to give it to me. What's it worth, by the acre, say?"
+
+I did not answer. All at once I was beginning to see a light. Captain
+Jed Dean's mysterious conversation at the post-office was beginning to
+lose some of its mystery.
+
+"Well?" asked Colton, impatiently. Then, without waiting longer, he
+added:
+
+"By the way, before you name a figure, answer me one more question. That
+road--or lane, or whatever it is--that is yours, too? Doesn't belong to
+the town?"
+
+The light was growing more brilliant. I could see breakers ahead.
+
+"No," I replied, slowly. "It is a private way. It belongs to me."
+
+"Good! Well, what's that land of yours worth by the acre?"
+
+I shook my head. "I scarcely know," I said. "I've never figured it that
+way."
+
+"I don't care how you figure it. Here, let's get down to a business
+proposition. I want to buy a strip of that land from the Lower
+Road--that's what you call the one above here, isn't it?--to the beach.
+The strip I want is about three hundred feet wide, for a guess. It
+extends from my fence to the other side of that grove by the bluff. What
+will you sell it for?"
+
+The breakers were close aboard. However, I dodged them momentarily.
+
+"Why do you want to buy?" I asked.
+
+"For reasons."
+
+"I should think you had land enough already."
+
+"I thought I had, but it seems I haven't. Well, what's your price for
+that strip?"
+
+"Mr. Colton, I--I'm afraid--"
+
+"Never mind that. I suppose you're afraid you'll make the price too low.
+Now, see here, I'm a busy man. I haven't time to do any bargaining.
+Name your price and, if it's anywhere within reason, we won't haggle.
+I expect to pay more than anyone else would. That's part of my fine
+for being a city man and not a native. Gad! the privilege is worth the
+money. I'll pay the fine. What's the price?"
+
+"But why do you want to buy?"
+
+"For reasons of my own, I tell you. They haven't anything to do with
+your selling."
+
+"I'm not so sure."
+
+"What do you mean by that?"
+
+"That strip takes in the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton."
+
+"I know it."
+
+"And, if you buy, I presume the Lane will be closed."
+
+He looked at me, surprised, and, I thought, a little annoyed.
+
+"Well?" he said; "suppose it is?"
+
+"But it will be, won't it?"
+
+"You bet your life it will! What of it?"
+
+"Then I don't know that I care to sell."
+
+He leaned back in his chair.
+
+"You don't care to sell!" he repeated, slowly. "What the devil do you
+mean by that?"
+
+"What I said. And, besides, Mr. Colton, I--"
+
+He interrupted me.
+
+"Why don't you care to sell?" he demanded. "The land is no good to you,
+is it?"
+
+"Not much. No."
+
+"Humph! Are you so rich that you've got all the money you want?"
+
+I was angry all through. I rose from my chair.
+
+"Good day, Mr. Colton," I said.
+
+"Here!" he shouted. "Hold on! Where are you going?"
+
+"I can't see that there is any use of our talking further."
+
+"No use? Why--There! there! sit down. It's none of my business how rich
+you are, and I beg your pardon. Sit down. Sit down, man, I tell you!"
+
+I sat down, reluctantly. He threw his cigar, which had gone out, into
+the fireplace and lit another.
+
+"Say," he said, "you surprise me, Paine. What do you mean by saying you
+won't sell that land? You don't know what I'll pay for it yet."
+
+"No, I don't."
+
+"Then how do you know you won't sell it? I never had anything
+yet--except my wife and family--that I wouldn't sell for a price. Look
+here! I haven't got time to do any Down-East horse-jockeying. I'll make
+you an offer. I'll give you five hundred dollars cash for that strip of
+land. What do you say?"
+
+I didn't say anything. Five hundred dollars was a generous offer. I
+couldn't help thinking what Mother and I might do with that five hundred
+dollars.
+
+"What do you say?" he repeated.
+
+I answered, Yankee fashion, with another question. "Mr. Colton," I
+asked, "why do you want to close that Shore Lane?"
+
+"Because I do. What difference does it make to you why I want to close
+it?"
+
+"That Lane has been used by Denboro people for years. It is almost a
+public necessity."
+
+He puffed twice on his cigar before he spoke again. When he did it was
+in a different tone.
+
+"I see," he said. "Humph! I see. Paine, does the town pay you rent for
+the use of that road?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Has it been bidding to buy it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Is any one else after it?"
+
+"No-o. I think not. But--"
+
+"You THINK not. That means you're not sure. You've had a bite somewhere.
+Somebody has been nibbling at your hook. Well, they've got to bite quick
+and swallow some to get ahead of me. I want that road closed and I'm
+going to have it closed, sooner or later. I'd prefer it sooner."
+
+"But why do you want to close it?"
+
+Before he could answer there came a knock at the door. The butler
+appeared.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir--" he began. His master cut him short.
+
+"Tell 'em to wait," he ordered. "I can't see any one now, Johnson. If it
+is that damned carpenter he can wait."
+
+"It isn't the carpenter, sir," explained Johnson. "It's Mrs. Colton,
+sir. She wishes to know if you have bought that road. She says three of
+those 'orrid fishcarts have gone by in the last hour, sir, and they are
+making her very nervous. That's all, sir."
+
+"Tell her I've bought it," snapped the head of the house. "Get out."
+
+The butler obeyed orders. Colton turned to me.
+
+"You heard that, Paine," he said. "That's my reason, the principal one.
+I bought this place principally on account of Mrs. Colton's health. The
+doctors said she needed quiet and rest. I thought she could have them
+here--God knows the place looked forsaken enough--but it appears she
+can't. Whenever she or I sit on the veranda or at a window we have to
+watch a procession of jays driving smelly fish carts through that lane
+of yours, or be stared at by a gang of countrymen hanging over the
+fence. It's a nuisance. It is bad enough for me or my daughter and our
+guests, but it will be the ruination of my wife's nerves, and I can't
+stand for that. You see the position I'm in. You heard what I told that
+butler. I said I had bought the road. You wouldn't make me a liar, would
+you? I'll give you five hundred for that bunch of sand. You couldn't get
+more for it if you sold it by the pound, like tea. Say yes, and close
+the deal."
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"I understand your position, Mr. Colton," I said, "but I can't say yes.
+Not now, at any rate."
+
+"Why not? Isn't five hundred enough?"
+
+"It's a good offer."
+
+"Then why not accept it?"
+
+"Because, if I were certain that I wanted to sell, I could not accept
+any offer just now."
+
+"Why not? See here! are you afraid the town will be sore because the
+road is closed?"
+
+"It would be a great inconvenience to them."
+
+"It's a greater one to me as it is. Can you afford to be a
+philanthropist? Are you one of those public-spirited citizens we read
+about?"
+
+He was sneering now, and my anger, which had lessened somewhat when he
+spoke of his wife's ill health, was rising again.
+
+"Are you?" he repeated.
+
+"I don't know as to that. But, as I said a while ago, Mr. Colton, I
+couldn't sell that land to you now."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because, if there were no other reason, I promised not to sell it
+without telling another person first."
+
+He threw down his cigar and stood up. I rose also.
+
+"I see," he said, with sarcasm. "I knew there was something beside
+public spirit. You think, by hanging off and playing me against this
+other sucker, you can get a higher price. Well, if that's the game, I'll
+keep him busy."
+
+He took out his watch, glanced at it, and thrust it back into his
+pocket.
+
+"I've wasted time enough over this fool thing," he declared. "Now that I
+know what the game is we'll talk to the point. It's highway robbery, but
+I might have expected to be robbed. I'll give you six hundred for that
+land."
+
+I did not answer. I was holding my temper by main strength and I could
+not trust myself to speak.
+
+"Well?" he sneered. "That shakes your public spirit some, hey? What do
+you say?"
+
+"No," I answered, and started for the door.
+
+"What!" he could hardly believe his ears. "By the Lord Harry! the fellow
+is crazy. Six hundred and fifty then, you infernal robber."
+
+"No."
+
+"NO! Say, what in thunder do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that you may go to the devil," I retorted, and reached for the
+door knob.
+
+But before my fingers touched it there was the sound of laughter and
+voices in the hall. The knob was turned from without. I stepped back and
+to one side involuntarily, as the door opened and into the library
+came, not the butler, but a young lady, a girl in an automobile coat and
+bonnet. And, following her, a young man.
+
+"Father," said the young lady, "Johnson says you've bought that horrid
+road. I'm so glad! When did you do it?"
+
+"Congratulations, Mr. Colton," said the young man. "We just passed a
+cart full of something--seaweed, I believe it was--as we came along with
+the car. Oscar had to slow down to squeeze by, and we certainly were
+swept by ocean breezes. By Jove! I can smell them yet. I--"
+
+The young lady interrupted him.
+
+"Hush, Victor," she said. "I beg your pardon, Father. I thought you were
+alone. Victor, we're intruding."
+
+The open door had partially screened me from the newcomers. But Colton,
+red and wrathful, had not ceased to glare in my direction and she,
+following his gaze, saw me. She did not recognize me, I think--probably
+I had not made sufficient impression upon her mind even for casual
+remembrance--but I recognized her. She was the girl with the dark eyes,
+whose look of contemptuous indifference had so withered my self-esteem.
+And her companion was the young chap who, from the tonneau of the
+automobile that morning, had inquired the way to Bayport.
+
+The young man turned lazily. "Are we?" he said. "I--What! Why, Mabel,
+it's the humorist!"
+
+Then she recognized me. I could feel the blood climbing from my toes
+to the roots of my hair. I was too astonished and chagrined to speak or
+even move, though I wanted to move very much indeed. She looked at me
+and I at her. Then she turned coldly away.
+
+"Come, Victor," she said.
+
+But Victor was his own blase self. It took more than a trifle to shake
+his calm. He laughed.
+
+"It's the humorist," he repeated. "Reuben, how are you?"
+
+Colton regarded the three of us with amazement.
+
+"What?" he began. "Mabel, do you--"
+
+But I had recovered my powers of locomotion. I was on my way out of that
+library.
+
+"Here!" shouted Colton. "Stop!"
+
+I did not stop. Feeling as I did at that moment it would have been
+distinctly unpleasant for the person who tried to stop me. The girl was
+in my way and, as I approached, she drew her skirts aside. No doubt
+it was my imagination which made her manner of doing it seem like an
+insult, but, imagination or reality, it was the one thing necessary to
+clench my resolution. Now when she looked at me I returned the look with
+interest. I strode through the doorway and across the hall. The butler
+would have opened the outer door for me, but I opened it myself to the
+imminent danger of his dignified nose. As I stepped from the portico I
+heard behind me a roar from Big Jim Colton and a shout of laughter from
+Victor.
+
+I walked home at top speed. Only once did I look back. That was just as
+I was about to enter the grove on the other side of the Shore Lane. Then
+I turned and saw, at the big window at the end of the "Newport villa,"
+a group of three staring in my direction: Colton, his daughter and that
+cub Victor. The distance was too great to see the expression of their
+faces, but I knew that two of them, at least, were laughing--laughing at
+me.
+
+I did not laugh.
+
+Lute was waiting for me by the gate and ran to meet me. He was wild with
+excitement.
+
+"He came after you, didn't he?" he cried, grabbing at my coat sleeve.
+"You went over to his house with him, didn't you! I see you and at fust
+I couldn't scurcely believe it. What did he want? What did he say?"
+
+I did not answer. He ran along beside me, still clinging to my sleeve.
+
+"What did he want?" he repeated. "What did he say to you? What did you
+say to him? Tell a feller, can't you?"
+
+"I told him to go to the devil," I answered, savagely.
+
+Lute let go of my sleeve.
+
+"You--you--By time, you're stark loony!" he gasped; and collapsed
+against the gate post.
+
+I went into the house, up the back stairs to my room, and shut the door.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+So she was his daughter. I might have guessed it; would have guessed
+it if I had possessed the commonest of common-sense. I might have known
+that the auto was Colton's. No other machine was likely to be traveling
+on the Lower Road at that season of the year. She was the pretty
+daughter of whom Dorinda had spoken to Mother. Well, she was pretty
+enough; even I had to admit that. But I admitted it grudgingly. I hated
+her for her beauty and fine clothes and haughty arrogance. She was the
+incarnation of snobbishness.
+
+But to be made twice ridiculous even by the incarnation of snobbishness
+was galling. She was to be my next-door neighbor; we were likely to
+meet almost anywhere at any time. When I thought of this and of the two
+meetings which had already taken place I swore at the blue and white
+water-pitcher on my bureau because it did not contain water enough to
+drown me. Not that I would commit suicide on her account. She would not
+care if I did and certainly I did not care whether she would care or
+not; but if I were satisfactorily dead I probably should not remember
+what a fool I had made of myself, or Fate had made of me.
+
+Why had I not got out of that library before she came? Oh, if not, why
+hadn't I stayed and told her father, in her hearing, and with dignity,
+just what I thought of him and his remarks to me? But no; I had run
+away. She--or that Victor--would tell of the meeting at the bridge, and
+all my independence and the rest of it would be regarded as of a piece
+with that, just the big-headed "smartness" of a country boor. In their
+eyes I was a nuisance, that was all. A disagreeable one, perhaps, like
+the Shore Lane, but a nuisance, one to laugh at and forget--if it could
+not be gotten rid of.
+
+Why had I gone with Colton at all? Why hadn't I remained at the
+boathouse and there told the King of New York to go to the mischief? or
+words to that effect. But I had, at all events, told him that. In spite
+of my chagrin I could not help chuckling as I thought of it. To tell Big
+Jim Colton to go to the devil was, in its way, I imagined, a privilege
+enjoyed by few. It must have shaken his self-satisfaction a trifle.
+Well, after all, what did I care? He, and his whole family--including
+Victor--had my permission to migrate in that direction and I wished Old
+Nick joy of their company.
+
+Having derived this much satisfaction from my reflections, I went
+downstairs. Dorinda was setting the table for supper. She looked at me
+as I came in.
+
+"Been visitin', I hear," she observed, wiping an imaginary speck from
+the corner of a plate with her "afternoon" apron.
+
+"Yes," said I.
+
+"Um-hm," said Dorinda. "Have a good time?"
+
+I smiled. "I had an interesting one," I told her.
+
+"Um-hm, I judged so, from what Lute said."
+
+"Where is Lute?"
+
+"Out in the barn, beddin' down the horse. That is, I told him to do
+that, but his head was so full of you and what you told him you said to
+Mr. Colton that I shouldn't be surprised if he's bedded down the hens
+and was huntin' in the manger for eggs."
+
+"Lute thinks I've gone crazy," I observed.
+
+"Um-hm. He was all for fetchin' the doctor right off, but I told him I
+cal'lated we could bear with your ravin's for a spell. Did you say what
+he said you said?"
+
+"I'm afraid I did."
+
+"Um-hm. Well, it didn't do any good, did it?"
+
+"Good? What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean he didn't obey orders--Colton, that is."
+
+"He hadn't when I left."
+
+"I thought not. I never saw any good come from profane language yet;
+and, besides, judgin' from what I hear about the way that Colton man
+lives, and what he does on Sundays and all, he'll make the port you sent
+him to when his time comes. All you need is patience."
+
+I laughed, and she began sorting the plated spoons. We had silver ones,
+but Dorinda insisted on keeping those to use when we had company. In
+consequence we used them about twice a year, when the minister came.
+
+"Of course," she said, "I ain't askin' you what happened over there or
+why he wanted to see you. But I give you fair warnin' that, if I don't,
+Lute will. Lute's so stuffed with curiosity that he's li'ble to bust the
+stitches any minute."
+
+"I'll tell you both, at supper," I said.
+
+"Um-hm," said Dorinda. "Well, I can wait, and Lute'll have to. By
+the way," she added, seeing me about to enter Mother's room, "if it's
+anything too unpleasant I wouldn't worry Comfort with it. She'll want to
+know, of course, but I'd sort of smooth the edges."
+
+Mother did want to know, and I told her, "smoothing the edges" all I
+could. I omitted my final order to "Big Jim" and I said nothing whatever
+about his daughter. Mother seemed to think I had done right in refusing
+to sell, though, as usual, she was ready to make allowances for the
+other side.
+
+"Poor woman," she said, "I suppose the noise of the wagons and all that
+are annoying to any one with weak nerves. It must be dreadful to be in
+that condition. I am so sorry for her."
+
+She meant it, too. But I, remembering the Colton mansion, what I had
+seen of it, and contrasting its splendor with the bare necessity of
+that darkened bedroom, found it hard to spare pity for the sufferer from
+"nerves."
+
+"You needn't be," I said, bitterly. "I imagine she wouldn't think of
+you, if the conditions were reversed. I doubt if she thinks of any one
+but herself."
+
+"You shouldn't say that, Roscoe. You don't know. You have never met
+her."
+
+"I have met the rest of the family. No, Mother, I think you needn't be
+sorry for that woman. She has everything under the sun. Whereas you--"
+
+"Hush! hush! There is one thing she hasn't got. She hasn't a son like
+you, Boy."
+
+"Humph! That must be a terrible deprivation. There! there! Mother, I
+won't be disagreeable. Let's change the subject. Did Matilda Dean come
+to see you this afternoon?"
+
+"No. I presume she was too busy. But, Roscoe, it is plain enough why
+Captain Dean spoke to you about the Lane at the office this morning. He
+must have heard, somehow, that Mr. Colton wished to buy it."
+
+"Yes. Or, if he didn't hear just that, he heard enough to make him guess
+the rest. He is pretty shrewd."
+
+"You promised him you wouldn't sell without telling him beforehand.
+Shall you tell him of Mr. Colton's offer?"
+
+"If he asks me, I shall, I suppose."
+
+"I wonder what he will do then. Do you suppose he will try to persuade
+the Selectmen to buy the Lane for the town?"
+
+"I don't know. I shouldn't wonder."
+
+"It will be harder to refuse the town's offer."
+
+"Yes. Although the town can't afford to pay Colton's prices. I believe
+that man would have raised his bid to a thousand, if I had let him. As a
+matter of business and nothing else, I suppose I am foolish not to push
+the price as high as possible and then sell. The land is worthless to
+us."
+
+"I know. But this isn't just a matter of business, is it? And we DON'T
+need the money. We're not rich, but we aren't poor, are we, Boy."
+
+"No. No, of course not. But, Mother, just see what I could do--for
+you--with a thousand dollars. Why, there are so many little things,
+little luxuries, that you need."
+
+"I had rather not get them that way. No, Roscoe, I wouldn't sell to Mr.
+Colton. And I think I wouldn't sell to the town either."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Well, because we don't have to sell, and selling to either party would
+make ill-feeling. I should--of course I'm only a woman; you are a man
+and know much more about such things than I--but why not let matters
+stay just as they are? The townspeople can use the Lane, just as they
+have always done, and, as I told you before, every one has been so kind
+to us that I like to feel we are doing a little in return. Let them use
+the Lane, without cost. Why not?"
+
+"What do you think the Coltons would say to that?"
+
+"Perhaps they don't understand the real situation. The next time you see
+Mr. Colton you could explain more fully; tell him what the Lane means to
+the town, and so on. I'm sure he would understand, if you told him that.
+And then, if the sight of the wagons was too annoying, he could put up
+some kind of a screen, or plant a row of fir trees by the fence. Don't
+you think so?"
+
+I imagined the great man's reply to such a suggestion. However, I
+did not express my thoughts. I told Mother not to worry, I was sure
+everything would be all right, and, as Dorinda called me to supper, I
+went into the dining-room.
+
+Lute was waiting for me at the table, and Dorinda, after taking the
+tray into Mother's room, joined us. Lute was so full of excitement and
+curiosity that he almost forgot to eat, a miracle of itself and made
+greater by the fact that he did not ask a single question until his wife
+asked one first. Then he asked three in succession. Dorinda, who was
+quite as curious as he but would not have shown it for the world,
+stopped him at the beginning of the fourth.
+
+"There! there!" she said, sharply, "this is supposed to be a meal, not a
+parrot shop, and we're humans, not a passel of birds on a telegraph wire
+all hollerin' at once. Drink your tea and stop your cawin', Lute Rogers.
+Ros'll tell us when he gets ready. What DID Mr. Colton want of you,
+Roscoe?"
+
+I told them as much of the interview at the Coltons' as I thought
+necessary they should know. Lute kept remarkably quiet, for him, until
+I named the figure offered by the millionaire. Then he could hold in no
+longer.
+
+"Five hundred!" he repeated "Five hundred DOLLARS for the Shore Lane!
+Five--"
+
+"He raised it to six hundred and fifty before I left," I said.
+
+"SIX hundred! Six hundred--and FIFTY! For the Shore Lane! Six hun--"
+
+"Sshh! shh!" cut in Dorinda. "You sound like Sim Eldredge sellin'
+somethin' at auction. DO be quiet! And you told him, Roscoe--?"
+
+"I told you what I told him," I said.
+
+"Um-hm. I ain't forgot it. Be quiet, Lute. Well, Roscoe, I cal'late you
+know your own affairs best, but, judgin' from some hints Matildy Dean
+hove out when she was here this afternoon, I don't believe you've heard
+the last from that Shore Lane."
+
+"Matilda Dean!" I repeated. "Why, Mother said Matilda wasn't here
+to-day."
+
+"Um-hm. Well, she was here, though Comfort didn't know it. I took pains
+she shouldn't. Matildy come about three o'clock, in the buggy, along
+with Nellie. Nellie was doin' the drivin', of course, and her mother
+was tellin' her how, as usual. I don't wonder that girl is such a
+meek, soft-spoken kind of thing. Between her pa's bullyin' and her ma's
+tongue, it's a wonder she's got any spirit left. It would be a mercy if
+George Taylor should marry her and take her out of that house. Matildy
+had a new book on Spiritu'lism and she was figgerin' to read some of it
+out loud to Comfort, but I headed her off. I know _I_ wouldn't want to
+be all stirred up about 'tests' and 'materializations' and such, and so
+I told her Comfort was asleep."
+
+"She wasn't asleep, neither," declared Lute. "What did you tell such a
+whopper as that for? You're always sailin' into me if I stretch a yarn
+the least mite. Why, last April Fool Day you give me Hail Columby for
+jokin' you about a mouse under the kitchen table. Called me all kinds of
+names, you did--after you got down off the table."
+
+His wife regarded him scornfully. "It's pretty hard to remember which IS
+that partic'lar day with you around," she said. "I'd told Comfort she'd
+ought to take a nap and if she wan't takin' it 'twan't my fault. I wan't
+goin' to have her seein' her granddad's ghost in every corner. But,
+anyhow, Matildy made a little call on me, and, amongst the million other
+things she said, was somethin' about Cap'n Jed hearin' that Mr. Colton
+was cal'latin' to shut off that Lane. Matildy hinted that her husband
+and the Selectmen might have a little to say afore 'twas closed. If
+that's so I guess you may hear from him as well as the Colton man,
+Roscoe."
+
+"Perhaps," I said. I could see no use in repeating my conversation with
+Captain Jed.
+
+Dorinda nodded.
+
+"Goin' to tell the town to go--where you sent the other one?" she asked,
+dryly.
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Humph! Well," with some sarcasm, "it must be fine to be in a position
+where money's no object. I never tried it, myself, but it sounds good."
+
+I did not answer.
+
+"Um-hm," she said. "Well, anyhow it looks to me--Lute, you keep
+still--as if there was goin' to be two parties in Denboro afore this
+Lane business is over. One for the Coltons and one against 'em. You'll
+have to take one side or the other, won't you, Roscoe?"
+
+"Not necessarily."
+
+"Goin' to set on the fence, hey?"
+
+"That's a good place TO sit, isn't it?"
+
+Dorinda smiled, grimly.
+
+"If it's the right kind of a fence, maybe 'tis," she observed.
+"Otherwise the pickets are liable to make you uncomf'table after a
+spell, I presume likely."
+
+I went out soon after this, for my evening smoke and walk by the bluff.
+As I left the dining-room I heard Lute reiterating his belief that I
+had gone crazy. Colton had said the same thing. I wondered what Captain
+Jed's opinion would be.
+
+Whether it was another phase of my insanity or not, I don't know, but
+I woke the next morning in pretty good spirits. Remembrance of the
+previous day's humiliations troubled me surprisingly little. They did
+not seem nearly so great in the retrospect. What difference did it make
+to me what that crowd of snobs did or said or thought?
+
+However, there was just enough bitterness in my morning's review of
+yesterday's happenings to make me a little more careful in my dress. I
+did not expect to meet my aristocratic neighbors--I devoutly wished it
+might be my good luck never to meet any of them again--but in making
+selections from my limited wardrobe I chose with more thought than
+usual. Dorinda noticed the result when I came down to breakfast.
+
+"Got your other suit on, ain't you," she observed.
+
+"Yes," said I.
+
+"Goin' anywheres special?"
+
+"No. Down to the boathouse, that's all."
+
+"Humph! I don't see what you put those blue pants on for. They're awful
+things to show water spots. Did you leave your brown ones upstairs?
+Um-hm. Well, I'll get at 'em some time to-day. I noticed they was
+wearin' a little, sort of, on the bottoms of the legs."
+
+I had noticed it, too, and this reminder confirmed my suspicions that
+others had made the same observations.
+
+"I'll try and mend 'em this afternoon," went on Dorinda, "if I can find
+time. But, for mercy's sake, don't spot those all up, for I may not get
+time, and then you'd have to wear your Sunday ones."
+
+I promised, curtly, to be careful, and, after saying good morning to
+Mother, I went down to the boathouse and set to work on the engine. It
+was the only thing in the nature of work that I had to do, but, somehow
+or other, I did not feel like doing it any more than I had the day
+before. A little of my good spirits were wearing off, like the legs of
+my "other" trousers, and after an hour of intermittent tinkering I
+threw down the wrench and decided to go for a row. The sun was shining
+brightly, but the breeze was fresh, and, as my skiff was low in the
+gunwale and there was likely to be some water flying, I put on an old
+oilskin "slicker" and sou-wester before starting.
+
+I had determined to row across the bay over to the lighthouse, and ask
+Ben Small, the keeper, if there were any signs of fish alongshore. The
+pull was a long one, but I enjoyed every stroke of it. The tide was
+almost full, just beginning to ebb, so there was scarcely any current
+and I could make a straight cut across, instead of following the
+tortuous channel. My skiff was a flat bottomed affair, drawing very
+little, but in Denboro bay, at low tide, even a flat-bottomed skiff has
+to beware of sand and eel-grass.
+
+Small was busy whitewashing, but he was glad to see me. If you keep a
+lighthouse, the average lighthouse, you are glad to see anybody. He put
+his brush into the pail and insisted on my coming to the house, because
+"the old woman," his wife, would want to hear "all the sewin' circle
+news." "It's the biggest hardship of her life," said Ben, "that she has
+to miss sewin' circle when the bay ices in. Soon's it clears she's at me
+to row her acrost to the meetin's. I've took her to two this spring,
+but she missed the last one, on account of this whitewashin', and she's
+crazy to know who's been talked about now. If anything disgraceful has
+happened for the land sakes tell her; then she'll he more reconciled."
+
+I had nothing disgraceful to tell, but Mrs. Small was glad to see
+me, nevertheless. She brought out doughnuts and beach-plum jelly and
+insisted on my sampling both, the doughnuts because they were just made
+and she "mistrusted" there was too much flour in them, and the jelly
+because it was some she had left over and she wanted to see if I thought
+it was "keepin'" all right. After this, Ben took me out to see his
+hens, and then we walked to the back of the beach and talked fish. The
+forenoon was almost gone when I got back to the skiff. The tide had
+ebbed so far that the lightkeeper and I had to pull the little boat
+twenty feet to launch her.
+
+"There!" said Ben, "now you're afloat, ain't you. Cal'late you'll have
+to go way 'round Robin Hood's barn to keep off the flats. I forgot about
+the tide or I wouldn't have talked so much. Hello! there's another craft
+about your size off yonder. Somebody else out rowin'. Two somebodys. My
+eyes ain't as good for pickin' em out as they used to be, but one of 'em
+IS a female, ain't it?"
+
+I looked over my shoulder, as I sat in the skiff and saw, out in the
+middle of the bay, another rowboat with two people in it.
+
+"That ain't a dory or a skiff," shouted Ben, raising his voice as
+I pulled away from him. "Way she sets out of water I'd call her a
+lap-streak dingy. If that feller's takin' his girl out rowin' he'll have
+to work his passage home against this tide . . . Well, so long, Ros.
+Come again."
+
+I nodded a goodby, and settled down for my long row, a good deal longer
+this time on account of the ebb. There was water enough on this side of
+the bay, but on the village side the channel made a wide detour and
+I should be obliged to follow it for nearly a mile up the bay, before
+turning in behind the long sand bar which made out from the point beyond
+my boathouse.
+
+The breeze had gone down, which made rowing easier, but the pull of the
+tide more than offset this advantage. However, I had mastered that tide
+many times before and, except that the delay might make me late for
+dinner, the prospect did not trouble me. I swung into the channel and
+set the skiff's bow against the current. Then from the beach I had just
+left I heard a faint hail. Turning my head, I saw Ben Small waving his
+arms. He was shouting something, too, but I was too far away to catch
+the words.
+
+The lightkeeper continued to shout and wave. I lifted an oar to show
+that he had my attention. He recognized the signal, and began pointing
+out over the water astern of me. I looked where he was pointing. I could
+not see anything out of the ordinary. Except for my own skiff and the
+gulls, and the row boat with the two persons in it there was nothing
+astir on the bay. But Ben kept on waving and pointing. At last I decided
+that it must be the row boat he was pointing at. I stopped rowing and
+looked.
+
+The row boat was a good distance off and its occupants were but specks.
+Now one of the specks stood up and waved its arms. So far as I could
+see, the boat was drifting; there were no flashes of sunlight on wet
+blades to show that the oars were in use. No, it was drifting, and, as I
+looked, it swung broadside on. The standing figure continued to wave its
+arms.
+
+Those people must be in trouble of some sort, I decided, and it was
+evident that Small thought so, too. There could no imminent danger
+threaten for, on a day like this, with no sea running, there was nothing
+to fear in the bay. If, however, they should drift out of the bay it
+might be unpleasant. And they certainly were drifting. I resigned myself
+to the indefinite postponement of my dinner, swung the skiff about, and
+pulled as hard as I could in the direction of the row boat.
+
+With the tide to help me I made good progress, but, even at that, it
+took me some time to overtake the drifting craft. She was, as Ben had
+said, a lap-streaked, keel-bottomed dingy--good enough as a yacht's
+tender or in deep water, but the worst boat in the world to row about
+Denboro bay at low tide. Her high rail caught what breeze there was
+blowing and this helped to push her along. However, I got within easy
+hailing distance after a while and called, over my shoulder, to ask what
+was the matter.
+
+A man's voice answered me.
+
+"We've lost an oar," he shouted. "We're drifting out to sea. Lend us a
+hand, will you?"
+
+"All right," I answered. "I'll be there in a minute."
+
+Within the minute I was almost alongside. Then I turned, intending to
+speak again; but I did not. The two persons in the dingy were Victor--I
+did not know his other name--and Mabel Colton.
+
+I was wearing the oilskin slicker and had pulled down the brim of
+my sou'wester to keep the sun from my eyes; therefore they had not
+recognized me before. And I, busy at the oars and looking over my
+shoulder only occasionally, had not recognized them. Now the recognition
+was mutual. Miss Colton spoke first.
+
+"Why, Victor!" she said, "it is--"
+
+"What?" asked her companion. Then, looking at me, "Oh! it's you, is it?"
+
+I did not answer. Luck was certainly against me. No matter where I went,
+on land or water, I was fated to meet these two.
+
+Victor, apparently, was thinking the same thing. "By Jove!" he observed;
+"Mabel, we seem destined to . . . Humph! Well? Will you give us a hand?"
+
+The most provoking part of it was that, if I had known who was in that
+rowboat, I could have avoided the encounter. Ben Small could have gone
+to their rescue just as well as I. However, here I was, and here they
+were. And I could not very well go away and leave them, under the
+circumstances.
+
+Victor's patience was giving way.
+
+"What are you waiting for?" he demanded. "Aren't you going to help us?
+We'll pay you for it."
+
+I pulled the skiff a little closer and, drawing in my oars, turned and
+picked up the slack of my anchor rope.
+
+"Here," I said, brusquely; "catch this line and I'll tow you."
+
+I tossed him the loop of rope and he caught it.
+
+"What shall I do with it?" he asked.
+
+"Hold it, just as it is, for the present. What became of your other
+oar?"
+
+"Lost it overboard."
+
+"Why didn't you throw over your anchor and wait where you were?"
+
+I think he had not thought of the anchor, but he did not deign to
+explain. Instead he began pulling on the rope and the two boats drew
+together.
+
+"Don't do that," I said. "Wait."
+
+I untied the rope, where it was made fast to the skiff's bow, and with
+it and the anchor in my hands, scrambled aft and wedged the anchor under
+the stern thwart of the little craft.
+
+"Now," I said, "you can pull in the slack until you get to the end. Then
+make it fast to your bow somewhere."
+
+I suppose he did his best to follow instructions, but the rope was a
+short one, the end jerked loose suddenly and he went backward in a heap.
+I thought, for an instant, that he was going overboard and that mine
+would be the mixed pleasure of fishing him out.
+
+Miss Colton gave a little scream, which changed to a ripple of laughter.
+I might have laughed, too, under different circumstances, but just now I
+did not feel like it. Besides, the rope, having flown out of his hands,
+was in the water again and the two boats were drifting apart.
+
+"What did you do that for?" demanded the fallen one, scrambling to his
+knees. I heard a sound from the dingy's stern as if the young lady was
+trying to stifle her merriment. Victor, doubtless, heard it, too.
+
+"Where are you going?" he sputtered, angrily. "Give me that rope."
+
+I gave it to him, literally gave it, for I pulled alongside and put the
+end in his hands.
+
+"Tie it in the bow of your boat," I said. He did so. I drew in the slack
+until a fair towing length remained and made it fast. While he was busy
+I ventured to glance at Miss Colton. Her eyes were snapping with fun
+and she seemed to be enjoying the situation. But, catching my look, her
+expression changed. She turned away and looked indifferently out to sea.
+
+I swung the skiff's bow around.
+
+"Where do you want to go?" I asked.
+
+Victor answered. "Back to Mr. Colton's landing," he said. "Get as much
+of a move on as you can, will you? I'll make it worth your while."
+
+I was as anxious to get there as he was. I did not care for a quarrel,
+and I knew if he continued to use that tone in his remarks to me I
+should answer as I felt. I pulled with all my strength, but against the
+tide towing was hard work.
+
+Victor sat on the amidships thwart of the dingy, with his back to me.
+But Miss Colton, seated in the stern, was facing me and I could not help
+looking at her. She did not look at me, or, if she did, it was as if I
+were merely a part of the view; nothing to be interested in, one way or
+the other.
+
+She was beautiful; there was no doubt of that. Prettier even, in the
+blue and white boating costume and rough-and-ready white felt hat, than
+she had seemed when I saw her in the auto or her father's library. She
+represented the world that I had lost. I had known girls like her. They
+had not as much money as she, perhaps, but they were just as well-bred
+and refined, and almost as pretty. I had associated with them as an
+equal. I wondered what she would say, or think, if she knew that.
+Nothing, probably; she would not care enough to think at all. It did
+not matter to me what she thought; but I did wish I had not put on those
+fool oilskins. I must look more like a country longshoreman than ever.
+
+If I had any doubts about it they were dispelled when I had rowed the
+two boats up the bay until we were abreast the Colton mansion. Then
+Victor, who had been talking in a low tone with his fellow passenger in
+the dingy, looked at the distant shore and, over his shoulder, at me.
+
+"Here!" he shouted. "Where are you going? That's the landing over
+there."
+
+"I know," I answered. "But we shall have to go around that flat. We
+can't cross here."
+
+"Why? What's the reason we can't?"
+
+"Because there isn't water enough. We should get aground."
+
+He stood up to look.
+
+"Nonsense!" he said. "There's plenty of water. I can't see any flat, or
+whatever you call it."
+
+"It's there, though you can't see it. It is covered with eelgrass and
+doesn't show. We shall have to go a half mile further before we turn
+in."
+
+"A half mile! Why, confound it! it's past one o'clock now. We haven't
+any time to waste."
+
+"I'm sorry, but we can't cross yet. And, if I were you, I shouldn't
+stand up in that boat."
+
+He paid no attention to this suggestion.
+
+"There are half a dozen boats, bigger than these, by the landing," he
+declared. "There is water enough for them. What are you afraid of? We
+haven't any time to waste, I tell you."
+
+I did not answer. Silence, on my part, was the safest thing just then. I
+continued rowing up the bay.
+
+Miss Colton spoke to him and he sat down, a proceeding for which I was
+thankful. They whispered together for a moment. Then he turned to me.
+
+"See here," he said; "this lady and I have an appointment. We must get
+ashore. Go straight in. If you're afraid I'll take the risk. If there is
+any danger I'll pay for that, too."
+
+There was no question of risk. It was a certainty. I knew that channel.
+
+"We can't cross here," I said, shortly.
+
+"Why, confound you--"
+
+"Victor!" cautioned Miss Colton.
+
+"Hush, Mabel! This is ridiculous. You and I saw two boats go straight
+out from the beach this morning. We went out that way ourselves. Here
+you--Paine, or whatever your name is--we've had enough of this. I've
+hired you to take us ashore, and I want to go there and not a half mile
+in another direction. Will you do as I tell you?"
+
+When the dingy and the other boats crossed the flat the tide had been
+hours higher, of course; but I was in no mood to explain--to him.
+
+"No," I said, shortly.
+
+"You won't? Then you give me an oar and I'll row the rest of the way
+myself."
+
+There were only two oars in the skiff, but I could get on perfectly well
+with one. And it would serve him beautifully right to let him go. But
+there was the girl. I hesitated.
+
+"Give me that oar," he repeated, angrily. "You won't? Then, by Jove,
+I'll do without it. Stop! Stop where you are! do you understand. We
+don't require your services any longer."
+
+He turned and began untying the tow line. I stopped rowing.
+
+Miss Colton looked troubled.
+
+"Victor!" she cried. "What are you doing?"
+
+"I know what I'm doing. Can't you see this fellow's game? The longer the
+row the higher his price, that's all. He can't work me. I've seen his
+kind before. Don't be frightened. If we can't do anything else we can
+anchor and wait until they see us from the house."
+
+Idiot! At that point the channel was deep and the bottom soft mud. I
+doubted if his anchor would touch and, if it did, I knew it would not
+hold. I backed water and brought the skiff alongside the dingy, the rail
+of which I seized and held.
+
+"Keep off!" ordered Victor, still fumbling with the rope. "We don't want
+your help."
+
+I wasted no breath on him. I addressed my remarks to the girl.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, "will you listen to me, please. You can't anchor
+here because your anchor will not hold. And you can't cross that flat at
+this stage of the tide. I can give you an oar, of course, but it won't
+do any good. My oars are too light and small for your boat. Unless you
+wish to drift back where you were, or beyond, you must let me tow you
+around the head of this flat."
+
+I don't know what answer she might have made. None, perhaps; although I
+am sure she was listening. But Victor, who had succeeded in untying the
+tow line, cut in ahead of her.
+
+"Mabel," he warned, "don't pay any attention to him. Didn't your father
+tell us what he was? There!" throwing the end of the rope overboard
+and addressing me; "now, you may clear out. We've done with you.
+Understand?"
+
+I looked at Miss Colton. But I might as well have looked at an iceberg.
+I slid one of my oars over into the dingy.
+
+"There you are," I said, grimly. "But I warn you that you're in for
+trouble."
+
+I let go of the rail and the boats fell apart. Victor seized the
+borrowed oar with a triumphant laugh.
+
+"Your bluff wouldn't work, would it, Reuben," he sneered. "I'll send you
+the oar and your pay later. Now, Mabel, sit tight. I'll have you ashore
+in fifteen minutes."
+
+He began rowing toward the weed-covered flat. I said nothing. I
+was furiously angry and it was some moments before I recovered
+self-possession sufficiently to get my remaining oar over the skiff's
+stern and, by sculling, hold her against the tide. Then I watched and
+waited.
+
+It was not a long wait. Victor was in difficulties almost from the
+beginning. The oar belonging to the dingy was a foot longer than the one
+I had given him and he zig-zagged wildly. Soon he was in the edge of the
+eelgrass and "catching crabs," first on one side, then on the other.
+The dingy's bow slid up on the mud. He stood up to push it off, and the
+stern swung around. Getting clear, he took a fresh start and succeeded
+only in fouling again. This time he got further into the tangle before
+he grounded. The bow rose and the stern settled. There was a mighty
+splashing, as Victor pushed and tugged, but the dingy stuck fast. And
+there she would continue to stick for four hours unless I, or some one
+else, helped her off.
+
+I did not want to help. In fact, I looked all up and down the bay before
+I made a move. But it was dinner time and there was not another soul
+afloat. More than that, I noticed, as I had not noticed before, that
+brown clouds--wind clouds--were piling up in the west, and, if I was
+anything of a prophet, we would have squalls and dirty weather long
+before those four hours were over. And the dingy, in that position, was
+not safe to face a blow. No, as the small boys say, it was "up to me." I
+wished it was not, but it was.
+
+So again I went to the rescue, but this time in an entirely different
+frame of mind. My anger and resentment had settled to a cold
+determination, and this trip was purely business. I was not at a
+disadvantage now, as I had been when I first met that girl and her
+friend, in "Big Jim" Colton's library. I was master of this situation
+and master I intended to be.
+
+I sculled the skiff straight in to the edge of the flat, at a point
+where the bank sloped sharply to deep water. I threw over my anchor,
+shortened the rope and made it fast. Then I stepped out into water above
+my shoe tops and waded toward the dingy. The water was icy cold, but I
+did not know it at the time.
+
+I splashed through the eelgrass. Victor saw me coming and roared an
+angry protest. He was still trying to push the boat off with an oar.
+
+"Here!" he shouted. "You keep away. We don't want you."
+
+I did not care what he wanted. I splashed alongside the dingy and looked
+at her and the position she was in. My mind was made up instantly.
+
+"You'll never get her off if you both stay aboard," I said. "Let the
+lady move amidships and you get out and wade."
+
+He glared at me as if I were as crazy as Colton or Lute had declared me
+to be. Then he laughed contemptuously.
+
+"You go back where you came from," he ordered. "I'm running this."
+
+"Yes, I've noticed that. Now I'll state the facts as plainly as I can.
+This boat is fast aground in the mud, the tide is still going out, and
+there are squalls coming. She must be got off or there may be danger.
+You can't get her off until she is lightened. Will you get out and
+wade?"
+
+He did not answer; instead he continued to push with the oar. I turned
+to the girl.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, "I must ask you to stand up. Be careful when you
+rise."
+
+She made no move, nor did she reply. The look she gave me was enough.
+
+"You must stand up," I repeated, firmly. "Either your--this
+gentleman--must get out, as I tell him to, or I shall have to carry you
+to my skiff. We haven't any time to spare."
+
+She gazed at me in blank astonishment. Then the color flamed in her
+cheeks and her eyes flashed.
+
+"We don't wish your help," she said, icily.
+
+"I'm sorry, but that makes no difference. I--"
+
+Victor whirled on me, the oar in his hands. I thought for an instant he
+was going to strike me with it.
+
+"You blackguard!" he shouted. "Will you go away?"
+
+I looked at him and then at her. It had to be done, and my mind was made
+up to do it. I waded in until the water was almost to my knees, and I
+was abreast the stern of the stranded boat.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, "I am going to carry you to my skiff. Are you
+ready?"
+
+"You--Why!--" she breathed.
+
+I stooped, lifted her in my arms, and ploughed through the weeds and
+water. The mud was soft and my feet sank into it. She struggled.
+
+"You must keep still," I said, sharply, "or I shall drop you."
+
+She gasped, but she stopped struggling. From behind me I heard a roar of
+rage from Victor.
+
+I carried her to the anchored skiff and, plunging in still deeper,
+seated her on the stern thwart.
+
+"Sit there, please, and don't move," I said. "I shall be back as soon as
+I've got your boat afloat."
+
+I waded back to the dingy. Victor was frantic, but he did not disturb
+me. The worst of my unpleasant job was over.
+
+"Now sit down," I ordered. "Do you hear me? Sit down and sit still."
+
+"You--you--" he stammered.
+
+"Because if you don't sit down," I continued serenely, "you're likely to
+tumble overboard. I'm going to push this boat off."
+
+The first push helped to make up his mind. He sat, involuntarily. I
+pushed with all my might and, slowly and jerkily, the dingy slid off
+the shoal. But there were others all about. With one hand on the bow
+I guided her between them and to the edge of the channel. Then, wading
+along the slippery bank, I brought her to the skiff. My passenger had
+been making remarks in transit, but I paid no attention to them.
+
+I made the rope fast for towing, took my oar from the dingy, pulled up
+the skiff's anchor and climbed aboard.
+
+"Sit where you are," I said to Victor. "Miss Colton, please keep as
+still as possible."
+
+I ventured to look at her as I said this, but I looked but once. All the
+way home I kept my gaze fixed on the bottom boards of the skiff.
+
+I made the landing just in time. In fact, the squall struck before I was
+abreast the Colton place. The channel beyond the flat, which we had so
+lately left, was whipped to whitecaps in a moment and miniature breakers
+were beating against the mud bank where the dingy had grounded.
+
+Under the high bluff it was calm enough. The tide was too low to make
+use of the little wharf, so I beached the skiff and drew the towed
+boat in by the line. I offered to assist Miss Colton ashore, but she,
+apparently, did not see my proffered hand. Victor scrambled out by
+himself. No one said anything. I untied the rope and pulled it in. Then
+I prepared to push off.
+
+"Here!" growled Victor. "Wait a minute."
+
+I looked up. He was standing at the edge of the water, with one hand in
+his pocket. Miss Colton was behind him.
+
+"Well?" I asked.
+
+"I haven't paid you yet," he said, sullenly. "How much?"
+
+"What do you mean?" I asked. I knew, of course, but it pleased me to
+make him say it.
+
+"Why, how much for towing us in? What's your price? Come, hurry up."
+
+"I haven't any price. I'm not in the salvage business."
+
+"Not--Say, don't bargain. What's your price, I ask you?"
+
+"Nothing, of course. Very glad to have been of assistance."
+
+I took up my oars.
+
+"Here!" he shouted. "Stop! hold on! Confound you! do you suppose we
+don't intend to pay you for this?"
+
+I shook my head. "It has been a pleasure," I said, sweetly. "Good day."
+
+I rowed off, but all the way down to my boathouse I smiled contentedly.
+I had seen the look on Mabel Colton's face. I rather thought I had
+evened the account between us; at least I had reduced the balance a
+trifle. This time it was not I who appeared ridiculous.
+
+Dorinda saw me when I entered the kitchen. Her hands were upraised.
+
+"My soul and body!" she exclaimed. "LOOK at them pants! LOOK at 'em! And
+I ain't had time to put a needle to your other ones yet!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+The rain, which I expected would follow the squall, did not come until
+late that night, and it was still falling heavily the next morning.
+It was a warm rain, however, and, after breakfast, I walked up to the
+village. I said nothing, even to Mother, about the happenings in the
+bay, and Dorinda, who had asked many sarcastic questions concerning the
+state of my blue trousers--if I had "mistook 'em for a bathin' suit" and
+the like--seemed satisfied with my hurried explanation that I had gotten
+overboard. "Though how you fell in feet fust," she observed, "I don't
+see." She had mended my brown pair, sitting up until after two to do so.
+
+Lute informed me that he had been up to the post-office. "Everybody's
+talkin' about them Coltons," he declared. "I see their automobile last
+night, myself. The Colton girl, she come into the store. My! she's a
+stunner, ain't she! Sim waited on her, himself, and gave her the mail.
+She wanted to buy some cheese--for a rabbit, she said. I never heard of
+feeding a rabbit on cheese, did you, Ros?"
+
+"No," I replied, laughing. It was not worth while to explain.
+
+"Nor nobody else, but her! I guess," continued Lute, "likely she was
+just jokin'. Anyhow, Sim was all out of cheese, but he had some nice
+print butter, just in. She didn't want no butter, though."
+
+"Humph!" sniffed Dorinda. "Did Sim Eldredge cal'late she wanted to feed
+the rabbit butter? Was the Colton girl alone?"
+
+"No. There was a young feller with her; the one that's visitin' 'em.
+Carver his name is--Victor Carver. Did you ever hear such a name in your
+life? Afore I'd name a child of mine Victor!"
+
+"Um-hm. Well, I wouldn't waste time worryin' about that, if I was you.
+Look here, Lute Rogers, you didn't say anything about Roscoe's talk with
+Mr. Colton, did you?"
+
+"No, no! no, no! Course I didn't."
+
+"You sure?"
+
+"Yes. 'Taint likely I would, would I? Cap'n Jed was on hand, as usual,
+and he was full of questions, but he didn't get anything out of me.
+'What did Colton say to Ros?' he says. 'How do I know what he said?'
+says I. 'I wan't there, was I?' 'Where was you that forenoon?' he says.
+'Forenoon!' says I, 'that shows how much you know about it. 'Twas three
+o'clock in the afternoon.' Oh, I had the laugh on him!"
+
+Dorinda looked at me and shook her head.
+
+"It's too bad, Roscoe," she said. "But I was afraid of it as soon as I
+found he'd sneaked off to the post-office. I cal'late it's all over town
+by now."
+
+"What do you mean by that?" Lute's dignity was outraged. "All over town!
+I never told him nothin'."
+
+"No. Only that Ros and Mr. Colton were together and 'twas three o'clock
+in the afternoon. And goodness knows how much more! DO be quiet! Seems
+sometimes as if I should lose patience with you altogether. Is this
+Carver the Colton girl's young man? Are they engaged?"
+
+"I don't know. I guess he's keepin' company with her, by the looks. I
+got as nigh to 'em as I could, but I didn't hear much they said. Only,
+just as they was goin' out, he said somethin' about goin' for a little
+spin in the car. She said no, her father would want his letters. Carver,
+he said, why not send Oscar home--that's the chauffeur, you know--with
+the letters, and he'd run the car himself. She kind of laughed, and said
+she guessed not, she'd taken one trip with him already that day and she
+didn't believe she cared for another. He seemed kind of put out about
+it, I thought."
+
+I had been feeling rather provoked at Lute for giving Captain Jed the
+information concerning my interview with Colton; but, somehow, this
+other bit of news restored my good humor. When I started for the village
+I did not take the short cut across the fields, but followed my regular
+route, the path by the bluff and the Shore Lane. I was no longer fearful
+of meeting my new neighbors. The memory of the happenings in the bay was
+a delightful solace to my wounded self-respect. I chuckled over it as
+I walked through the dripping pines of the little grove. No matter how
+contemptuously indifferent that girl might pretend to be she would
+not forget what had taken place; that she had been obliged to obey my
+orders; that I had carried her to that skiff; that I had saved her from
+a danger--not a great danger, and against her will, of course--but saved
+her nevertheless. She was under an obligation to me; she could not help
+herself. How that must gall her. I remembered the look on her face as I
+rowed away. Sweet was revenge. And Victor--Victor was a joke.
+
+When I reached the Lane I looked over at the Colton mansion. The rain
+had given the carpenters and painters an enforced holiday, and, except
+for the chauffeur, whom I could see through the open door of the garage,
+there was no one in sight. I think I was a little disappointed. If "Big
+Jim" had appeared and hailed me with another offer for the land I should
+not have dodged. I was ready for him. But neither he, or any one else,
+appeared and I walked on.
+
+At the Corners, Sim Eldredge shouted to me from the platform of his
+store.
+
+"Hi, Ros!" he shouted. "You! Ros Paine! come here a minute, will you?"
+
+I did not want to see him. I had intended avoiding the post-office
+altogether. But I crossed to the platform.
+
+"Say, Ros," he asked eagerly, "what's this about you and Mr. Colton?"
+
+I was annoyed.
+
+"What do you mean?" I asked.
+
+"Why, you know, don't you? He come to see you and you went to see him
+over to his house. You had a reg'lar argument, I understand. About the
+Shore Lane, wan't it?"
+
+"Who told you that?" I inquired, sharply.
+
+"Why, nobody told me, exactly. Lute Rogers and Cap'n Jed was here last
+night and they got a-goin' as usual. The Cap'n does love to stir up
+Lute, and he commenced hintin' about somethin' of the kind. I don't know
+as they was hints, either, but Lute thought they was."
+
+He grinned. I understood.
+
+"I see," I said. "Well, what did Lute say?"
+
+"I suppose he'd say he never said a word, but after he'd gone there was
+a kind of general sentiment that Colton wanted to buy the Shore Lane
+land off you, and that you and he had some words about it. Anyhow, you
+didn't sell the land, did you?"
+
+"Suppose I did, or didn't; what of it?"
+
+"Why, nothin', nothin'. Only, I tell you, Ros--" he looked carefully
+about to make sure no one was listening; "I tell you; it's just this
+way. I can understand how you feel about it. You know Dean and some of
+the others are sore on Mr. Colton 'cause he's got more money than they
+have, and they want to make all the trouble for him they can. Jed's got
+an idea that he's after that Lane, to close it off, and he's stirrin' up
+sentiment against its bein' closed. He's talkin' about the town buyin'
+it. Now of course I know your position. You want to get just as high a
+price as you can afore you sell."
+
+"That's my position, is it?"
+
+"It would be the position of any sensible man, wouldn't it? I don't
+blame you. Now, what I wanted to say was this." He bent forward and
+lowered his voice to a whisper. "Why don't you let me handle this thing
+for you? I can do it better'n you. I see Cap'n Jed every night, you
+might say. And I see consider'ble of Mr. Colton. He knows I'm postmaster
+in this town and sort of prominent. All the smart folks ain't in the
+Board of Selectmen. I'll keep you posted; see? You just set back and
+pretend you don't want to sell at all. Colton, he'll bid and Jed and
+his gang'll bid. I'll tell each what the other bids, and we'll keep her
+jumpin'. When we get to the last jump, we'll sell--and not afore. Of
+course Mr. Colton 'll get it, in the end."
+
+"Oh, he will! What makes you think so?"
+
+"What makes me think so? Don't be foolish. Ain't he a millionaire? How
+can Denboro stand up against a millionaire? I tell you, Ros, it's money
+counts in this world, and it pays to stand in with them that's got it.
+I'm goin' to stand in with Mr. Colton. But I'll pretend to stand in with
+Dean just as much. I can help a whole lot. Why, I shouldn't wonder if,
+between us, we could get--er--er--I don't know how much, for that land.
+What do you say?"
+
+I smiled. "It's very kind of you, Sim, to be willing to go to so much
+trouble on my account," I observed. "I didn't know there was such
+disinterested kindness in Denboro."
+
+Sim seemed a bit put out. "Why," he stammered, "I--I--of
+course I presumed likely you'd be willin' to pay me a little
+commission--or--or--somethin'. I thought I might be a sort of--er--agent
+for you. I've handled consider'ble real estate in my time--and--you see
+what I mean, don't you?"
+
+"Yes," I said, drily; "I see. Well, Sim, if I decide to engage an agent
+I'll let you know. Good morning."
+
+"But, hold on, Ros! I--"
+
+I did not "hold on." I walked across the road and entered the bank.
+Alvin Baker met me in the vestibule. He seized my hand and shook it
+violently.
+
+"I declare," he exclaimed, "it does me good to shake hands with a feller
+that's got the grit you have. It does so! We're all proud of you."
+
+"Much obliged, Alvin, I'm sure. But why?"
+
+He winked and nudged me with his elbow.
+
+"You know why, all right," he whispered. "Wouldn't sell him the land,
+would you? Tell me: Did he make you a real bid for it? Lute as much as
+said he did."
+
+For a person who had told nothing, Lute seemed to have "as much as said"
+a good many things. I shook my head.
+
+"So you think I shouldn't sell the land?" I asked.
+
+"Course you shouldn't--not to him. Ain't there such things as public
+spirit and independence? But I'll tell you somethin' more, Ros,"
+mysteriously. "You may have a chance to sell it somewhere else."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"Yes, sir-ee! indeed! There's other public-spirited folks in Denboro as
+well as you. I know who they be and I stand in with 'em pretty close,
+too. I'm goin' to help you all I can."
+
+"That's very kind of you, Alvin."
+
+"No, no. I'm glad to do it. Shan't charge you nothin', neither."
+
+"That's kinder still."
+
+"No, 'tain't. . . Hold on a minute, Ros. Don't go. As I say, I'm goin'
+to work tooth and nail to get the town to buy that Lane property of
+yours. I'll stick out for you're gettin' a good price for it. I'll use
+all my influence."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"You needn't thank me. It's a matter of principle. We'll show these city
+folks they ain't the whole ship, cargo and all. . . . Hold on a second
+more. Ros, I--er--I wonder if you'd do a little favor for me."
+
+"What is it, Alvin?"
+
+"Why, it's this way. I've got a note here in the bank; put it there when
+I bought the power engine for my cat-boat. Hundred and fifty dollars,
+'tis. You're a pretty good friend of George Taylor, cashier here, and I
+was wonderin' if you'd mind puttin' in a word with him about my gettin'
+it renewed when it comes due. Just tell him you think I'm all right, and
+a good risk, or somethin' like that."
+
+I could not help smiling. Alvin seemed to find encouragement in the
+smile.
+
+"George thinks consider'ble of you," he said. "And Captain Jed--he's one
+of the directors--he will, too, now that you've stood up to Colton. Just
+put in a word for me, will you? And don't forget I'm a friend of yours,
+and I'm strong for your gettin' a good, fair price from the town.
+Remember that, won't you?"
+
+"I won't forget, Alvin. Good-by."
+
+I left him and went into the bank. Henry Small, the bookkeeper, was at
+his desk. I walked over to speak to him, but he, looking up from his
+figures, spoke first. There was, or so it seemed to me, a different note
+in his greeting. It was more hearty, I thought. Certainly he regarded me
+with a new and curious interest.
+
+"Morning, Ros," he said. "Well, how are you these days?"
+
+I answered that I was well, and was moving on but he detained me.
+
+"Lively times ahead, hey," he whispered.
+
+"What sort of times?" I asked.
+
+He winked. "I guess you know, if anybody does," he observed. "All right,
+you'll have good friends on your side. I ain't saying anything, of
+course, but I'm on, all right."
+
+He winked again. I walked back to the cashier's window. Taylor had,
+evidently, seen me talking with the bookkeeper, for he was standing by
+the little gate, waiting for me.
+
+"Hello, Ros," he said. "Glad to see you. Come in."
+
+George Taylor was a type of smart country boy grown to manhood in
+the country. His tone, like his manner, was sharp and quick and
+businesslike, but he spoke with the Down-East twang and used the Cape
+phrases and metaphors. He was younger than I, but he looked older, and,
+of late, it had seemed to me that he was growing more nervous. We shook
+hands.
+
+"Glad to see you," he said again. "I was hoping you'd drift in. I
+presumed likely you might. Sit down."
+
+I took the proffered chair. He looked at me with much the same curious
+interest that Small had shown.
+
+"We've been hearing about you," he said. "You've been getting yourself
+talked about."
+
+I mentally cussed Lute once more for his loquacity.
+
+"I'll break the fellow's neck," I declared, with emphasis.
+
+He laughed. "Don't do that yet awhile," he said. "The market is in bad
+enough shape as it is. If his neck was broke the whole of Wall Street
+would go to pot."
+
+"Wall Street? What in the world has Lute got to do with Wall Street?"
+
+"Lute! Oh, I see! Yes, Lute's been doing considerable talking, but it
+ain't his neck I mean. Say, Ros, what did you do to him, anyway? You
+stirred him up some, judging by what he said to me."
+
+"Who said? What?"
+
+"Why, Colton. He was in here yesterday. Opened what he called a
+household account; that was his main business. But he asked about you,
+along with it."
+
+This explained some things. It was clear now why Small had appeared so
+interested. "Oh!" I said.
+
+"You bet he did. Wanted to know if I knew you, and what you were, and so
+on. I told him I knew you pretty well. 'What sort of a fellow is he?
+A damn fool?' he asked. I strained the truth enough to say you were a
+pretty good fellow and a long ways from that kind of a fool, according
+to my reckoning. 'Umph!' says he. 'Is he rich?' I told him I guessed you
+wan't so rich that you got round-shouldered lugging your money. 'Why?'
+says I, getting curious. 'Have you met him, Mr. Colton? If you have you
+ought to have sized him up yourself. I always heard you were a pretty
+fair judge.' He looked at me kind of funny. 'I thought I was,' says he,
+'but you seem to raise a new variety down here.' Then I guess he thought
+he'd said enough. At any rate, he walked off. What did you and he say to
+each other, Ros?"
+
+I did not answer immediately. When I did the answer was non-committal.
+"Oh, we had a business interview," I said.
+
+He nodded. "Well," he observed, "I suppose it's your affair and not
+mine. But, I tell you this, Ros: if it's what I suppose it is, it'll be
+everybody's affair pretty soon."
+
+"You think so, do you?"
+
+"I know so. Cap'n Jed's a fighter and he is on the war path. The two
+sides are lining up already. Whichever way you decide you'll make
+enemies, of course."
+
+I shrugged my shoulders. The prospect of enemies, more or less, in
+Denboro, did not trouble me.
+
+"But you'll have to decide," he went on, "who you'll sell to."
+
+"Or not sell at all," I suggested.
+
+"Can you afford to do that? There'll be money--a whole lot of money--in
+this before it's over, if I know the leaders on both sides. You've got
+the whip-hand. There'll be money in it. Can you afford to let it slip?"
+
+I did not answer. Suddenly his expression changed. He looked haggard and
+care-worn.
+
+"By the Almighty," he said, between his teeth, and without looking at
+me, "I wish I had your chance."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh, nothing, nothing. . . . How's your mother nowadays?"
+
+I told him that my mother was much as usual, and we talked of various
+things.
+
+"By the way," he said, "I've got some news for you. Nothing surprising.
+I guess all hands have seen it coming. I'm engaged to be married."
+
+"Good!" said I, with as much heartiness as I could answer; marriage did
+not interest me. "Congratulations, George. Nellie Dean, of course."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I'm glad for you. And for her. She'll make you a good wife, I'm sure."
+
+He drew a long breath. "Yes," he said slowly, "Nellie's a good girl."
+
+"When is the--what do they call it? the happy event to take place?"
+
+"In the fall some time, if all goes well. I hope it will."
+
+"Humph! Yes, I should think you might hope as much as that. Why
+shouldn't it go well?"
+
+"Hey? Oh, of course it will!" He laughed and rose from his chair as
+several men came into the bank. "I'll have to leave you, Ros," he said.
+"There's a directors' meeting this morning. They're coming now."
+
+As I passed out of the gate and through the group of directors I noticed
+that they also regarded me with interest. Two, men from neighboring
+towns whom I scarcely knew, whispered to each other. Captain Elisha
+Warren shook hands with me and inquired concerning Mother. The last of
+the group was Captain Jedediah Dean, and he touched me on the shoulder.
+
+"Ros," he whispered, "you're all right. Understand? I say you're all
+right."
+
+"Thanks," I answered, briefly.
+
+"I heard about it," he whispered. "Ase Peters said the Grand Panjandrum
+was cranky as a shark with the toothache all day yesterday. You must
+tell me the yarn when we get together. I missed you when I called just
+now, but I'll be down again pretty soon. You won't lose nothin' by this.
+So long."
+
+As I came down the bank steps Sim Eldredge called across the road.
+
+"Good-by, Ros," he shouted. "Come in again next time you're up street."
+
+In all my period of residence in Denboro I had never before been treated
+like this. People had never before gone out of their way to shake hands
+with me. No one had considered it worth while to ask favors of me.
+Sim and Alvin were not to be taken seriously, of course, and both were
+looking after their own pocketbooks, but their actions were straws
+proving the wind to be blowing in my direction. I thought, and smiled
+scornfully, that I, all at once, seemed to have become a person of some
+importance.
+
+But my scorn was not entirely sincere. There was a certain gratification
+in the thought. I might pretend--I had pretended--that Denboro opinion,
+good or bad, was a matter of complete indifference to me. I had assumed
+myself a philosopher, to whom, in the consciousness of right, such
+trifles were of no consequence. But, philosophy or not, the fact
+remained that I was pleased. People might dislike me--as that lofty
+Colton girl and her father disliked me, though they could dislike me
+no more than I did them--but I could compel them to respect me. They
+already must think of me as a man. And so on--as I walked home through
+the wet grass. It was all as foolish and childish and ridiculous as it
+well could be. I deserved what was coming to me--and I got it.
+
+For, as I came down the Lane, I met Oscar, the chauffeur, and a
+companion, whom I judged to be a fellow servant--the coachman, I learned
+afterwards--walking in the direction of the village. The rain had
+ceased, but they wore natty raincoats and caps and had the city air of
+smartness which I recognized and envied, even in them. The footpath was
+narrow, but they apparently had no intention of stepping to one side,
+so I made way for them. They whispered together as they approached and
+looked at me curiously as we passed. A few steps further on I heard them
+both burst out laughing. I caught the words, from Oscar, "fool Rube" and
+"the old man'll make him look--" I heard no more, but as I turned into
+the grove I saw them both looking after me with broad grins on their
+faces.
+
+Somebody has said that there is nothing harder to bear than the contempt
+and ridicule of servants. For one thing, you cannot resent it without a
+loss of dignity, and, for another, you may be perfectly sure that theirs
+is but the reflection of their employers' frame of mind. This encounter
+shook my self-satisfaction more than a little. It angered me, but it did
+more than that; it brought back the feeling I had when I left the Colton
+library, that my defiance was not, after all, taken seriously. That I
+was regarded by Colton as just what Oscar had termed me, a "fool Rube."
+When George Taylor told me of the great man's questions concerning my
+foolishness, I accepted the question as a tribute to my independence.
+Now I was not so sure.
+
+Dorinda met me at the door.
+
+"You've had two callers," she said.
+
+"So? Who were they?"
+
+"One of 'em was Cap'n Jed. He drove down just after you left. He come to
+see you about that land, I cal'late."
+
+"Oh, yes. I remember he told me he missed me this morning. So he came
+here?"
+
+"Um-hm. Him and me had a little talk. He seemed to know consider'ble
+about your rumpus with Mr. Colton."
+
+"How did he know?"
+
+"He wouldn't say, but I wouldn't wonder if he got a lot from Ase Peters.
+Ase and he are pretty thick; he's got a mortgage on Ase's house, you
+know. And Ase, bein' as he's doin' the carpenterin' over to Colton's,
+hears a lot from the servants, I s'pose likely. Leastways, if they don't
+tell all their bosses' affairs they're a new breed of hired help, that's
+all I've got to say. Cap'n Jed says Mr. Colton cal'lates you're a fool."
+
+"Yes. So I've heard. What did the Captain say to that?"
+
+"Seemed to think 'twas a pretty good joke. He said he didn't care how
+big a fool you was so long's you was feeble-minded on the right side."
+
+So there it was again. My imagined importance in the eyes of the
+townspeople simmered down to about that. I was an imbecile, but they
+must pretend to believe me something else because I owned something they
+wanted. Well, I still owned it.
+
+"Of course," continued Dorinda, "I didn't tell him you was figgerin' not
+to sell the land at all. If I had, I s'pose he'd have thought--"
+
+She stopped short.
+
+"You suppose what?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, nothin'."
+
+She had said enough. I could guess the rest. I walked to the window and
+stood, looking out. The clouds were breaking and, as I stood there, a
+ray of sunlight streamed through a rift and struck the bay just at the
+spot where the dingy had grounded. The shallow water above the flat
+flashed into fire. I am not superstitious, as a general thing, but the
+sight comforted me. It seemed like an omen. There was the one bright
+spot in the outlook. There, at least, I had not behaved like a "fool
+Rube." There I had compelled respect and been taken seriously.
+
+Dorinda spoke again.
+
+"You ain't asked who your other caller was," she observed.
+
+"Was there another?"
+
+"Um-hm. I told you there was two. After Cap'n Jed left that chauffeur
+feller from the big house come here. He fetched a note for you. Here
+'tis."
+
+I took the note. It was addressed to me in a man's handwriting, not that
+of "Big Jim" Colton. I opened the envelope and read:
+
+
+Roscoe Paine.
+
+Sir: The enclosed is in payment for your work. No receipt is necessary.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+B. VICTOR CARVER.
+
+
+The "enclosed" was a five-dollar bill.
+
+I stood staring at the note. Then I began to laugh.
+
+"What's the joke?" asked Dorinda, who had not taken her eyes from my
+face.
+
+"This," said I, handing her the money. She looked at it in astonishment.
+
+"Um-hm," she said, drily. "Well, I--well, a five-dollar bill may be a
+joke to you, but _I_ ain't familiar enough with one to laugh at it. You
+don't laugh as if 'twas awful funny, either. Who's the joke on?"
+
+"It's on me, just now.
+
+"Um-hm. I'd be willin' to be joked ten times a day, at that price. And
+I'd undertake to laugh heartier than you're doin', too. What's it for?
+the money, I mean."
+
+"It's for some 'work' I did yesterday."
+
+She was more astonished than ever.
+
+"Work! You?" she exclaimed.
+
+"Yes. But don't worry; I shan't do it again."
+
+"Land! THAT wouldn't worry me. What sort of work was it?"
+
+"Oh, I--I picked up something adrift in the bay."
+
+"Um-hm. I see. Somethin' belongin' to the Coltons, I s'pose likely. Why
+won't you do it again? Ain't they paid you enough?"
+
+Again I laughed. "They have paid me too much," I said, bitterly. "What I
+picked up wasn't worth the money."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+And that, in the end, was the answer I sent to Carver with his five
+dollars. I spent an hour in my room trying to compose and write a
+sarcastic reply to his note, but I finally gave it up. Then I put the
+money in an envelope, addressed the latter, and sent it to the big house
+by Lute. Lute was delighted with the errand.
+
+"You'll explain to Dorindy, will you?" he asked. "She cal'lates I'm
+goin' to clean the henhouse. But I can do that some other time."
+
+"You can--yes."
+
+"Do you know--" Lute leaned against the clothes post and prepared to
+philosophize. "Do you know," he observed, "that I don't take no stock in
+cleanin' henhouses and such?"
+
+"Don't you? I'm surprised."
+
+"You're surprised 'cause you ain't thought it out. That's my way; I
+always think things out. Most folks are selfish. They want to do what
+they want to do, and they want others to want the same thing. If the
+others don't want it, then they like to make 'em have it; anyhow.
+Dorindy is crazy on cleanin'. She wouldn't live in a dirty house no
+more'n she'd live in a lobster pot. It's the way she's made. But a hen
+ain't made that way. A hen LIKES dirt; she scratches in it and digs
+holes in it to waller in, and heaves it over herself all day long. If
+you left it to the hens would THEY clean their house? I guess not! So, I
+say what's the use of cruelizin' 'em by makin' 'em live clean when they
+don't want to? I--"
+
+"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "Lute, you're wasting your breath. It is
+Dorinda you should explain all this to, not to me. And you're wasting my
+time. I want you to take that envelope to Mr. Carver; and I want you to
+go now."
+
+"Well, I'm goin', ain't I? I was only just sayin'--"
+
+"Say it when you come back. And if Mr. Carver asks you why I sent that
+envelope to him be sure and give him the message I gave you. Do you
+remember it?"
+
+"Sartin. That what you done wan't wuth so much."
+
+"Not exactly. That what I saved wasn't worth it."
+
+"All right. I'll remember. But what did you save, Ros? Dorindy says
+'twas somethin' you found afloat in the bay. If it was somethin'
+belongin' to them Coltons I'd have took the money, no matter what the
+thing was wuth. They can afford to pay and, if I was you, I'd take the
+reward."
+
+"I have my reward. Now go."
+
+I had my reward and I believed it worth much more than five dollars.
+I had learned my lesson. I knew now exactly how I was regarded by the
+occupants of the big house and by the townspeople as well. I should
+cherish no more illusions as to my importance in their eyes. I meant to
+be really independent from that time on. I did not care--really did not
+care--for anything or anybody outside my immediate household. I was back
+in the position I had occupied for years, but with one difference: I had
+an ambition now. It was to make both sides in the Shore Lane controversy
+realize that George Taylor was right when he said I had the whip-hand.
+By the Almighty, they should dance when I cracked that whip!
+
+My first opportunity to crack it came a day or two later, when Captain
+Dean called upon me. He had a definite proposition to make, although
+his Yankee shrewdness and caution prevented his making it until he had
+discussed the weather and other unimportant trifles. Then he leaned
+against the edge of my work-bench--we were in the boathouse--and began
+to beat up to windward of his proposal.
+
+"Ros," he said, "you remember I told you you was all right, when I met
+you at the bank t'other day."
+
+"I remember," I answered.
+
+"Yes. Well, I cal'late you know what I meant by that."
+
+I did not pretend ignorance of his meaning.
+
+"I presume," I replied, "that you meant I was right in not selling that
+strip of land to Mr. Colton."
+
+"That's what I meant. You kept your promise to me and I shan't forget
+it. Nor the town won't forget it, neither. Would you mind tellin' me
+just what happened between you and His Majesty?"
+
+"Not at all. He said he wanted to buy the Shore Lane strip and I refused
+to sell it to him. He said I was crazy and an infernal robber and I told
+him to go to the devil."
+
+"WHAT! you didn't!"
+
+"I did."
+
+Captain Jed slapped his knee and shouted in delight. He insisted on
+shaking hands with me.
+
+"By the great and everlastin'!" he declared, between laughs, "you're
+all right, Ros Paine! I said you was and now I'll swear to it. Told old
+Colton to go to the devil! If that ain't--oh, I wish I'd been there!"
+
+I went on sand-papering a valve plug. He walked up and down the floor,
+chuckling.
+
+"Well," he said, at last, "you've made yourself solid in Denboro,
+anyhow. And I told you you shouldn't lose nothin' by it. The Selectmen
+held a meetin' last night and they feel, same as me, that that Shore
+Lane shan't be shut off. You understand what that means to you, don't
+you?"
+
+I looked at him, coolly.
+
+"No," I answered.
+
+"You don't! It means the town's decided to buy that strip of land of
+yours. Definitely decided, practically speakin'. Now what'll you sell it
+to us for?"
+
+I put down the valve plug. "Captain," said I, "that land is not for
+sale."
+
+"Not for SALE? What do you mean by that?"
+
+"I mean that I have decided not to sell it, for the present, at least.
+Neither to Colton nor any one else."
+
+He could not believe it. Of course I would not sell it to Colton. Colton
+was a stuck-up, selfish city aristocrat who thought all creation ought
+to belong to him. But the town was different. Did I realize that it was
+the town I lived in that was asking to buy now? The town of which I was
+a citizen? Think of what the town had done for me.
+
+"Very well," I answered. "I'm willing to think. What has it done for
+me?"
+
+It had--it had--well, it had done a whole lot. As a citizen of that town
+I owed it a--a--
+
+"Look here, Captain Dean," I interrupted, "there's no use in our arguing
+the matter. I have decided not to sell."
+
+"Don't talk so foolish. Course you'll sell if you get money enough."
+
+"So Colton said, but I shan't."
+
+"Ros, I ain't got any authority to do it, but I shouldn't wonder if I
+could get you three hundred dollars for that strip."
+
+"It isn't a question of price."
+
+"Rubbish! Anything's a question of price."
+
+"This isn't. If it was I probably should have accepted Mr. Colton's
+offer of six hundred and fifty."
+
+"Six hun--! Do you mean to say he offered you six hundred and fifty
+dollars for that little mite of land, and you never took him up?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, you must be a . . . Humph! Six hundred and fifty! The town can't
+meet no such bid as that, of course."
+
+"I don't expect it to."
+
+He regarded me in silence. He was chagrined and angry; his florid face
+was redder than ever; but, more than all, he was puzzled.
+
+"Well," he observed, after a moment, "this beats me, this does! Last
+time we talked you was willin' to consider sellin'. What's changed you?
+What's the reason you won't sell? What business reason have you got for
+not doin' it?"
+
+I had no business reason at all. Except for Mother's counsel not to
+sell, which was based upon sentiment and nothing else, and my own
+stubbornness, I had no reason at all. Yet I was, if anything, more firm
+in my resolve.
+
+"How about the Lane?" he demanded. "You know what that Lane means to
+Denboro?"
+
+"I know what you say it means. The townspeople can continue to use the
+Lane, just as they always have, so long as they behave themselves. There
+is no use of our talking further, Captain. I've made up my mind."
+
+He went away, soon after, but he asked another question.
+
+"Will you do this much for me?" he asked. "Will you promise me not to
+sell the land to Colton?"
+
+"No," I said, "I will make no promise of any kind, to anybody."
+
+"Oh," with a scornful sniff, "I see. I'm on to you. You're just hangin'
+out for a big price. I might have known it. You're on Colton's side,
+after all."
+
+I rose. I was angry now.
+
+"I told you price had nothing to do with it," I said, sharply. "I am on
+no one's side. The town is welcome to use the Lane; that I have told you
+already. There is nothing more to be said."
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"I don't make many mistakes," he observed, slowly; "but I guess I've
+made one. You're a whole lot deeper'n I thought you was."
+
+So much for the proletariat. I heard from the plutocrats next day.
+Sim Eldredge dropped in on me. After much wriggling about the bush he
+intimated that he knew of Captain Jedediah's call and what had taken
+place.
+
+"You done just right, Ros," he whispered. He had a habit of whispering
+as the Captain had of shouting. "You done just right. Keep 'em guessin';
+keep em guessin'. Jed's all upsot. He don't know whether he's keel down
+or on his beam ends. He'll be makin' a higher bid pretty soon. Say,"
+with a wink, "I see Colton last night."
+
+"Did you?"
+
+"Yup. Oh, I give him a jolt. I hinted that the town had made you a fine
+offer and you was considerin' it."
+
+"What did you do that for? Who gave you the right to--"
+
+"Sshh! Don't holler. Somebody might be listenin'. I come through the
+woods and round the beach so's I wouldn't be seen. What do you s'pose
+Colton said?"
+
+"I don't care what he said."
+
+"You will when I tell you. He as much as offered a thousand dollars for
+that land. My crimps! a thousand! think of that! I presume likely you
+wouldn't take that, would you, Ros?"
+
+"Sim, I'll tell you, as I told Captain Jed, that land is not for sale."
+
+I tried to make that statement firm and sharp enough to penetrate even
+his wooden head; but he merely winked again.
+
+"All right," he whispered, hastily, "all right. I guess perhaps you're
+correct in hangin' on. Still, a thousand is a lot of money, even after
+you take out my little commission. But you know best. You put your trust
+in me. I'll keep her jumpin'. I understand. Good-by."
+
+He went out hurriedly, and, though I shouted after him, he only waved
+and ducked behind a beach-plum bush. He did not believe me serious in
+my refusal to sell; neither did Dean, or Colton, or, apparently, any one
+else. They all thought me merely shrewd, a sharp trader driving a hard
+bargain, as they would have done in my place. They might think so, if
+they wished; I should not explain. As a matter of fact, I could not have
+explained my attitude, even to myself.
+
+Yet this very attitude made a difference, a perceptible difference, in
+my position in Denboro. I noticed it each time I went up to the village.
+I saw the groups at the post-office and at the depot turn to watch me
+as I approached and as I went away. Captain Jedediah did not mention the
+Lane again--at least for some time--but he always hailed me cordially
+when we met and seemed anxious to be seen in my company. Eldredge, of
+course, was effusive; so was Alvin Baker. And other people, citizens of
+consequence in the town, who had heretofore merely bowed, now stopped
+to speak with me on the street. Members of the sewing circle called
+on Mother more frequently, and Matilda Dean, Captain Jed's wife, came
+regularly once a week. Sometimes she saw Mother and sometimes she did
+not, depending upon Dorinda's state of mind at the time.
+
+Lute, always a sort of social barometer, noticed the change in the
+weather.
+
+"Everybody's talkin' about you, Ros," he declared. "They cal'late you're
+a pretty smart feller. They don't just understand what you're up to, but
+they think you're pretty smart."
+
+"No?" I commented, ironically. "Lute, you astonish me. Why am I smart?"
+
+"Well, they don't know exactly, but they cal'late you must be. Oh,
+I hear things. Cap'n Jed said t'other night you'd make a pretty good
+Selectman."
+
+"_I_ would? A Selectman?"
+
+"Yup. He as much as hinted that to me; wondered if you'd take the
+nomination provided he could fix it for you. Sim Eldredge and Alvin and
+some more all said they'd vote for you if they got a chance. ARE you
+figgerin' to charge toll on the Lane?"
+
+"Toll? What put that idea in your head?"
+
+"Nothin', only some of the fellers wondered if you was. You see, you
+won't sell, and so--"
+
+"I see. That's a brilliant suggestion, Lute. When I adopt it I'll
+appoint you toll-keeper."
+
+"By time! I wish you would. I'd make Thoph Newcomb pay up. He owes me
+ten cents; bet it one time and never settled."
+
+Yes, my position in Denboro had changed. But I took no pride in the
+change, as I had at first; I knew the reason for this sudden burst of
+popularity. The knowledge made me more cynical than ever--cynical, and
+lonely. For the first time since I came to the Cape I longed for a real
+friend, not a relative or an acquaintance, but a friend to trust and
+confide in. Some one, with no string of his own to pull, who cared for
+me because I was myself.
+
+And all the time I had such a friend and did not realize it. The
+knowledge came to me in this way. Mother had one of her seizures, one
+of the now infrequent "sinking spells," as the doctor called them, on an
+evening when I was alone with her. Dorinda and Lute had gone, with the
+horse and buggy, to visit a cousin in Bayport. They were to stay over
+night and return before breakfast the next morning.
+
+I was alone in the dining-room when Mother called my name. There was
+something in her tone which alarmed me and I hastened to her bedside.
+One glance at her face was enough.
+
+"Boy," she said, weakly, "I am afraid I am going to be ill. I have tried
+not to alarm you, but I feel faint and I am--you won't be alarmed, will
+you? I know it is nothing serious."
+
+I told her not to worry and not to talk. I hurried out to the kitchen,
+got the hot water and the brandy, made her swallow a little of
+the mixture, and bathed her forehead and wrists with vinegar, an
+old-fashioned restorative which Dorinda always used. She said she felt
+better, but I was anxious and, as soon as it was safe to leave her,
+hurried out to bring the doctor. She begged me not to go, because it
+was beginning to rain and I might get wet, but I assured her it was not
+raining hard, and went.
+
+It was not raining hard when I started, but there was every sign of
+a severe storm close at hand. It was pitch dark and I was weary from
+stumbling through the bushes and over the rough path when I reached the
+corner of the Lane and the Lower Road. Then a carriage came down that
+road. It was an open wagon and George Taylor was the driver. He had been
+up to the Deans' and was on his way home.
+
+I hailed the vehicle, intending to ask for a ride, but when Taylor
+discovered who his hailer was he insisted on my going back to the house.
+He would get the doctor, he said, and bring him down at once. I was
+afraid he would be caught in the storm, and hesitated in accepting the
+offer, but he insisted. I did go back to the house, found Mother in much
+the same condition as when I left her, and had scarcely gotten into the
+kitchen again when Taylor once more appeared.
+
+"I brought Nellie along to stay with your mother," he said. "The Cap'n
+and the old lady"--meaning Matilda--"were up at the meeting-house and we
+just left a note saying where we'd gone. Nellie's all right. Between you
+and me, she don't talk you deaf, dumb and blind like her ma, and she's
+good company for sick folks. Now I'll fetch the doctor and be right
+back."
+
+"But it's raining pitchforks," I said. "You'll be wet through."
+
+"No, I won't. I'll have Doc Quimby here in no time."
+
+He drove off and Nellie Dean went into Mother's room. I had always
+considered Nellie a milk-and-watery young female, but somehow her quiet
+ways and soft voice seemed just what were needed in a sick room. I left
+the two together and came out to wait for Taylor and the doctor.
+
+But they did not come. The storm was under full headway now, and the
+wind was dashing the rain in sheets against the windows. I waited nearly
+an hour and still no sign of the doctor.
+
+Nellie came out of Mother's room and closed the door softly behind her.
+
+"She's quiet now," she whispered. "I think she's asleep. Where do you
+suppose George is?"
+
+"Goodness knows!" I answered. "I shouldn't have let him go, a night like
+this."
+
+"I'm afraid you couldn't stop him if his mind was made up. He's dreadful
+determined when he sets out to be."
+
+"He's a good fellow," I said, to please her. She worshipped the cashier,
+a fact of which all Denboro was aware, and which caused gossip to report
+that she did the courting for the two.
+
+She blushed and smiled.
+
+"He thinks a lot of you," she observed. "He's always talking to me about
+you. It's a good thing you're a man or I should be jealous."
+
+I smiled. "I seem to be talked about generally, just now," said I.
+
+"Are you? Oh, you mean about the Shore Lane. Yes, Pa can't make you out
+about that. He says you've got something up your sleeve and he hasn't
+decided what it is. I asked George what Pa meant and he just laughed. He
+said whatever you had in your sleeve was your affair and, if he was any
+judge of character, it would stay there till you got ready to shake it
+out. He always stood up for you, even before the Shore Lane business
+happened. I think he likes you better than any one else in Denboro."
+
+"Present company excepted, of course."
+
+"Oh, of course. If that wasn't excepted I should REALLY be jealous.
+Then," more seriously, "Roscoe, does it seem to you that George is
+worried or troubled about something lately?"
+
+I thought of Taylor's sudden change of expression that day in the bank,
+and of his remark that he wished he had my chance. But I concealed my
+thoughts.
+
+"The prospect of marriage is enough to make any man worried, isn't it?"
+I asked. "I imagine he realizes that he isn't good enough for you."
+
+There was sarcasm in this remark, sarcasm of which I should have been
+ashamed. But she took it literally and as a compliment. She looked at me
+reproachfully.
+
+"Good enough for me!" she exclaimed. "He! Sometimes I wonder if it is
+right for me to be so happy. I feel almost as if it was wrong. As if
+something must happen to punish me for it."
+
+I did not answer. To tell the truth, I was envious. There was real
+happiness in the world. This country girl had found it; that Mabel
+Colton would, no doubt, find it some day--unless she married her Victor,
+in which case I had my doubts. But what happiness was in store for me?
+
+Nellie did most of the talking thereafter; principally about George, and
+why he did not come. At last she went in to see if Mother needed her,
+and, twenty minutes later, when I looked into the bedroom, I saw that
+she had fallen asleep on the couch. Mother, too, seemed to be sleeping,
+and I left them thus.
+
+It was almost eleven o'clock when the sound of carriage wheels in the
+yard brought me to the window and then to the door. Doctor Quimby had
+come at last and Taylor was with him. The doctor, in his mackintosh and
+overshoes, was dry enough, but his companion was wet to the skin.
+
+"Sorry I'm so late, Ros," said the doctor. "I was way up to Ebenezer
+Cahoon's in West Denboro. There's a new edition of Ebenezer, made port
+this morning, and I was a little bit concerned about the missus. She's
+all right, though. How's your mother?"
+
+"Better, I think. She's asleep now. So is Nellie. I suppose George told
+you she was with her."
+
+"Yes. George had a rough passage over that West Denboro road. It's bad
+enough in daylight, but on a night like this--whew! I carried away a
+wheel turning into Ebenezer's yard, and if George hadn't had his team
+along I don't know how I'd have got here. I'll go right in and see Mrs.
+Paine."
+
+He left us and I turned to Taylor.
+
+"You're soaked through," I declared. "Come out to the kitchen stove.
+What in the world made you drive way up to that forsaken place? It's a
+good seven miles. Come out to the kitchen. Quick!"
+
+He sat down by the stove and put his wet boots on the hearth. I mixed
+him a glass of the brandy and hot water and handed him a cigar.
+
+"Why did you do it, George?" I said. "I never would have thought of
+asking such a thing."
+
+"I know it," he said. "Course you wouldn't ask it. There's plenty in
+this town that would, but you wouldn't. Maybe that's one reason I was so
+glad to do it for you."
+
+"I am almost sorry you did. It is too great a kindness altogether. I'm
+afraid I shouldn't have done as much for you."
+
+"Go on! Yes, you would. I know you."
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"No, you don't," I answered. "Captain Jed--your prospective
+father-in-law--said the other day that he had been mistaken; he thought
+he knew me, but he was beginning to find he did not."
+
+"Did he say that? What did he mean?"
+
+"I imagine he meant he wasn't sure whether I was the fool he had
+believed me to be, or just a sharp rascal."
+
+Taylor looked at me over the edge of his glass.
+
+"You think that's what he meant, do you?"
+
+"I know it."
+
+He put the glass on the floor beside him and laid a hand on my knee.
+
+"Ros," he said, "I don't know for sure what the Cap'n meant, though
+if he thinks you're either one of the two he's the fool. But _I_ know
+you--better, maybe, than you know yourself. At least I believe I know
+you better than any one else in the town."
+
+"That wouldn't be saying much."
+
+"Wouldn't it? Well, maybe not. But whose fault is it? It's yours, the
+way I look at it. Ros, I've been meaning to have a talk with you some
+day; perhaps this is as good a time as any. You make a big mistake in
+the way you treat Denboro and the folks in it."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean just that. Your whole attitude is wrong, has been wrong ever
+since you first came here to live. You never gave any of us a chance to
+know you and like you--anybody but me, I mean, and even I never had
+but half a chance. You make a mistake, I tell you. There's lots of good
+folks in this town, lots of 'em. Cap'n Elisha Warren's one of 'em and
+there's plenty more. They're countrymen, same as I am, but they're good,
+plain, sensible folks, and they'd like to like you if they had a chance.
+You belong to the Town Improvement Society, but you never go to a
+meeting. You ought to get out and mix more."
+
+I shrugged my shoulders. "I guess my mixing wouldn't be very welcome," I
+said. "And, besides, I don't care to mix."
+
+"I know you don't, but you ought to, just the same."
+
+"Nonsense! George, I'm not blind, or deaf. Don't you suppose I know what
+Warren and Dean and the rest think of me? They consider me a loafer and
+no good. I've heard what they say. I've noticed how they treat me."
+
+"How you treat them, you mean. You are as cold and freezing as a cake
+of ice. They was willing to be friends but you wouldn't have it. And,
+as for their calling you a loafer--well, that's your own fault, too.
+You OUGHT to do something; not work, perhaps, but you'd be a whole lot
+better off if you got really interested in something. Get into politics;
+get into town affairs; get out and know the people you're living with."
+
+"I don't care to know them; and I'm sure they don't care to know me."
+
+"Yes, they do. I understand how you feel. In this Shore Lane matter now:
+you think Cap'n Jed and Colton, because they pretend to call you a fool,
+don't respect you for taking the stand you have. They do. They don't
+understand you, maybe, but they can't help respecting you and, if they
+knew you even as well as I do, they'd like you. Come! I ain't throwin'
+any bouquets, but why do you suppose I'd be willing to drive to West
+Denboro forty times over, on forty times worse nights than this, for
+you? Why?"
+
+"Heaven knows! Would you?"
+
+"I would. I like you, Ros. I took a shine to you the first time I met
+you. I don't know why exactly. Why does anybody like anybody else? But I
+think a whole lot of you. I know this sounds foolish, and you don't feel
+that way towards me, but it's the truth."
+
+I was amazed. I had always liked George Taylor, but I never felt any
+strong affection for him. I was a little less indifferent to him than to
+others in Denboro, that was all. And I had taken it for granted that
+his liking for me was of the same casual, lukewarm variety. To hear him
+declare himself in this way was astonishing--he, the dry, keen, Yankee
+banker.
+
+"But why, George?" I repeated.
+
+"I don't know why; I told you that. It's because I can't help it, I
+suppose. Or because, as I said, I know you better than any one else."
+
+I sighed. "Nobody knows me here," I said.
+
+"One knows you, Ros. I know you."
+
+"You may think you do, but you don't. You can thank God for your
+ignorance."
+
+"Maybe I ain't so ignorant."
+
+I looked at him. He was looking me straight in the eye.
+
+"What do you know?" I asked, slowly.
+
+"I know, for one thing, that your name ain't Paine."
+
+I could not answer. I am not certain whether I attempted to speak or
+move. I do remember that the pressure of his hand on my knee tightened.
+
+"It's all right, Ros," he said, earnestly. "Nobody knows but me, and
+nobody ever shall know if I can help it."
+
+"How--how much do you know?" I stammered.
+
+"Why, pretty much all, I guess. I've known ever since your mother was
+taken sick. Some things I read in the paper, and the pictures of--of
+your father, put me on, and afterwards I got more certain of it. But
+it's all right. Nobody but me knows or shall know."
+
+I leaned my head on my hand. He patted my knee, gently.
+
+"Are--are you sure no one else knows?" I asked.
+
+"Certain sure. There was one time when it might have all come out. A
+reporter fellow from one of the Boston papers got on the track somehow
+and came down here to investigate. Luckily I was the first man he
+tackled, and I steered him away. I presume likely I lied some, but my
+conscience is easy so far as that goes."
+
+"And you have told no one? Not even Nellie?"
+
+"No. I tell Nellie most things, but not all--not all."
+
+I remembered afterwards that he sighed as he said this and took his
+hand from my knee; but then my agitation was too great to do more than
+casually notice it. I rose to my feet.
+
+"George! George!" I cried. "I--I can't say to you what I should like.
+But why--WHY did you shield me? And lie for me? Why did you do it? I was
+hardly more than a stranger."
+
+He sighed. "Don't know," he answered. "I never could quite see why
+a man's sins should be visited on the widows and fatherless. And, of
+course, I realized that you and your mother changed your name and came
+down here to get away from gossip and talk. But I guess the real reason
+was that I liked you, Ros. Love at first sight, same as we read about;
+hey?"
+
+He looked up and smiled. I seized his hand.
+
+"George," I said, chokingly, "I did not believe I had a real friend in
+the world, except Mother and Dorinda and Lute, of course. I can't
+thank you enough for shielding us all these years; there's no use in my
+trying. But if ever I can do anything to help YOU--anything--I'll do it.
+I'll swear to that."
+
+He shook my hand.
+
+"I know you will, Ros," he said. "I told you I knew you."
+
+"If ever I can do anything--"
+
+He interrupted me.
+
+"There's one thing you can do right now," he said. "That's get out and
+mix. That'll please me as much as anything. And begin right off. Why,
+see here, the Methodist society is going to give a strawberry festival
+on the meeting-house lawn next Thursday night. About everybody's going,
+Nellie and I included. You come, will you?"
+
+I hesitated. I had heard about the festival, but I certainly had not
+contemplated attending.
+
+"Come!" he urged. "You won't say no to the first favor I ask you.
+Promise me you'll be on hand."
+
+Before I could answer, we heard the door of Mother's room open. George
+and I hastened into the dining-room. Doctor Quimby and Nellie Dean were
+there. Nellie rushed over to her lover's side.
+
+"You bad boy," she cried. "You're wet through."
+
+Doctor Quimby turned to me.
+
+"Your ma's getting on all right," he declared. "About all that ails her
+now is that she wants to see you."
+
+George was assisting Nellie to put on her wraps.
+
+"Got to leave you now, Ros," he said. "Cap'n Jed and Matildy'll think
+we've eloped ahead of time. Good-night. Oh, say, will you promise me to
+take in the strawberry festival?"
+
+"Why" I answered, "I suppose--Yes, Mother, I'm coming--Why, yes, George,
+I'll promise, to please you."
+
+I have often wondered since what my life story would have been if I had
+not made that promise.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+The Methodist church stood on the slope of a little hill, back from the
+Main Road, and the parsonage was next door. Between the church and
+the parsonage was a stretch of lawn, dotted with shrubs and cedars
+and shaded by two big silver-leaf poplars. It was on this lawn that,
+provided the night was fair, the strawberry festival was to be held. If
+the weather should be unpropitious the festival was to be in the church
+vestry.
+
+All that day Dorinda was busy baking and icing cake. She was not going
+to the festival--partly because I was going and she could not leave
+Mother--but principally because such affairs were altogether too
+frivolous to fit in her scheme of orthodoxy. "I don't recollect," she
+said, "that the apostles did much strawberry festivalin'; they had
+other things to attend to." Lute, however, was going and if he had been
+invited to a Presidential reception he could not have been much more
+excited. He was dressed and ready at supper time, although the festival
+did not begin until seven-thirty.
+
+"Think I'm all right, Dorindy, do you?" he queried, anxiously turning
+himself about for his wife's inspection. "How about these new pants? Fur
+enough down on my boots, be they?"
+
+Dorinda looked him over with a critical eye. "Um-hm," she observed,
+"that end of 'em seems to be all right. But I cal'late the upper end
+ain't been introduced to your vest yet. Anyhow, the two don't seem to be
+well enough acquainted to associate close."
+
+Lute bent forward to inspect the hiatus between trousers and waistcoat.
+"By time!" he exclaimed, "I told Sim Eldredge they was too short in the
+waist. He said if they was any longer they'd wrinkle under the arms. I
+don't know what to do. If I hist 'em up they'll be what the fellers call
+high-water, won't them?"
+
+"Humph! I'd ruther have 'em high-water than shoal in the middle of the
+channel. You'll have to average up somehow. I ought to have known better
+than to trust you to buy anything all by yourself."
+
+She condescended to approve of my appearance when, an hour later, I came
+downstairs, garbed in my best.
+
+"Humph!" she vouchsafed, after a long look. "I declare! I'd hardly know
+you, Roscoe. You look more as you used to when you fust come here to
+live."
+
+"Thanks," I answered, drily. "I'm glad to see that you respect old age.
+This suit is venerable enough to command that kind of respect."
+
+"'Tain't the suit, though that's all right enough. It's the way you wear
+it, I guess. You look BETTER than you used to. You're browned up
+and broadened out and it's real becomin'. But," she added, with
+characteristic caution, "you must remember that good looks don't count
+for much. My father used to say to me that handsome is that handsome
+does. Not that I was so homely I'd scare the crows, but he didn't want
+me to be vain. Now don't fall overboard in THAT suit, will you?"
+
+Mother noticed my unwonted grandeur when I went in to say good-night to
+her.
+
+"Why, Roscoe!" she exclaimed. "You must consider this strawberry
+festival very important."
+
+"Why, Mother?"
+
+"Because you've taken such pains to dress for it."
+
+"It did not require a great deal of pains. I merely put on what Dorinda
+calls my Sunday clothes. I don't know why I did, either. I certainly
+don't consider the festival important."
+
+"I am glad you did. I have been a little troubled about you of late,
+Boy. It has seemed to me that you were growing--well, not careless,
+exactly, but indifferent. As if you were losing interest in life. I
+don't blame you. Compelled to waste your time here in the country, a
+companion to a bedridden old woman like me."
+
+"Hush, Mother. You're not old; and as to wasting my time--why, Mother,
+you know--"
+
+"Yes, yes, Boy, I know what you would say. But it does trouble me,
+nevertheless. I ought to bid you go back into the world, and take your
+place among men. A hundred times I have been upon the point of telling
+you to leave me, but--but--I am SO selfish."
+
+"Hush, Mother, please."
+
+"Yes, I AM selfish and I know it. I am growing stronger every day; I
+am sure of it. Just a little longer, Roscoe, just a little longer, and
+then--"
+
+"Mother, I--"
+
+"There, there!" she stroked my hand. "We won't be sad, will we. It
+pleases me to see you taking an interest in affairs. I think this Shore
+Lane matter may be a good thing, after all. Dorinda says that Luther
+tells her you are becoming very popular in town because of your
+independent stand. Everyone recognizes your public spirit."
+
+"Did she tell you that?"
+
+"Not in those words. You know Dorinda. But what amounts to that. I am
+sure the Denboro people are very proud of you."
+
+I thought of my "popularity" and the admiration of my "public spirit"
+as manifested in the attentions of Captain Jed and Eldredge and their
+followers, and I turned my head away so that she might not see my face.
+
+"And I am glad you are going to the strawberry festival. I can't
+remember when you attended such a function before. Boy--"
+
+"Yes, Mother."
+
+"There isn't any reason, any special reason, for your going, is there?"
+
+"Why, what do you mean?"
+
+"I mean--well, you are young and I did not know but, perhaps, some one
+else was going, some one you were interested in, and--and--"
+
+I laughed aloud. "Mother!" I said, reproachfully.
+
+"Why not? I am very proud of my handsome boy, and I know that--"
+
+"There! there! I haven't noticed that my beauty is so fascinating as
+to be dangerous. No, Mother, there is no 'special reason' for my going
+to-night. I promised George Taylor, that was all."
+
+"Well, I am sure you will have a good time. Kiss me, Boy. Good-night."
+
+I was by no means so sure of the good time. In fact, I loitered on my
+way to the village and it was well past eight o'clock when I paid my
+fifteen cents admission fee to Elnathan Mullet at the gate of the church
+grounds and sauntered up the slope toward the lights and gaiety of the
+strawberry festival.
+
+The ladies of the Methodist society, under whose management the affair
+was given, were fortunate in their choice of an evening. The early risen
+moon shone from a cloudless sky and there was so little breeze that the
+Japanese lanterns, hung above the tables, went out only occasionally.
+The "beauty and elite of Denboro"--see next week's Cape Cod Item--were
+present in force and, mingling with them, or, if not mingling, at least
+inspecting them with interest, were some of the early arrivals among the
+cottagers from South Denboro and Bayport. I saw Lute, proudly conscious
+of his new lavender trousers, in conversation with Matilda Dean, and
+I wondered who was the winner in that wordy race. Captain Jedediah
+strutted arm in arm with the minister. Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker
+were there with their wives. Simeon Eldredge had not yet put in an
+appearance but I knew that he would as soon as the evening mail was
+sorted.
+
+I found Nellie Dean in charge of a table, and George Taylor seated at
+that table. I walked over and joined them.
+
+"Good evening, Nellie," said I. "Well, George, here I am, you see."
+
+He shook my hand heartily. "I see you are," he said. "Good boy! How does
+it seem to splash into society?"
+
+"I haven't splashed yet. I have only just arrived."
+
+"Oh, trying the feel of the water, hey? Guess you won't find it very
+chilly. As a preparatory tonic I'd recommend strawberries and cream.
+Nellie, get Ros a saucer of those genuine home-raised berries, why don't
+you?"
+
+Nellie laughed. "Roscoe," she said, "isn't he dreadful! He knows we
+bought these berries in Boston. It's much too early for the native ones.
+But they really are very nice, though he does make such fun of them."
+
+She went into the vestry to get the berries and I sat down at the table
+beside Taylor and looked about me.
+
+"Most everybody's here," he observed. "And they'll be glad to see you,
+Ros. Get out and shake hands and be sociable, after you've done your
+duty by the fruit. How are things at home?"
+
+"Mother is herself again, I am glad to say. George, I have scarcely
+thought of anything except what you told me the other night."
+
+"Then it's time you did. That's one reason why I wanted you to come
+here. You've been thinking too much about yourself."
+
+"It isn't of myself, but of Mother. If you had dropped a hint when that
+Boston reporter came--"
+
+"Now, look here, Ros, would YOU have dropped hints if things had been
+the other way around?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"I know you wouldn't. What's the use of giving the Denboro gossip mill
+a chance to run over time? Great heavens! it works twelve hours a day as
+'tis."
+
+"It was mighty good of you, just the same."
+
+"No, it wasn't. The whole affair was your business and nobody else's."
+
+"Well, as I said before, if ever I have an opportunity to do as much for
+you--not that I ever will."
+
+"How do you know you won't? Anybody's liable to be gossiped about some
+time or other."
+
+"Not you. You are Denboro's shining light. The mothers and fathers here
+point you out as an example of what industry and ambition and honest
+effort may rise to. I--"
+
+"Shut up!" He said it almost savagely. "There!" he added, quickly,
+"let's change the subject. Talk about something worth while. Humph! I
+guess they must be opening another crate of those Boston 'homegrowns,'
+judgin' by the time it takes Nellie to get your sample."
+
+"I am in no hurry. How are affairs at the bank?"
+
+"Oh, so, so. Don't know a good man who wants a job, do you? Henry
+Small's going to leave the middle of next month."
+
+"Small, the bookkeeper? Why?"
+
+"Got a better chance up to the city. I don't blame him. Don't tell
+anybody yet; it's a secret. Say, Ros, DO you know of a good, sharp,
+experienced fellow?"
+
+I smiled. "Is it likely?" I asked. "How large is my acquaintance among
+sharp, experienced fellows down here?"
+
+"Not so large as it ought to be, I'll give in to that. But you know
+one."
+
+"Do I, indeed? Who is he?"
+
+"Yourself. You wouldn't take Small's job, would you?"
+
+"I?" I laughed aloud.
+
+"It's no joke. You've had a lot of banking experience. I've heard about
+it among my city friends, who don't know I know you. Course I realize
+the place is way beneath what you ought to have, but--"
+
+"Oh, don't be sarcastic. No, thank you, George."
+
+"All right, if you say so. But I meant it. You don't need the salary, I
+know. But--Ros, do you mind if I talk plain for a moment?"
+
+I wondered what was coming now. "No," I answered. "Go ahead and talk."
+
+"Well then, I tell you, as a friend, that 'twould be a good thing for
+you if you did take that job, or some other one. Don't make much matter
+what it is, but you ought to do something. You're too clever a fellow to
+be hanging around, shooting and fishing. You're wasting your life."
+
+"That was wasted long ago."
+
+"No, it wasn't. But it will be if you don't change pretty soon. I tell
+you you ought to get interested in something that counts. You might make
+a big name for yourself yet."
+
+"That's enough of that. I have a name already. You know it, and you know
+what was made of it."
+
+"YOU didn't make it that kind of a name, did you? And you're young
+enough to make it something altogether different. You ought to. You owe
+it to your mother and you owe it to yourself. As it is, if you keep on,
+you'll--"
+
+"George, you've said enough. No one but you would have been permitted to
+say as much. You don't understand."
+
+"Maybe not, but, Ros, I don't like to have people around here call
+you--"
+
+"I don't care a continental what they call me. I don't want them to know
+who I am, but for public opinion generally I care nothing."
+
+He leaned back in his chair. His face was in shadow and I could not see
+it, but his tone was grave enough.
+
+"You think you don't," he said, slowly, "but there may come a time when
+you will. There may come a time when you get so interested in something,
+or some person, that the thought of what folks would say if--if anything
+went wrong would keep you awake night after night. Oh, I tell you,
+Ros--Hello, Nellie! thought you'd gone South to pick those berries
+yourself. Two saucers full! Well, I suppose I must eat the other to save
+it--unless Ros here wants both."
+
+I said one would be quite sufficient for the present, and we three
+chatted until Mrs. Dean came over and monopolized the chat.
+
+"Don't go, Roscoe," protested the matron. "The Cap'n's here and he'll
+want to talk to you. He's dreadful interested in you just now. Don't
+talk about nobody else, scurcely. You set still and I'll go fetch him."
+
+But I refused to "set." I knew the cause of Captain Jedediah's interest,
+and what he wished to talk about. I rose and announced that I would
+stroll about a bit. Taylor spoke to me as I was leaving.
+
+"Ros," he said, earnestly, "you think of what I told you, will you?"
+
+I saw a group of people hurrying toward the entrance of the grounds
+and I followed them, curious as to the cause of the excitement. An
+automobile had stopped by the gate. Sim Eldredge came hastening up and
+seized me by the arm.
+
+"Gosh! it's Ros," he exclaimed, in his mysterious whisper. "I hadn't
+seen you afore; just got here myself. But I'm glad you ARE here. I'll
+see that you and him get a chance to talk private."
+
+"Who?" I asked, trying to pull my arm free.
+
+"Why, Mr. Colton. Didn't you know? Yes, sir, that's his car. He's come
+and so's his daughter and that young Carver feller. I believe they've
+come to take in the sociable. There they be! See 'em! See 'em!"
+
+I saw them. Colton and Victor had already alighted and Miss Colton was
+descending from the tonneau. There were two other men in the car, beside
+Oscar, the chauffeur.
+
+"Who are those other people?" I asked.
+
+"I don't know," whispered Sim, excitedly. "Stay where you be and I'll
+find out. I'll be right back, now. Don't you move."
+
+I did not move, not because he had ordered me to stay where I was, but
+because I was curious. The spot where I stood was in shadow and I knew
+they could not see me.
+
+Colton and his daughter were talking with Victor, who remained by the
+step of the auto.
+
+"Well, Mabel," observed "Big Jim," "here we are, though why I don't
+know. I hope you enjoy this thing more than I am likely to."
+
+"Of course I shall enjoy it, Father. Look at the decorations. Aren't
+they perfectly WONDERFUL!"
+
+"Especially the color scheme," drawled Victor. "Mabel, I call your
+attention to the red, blue and purple lanterns. Some class? Yes? Well,
+I must go. I'll be back in a very short time. If Parker wasn't starting
+for Europe to-morrow I shouldn't think of leaving, but I'm sure you'll
+forgive me, under the circumstances."
+
+"I forgive you, Victor," replied the girl, carelessly. "But don't be too
+long."
+
+"No, don't," added her father. "I promised Mrs. Colton that I should not
+be away more than an hour. She's very nervous to-night and I may be sent
+for any time. So don't keep us waiting."
+
+"No fear of that. I'll be back long before you are ready to go. I
+wouldn't miss this--er--affair myself for something. Ah, our combination
+friend, the undertaking postmaster."
+
+Sim's hat was in his hand and he was greeting Mr. Colton.
+
+"Proud to see you amongst us, sir," said Sim, with unction. "The
+Methodist folks are havin' quite a time to-night, ain't they?"
+
+"How d'ye do, Eldredge," was the great man's salutation, not at all
+effusive. "Where does all this crowd come from? Didn't know there were
+so many people in the neighborhood."
+
+"'Most everybody's out to-night. Church'll make consider'ble money. Good
+evenin', Miss Colton. Mr. Carver, pleased to meet you again, sir."
+
+The young lady merely nodded. Victor, whose foot was on the step of the
+car, did not deign to turn.
+
+"Thanks," he drawled. "I am--er--embalmed, I'm sure. All ready, Phil.
+Let her go, Oscar."
+
+The auto moved off. Mr. Colton gave his arm to his daughter and they
+moved through the crowd, Eldredge acting as master of ceremonies.
+
+"It's all right, Elnathan," ordered Sim, addressing the gate-keeper.
+"Don't bother Mr. Colton about the admission now. I'll settle with you,
+myself, later. Now, Mr. Colton, you and the lady come right along with
+me. Ain't met the minister yet, have you? He said you wan't to home when
+he called. And you let me get you some strawberries. They're fust-rate,
+if I do say it."
+
+He led the way toward the tables. I watched the progress from where I
+stood. It was interesting to see how the visitors were treated by the
+different groups. Some, like Sim, were gushing and obsequious. A few,
+Captain Jed among them, walked stubbornly by, either nodding coldly or
+paying no attention. Others, like George Taylor and Doctor Quimby, were
+neither obsequious nor cold, merely bowing pleasantly and saying, "Good
+evening," as though greeting acquaintances and equals. Yes, there WERE
+good people in Denboro, quiet, unassuming, self-respecting citizens.
+
+One of them came up to me and spoke.
+
+"Hello, Ros," said Captain Elisha Warren, "Sim's havin' the time of his
+life, isn't he?"
+
+"He seems to be," I replied.
+
+"Yes. Well, there's some satisfaction in havin' a thick shell; then
+you don't mind bein' stepped on. Yet, I don't know; sometimes I think
+fellers of Sim's kind enjoy bein' stepped on, provided the boot that
+does it is patent leather."
+
+"I wonder why they came here," I mused.
+
+"Who? the Coltons? Why, for the same reason children go to the circus,
+I shouldn't wonder--to laugh at the clowns. I laugh myself
+sometimes--though 'tain't always at their kind of clowns. Speakin' of
+that, young Carver's in good company this evenin', ain't he?"
+
+"Who were those fellows in the auto?" I asked.
+
+"Didn't you recognize them? One was Phil Somers--son of the rich widow
+who owns the big cottage at Harniss. 'Tother is a bird of the same flock
+down visitin' em. Carver's takin' 'em over to Ostable to say good-by to
+another specimen, a college mate, who is migratin' to Europe tomorrow.
+The chauffeur told Dan, my man, about it this afternoon. The chauffeur
+figgered that, knowin' the crowd, 'twas likely to be a lively farewell.
+Hello! there's Abbie hailin' me. See you later, Ros."
+
+I knew young Somers by reputation. He and his friends were a wild set,
+if report was true.
+
+Eldredge had hinted that he intended arranging an interview between
+Colton and myself. The prospect did not appeal to me. At first I decided
+to go home at once, but something akin to Captain Dean's resentful
+stubbornness came over me. I would not be driven home by those people.
+I found an unoccupied camp chair--one of Sim's, which he rented for
+funerals--and carried it to a dark spot in the shrubbery near the border
+of the parsonage lawn and not far from the gate. There I seated myself,
+lit a cigar and smoked in solitude.
+
+Elnathan Mullet, evidently considering his labors as door-keeper over,
+was counting his takings by lantern light. The moon was low in the west
+and a little breeze was now stirring the shrubbery. It was very warm for
+the season and I mentally prophesied thunder showers before morning.
+
+I had smoked my cigar perhaps half through when a carriage came down the
+road and stopped before the gate. The driver leaned forward and called
+to Mullet.
+
+"Hi, Uncle!" he shouted. "You, by the gate! Is Mr. Colton here?"
+
+Elnathan, who was, apparently, half asleep, looked up.
+
+"Hey?" he queried. "Mr. Colton? Yes, he's here. Want him, do you?"
+
+"Yes. Where is he?"
+
+"Up yonder somewheres. There he is, by Sarah Burgess's table. Mr.
+Colton! Mr. Col--ton! Somebody wants ye!"
+
+"What in blazes did you yell like that for?" protested the coachman,
+springing from the carriage. "Stop it, d'ye hear?"
+
+"You said you wanted him, didn't you? Mr. Colton! Hi! Come here!"
+
+Colton came hurrying down to the gate, his daughter following more
+slowly.
+
+"What's the matter?" he asked.
+
+The coachman touched his hat.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir," he said; "this man started yelling before I
+could stop him. I was coming to tell you. Mrs. Colton says she's very
+nervous, sir, and please come home at once."
+
+Colton turned with a shrug to his daughter. "We might have expected it,
+Mabel," he said. "Come."
+
+But the young lady seemed to hesitate. "I believe I won't go yet,
+Father," she said. "Mother doesn't need both of us. Victor will be here
+very soon, and we promised to wait for him, you know."
+
+"We can leave word. You'd better come, Mabel. Heavens and earth! you
+don't want any MORE of this, do you?"
+
+It was evident that he had had quite enough of the festival. She laughed
+lightly.
+
+"I'm finding it very entertaining," she said. "I never saw so many
+quaint people. There is one girl, a Miss Dean, whom I am really
+getting acquainted with. She's as country as can be, but she's very
+interesting."
+
+"Humph! she must be. Dean, hey? Daughter of my particular friend, the
+ancient mariner, I suppose. I don't like to leave you here. What shall I
+tell your mother?"
+
+"Tell her I am quite safe and in perfectly respectable company."
+
+"Humph! I can imagine how respectable she'll think it is. Well, I know
+it's useless to urge if you have made up your mind. I don't see where
+you get your stubbornness from."
+
+"Don't you? I can guess."
+
+"It isn't from your dad. Now do be careful, won't you? If Victor doesn't
+come soon I shall send the carriage."
+
+"Oh, he will come. It's all right, Father, dear. I am quite able to take
+care of myself."
+
+Her father shook his head. "Yes," he observed, "I guess you are. All
+right, Jenkins."
+
+He got into the carriage and was driven off. Miss Colton turned and
+walked back to the tables. I relit my cigar.
+
+Another half-hour passed.
+
+Mullet finished his counting, took up his money box and lantern and left
+the gate unguarded. Groups of home-going people began to come down the
+hill. Horses, which had been standing under the church sheds or hitched
+in neighboring yards, appeared and the various buggies and two-seaters
+to which they were attached were filled and driven away. Captain Warren
+and Miss Abbie Baker, his housekeeper, were among the first to leave.
+Abijah Hammond, the sexton, began taking down the lanterns. The
+strawberry festival was almost over.
+
+I rose from my camp chair and prepared to start for home. As I stepped
+from behind the shrubbery the moonlight suddenly went out, as if it had
+been turned off like a gas jet. Except for the few remaining lanterns
+and the gleams from the church windows and door the darkness was
+complete. I looked at the western sky. It was black, and low down along
+the horizon flashes of lightning were playing. My prophecy of showers
+was to be fulfilled.
+
+The ladies of the Methodist Society, assisted by their husbands and male
+friends, were hurrying the tables and chairs indoors. I picked up and
+folded the chair I had been occupying and joined the busy group. It was
+so dark that faces were almost invisible, but I recognized Sim Eldredge
+by his voice, and George Taylor and I bumped into each other as we
+seized the same table.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" exclaimed the cashier. "Thought you'd gone. Going to have
+a tempest, ain't we."
+
+"Tempest" is Cape Cod for thunderstorm. I agreed that one was imminent.
+
+"Hold on till I get this stuff into the vestry," continued Taylor, "and
+I'll drive you home. I'll be ready pretty soon."
+
+I declined the invitation. "I'll walk," I answered. "You have Nellie
+to look after. If you have a spare umbrella I'll borrow that. Where is
+Nellie?"
+
+"Oh, she's over yonder with Miss Colton. They have been making each
+other's acquaintance. Say, Ros, she's a good deal of a girl, that Colton
+one, did you know it?"
+
+I did not answer.
+
+"Oh, I know you're down on the whole lot of 'em," he added, laughing;
+"but she is, just the same. Kind of top-lofty and condescending, but
+that's the fault of her bringing-up. She's all right underneath. Too
+good for that Carver cub. By the way, if he doesn't come pretty soon
+I'll phone her pa to send the carriage for her. If I was Colton I
+wouldn't put much confidence in Carver's showing up in a hurry. You saw
+the gang he was with, didn't you? They don't get home till morning, till
+daylight doth appear, as a usual thing. Hello! that's the carriage now,
+ain't it? Guess papa wasn't taking any chances."
+
+Sure enough, there were the lights of a carriage at the gate, and I
+heard the voice of Jenkins, the coachman, shouting. Nellie Dean called
+Taylor's name and he hurried away. A few moments later he returned.
+
+"She's off, safe and sound," he said. "I judged she wasn't any too well
+pleased with her Victor for not showing up to look out for her."
+
+A sharp flash of lightning cut the sky and a rattling peal of thunder
+followed.
+
+"Right on top of us, ain't it!" exclaimed George. "Sure you don't want
+me to drive you home? All right; just as you say. Hold on till I get you
+that umbrella."
+
+He borrowed an umbrella from the parsonage. I took it, thanked him, and
+hastened out of the church grounds. I looked up the road as I passed
+through the gate. I could have seen an auto's lamps for a long distance,
+but there were none in sight. With a malicious chuckle I thought that my
+particular friend Victor was not taking the surest way of making himself
+popular with his fiancee, if that was what she was.
+
+The storm overtook me before I was half-way down the Lower Road. A few
+drops of rain splashed the leaves. A lightning stroke so near and
+sharp that I fancied I could hear the hiss was accompanied by a savage
+thunder-clap. Then came the roar of wind in the trees by the roadside
+and down came the rain. I put up my umbrella and began to run. We have
+few "tempests" in Denboro, those we do have are almost worthy of the
+name.
+
+I had reached the grove of birches perhaps two hundred yards from the
+Shore Lane when out of the wet darkness before me came plunging a horse
+drawing a covered carriage. I had sprung to one side to let it go by
+when I heard a man's voice shouting, "Whoa!" The voice did not come from
+the carriage but from the road behind it.
+
+"Whoa! Stop him!" it shouted.
+
+I jumped back into the road. The horse saw me appear directly in front
+of him, shied and reared. The carriage lamps were lighted and by their
+light I saw the reins dragging. I seized them and held on. It was all
+involuntary. I was used to horses and this one was frightened, that was
+all.
+
+"Whoa, boy!" I ordered. "Whoa! Stand still!"
+
+The horse had no intention of standing still.
+
+He continued to rear and plunge. I, clinging to the reins, found myself
+running alongside. I had to run to avoid the wheels. But I ran as slowly
+as I could, and my one hundred and ninety pounds made running, on the
+animal's part, a much less easy exercise.
+
+The voice from the rear continued to shout and, in another moment, a man
+seized the reins beside me. Together we managed to pull the horse into a
+walk. Then the man, whom I recognized as the Colton coachman, vented
+his feelings in a comprehensive burst of profanity. I interrupted the
+service.
+
+"What is the matter?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, this blessed"--or words to that effect--"horse is scared of
+thunder; that's all. He's a new one; we just bought him before we came
+down here and I hadn't learned his little tricks. Whoa! stand still, or
+I'll break your dumb neck! Say," turning to me, "go back, will you, and
+see if she's all right."
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Miss Colton--the old man's daughter. She got out when he began to dance
+and I was holding him by the bridle. Then came that big flash and
+he broke loose. Go back and see to her, will you? I can't leave this
+horse."
+
+For just a moment I hesitated. I am ashamed of my hesitation now, but
+this is supposed to be a truthful chronicle. Then I went back down the
+road. By another flash of lightning I saw the minister's umbrella upside
+down in the bushes where I had dropped it, and I took it with me. I was
+about as wet as I well could be but I am glad to say I remembered that
+the umbrella was a borrowed one.
+
+After I had walked, or stumbled, or waded a little way I stopped and
+called.
+
+"Miss Colton," I called. "Where are you?"
+
+"Here," came the answer from just ahead. "Is that you, Jenkins?"
+
+I did not reply until I reached her side.
+
+"You are not hurt?" I asked.
+
+"No, not at all. But who is it?"
+
+"I am--er--your neighbor. Paine is my name."
+
+"Oh!" the tone was not enthusiastic. "Where is Jenkins?"
+
+"He is attending to the horse. Pardon me, Miss Colton, but won't you
+take this umbrella?"
+
+This seemed to strike her as a trifle absurd. "Why, thank you," she
+said, "but I am afraid an umbrella would be useless in this storm. Is
+the horse all right?"
+
+"Yes, though he is very much frightened. I--"
+
+I was interrupted by another flash and terrific report from directly
+overhead. The young lady came closer to me.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed.
+
+I had an idea. The flash had made our surroundings as light as day
+for an instant and across the road I saw Sylvanus Snow's old house,
+untenanted, abandoned and falling to decay. I took Miss Colton's arm.
+
+"Come!" I said.
+
+She hung back. "Where are you going?" she asked.
+
+"Just across the road to that old house. On the porch we shall be out of
+the rain."
+
+She made no further objections and together we stumbled through the
+wet grass and over Sylvanus's weed-grown flower beds. I presume I shall
+never again smell the spicy fragrance of "old maids' pinks" without
+thinking of that night.
+
+I found the edge of the piazza by the direct process of barking my shins
+against it, and helped her up on to the creaking boards. My sanguine
+statement that we should be out of the rain proved not quite true. There
+was a roof above us, but it leaked. I unfurled the wet umbrella and held
+it over her head.
+
+For some moments after we reached the piazza neither of us spoke. The
+roar of the rain on the shingles of the porch and the splash and gurgle
+all about us would have made conversation difficult, even if we had
+wished to talk. I, for one, did not. At last she said:
+
+"Do you see or hear anything of Jenkins?"
+
+I listened, or tried to. I was wondering myself what had become of the
+coachman.
+
+"No," I answered, "I don't hear him."
+
+"Where do you suppose he is? He could not have been far away when you
+met him."
+
+"He was not. And I know he intended to come back at once."
+
+"You don't suppose Caesar--the horse--ran away again? When that second
+crack came?"
+
+I was wondering that very thing. That particular thunder clap was louder
+and more terrifying than those preceding it. However, there was no use
+in alarming her.
+
+"I guess not," I answered. "He'll be here soon, I am sure."
+
+But he did not come. The storm seemed to be passing over. The flashes
+were just as frequent, but there was a longer interval between each
+flash and its thunder peal. The rain was still a steady downpour.
+
+Miss Colton was plainly growing more anxious.
+
+"Where can he be?" she murmured.
+
+"Don't be frightened," I urged. "He is all right. I'll go and look him
+up, if you don't mind being left alone."
+
+"Can't--can't we go together?"
+
+"We could, of course, but there is no use in your getting wetter than
+you are. If you are willing to stay here I will run up the road and see
+if I can find him."
+
+"Thank you. But you will get wet yourself."
+
+"Oh, I am wet already. Take the umbrella. I'll be back in a minute."
+
+I pressed the handle of the umbrella into her hand--it was as steady as
+mine--and darted out into the flood. I think she called me to come back,
+but I did not obey. I ran up the road until I was some distance beyond
+the point where I had stopped the runaway, but there were no signs of
+horse, carriage or coachman. I called repeatedly, but got no reply.
+Then, reluctantly, I gave it up and returned to the porch.
+
+She gave a little gasp of relief when I reached her side.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed, "did you find him?"
+
+"No," I answered. "He seems to have gone on. He cannot have gone far. It
+is only a little way to the Corners."
+
+"Is--isn't there a house, a house with people living in it, near this
+place?"
+
+"No nearer than your house, Miss Colton. We seem to have chosen the most
+forsaken spot in Denboro to be cast away in. I am very sorry."
+
+"I am not frightened for myself. But I know my father and mother will be
+alarmed if I don't come soon. I am sure Caesar must have run away again,
+and I am afraid Jenkins must be hurt."
+
+I had thought of that, too. Only an accident could explain the
+coachman's non-appearance or, at least, his not sending help to his
+mistress.
+
+"If you are really not afraid to remain here, Miss Colton," I said, "I
+will go to your house myself."
+
+"Oh no! Some one will come soon. I can't understand where Victor--Mr.
+Carver--can be. He was to have joined me at the church."
+
+I did not answer. Knowing Mr. Carver's associates and the errand upon
+which he had gone, I imagined I could guess the cause of his delay. But
+I did not speak my guess.
+
+"The storm is not as severe just now," I said. "I can get to your house
+in a little while, if you are willing I should leave you."
+
+She put her hand on my arm. "Come," she said. "Shall we start now?"
+
+"But you must not go. You couldn't get there on foot, such a night as
+this."
+
+"Yes, I can. I mean to. Please come."
+
+I still hesitated. She took her hand from my arm and stepped out into
+the rain. "Are you coming?" she said.
+
+I joined her, still protesting. We splashed on through the mud and
+water, she clinging lightly to my arm and I holding the perfectly
+useless umbrella over her head. The rain was descending steadily and the
+sky overhead was just black, but along the western horizon, as I caught
+a glimpse of it between the trees, I fancied the blackness was a little
+less opaque. The storm was passing over, sure enough.
+
+But before it passed it gave us one goodby salute. We had about reached
+the point on the Shore Lane where I first met her and Carver in the
+auto. The shaky bridge over Mullet's cranberry brook was just ahead.
+Then, without warning, the black night split wide open, a jagged streak
+of fire shot from heaven to earth and seemed to explode almost in our
+faces. I was almost knocked off my feet and my fingers tingled as if I
+had been holding the handles of an electric battery. The umbrella flew
+out of my hands and, so far as I was concerned, vanished utterly. I
+believe Elnathan picked up the ruin next day, but just then I neither
+knew nor cared what had become of it. I had other things to think of.
+
+But for a moment I could not think at all. I was conscious of a great
+crashing and rustling and splintering directly in front of me and then I
+realized that the young lady was no longer clinging to my arm. I looked
+about and up through the darkness. Then down. She was lying at my feet.
+
+I bent over her.
+
+"Miss Colton!" I cried. "Miss Colton! Are you hurt?"
+
+She neither answered nor moved. My brain was still numb from the
+electric shock and I had a dazed fear that she might be dead. I shook
+her gently and she moaned. I spoke again and again, but she did not
+answer, nor try to rise. The rain was pouring down upon us and I knew
+she must not lie there. So once more, just as I had done in the dingy,
+but now under quite different circumstances and with entirely different
+feelings, I stooped and lifted her in my arms.
+
+My years of outdoor life in Denboro had had one good effect at least;
+they had made me strong. I carried her with little effort to the bridge.
+And there I stopped. The bridge was blocked, covered with a mass of wet
+leafy branches and splintered wood. The lightning bolt had missed us by
+just that much. It had overthrown and demolished the big willow tree by
+the brook and to get through or over the tangle was impossible.
+
+So again history repeated itself. I descended the bank at the side of
+the bridge and waded through the waters with Mabel Colton in my arms. I
+staggered up the opposite bank and hurried on. She lay quiet, her head
+against my shoulder. Her hat had fallen off and a wet, fragrant strand
+of her hair brushed my cheek. Once I stopped and bent my head to listen,
+to make sure that she was breathing. She was, I felt her breath upon my
+face. Afterwards I remembered all this; just then I was merely thankful
+that she was alive.
+
+I had gone but a little way further when she stirred in my arms and
+spoke.
+
+"What is it?" she asked. "What is the matter?"
+
+"Nothing," I answered, with a sigh of relief. "It is all right. We shall
+be there soon."
+
+"But what is the matter? Why are you--let me walk, please."
+
+"You had better stay as you are. You are almost home."
+
+"But why are you carrying me? What is the matter?"
+
+"You--you fainted, I think. The lightning--"
+
+"Oh yes, I remember. Did I faint? How ridiculous! Please let me walk
+now. I am all right. Really I am."
+
+"But I think--"
+
+"Please. I insist."
+
+I set her gently on her feet. She staggered a little, but she was plucky
+and, after a moment, was able to stand and walk, though slowly.
+
+"You are sure you can manage it?" I asked.
+
+"Of course! But why did I faint? I never did such a thing before in my
+life."
+
+"That flash was close to us. It struck the big willow by the brook."
+
+"Did it! As near as that?"
+
+"Yes. Don't try to talk."
+
+"But I am all right . . . I am not hurt at all. Are we almost home?"
+
+"Yes. Those are the lights of your house ahead there."
+
+We moved on more rapidly. As we turned in at the Colton walk she said,
+"Why; it has stopped raining."
+
+It had, though I had not noticed it. The flash which smashed the willow
+had been the accompaniment of what Lute would call the "clearing-up
+shower." The storm was really over.
+
+We stepped up on the portico of the big house and I rang the bell.
+The butler opened the door. His face, as he saw the pair of dripping,
+bedraggled outcasts before him, was worth looking at. He was shocked out
+of his dignity.
+
+"Why! Why, Miss Mabel!" he stammered, with almost human agitation.
+"What--"
+
+A voice, a petulant female voice, called from the head of the stairs.
+
+"Johnson," it quavered, "who is it? Mabel, is that you?"
+
+The library door flew open and Mr. Colton himself appeared.
+
+"Eh? What?" he exclaimed. "By George! Mabel, where have you been? I have
+been raising heaven and earth to locate you. The 'phone seems to be out
+of order and--Great Scott, girl! you're wet through. Jenkins, what--?
+Hey? Why, it isn't Jenkins!"
+
+The fact that his daughter's escort was not the coachman had just dawned
+upon him. He stared at me in irate bewilderment. Before he could ask
+a question or his daughter could speak or explain there came a little
+shriek from the stairs, a rustle of silken skirts, and a plump,
+white-faced woman in an elaborate house gown rushed across the hall with
+both white arms outstretched.
+
+"Mabel!" she cried, "where HAVE you been. You poor child! I have been
+almost beside myself, and--"
+
+Miss Colton laughingly avoided the rush. "Take care, Mother," she
+warned. "I am very wet."
+
+"Wet? Why! you're absolutely drenched! Jenkins--Mabel, where is Jenkins?
+And who is this--er--person?"
+
+I thought it quite time for me to withdraw.
+
+"Good night, Miss Colton," I said, and stepped toward the door. But "Big
+Jim" roared my name.
+
+"It's that--it's Paine!" he exclaimed. "Here! what does this mean,
+anyway?"
+
+I think his daughter was about to explain, when there came another
+interruption. From the driveway sounded the blare of an auto horn.
+Johnson threw open the door just as the big car whirled up to the porch.
+
+"Here we are!" laughed Carver, emerging from behind the drawn curtains
+of the machine. "Home again from a foreign shore. Come in, fellows, and
+have a drink. We've had water enough for one night. Come in."
+
+He stumbled as he crossed the sill, recovered his balance, laughed, and
+then all at once seemed to become aware of the group in the hall. He
+looked about him, swaying a little as he did so.
+
+"Ah, Mabel!" he exclaimed, genially. "Got here first, didn't you? Sorry
+I was late, but it was all old Parker's fault. Wouldn't let us say
+goodby. But we came some when we did come. The bridge is down and we
+made Oscar run her right through the water. Great ex-experience. Hello!
+Why, what's matter? Who's this? What? it's Reuben, isn't it! Mabel, what
+on earth--"
+
+She paid no attention to him. I was at the door when she overtook me.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said, "I am very grateful for your kindness. Both for
+what you have done tonight and for your help the other afternoon. Thank
+you."
+
+She held out her hand. I took it, scarcely knowing that I did so.
+
+"Thank you," she said, again. I murmured something or other and went
+out. As I stepped from the porch I heard Victor's voice.
+
+"Well, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "Mabel!"
+
+I looked back. He was standing by the door. She went past him without
+replying or even looking at him. From the automobile I heard smothered
+chuckles and exclamations. The butler closed the door.
+
+I walked home as fast as I could. Dorinda was waiting up for me. What
+she said when she saw the ruin of my Sunday suit had better not be
+repeated. She was still saying it when I took my lamp and went up to
+bed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+The strawberry festival and the "tempest" were, of course, the subjects
+most discussed at the breakfast table next morning. Lute monopolized
+the conversation, a fact for which I was thankful, for it enabled me
+to dodge Dorinda's questions as to my own adventures. I did not care to
+talk about the latter. My feelings concerning them were curiously mixed.
+Was I glad or sorry that Fate had chosen me to play once more the role
+of rescuer of a young female in distress? That my playing of the role
+had altered my standing in Mabel Colton's mind I felt reasonably sure.
+Her words at parting with me rang true. She was grateful, and she had
+shaken hands with me. Doubtless she would tell her father the whole
+story and he, too, in common decency, would be grateful to me for
+helping his daughter. But, after all, did I care for gratitude from
+that family? And what form would that gratitude take? Would Colton,
+like Victor Carver, offer to pay me for my services? No, hardly that, I
+thought. He was a man of wide experience and, if he did offer payment,
+it would be in some less crude form than a five dollar bill.
+
+But I did not want payment in any form. I did not want condescension and
+patronizing thanks. I did not want anything--that was it. Up to now, the
+occupants of the big house and I had been enemies, open and confessed. I
+had, so far as possible, kept out of their way and hoped they would keep
+out of mine. But now the situation was more complicated. I did not know
+what to expect. Of course there was no chance of our becoming friends.
+The difference in social position, as they reckoned it, made that too
+ridiculous to consider as a possibility, even if I wished it, which
+I distinctly did not. But something, an interview, awkward and
+disagreeable for both sides, or a patronizing note of thanks, was, at
+the very least, certain to follow the happenings of the previous night.
+I wished I had gone home when the Coltons first came to the festival.
+I wished I had not promised Taylor that I would attend that festival.
+I wished--I wished a great many things. The thought of young Carver's
+public snubbing before his friends was my one unmixed satisfaction. I
+rather imagined that he was more uncomfortable than I was or could be.
+
+Lute crowed vaingloriously over his own good judgment in leaving for
+home early.
+
+"I don't know how 'twas," he declared. "Somethin' seemed to tell me we
+was in for a turrible tempest. I was settin' talkin' with Alvin Baker
+and eatin' my second sasser of berries, when--"
+
+"SECOND sasser?" interrupted Dorinda, sharply. "Where'd you get money
+for two sassers? I gave you thirty cents when you started for that
+festival. It cost you fifteen to get inside the gate, and Matildy Dean
+told me the church folks was cal'latin' to charge fifteen for a helpin'
+of berries and cream. And you had two sassers, you say. Who paid for the
+second one?"
+
+Her husband swallowed half a cup of coffee before replying. Then his
+reply had nothing to do with the question.
+
+"I don't know how 'twas," he went on. "I just had the feelin', that's
+all. Sort of a present--presentuary, I guess, come over me. I looked up
+at the sky and 'twas gettin' black, and then I looked to the west-ard
+and I see a flash of lightnin'. 'Nothin' but heat lightnin',' says
+Alvin. 'Heat lightnin' nothin'!' says I, 'I tell you--"
+
+"Who paid for that second sasser of berries?" repeated his wife,
+relentlessly.
+
+"Why now, Dorindy--"
+
+"Who paid for 'em? If 'twas Alvin Baker you ought to be ashamed of
+yourself, spongin' on him for your vittles."
+
+"Alvin! Good land! did you ever know him to pay for anything he didn't
+have to?"
+
+"Never mind what I know. Did you get trusted for 'em? How many times
+have I told you--"
+
+"I never got trusted. I ain't that kind. And I didn't sponge 'em,
+neither. I paid cash, right out of my own pocket, like a man."
+
+"You did! Um-hm. I want to know! Well then--MAN, where did the cash in
+that pocket come from?"
+
+Lute squirmed. "I--I--" he stammered.
+
+"Where did it come from? Answer me."
+
+"Well--well, Dorindy, you see--when you sent me up to the store t'other
+day after the brown sugar and--and number 50 spool cotton you give me
+seventy-five cents. You remember you did, yourself."
+
+"Yes, and I remember you said there was a hole in your pocket and you
+lost the change. I ain't likely to forget it, and I shouldn't think
+you'd be."
+
+"I didn't forget. By time! my ears ain't done singin' yet. But that
+shows how reckless you talk to me. I never lost that change at all. I
+found it afterwards in my vest, so all your jawin' was just for nothin'.
+Ros, she ought to beg my pardon, hadn't she? Hadn't she now?"
+
+Dorinda saved me the trouble of answering.
+
+"Um-hm!" she observed, dryly. "Well, I'll beg my own pardon instead, for
+bein' so dumb as not to go through your vest myself. So THAT'S where
+the other fifteen cents come from! I see. Well, you march out to the
+woodpile and chop till I tell you to quit."
+
+"But, Dorindy, I've got one of my dyspepsy spells. I don't feel real
+good this mornin'. I told you I didn't."
+
+"Folks that make pigs of themselves on stolen berries hadn't ought to
+feel good. Exercise is fine for dyspepsy. You march."
+
+Lute marched, and I marched with him as far as the back yard. There I
+left him, groaning before the woodpile, and went down to the boat house.
+
+The Comfort's overhauling was complete and I had launched her the week
+before. Now she lay anchored at the edge of the channel. For the want
+of something more important to do I took down my shot gun and began to
+polish its already glittering barrels.
+
+Try as I might I could not get the memory of my adventure in the
+"tempest" out of my head. I reviewed it from end to end, thinking of
+many things I might have done which, in the light of what followed,
+would have been better and more sensible. If, instead of leaving the
+coachman, I had remained to help him with the frightened horse, I should
+have been better employed. Between us we could have subdued the animal
+and Miss Colton might have ridden home. I wondered what had become of
+Jenkins and the horse. I wondered if the girl knew I carried her
+through the brook. Victor had said the bridge was down; she must know.
+I wondered what she thought of the proceeding; probably that splashing
+about with young ladies in my arms was a habit of mine.
+
+I told myself that I did not care what she thought. I resolved to forget
+the whole affair and to focus my attention upon cleaning the gun. But
+I could not forget. I waded that brook a dozen times as I sat there.
+I remembered every detail; how still she lay in my arms; how white her
+face looked as the distant lightning flashes revealed it to me; how her
+hair brushed my cheek as I bent over her. I was using a wad of cotton
+waste to polish the gun barrel, and I threw it into a corner, having the
+insane notion that, in some way, the association of ideas came from that
+bunch of waste. It--the waste--was grimy and anything but fragrant, as
+different from the dark lock which the wind had blown against my face as
+anything well could be, but the hurry with which I discarded it proves
+my imbecility at that time. Confound the girl! she was a nuisance. I
+wanted to forget her and her family, and the sulphurous personage to
+whose care I had once consigned the head of the family apparently took a
+characteristic delight in arranging matters so that I could not.
+
+The shot gun was, at last, so spotless that even a pretense of further
+cleaning was ridiculous. I held it level with my eye and squinted
+through the barrels.
+
+"Don't shoot," said a voice from the doorway; "I'll come down."
+
+I lowered the gun, turned and looked. "Big Jim" Colton was standing
+there, cigar in mouth, cap on the back of his head and both hands in his
+pockets, exactly as he had appeared in that same doorway when he and I
+first met. The expected had happened, part of it at least. He had come
+to see me; the disagreeable interview I had foreseen was at hand.
+
+He nodded and entered without waiting for an invitation.
+
+"Morning," he said.
+
+"Good morning," said I, guardedly. I wondered how he would begin the
+conversation. Our previous meeting had ended almost in a fight. We had
+been fighting by proxy ever since. I was prepared for more trouble,
+for haughty condescension, for perfunctory apology, for almost anything
+except what happened. His next remark might have been addressed to an
+acquaintance upon whom he had casually dropped in for a friendly call.
+
+"That's a good looking gun you've got there," he observed. "Let's see
+it."
+
+I was too astonished to answer. "Let's look at it," he repeated, holding
+out his hand.
+
+Mechanically I passed him the gun. He examined it as if he was used to
+such things, broke it, snapped it shut, tried the locks with his thumb
+and handed it back to me.
+
+"Anything worth shooting around here?" he asked, pulling the armchair
+toward him and sitting.
+
+I think I did not let him see how astonished I was at his attitude. I
+tried not to.
+
+"Why yes," I answered, "in the season. Plenty of coots, some black duck,
+and quail and partridge in the woods."
+
+"That so! Peters, that carpenter of mine, said something of the sort, I
+remember, but I wouldn't believe him under oath. I could shoot HIM with
+more or less pleasure, but there seems to be no open session for his
+species. Where's your launch?"
+
+"Out yonder." I pointed to the Comfort at her moorings. He looked, but
+made no comment. I rose and put the gun in the rack. Then I returned to
+my chair. He swung around in his seat and looked at me.
+
+"Well," he said, grimly, but with a twinkle in his eye, "the last time
+you and I chatted together you told me to go to the devil."
+
+This was quite true and I might have added that I was glad of it. But
+what would be the use? I did not answer at all.
+
+"I haven't gone there yet," he continued. "Came over here instead. Got
+dry yet?"
+
+"Dry?"
+
+"Yes. You were anything but dry when I saw you last night. Have many
+such cloudbursts as that in these parts?"
+
+"Not many. No."
+
+"I hope not. I don't want another until I sell that horse of mine. The
+chap who stuck me with him is a friend of mine. He warranted the beast
+perfectly safe for an infant in arms to drive and not afraid of anything
+short of an earthquake. He is a lovely liar. I admire his qualifications
+in that respect, and hope to trade with him again. He bucks the stock
+market occasionally."
+
+He smiled as he said it. There was not the slightest malice in his tone,
+but, if I had been the "friend," I should have kept clear of stocks for
+awhile.
+
+"What became of the horse?" I asked.
+
+"Ran away again. Jenkins had just got back into the carriage when
+another one of those thunder claps started more trouble. The horse ran
+four miles, more or less, and stopped only when the wheels got jammed
+between two trees. I paid nine hundred dollars for that carriage."
+
+"And the coachman?"
+
+"Oh, he lit on his head, fortunately, and wasn't hurt. Spent half the
+night trying to find a phone not out of commission but failed. Got home
+about four o'clock, leading the horse. Paine--"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Of course you know what I've come here for. I'm much obliged to you."
+
+"That's all right. You're welcome."
+
+"Maybe I am, but I am obliged, just the same. Not only for the help you
+gave Mabel--my daughter--last night, but for that business in the bay
+the other afternoon."
+
+So she had told him the whole story. Remembering her last words, as I
+left her in the hall, I had rather imagined she would.
+
+"That didn't amount to anything," I said, shortly.
+
+"Why, yes, it did. It might have amounted to a whole lot. I asked Peters
+some questions about the tides out here and, from what he said, I judge
+that being stuck on the shoals in a squall might not be altogether a
+joke. Mabel says you handled the affair mighty well."
+
+I did not answer. He chuckled.
+
+"How did young Carver enjoy playing second fiddle?" he asked. "From what
+I've seen of him he generally expects to lead the band. Happy, was he?"
+
+I remained silent. He smiled broadly.
+
+"He isn't any too happy this morning," he went on. "That young man won't
+do. I never quoted him within twenty points of par, but Mabel seemed to
+like him and her mother thought he was the real thing. Mrs. C. couldn't
+forget that his family is one of the oldest on the list. Personally
+I don't gamble much on families; know a little about my own and that
+little is enough. But women are different. However, family or not, he
+won't do. I should tell him so myself, but I guess Mabel will save me
+the trouble. She's got a surprising amount of common-sense, considering
+that she's an only child--and who her parents are. By the way, Paine,
+what did Carver say when you put him ashore?"
+
+"He--he said--oh, nothing of importance."
+
+"Yes, I know that. I listened to his explanations last night. But did he
+say anything?"
+
+"Why, he offered to pay me for my work."
+
+"Did he? How much?"
+
+"I did not wait to find out."
+
+"And you haven't heard from him since?"
+
+I hesitated.
+
+"Have you?" he repeated.
+
+"Well, I--I received a note from him next day."
+
+"Humph! Offering apologies?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Sent you money, didn't he?"
+
+I looked at him in surprise. "Did he tell you?" I asked.
+
+"No, nobody told me. I'm only trying to find out whether or not I have
+lost all my judgment of human nature since I struck this sand heap. He
+did send you money then. How much?"
+
+"Mr. Colton, I--"
+
+"Come now! How much?"
+
+"Well--he sent me five dollars."
+
+"No! he didn't!"
+
+"I am telling you the truth."
+
+"Yes," slowly, "I know you are. I've got that much judgment left. Sent
+you five dollars, did he. And you sent it back."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Any message with it?"
+
+I was tired of being catechized. I had not meant to tell him anything.
+Now I decided to tell him all. If it angered him, so much the better.
+
+"I sent him word that what I saved wasn't worth the money."
+
+To my amazement he was not angry. Instead he slapped his knee and
+laughed aloud.
+
+"Ho! ho!" he shouted. "Humph! Well, that was. . . . I'd like to have
+seen his face when he got that message. No, that young man won't do. He
+won't do at all."
+
+It was not for me to dispute this conclusion, even if I had disagreed
+with him, which I did not. I said nothing. He rubbed his knee for a
+moment and then changed the subject.
+
+"How did you happen to be on the Lower Road at that time of the night?"
+he asked. "I'm mighty glad you were there, of course, but where did you
+come from?"
+
+"I left the festival rather late and--"
+
+"Festival? Oh, that thing up at the church. I didn't see you there."
+
+I had taken pains that he should not see me.
+
+"Do you mean to tell me," he continued, "that you enjoy a thing like
+that? What in blazes made Mabel want to go I don't see! She and Carver
+were set on going; and it would be the treat of a lifetime, or words to
+that effect. I can't see it myself. Of all the wooden headed jays I ever
+laid eyes on this town holds the finest collection. Narrow and stubborn
+and blind to their own interests!"
+
+This was more like what I expected from him and I resented it. It may
+seem odd that I, of all persons, should have taken upon myself the
+defense of Denboro and its inhabitants, but that is what I did.
+
+"They are no more narrow and stubborn in their way than city people are
+in theirs," I declared. "They resent being ordered about as if their
+opinions and wishes counted for nothing, and I honor them for it."
+
+"Do, hey?"
+
+"Yes, I do. Mr. Colton, I tell you that you are all wrong. Simply
+because a man lives in the country it does not follow that he is a
+blockhead. No one in Denboro is rich, as you would count riches, but
+plenty of them are independent and ask no help from any one. You can't
+drive them."
+
+"Can't I?"
+
+"No, you can't. And if you want favors from men here you must ask for
+them, not try to bully."
+
+"I don't want favors. I want to be treated decently, that's all. When
+I came here I intended doing things to help the town. I should have
+enjoyed doing it. I told some of them so. Look at the money I've spent.
+Look at the taxes I'll pay. Why, they ought to be glad to have me here.
+They ought to welcome me."
+
+"So they would if you had not behaved as if you were what some of them
+call you--'Emperor of New York'. I tell you, Mr. Colton, you're all
+wrong. I know the people here."
+
+"So? Well, from what I've been able to learn about you, you haven't
+associated with many of them. You've been playing a little at the high
+and mighty yourself."
+
+Chickens do come home to roost. My attitude of indifference and coldness
+toward my fellow citizens had been misinterpreted, as it deserved to be.
+George Taylor was right when he said I had made a mistake.
+
+"I have been foolish," I said, hotly, "but not for the reason you
+suppose. I don't consider myself any better than the people here--no,
+nor even the equal of some of them. And, from what I have seen of you,
+Mr. Colton, I don't consider you that, either."
+
+Even this did not make him angry. He looked at me as if I puzzled him.
+
+"Say, Paine," he said, "what in the world are you doing down in a place
+like this?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Just that. You upset my calculations. I thought I spotted you and put
+you in the class where you belonged when you and I first met. I can
+usually size up a man. You've got me guessing. What are you doing down
+here? You're no Rube."
+
+If he intended this as a compliment I was not in the mood to accept
+it as such. I should have told him that what I was or was not was no
+business of his. But he went on without giving me the opportunity.
+
+"You've got me guessing," he repeated. "You talk like a man. The way
+you looked out for my daughter last night and the way, according to her
+story, you handled her and Victor the other afternoon was a man's job.
+Why are you wasting your life down here?"
+
+"Mr. Colton, I don't consider--"
+
+"Never mind. You're right; that's your affair, of course. But I hate to
+quit till I have the answer, and nobody around here seems to have the
+answer to you. Ready to sell me that land yet?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Going to sell to the public-spirited bunch? Dean and the rest?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You mean that? All right--all right. Say, Paine, I admire your nerve
+a good deal more than I do your judgment. You must understand that I am
+going to close that fool Lane of yours some time or other."
+
+"Your understanding and mine differ on that point."
+
+"Possibly, but they'll agree before I'm through. I am going to close
+that Lane."
+
+"I think not."
+
+"I'm going to close it for two reasons. First, because it's a condemned
+nuisance and ought to be closed. Second, because I make it a point to
+get what I go after. I can't afford not to. It is doing that very thing
+that has put me where I am."
+
+There was nothing to be said in answer to a statement like that. I did
+not try to answer it.
+
+"Where you're holding down a job like mine," he continued, crossing
+his knees and looking out across the bay, "you have to get what you go
+after. I'm down here and I mean to stay here as long as I want to, but
+I haven't let go of my job by a good deal. I've got private
+wires--telegraph and telephone--in my house and I keep in touch with
+things in the Street as much as I ever did. If anybody tries to get
+ahead of the old man because they think he's turned farmer they'll find
+out their mistake in a hurry."
+
+This seemed to be a soliloquy. I could not see how it applied to me. He
+went on talking.
+
+"Sounds like bragging, doesn't it?" he said, reading my thoughts as if
+I had spoken them. "It isn't. I'm just trying to show you why I can't
+afford not to have my own way. If I miss a trick, big or little,
+somebody else wins. When I was younger, just butting into the game,
+there was another fellow trying to get hold of a lead mine out West that
+I was after. He beat me to it at first. He was a big toad in the puddle
+and I was a little one. But I didn't quit. I waited round the corner.
+By and by I saw my chance. He was in a hole and I had the cover to the
+hole. Before I let him out I owned that mine. It cost me more than it
+was worth; I lost money on it. But I had my way and he and the rest had
+found out that I intended to have it. That was worth a lot more than I
+lost in the mine. Now this Lane proposition is a little bit of a thing;
+it's picayune; I should live right along if I didn't get it. But because
+I want it, because I've made up my mind to have it, I'm going to have
+it, one way or another. See?"
+
+I shrugged my shoulders. "This seems to me like wasting time, Mr.
+Colton," I said.
+
+"Then your seeing is away off. Look here, Paine, I'm through fiddling
+with the deal. I'm through with that undertaker postmaster or any other
+go-between. I just wanted you to understand my position; that's why I've
+told you all this. Now we'll talk figures. I might go on bidding, and
+you'd go on saying no, of course. But I shan't bid. I'll just say this:
+When you are ready to sell--and I'll put you where you will be some
+day--"
+
+I rose. "Mr. Colton," I said, sharply, "you had better not say any more.
+I'm not afraid of you, and--"
+
+"There! there! there! who said anything about your being afraid? Don't
+get mad. I'm not--not now. This is a business matter between friends
+and--"
+
+"Friends!"
+
+"Sure. Business friends. I'm talking to you as I would to any other chap
+I intended to beat in a deal; there's nothing personal about it. When I
+get you so you're ready to sell I'll give you five thousand dollars for
+that strip of land."
+
+I actually staggered. I said what Lute had said to me.
+
+"You're crazy!" I cried. "Five thousand dollars for that land!"
+
+"Yes. Oh, I know what it's worth. Five hundred is for the land itself.
+The other forty-five hundred is payment for the privilege of having my
+own way. Want to close with me now?"
+
+It took me some time to answer. "No," is a short and simple word, but I
+found it tremendously difficult to pronounce. Yet I did pronounce it,
+I am glad to say. After all that I had said before I would have been
+ashamed to do anything else.
+
+He did not appear surprised at my refusal.
+
+"All right," he said. "I'm not going to coax you. Just remember that the
+offer holds good and when you get ready to accept it, sing out. Well!"
+looking at his watch, "I must be going. My wife will think I've fallen
+into the bay, or been murdered by the hostile natives. Nerves are mean
+things to have in the house; you can take my word for that. Good-by,
+Paine. Thank you again for last night and the rest of it. Mabel will
+thank you herself when she sees you, I presume."
+
+He was on his way to the door when I recovered presence of mind
+sufficient to remember ordinary politeness.
+
+"Your daughter--er--Miss Colton is well?" I stammered. "No ill effects
+from her wetting--and the shock?"
+
+"Not a bit. She's one of the kind of girls they turn out nowadays.
+Athletics and all that. Her grandmother would have died probably, after
+such an upset, but she's as right as I am. Oh . . . er--Paine, next time
+you go shooting let me know. Maybe I'd like to go along. I used to be
+able to hit a barn door occasionally."
+
+He stopped long enough to bite the end from a cigar and strolled away,
+smoking. I sat down in the armchair. "Five thousand dollars!" . . .
+"Carver won't do." . . . "I will have the Lane some time or other."
+. . . "Five thousand dollars!" . . . "Next time you go shooting." . . .
+"Friends!" . . . "Five thousand dollars!"
+
+Oh, this was a nightmare! I must wake up before it got any worse.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Mother was the only one to whom I told the whole story of my experience
+in the "tempest" and of Colton's call. She and I had a long talk. She
+was as surprised to hear of the five thousand dollar offer as I had
+been, but that I had refused it did not surprise her. She seemed to take
+my refusal as a matter of course, whereas I was more and more doubtful
+of my sanity at the time. I knew well enough what the opinion of others
+would be concerning that sanity and I wondered whether or not they might
+be right. In fact, I rather resented her calm certainty.
+
+"Mother," said I, "you speak as if the offer had been five cents instead
+of five thousand dollars."
+
+"What difference does it make, Boy?" she asked. "If it had been only a
+matter of price you would have sold for six hundred and fifty. That is a
+good deal more than the land is worth, isn't it."
+
+"I suppose so. But five thousand is a small fortune to us. I am not sure
+that we have the right to refuse it."
+
+"Roscoe, if you were alone in this matter--if I were not here to be
+considered at all--would you have sold the land, no matter what he
+offered?"
+
+"I don't know, Mother. I think, perhaps, I should."
+
+"I know you would not. And I know the only reason you feel the refusal
+may be wrong is because you are thinking what the money might do for me.
+Do you suppose I will permit you to sacrifice a principle you know is
+right simply that I may have a few more luxuries which I don't need?"
+
+"But you do need them. Why, there are so many things you need."
+
+"No, I don't need one. So long as I have you I am perfectly happy. And
+it would not make me more happy to know that you accepted a bribe--that
+is what it is, a bribe--because of me. No, Boy, you did exactly right
+and I am proud of you."
+
+"I am not particularly proud of myself."
+
+"You should be. Can't you see how differently Mr. Colton regards you
+already? He does not condescend or patronize now."
+
+"Humph! he is grateful because I helped his daughter out of a scrape,
+that's all."
+
+"It is more than that. He respects you because you are what he called
+you, a man. I fancy it is a new experience to him to find some one, down
+here at any rate, to whom his millions make absolutely no difference."
+
+"I am glad of it. It may do him good."
+
+"Yes, I think it will. And what you told him about the townspeople may
+do him good, too. He will find, as you and I have found, that there are
+no kinder, better people anywhere. You remember I warned you against
+misjudging the Coltons, Roscoe. They, too, I am sure, are good people at
+heart, in spite of their wealth."
+
+"Mother, you are too charitable for this earth--too unworldly
+altogether."
+
+"Haven't you and I reason to be charitable? There! there! let us forget
+the land and the money. Roscoe, I should like to meet this Miss Colton.
+She must be a brave girl."
+
+"She is brave enough."
+
+"I suppose poor Mr. Carver is in disgrace. Perhaps it was not his fault
+altogether."
+
+This was a trifle too much. I refused to be charitable to Victor.
+
+I heard from him, or of him, next day. I met Captain Jed Dean at the
+bank, where I had called to see Taylor and inquire concerning how he
+and Nellie got home from the festival. They had had a damp, though safe,
+journey, I learned, and the Methodist ladies had cleared seventy-four
+dollars and eighty-five cents from the entertainment.
+
+Captain Jed entered the door as I left the cashier's gate.
+
+"Ship ahoy, Ros!" hailed the captain, genially. "Make port safe and
+sound after the flood? I'd have swapped my horse and buggy for Noah's
+Ark that night and wouldn't have asked any boot neither. Did you see
+Mullet's bridge? Elnathan says he cal'lates he's got willow kindlin'
+enough to last him all summer. Ready split too--the lightnin' attended
+to that. Lute Rogers don't talk about nothin' else. I cal'late he wishes
+lightnin' would strike your woodpile; then he'd be saved consider'ble
+labor, hey?"
+
+He laughed and I laughed with him.
+
+"I understood Princess Colton was out in the wust of it," went on
+Captain Jed. "Did you hear how her horse ran away?"
+
+"Yes," I answered, shortly; "I heard about it."
+
+"Never stopped till it got half way to West Bayport. The coachman
+hangin' onto the reins and swearin' at the top of his lungs all the
+time. 'Bije Ellis, who lives up that way, says the road smells like a
+match factory even yet--so much brimstone in the air. The girl got
+home somehow or other, they tell me. I cal'late her fine duds got their
+never-get-over. Nellie says the hat she was wearin' come from Paris, or
+some such foreign place. Well, the rain falls on the just and unjust,
+so scriptur tells us, and it's true enough. Only the unjust in this case
+can afford new hats better'n the just, a consider'ble sight. Denboro's
+lost a promisin' new citizen; did you know it?"
+
+"Whom do you mean?"
+
+"Hadn't you heard? That young Carver feller shook the dust--the mud, I
+mean--of our roads off his shoes this mornin'. He went away on the up
+train."
+
+Here was news. "The up train?" I repeated. "You mean he has gone for
+good?"
+
+"I should call it for good, for our good, anyhow. Yes, he's gone. Went
+to the depot in Colton's automobile. His majesty went with him fur's
+the platform. The gang that saw the proceedin's said the good-bys wan't
+affectin'. Colton didn't shed any tears and young Carver seemed to be
+pretty down at the mouth."
+
+"But what makes you think he has gone for good?" I asked.
+
+"Why, Alvin Baker was there, same as he usually is, and he managed to be
+nigh enough to hear the last words--if there had been any."
+
+"And there were not?"
+
+"Nothin' to amount to much. Nothin' about comin' back, anyhow. Colton
+said somethin' about bein' remembered to the young feller's ma, and
+Carver said, 'Thanks,' and that was all. Alvin said 'twas pretty chilly.
+They've got it all figgered out at the post-office; you see, Carver was
+to come back to the meetin' house and pick up his princess, and he never
+come. She started without him and got run away with. Some of the folks
+paddlin' home from the festival saw the auto go by and heard the crowd
+inside singin' and laughin' and hollerin'. Nobody's goin' to sing a
+night like that unless they've got cargo enough below decks to make 'em
+forget the wet outside. And Beriah Doane was over to Ostable yesterday
+and he says it's town talk there that young Parker--the boy the auto
+crowd was sayin' good-by to at the hotel--had to be helped up to his
+room. No, I guess likely the Colton girl objected to her feller's
+gettin' tight and forgettin' her, so he and she had a row and her dad,
+the emperor, give him his discharge papers. Sounds reasonable; don't you
+think so, yourself?"
+
+I imagined that the surmise was close to the truth. I nodded and turned
+away. I did not like Carver, I detested him, but somehow I no longer
+felt triumph at his discomfiture. I wondered if he really cared for the
+girl he had lost. It was difficult to think of him as really caring for
+any one except himself, but if I had been in his place and had, through
+my own foolishness, thrown away the respect and friendship of such a
+girl. . . . Yes, I was beginning to feel a little of Mother's charity
+for the young idiot, now that he could no longer insult and patronize
+me.
+
+Captain Jed followed me to the bank door.
+
+"Say, Ros," he said, "changed your mind about sellin' that Lane land
+yet?"
+
+"No," I answered, impatiently. "There's no use talking about that,
+Captain Dean."
+
+"All right, all right. Humph! the fellers are gettin' consider'ble fun
+out of that Lane."
+
+"In what way?"
+
+He laughed. "Oh, nothin'," he observed, with a wink, "only. . . . Heard
+any extry hurrahin' over to your place lately?"
+
+"No. Captain, what do you mean?"
+
+"I don't mean nothin'. But I shouldn't wonder if the Great Panjandrum
+and his folks was reminded that that Lane was still open, that's all.
+Ho! ho! So long, Ros."
+
+I did not catch his meaning at the time. A few days later I discovered
+it by accident. I had been up to the village and was on my way home by
+the short cut. As I crossed the field behind Sylvanus Snow's abandoned
+house, the spot where Miss Colton and I had waited on the porch the
+night of the thunder shower, I heard the rattle of a cart going down the
+Lane. There was nothing unusual in this, of itself, but with it I heard
+the sound of loud voices. One of these voices was so loud that I caught
+the words:
+
+"Now, boys, start her up! Three cheers for the Star Spangled Banner and
+make 'em loud. Let her go!"
+
+The cheers followed, uproarious ones.
+
+"Try it again," commanded the voice. "And keep her up all the way along.
+We'll shake up the 'nerves' I guess. Hooray!"
+
+This was enough. I understood now what Dean had meant by the Coltons
+realizing that the Lane was still open. I ran at full speed through the
+scrub and bushes, through the grove, and emerged upon the Lane directly
+opposite the Colton estate. The wagon--Zeb Kendrick's weir cart--was
+approaching. Zeb was driving and behind him in the body of the cart
+were four or five young fellows whom I recognized as belonging to the
+"billiard room gang," an unorganized society whose members worked only
+occasionally but were responsible for most of the mischief and disorder
+in our village. Tim Hallet, a sort of leader in that society, with the
+reputation of having been expelled from school three times and never
+keeping a job longer than a fortnight, was on the seat beside Kendrick,
+his back to the horse. Zeb was grinning broadly.
+
+The wagon came nearer, the horse barely moving. Tim Hallet waved his
+arm.
+
+"Now, boys," he shouted, "let's have some music."
+
+     "'Everybody works but father,
+       And he sets around all day.'--
+
+Whoop her up!"
+
+They whooped her up. I stepped out into the road.
+
+"Here!" I shouted. "Stop that! Stop it, do you hear! Kendrick, what is
+all this?"
+
+The song stopped in the middle of the verse. Zeb jerked the reins and
+shouted "Whoa!" Hallet and his chorus turned. They had been gazing at
+the big house, but now they turned and looked at me.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" said Kendrick, still grinning, but rather sheepishly. "How
+be you? Got quite a band aboard, ain't I."
+
+"Hello!" cried Hallet. "It's Ros himself! Ros, you're all RIGHT!
+Hi, boys! let's give three cheers for the feller that don't toady to
+nobody--millionaires nor nobody else--hooray for Ros Paine!"
+
+The cheering that followed was not quite as loud as the previous
+outburst--some of the "gang" may have noticed my attitude and
+expression--but it was loud enough. Involuntarily I glanced toward the
+Colton mansion. I saw no one at the windows or on the veranda, and I was
+thankful for that. The blood rushed to my face. I was so angry that, for
+the moment, I could not speak.
+
+Tim Hallet appeared to consider my silence and my crimson cheeks as
+acknowledgments of the compliment just paid me.
+
+"Cal'late they heard that over yonder," he crowed. "Don't you think so,
+Ros. We've showed 'em what we think of you; now let's give our opinion
+of them. Three groans for old Colton! Come on!"
+
+Even Zeb seemed to consider this as going too far, for he protested.
+
+"Hold on, Tim!" he cautioned. "A joke's a joke, but that's a little too
+much; ain't it, Ros."
+
+"Too much be darned!" scoffed Hallet. "We'll show 'em! Now, boys!"
+
+The groans were not given. I sprang into the road, seized the horse by
+the bridle and backed the wagon into the bank. Tim, insecurely balanced,
+fell off the seat and joined his comrades on the cart floor.
+
+"Hi!" shouted the startled driver. "What you doin', Ros? What's that
+for?"
+
+"You go back where you come from," I ordered. "Turn around. Get out of
+here!"
+
+I saved him the trouble by completing the turn. When I dropped the
+bridle the horse's head was pointing toward the Lower Road.
+
+"Now get out of here!" I repeated. "Go back where you come from."
+
+"But--but, Ros," protested Zeb, "I don't want to go back. I'm goin' to
+the shore."
+
+"Then you'll have to go some other way. You can't cross my property."
+
+Hallet, on his knees, looked out over the seat.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" he asked, angrily. "Didn't you say the
+town could use this Lane?"
+
+"Yes. Any one may use it as long as he behaves himself. When he doesn't
+behave he forfeits the privilege. Kendrick, you hear me! Go back."
+
+"But I don't want to go back, Ros. If I do I'll have to go clear round
+by Myrick's, two mile out of my way."
+
+"You should have thought of that before you brought that crowd with
+you. I won't have this Lane made a public nuisance by any one. Zeb, I'm
+ashamed of you."
+
+Zeb turned to his passengers. "There!" he whined, "I told you so, Tim. I
+said you hadn't ought to act that way."
+
+"Aw, what are you givin' us!" sneered Hallet. "You thought 'twas as
+funny as anybody, Zeb Kendrick. Look here, Ros Paine! I thought you was
+down on them Coltons. We fellers are only havin' a little fun with 'em
+for bein' so stuck-up and hoggish. Can't you take a joke?"
+
+"Not your kind. Go back, Zeb."
+
+"But--but can't I use the Lane NO more?" pleaded the driver. "I won't
+fetch 'em here agin."
+
+"We'll see about that. You can't use it this time. Now go."
+
+Zeb reluctantly spoke to his horse and the wagon began to move. Hallet
+swore a string of oaths.
+
+"I'm on to you, Paine!" he yelled. "You're standin' in with 'em, after
+all. You wait till I see Captain Jed."
+
+In three strides I was abreast the cart-tail.
+
+"See him then," said I. "And tell him that if any one uses this Lane
+for the purpose of wilfully annoying those living near it I'll not only
+forbid his using it, but I'll prosecute him for trespass. I mean that.
+Stop! I advise you not to say another word."
+
+I did not intend to prosecute Jim, he was not worth it, but I should
+have thoroughly enjoyed dragging him out of that wagon and silencing him
+by primitive methods. My anger had not cooled to any extent. He did not
+speak to me again, though I heard him muttering as the cart moved off.
+I remained where I was until I saw it turn into the Lower Road. Then I
+once more started for home.
+
+I was very much annoyed and disturbed. Evidently this sort of thing had
+been going on for some time and I had just discovered it. It placed me
+in a miserable light. When Colton had declared, as he had in both
+our interviews, that the Lane was a nuisance I had loftily denied the
+assertion. Now those idiots in the village were doing their best to
+prove me a liar. I should have expected such behavior from Hallet and
+his friends, but for Captain Dean to tacitly approve their conduct was
+unexpected and provoking. Well, I had made my position plain, at all
+events. But I knew that Tim would distort my words and that the idea of
+my "standing in" with the Coltons, while professing independence, would
+be revived. I was destined to be detested and misunderstood by both
+sides. Yes, Dorinda was right in saying that I might find sitting on the
+fence uncomfortable. It was all of that.
+
+I entered the grove and was striding on, head down, busy with these and
+similar reflections, when some one said: "Good morning, Mr. Paine."
+
+I stopped short, came out of the day dream in which I had been giving
+Captain Jed my opinion of his followers' behavior, looked up, and saw
+Miss Colton in the path before me.
+
+She was dressed in white, a light, simple summer gown. Her straw hat was
+simple also, expensive simplicity doubtless, but without a trace of the
+horticultural exhibits with which Olinda Cahoon, our Denboro milliner,
+was wont to deck the creations she prepared for customers. Matilda
+Dean would have sniffed at the hat and gown; they were not nearly as
+elaborate as those Nellie, her daughter, wore on Sundays. But Matilda or
+Nellie at their grandest could not have appeared as well dressed as this
+girl, no matter what she wore. Just now she looked, as Lute or Dorinda
+might have said, "as if she came out of a band box."
+
+"Good morning," she said, again. She was perfectly self-possessed.
+Remembrance of our transit of Mullet's cranberry brook did not seem to
+embarrass her in the least. Nellie Dean would have giggled and blushed,
+but she did not.
+
+_I_ was embarrassed, I admit it, but I had sufficient presence of mind
+to remove my hat.
+
+"Good morning," said I. There flashed through my mind the thought that
+if she had been in that grove for any length of time she must have
+overheard my lively interview with Kendrick and Tim Hallet. I wondered
+if she had.
+
+Her next remark settled that question.
+
+"I suppose," she said, soberly, but with the same twinkle in her eye
+which I had observed once or twice in her father's, "that I should
+apologize for being here, on your property, Mr. Paine. I judge that you
+don't like trespassers."
+
+I was more nettled at Zeb and his crowd than ever. "So you saw that
+performance," I said. "I'm sorry."
+
+"I saw a little of it, and I'm afraid I heard the rest. I was walking
+here by the bluff and I could not help seeing and hearing."
+
+"Humph! Well, I hope you understand, Miss Colton, that I did not know,
+until just now, this sort of thing was going on."
+
+She smiled. "Oh, I understand that," she said. "You made that quite
+plain. Even those people in the wagon understood it, I should imagine."
+
+"I hope they did."
+
+"I did not know you could be so fierce, Mr. Paine. I had not expected
+it. You almost frightened me. You were so very--well, mild and
+long-suffering on the other occasions when we met."
+
+"I am not always so mild, Miss Colton. However, if I had known you were
+within hearing I might not have been quite so emphatic."
+
+"Then I am glad you didn't know. I think those ruffians were treated as
+they deserved."
+
+"Not half as they deserved. I shall watch from now on and if there are
+any more attempts at annoying you or your people I shall do more than
+talk."
+
+"Thank you. They have been troublesome--of late. I am sure we are very
+much obliged to you, all of us."
+
+"Not at all."
+
+"Oh yes, we are. Not only for this, but for--all the rest. For your help
+the other night especially; I want to thank you for that."
+
+"It was nothing," I answered, awkwardly.
+
+"Nothing! You are not very complimentary, Mr. Paine."
+
+"I mean--that is, I--"
+
+"You may consider rescuing shipwrecked young ladies, afloat and ashore,
+nothing--perhaps you do it so often that it is of little consequence to
+you; but I am not so modest. I estimate my safety as worth something,
+even if you do not."
+
+"I did not mean that, of course, Miss Colton. You know I did not. I
+meant that--that what I did was no more than any one else would have
+done under the same circumstances. You were in no danger; you would
+have been safe enough even if I had not happened along. Please don't say
+anything more about it."
+
+"Very well. But I am very glad you happened along, nevertheless. You
+seem to have the faculty of happening along just at the right time."
+
+This sounded like a reference to the episode in the bay, and I did not
+care to discuss that.
+
+"You--I believe your father said you were not ill after your
+experience," I observed hastily.
+
+"Not in the least, thank you. And you?"
+
+"Oh, I was all right. Rather wet, but I did not mind that. I sail and
+fish a good deal, and water, fresh or salt, doesn't trouble me."
+
+This was an unlucky remark, for it led directly to the subject I was
+trying to avoid.
+
+"So I should imagine," she answered. "And that reminds me that I owe you
+another debt of thanks for helping me--helping us out of our difficulty
+in the boat. I am obliged to you for that also. Even though what you
+saved was NOT worth five dollars."
+
+I looked up at her quickly. She was biting her lips and there was a
+smile at the corners of her mouth. I could not answer immediately for
+the life of me. I would have given something if I had not told Colton of
+Victor's message and my reply.
+
+"Your father misrepresented my meaning, I'm afraid," I stammered. "I was
+angry when I sent that message. It was not intended to include you."
+
+"Thank you. Father seemed inclined to agree with your estimate--part of
+it, at least. He is very much interested in you, Mr. Paine."
+
+"Yes," I answered, dryly. "I can understand that."
+
+Her smile broke into a ripple of laughter.
+
+"You are quite distinctive, in your way," she said. "You may not be
+aware of it, but I have never known father to be so disturbed and
+puzzled about any one as he is about you."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"Yes, he is, indeed."
+
+"I am sorry that I am the cause of so much mental strain."
+
+"No, you are not. From what I have learned about you, from him, I think
+you enjoy it. You must. It is great fun."
+
+"Fun! Well, perhaps. Does your--does Mrs. Colton find it funny?"
+
+She hesitated. "Well," she answered, more slowly, "to be perfectly
+frank--I presume that is what you want me to be--I think Mother blames
+you somewhat. She is not well, Mr. Paine, and this Lane of yours is her
+pet bugbear just now. She--like the rest of us--cannot understand why
+you will not sell, and, because you will not, she is rather--rather--"
+
+"I see. I'm not sure that I blame her. I presume she has blamed me
+for these outrageous disturbances in the Lane such as you have just
+witnessed."
+
+She hesitated again. "Why yes," she said, more slowly still; "a little,
+I think. She is not well, as I said, and she may have thought you were,
+if not instigating them, at least aware of what was going on. But I am
+sure father does not think so."
+
+"But you, Miss Colton; did you believe me responsible for them?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because, from what I have seen of you, you did not seem to me like that
+kind of a man. You kept your temper that day in the boat, though you had
+a good reason for losing it. All this," with a gesture toward the Lane,
+"the shouting and noise and petty insults, was so little and mean and
+common. I did not believe you would permit it, if you knew. And, from
+what I have learned about you, I was sure you would not."
+
+"From what you learned about me? From your father?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then from whom, pray?"
+
+"From your friends. From that Mr. Taylor and Miss Dean and the others.
+They spoke of you so highly, and of your mother and your care of her.
+They described you as a gentleman, and no gentleman would countenance
+THAT."
+
+I was so astonished that I blurted out my next question without
+thinking.
+
+"You were speaking to them about ME?" I cried.
+
+Her manner changed. Possibly she thought I was presuming on our chance
+acquaintance, or that she made a mistake in admitting even a casual
+interest; I might consider that interest to be real, instead of merely
+perfunctory. At any rate, I noticed a difference in her tone. It was as
+if she had suddenly withdrawn behind the fence which marked the border
+of our social line.
+
+"Oh," she said, carelessly, "I did not cross-question, of course.
+Puzzles are always interesting, more or less. And a puzzle which
+perplexed my father was certainly unique. So I was a trifle curious,
+that's all."
+
+I came to earth with a thud.
+
+"I see," I said, curtly. "Well, I presume I should thank my friends for
+the testimonials to my character. And I promise you that you shall not
+be annoyed again. Good morning, Miss Colton."
+
+I was turning away when she spoke my name.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said.
+
+"Yes, Miss Colton."
+
+"I have not explained why I was here, on your land, this morning."
+
+"That is all right. You are quite welcome to be here at any time."
+
+"Thank you. I told you I was walking by the bluff; that is true, but it
+isn't the whole truth. I was trying to muster courage to call on your
+mother."
+
+I looked at her in amazement.
+
+"Call on Mother!" I repeated.
+
+"Yes, I have heard a great deal about your mother, and nothing except
+the very best. I think I should like to know her. Do you think she would
+consider me presuming and intrusive if I did call?"
+
+"Why, Miss Colton, I--"
+
+"Please be frank about it, Mr. Paine. And please believe that my call
+would not be from idle curiosity. I should like to know her. Of course,
+if this disagreement about the land makes a difference, if she feels
+resentful toward us, I will not think of such a thing. Does she? Why do
+you smile? I am in earnest."
+
+"I did not mean to smile, Miss Colton. The idea of Mother's feeling
+resentment toward any one seemed absurd to me, that was all."
+
+"Then may I call on her?"
+
+"Certainly. That is, if--if you think it wise. If your mother--"
+
+"Oh, Mother has long ago given up trying to solve me. I am a greater
+puzzle to her than you seem to be to everyone, Mr. Paine. I have spoken
+to my father about it and he is quite willing. His difference with you
+is purely a business one, as you know."
+
+Some of the "business" had been oddly conducted, but I did not raise
+the point. I could not reason just then. That this spoiled, city-bred
+daughter of "Big Jim" Colton should wish to know my mother was beyond
+reasoning.
+
+She said good morning and we parted. I walked home, racking my brains
+to find the answer to this new conundrum. It was a whim on her part, of
+course, inspired by something George or Nellie had told her. I did
+not know whether to resent the whim or not, whether to be angry or
+indifferent. If she intended to inspect Mother as a possible object of
+future charity I should be angry and the first call would be the last.
+But Mother herself would settle all questions of charity; I knew that.
+And the girl had not spoken in a patronizing way. She had declared that
+idle curiosity had no part in her wish. She seemed in earnest. What
+would Mother say when I told her?
+
+Lute was just coming through the gate as I approached it. He was in high
+good humor.
+
+"I'm goin' up street," he declared. "Anything you want me to fetch you
+from the store, Ros?"
+
+I looked at my watch. It was only eleven o'clock.
+
+"Up street?" I repeated. "I thought you were slated to wash windows
+this forenoon. I heard Dorinda give you your orders to that effect. You
+haven't finished washing them already?"
+
+"No," with a broad grin, "I ain't finished 'em. Fact is, I ain't begun
+'em yet."
+
+"So! Does Dorinda know that you are going up street?"
+
+"Um-hm. She knows. Anyhow, she knows I'm goin' somewheres. She told me
+to go herself."
+
+"She did! Why?"
+
+"Don't ask ME. I was all ready to wash the windows; had the bucket
+pumped full and everything. But when I come into the dinin'-room she
+sung out to know what I was doin' with all that water on her clean
+floor. 'Why, Dorindy!' I says, 'I'm a-goin' to wash them windows same's
+you told me to.' 'No, you ain't,' says she. 'But what will I do?' says
+I. 'I don't care,' says she. 'Clear out of here, that's all.' 'But
+where'll I clear out to?' I wanted to know. 'I don't care!' she snaps
+again, savage as a settin' hen, 'so long's you clear out of my sight.'
+So here I be. Don't ask me why she changed her mind: _I_ don't know.
+Nothin' you want to the store?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Say, Ros, you know what I think?"
+
+"Far be it from me to presume to guess your thoughts, Lute."
+
+"Well, I think this is a strange world and the strangest thing in it is
+a woman. You never can tell what they'll do ten minutes at a stretch.
+I--"
+
+"All right, Lute. I'll hear the rest of the philosophy later."
+
+"Philosophy or not, it's the livin' truth. And when you're as old as I
+be you'll know it."
+
+I went in through the dining-room, steering clear of Dorinda, who
+scarcely looked up from her floor scrubbing.
+
+"Mother," said I, entering the darkened bedroom, "I just met the Colton
+girl and what do you suppose she told me?"
+
+"That she was very grateful to you for coming to her rescue the other
+night."
+
+"That, of course. But she told me something else. She said she was
+coming to call on you. On YOU, Mother!"
+
+I don't know what answer I expected. I flung the announcement like a
+bombshell and was ready for almost any sort of explosion at all.
+
+"Did she?" observed Mother, placidly. "I am very glad. I have no doubt I
+shall like her."
+
+My next remark had nothing to do with Miss Colton.
+
+"Well, by George!" I exclaimed, with emphasis. "Lute IS a philosopher,
+after all. I take off my hat to him."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+I met Mabel Colton several times during the following week. Once, at the
+place where I had met her before, in the grove by the edge of the bluff,
+and again walking up the Lane in company with her father. Once also on
+the Lower Road, though that could scarcely be called a meeting, for I
+was afoot and she and her father and mother were in the automobile.
+
+Only at the meeting in the grove were words exchanged between us. She
+bowed pleasantly and commented on the wonderful view.
+
+"I am trespassing again, you see," she said. "Taking advantage of your
+good-nature, Mr. Paine. This spot is the most attractive I have found in
+Denboro."
+
+I observed that the view from her verandas must be almost the same.
+
+"Almost, but not quite," she said. "These pines shut off the inlet
+below, and all the little fishing boats. One of them is yours, I
+suppose. Which?"
+
+"That is my launch there," I replied, pointing.
+
+"The little white one? You built it yourself, I think Father said."
+
+"He was mistaken, if he said that. I am not clever enough to build a
+boat, Miss Colton. I bought the Comfort, second-hand."
+
+I don't know why I added the "second-hand." Probably because I had not
+yet freed my mind from the bitterness--yes, and envy--which the sight
+of this girl and her people always brought with it. It is comparatively
+easy to be free from envy if one is what George Taylor termed a
+"never-was"; for a "has been" it is harder.
+
+The boat's name was the only portion of my remark which attracted her
+attention.
+
+"The Comfort?" she repeated. "That is a jolly name for a pleasure boat."
+
+"It is my mother's name," I answered.
+
+"Is it? Why, I remember now. Miss Dean told me. I beg your pardon, Mr.
+Paine. It is a pretty name, at all events."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"I must have misunderstood Father. I was sure he said that boat building
+was your business."
+
+"No. He saw me overhauling the engine, and perhaps that gave him the
+impression that I was a builder. I told him I was not, but no doubt he
+forgot. I have no business, Miss Colton."
+
+I think she was surprised. She glanced at me curiously and her lips
+opened as if to ask another question. She did not ask it however, and,
+except for a casual remark or two about the view and the blueness of
+the water in the bay, she said nothing more. I rather expected she would
+refer to her intention of calling on Mother, but she did not mention the
+subject. I inferred that she had thought better of her whim.
+
+On the other occasions when we met she merely bowed. "Big Jim" nodded
+carelessly. Mrs. Colton, from her seat in the auto, nodded also, though
+her majestic bow could scarcely be termed a nod. It was more like the
+acknowledgment, by a queen in her chariot, of the applauding citizen
+on the sidewalk. She saw me, and she deigned to let me know that I was
+seen, that was all.
+
+But when I inferred that her daughter had forgotten, or had decided not
+to make the call at our house, I misjudged the young lady. I returned,
+one afternoon, from a cruise up and down the bay in the Comfort, to find
+our small establishment--the Rogers portion of it, at least--in a high
+state of excitement. Lute and Dorinda were in the kitchen and before I
+reached the back door, which was open, I heard their voices in animated
+discussion.
+
+"Why wouldn't I say it, Dorinda?" pleaded Lute. "You can't blame me
+none. There I was, with my sleeves rolled up and just settin' in the
+chair, restin' my arms a jiffy and thinkin' which window I'd wash next,
+when there come that knock at the door. Thinks I, 'It's Asa Peters'
+daughter's young-one peddlin' clams.' That's what come to my mind fust.
+That idee popped right into my head, it did."
+
+"Found plenty of room when it got there, I cal'late," snapped Dorinda.
+"Must have felt lonesome."
+
+"That's it! keep on pitchin' into me. I swan to man! sometimes I get so
+discouraged and wore out and reckless--hello! here's Ros. You ask him
+now! Ros, she's layin' into me because I didn't understand what--"
+
+"Roscoe," broke in his wife, "I never was more mortified in all my born
+days. He--"
+
+"Let me tell you all about it, Ros. I went to the door--thinkin' 'twas
+a peddler, you know; had this old suit on, all sloshed up with soapsuds
+and water, and a wet rag in my hand; and there she stood, styled up like
+the Queen of Sheby. Well, sir! I'll leave it to you if 'tain't enough to
+surprise anybody. HER! comin' HERE!"
+
+"That wan't any reason why you should behave like a natural born--"
+
+"Hold on! you let me finish tellin' Roscoe. 'Good afternoon,' says she.
+'Is Mrs. Paine in?' Said it just like that, she did. I was so flustered
+up from the sight of her that I didn't sense it right off and I says,
+'What ma'am?' 'Is Mrs. Paine in?' says she. 'In?' says I--"
+
+"Just like a poll parrot," interjected Dorinda.
+
+"Are you goin' to let me tell this or ain't you? 'In?' says I; hadn't
+sensed it yet, you see. 'Is Mrs. Paine to home?' she says. Now your ma,
+Ros, ain't never been nowheres else BUT home sence land knows when, so
+I supposed she must mean somebody else. 'Who?' says I, again. 'Mrs.
+Comfort Paine,' says she. She raised her voice a little; guessed I was
+deef, probably."
+
+"If she'd guessed you was dumb she wouldn't have been fur off,"
+commented Dorinda. I had not seen her so disturbed for many a day.
+
+Her husband disdained to notice this interruption.
+
+"'Mrs. Comfort Paine,' says she," he continued. "'She is in? And I says
+'In?'"
+
+"No, you didn't. You said, 'In where?' And she had all she could do
+to keep from laughin'. I see her face as I got to the door, and it's a
+mercy I got there when I did. Land knows what you'd have said next!"
+
+"But, Dorindy, I tell you I thought--"
+
+"YOU thought! I know what SHE must have thought. That she'd made a
+mistake and run afoul of an asylum for the feeble-minded."
+
+"Umph! I should have GOT feeble-minded if I'd had any more of that kind
+of talk. What made her ask if a sick woman like Comfort was 'in' and 'to
+home'? Couldn't be nowheres else, could she?"
+
+"Rubbish! she meant could Mrs. Paine see folks, that's all."
+
+"See 'em! How you talk! She ain't blind."
+
+"Oh, my soul and body! She was tryin' to ask if she might make a call on
+Comfort."
+
+"Well then, why didn't she ask it; 'stead of wantin' to know if she was
+in?"
+
+"That's the high-toned way TO ask, and you'd ought to have known it."
+
+"Humph! Do tell! Well, I ain't tony, myself. Don't have no chance to be
+in this house. Nothin' but work, work, work! tongue, tongue, tongue! for
+me around here. I'm disgusted, that's what I am."
+
+"YOU'RE disgusted! What about, me?"
+
+I had listened to as much of this little domestic disagreement as I
+cared to hear.
+
+"Wait a minute," I said. "What is all this? Who has been here to see
+Mother?"
+
+Both answered at once.
+
+"That Colton girl," cried Lute.
+
+"That Mabel Colton," said Dorinda.
+
+"Miss Colton? She has been here? this afternoon."
+
+"Um-hm," Dorinda nodded emphatically. "She stayed in your ma's room
+'most an hour."
+
+"'Twas fifty-three minutes," declared Lute. "I timed her by the clock.
+And she fetched a great, big bouquet. Comfort says she--"
+
+I waited to hear no more, but went into Mother's room. The little bed
+chamber was fragrant with the perfume of flowers. A cluster of big
+Jacqueminot roses drooped their velvety petaled heads over the sides
+of the blue and white pitcher on the bureau. Mother loved flowers and
+I frequently brought her the old fashioned posies from Dorinda's little
+garden or wild blossoms from the woods and fields. But roses such as
+these were beyond my reach now-a-days. They grew in greenhouses, not in
+the gardens of country people.
+
+Mother did not move as I entered and I thought she was asleep. But as I
+bent over the roses she turned on the pillow and spoke.
+
+"Aren't they beautiful, Roscoe?" she said.
+
+"Yes," I answered. "They are beautiful."
+
+"Do you know who brought them to me?"
+
+"Yes, Mother. Lute told me."
+
+"She did call, you see. She kept her word. It was kind of her, wasn't
+it?"
+
+I sat down in the rocking chair by the window.
+
+"Well," I asked, after a moment, "what did she say? Did she condescend
+to pity her pauper neighbors?"
+
+"Roscoe!"
+
+"Did she express horrified sympathy and offer to call your case to the
+attention of her cousin in charge of the Poor Ward in the City General
+Hospital, like that woman from the Harniss hotel last summer?"
+
+"Boy! How can you!"
+
+"Oh, well; I am a jealous beast, Mother; I admit it. But I have not been
+able to bring you flowers like that and it galls me to think that others
+can. They don't deserve to have all the beautiful things in life, while
+the rest of us have none."
+
+"But it isn't her fault that she has them, is it? And it was kind to
+share them with us."
+
+"I suppose so. Well, what did she say to you? Dorinda says she was with
+you nearly an hour. What did you and she talk about? She did not offer
+charity, did she?"
+
+"Do you think I should have accepted it, if she had? Roscoe, I have
+never seen you so prejudiced as you are against our new neighbors. It
+doesn't seem like you, at all. And if her father and mother are like
+Miss Mabel, you are very wrong. I like her very much."
+
+"You would try to like any one, Mother."
+
+"I did not have to try to like her. And I was a little prejudiced, too,
+at first. She was so wealthy, and an only child; I feared she might be
+conceited and spoiled. But she isn't."
+
+"Not conceited! Humph!"
+
+"No, not really. At first she seemed a trifle distant, and I thought her
+haughty; but, afterward, when her strangeness and constraint had worn
+away, she was simple and unaffected and delightful. And she is very
+pretty, isn't she."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She told me a great deal about herself. She has been through Vassar and
+has traveled a great deal. This is the first summer since her graduation
+which she has not spent abroad. She and I talked of Rome and Florence.
+I--I told her of the month I spent in Italy when you were a baby,
+Roscoe."
+
+"You did not tell her anything more, Mother? Anything she should not
+know?"
+
+"Boy!" reproachfully.
+
+"Pardon me, Mother. Of course you didn't. Did she tell you why she
+called on us--on you, I mean?"
+
+"Yes, in a way. I imagine--though she did not say so--that you are
+responsible for that. She and Nellie Dean seem to be well acquainted,
+almost friendly, which is odd, for I can scarcely think of two girls
+more different. But she likes Nellie, that is evident, and Nellie and
+George have told her about you and me."
+
+"I see. And so she was curious concerning the interesting invalid.
+Probably anything even mildly interesting is a godsend to her, down
+here. Did she mention the Shore Lane rumpus?"
+
+"Yes. Although I mentioned it first. It was plain that she could not
+understand your position in the matter, Roscoe, and I explained it as
+well as I could. I told her that you felt the Lane was a necessity to
+the townspeople, and that, under the circumstances, you could not sell.
+I told her how deeply you sympathized with her mother--"
+
+"Did you tell her that?"
+
+"Why, yes. It is true, isn't it?"
+
+"Humph! Mildly so, maybe. What more did she say?"
+
+"She said she thought she understood better now. I told her about you,
+Boy, and what a good son you had been to me. How you had sacrificed
+your future and your career for my sake. Of course I could not go into
+particulars, at all, but we talked a great deal about you, Roscoe."
+
+"That must have been deliriously interesting--to her."
+
+"I think it was. She told me of your helping her home through the storm,
+and of something else you had not told me, Boy: of your bringing her and
+Mr. Carver off the flat in the boat that day. Why did you keep that a
+secret?"
+
+"It was not worth telling."
+
+"She thought it was. She laughed about it; said you handled the affair
+in a most businesslike and unsentimental way; she never felt more like
+a bundle of dry-goods in her life, but that that appeared to be your
+manner of handling people. It was a somewhat startling manner, but very
+effective, she said. I don't know what she meant by that."
+
+I knew, but I did not explain.
+
+"You don't mean to say, Mother, that you glorified me to her for an
+hour?" I demanded.
+
+"No, indeed. We talked of ever so many things. Of books, and pictures,
+and music. I'm afraid I was rather wearisome. It seemed so good to have
+some one--except you, of course, dear--to discuss such subjects with.
+Most of my callers are not interested in them."
+
+I was silent.
+
+"She is coming again, she says," continued Mother. "She has some new
+books she is going to lend me. You must read them to me. And aren't
+those roses wonderful? She picked them, herself, in their conservatory.
+I told her how fond you were of flowers."
+
+I judged that the young lady must have gone away with the idea that I
+was a combination of longshore lout and effeminate dilettante, with the
+financial resources of the former. She might as well have that idea as
+any other, I supposed, but, in her eyes, I must be more of a freak than
+ever. I should take care to keep out of the sight of those eyes as much
+as possible. But that the millionaire's daughter had made a hit on the
+occasion of her first call was plain. Not only had Mother been favorably
+impressed, but even the practical and unromantic Dorinda's shell was
+dented. She deigned to observe that the young lady seemed to have
+"consider'ble common-sense, considerin' her bringin' up." This, from
+Dorinda, was high praise, and I wondered what the caller had said or
+done to win such a triumph. Lute made the matter clear.
+
+"By time!" he said, when he and I were together, "that girl's a smart
+one. I'd give somethin' to have her kind of smartness. Dorindy was
+terrible cranky all the time she was in your ma's room and I didn't know
+what would happen when she come out. But the fust thing she done when
+she come out was to look around the dinin' room and say, 'Oh! what a
+pleasant, homey place! And so clean! Why, it is perfectly spotless!'
+Land sakes! the old lady thawed out like a cranberry bog in April. After
+that they talked about housekeepin' and cookin' and such, sociable as
+could be. Dorindy's goin' to give her her receipt for doughnuts next
+time she comes. And I bet that girl never cooked a doughnut in her life
+or ever will. If I could think of the right thing to say, like that,
+'twould save me more'n one ear-ache. But I never do think of it till the
+next day, and then it's too late."
+
+He borrowed my tobacco, filled his pipe, and continued:
+
+"Say, Ros," he asked, "what's your idea of what made her come here?"
+
+"To see Mother, of course," I answered.
+
+"That's your notion, is it?"
+
+"Certainly. What else?"
+
+"Humph! There's other sick folks in town. Why don't she go to see them?"
+
+"Perhaps she does. I don't know."
+
+"I bet you ten cents she don't. No, I've been reasonin' of it out,
+same as I gen'rally do, and I've got some notions of my own. You don't
+cal'late her pa sent her so's to sort of soft soap around toward his
+gettin' the Shore Lane? You don't cal'late 'twas part of that game, do
+you?"
+
+That supposition had crossed my mind more than once. I was ashamed of it
+and now I denied it, indignantly.
+
+"Of course not," I answered.
+
+"Well, I don't think so, myself. But if 'tain't that it's another
+reason. She may be interested in Comfort; I don't say she ain't; but
+that ain't all she's interested in."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Never mind. I ain't said nothin'. I'm just waitin' to see, that's all.
+I have had some experience in this world, I have. There's different
+times comin' for this family, you set that down in your log-book, Ros
+Paine."
+
+"Look here, Lute; if you are hinting that Miss Colton or her people
+intend offering us charity--"
+
+"Who said anything about charity? No; if she had that idee in her head,
+her talk with your ma would drive it out. 'Tain't charity, I ain't
+sayin' what 'tis. . . . I wonder how 'twould seem to be rich."
+
+"Lute, you're growing more foolish every day."
+
+"So Dorindy says; but she nor you ain't offered no proof yet. All right,
+you wait and see. And say, Ros, don't mention our talk to Dorindy. She's
+more'n extry down on me just now, and if I breathe that Mabel Colton's
+name she hops right up in the air. How'd I know that askin' if a woman
+who's been sick in bed six year or more was 'in' meant could she have
+folks come to see her?"
+
+Mother would have discussed the Coltons with me frequently, but
+I avoided the subject as much as possible. The promised books
+arrived--brought over by Johnson, the butler, who viewed our humble
+quarters with lofty disdain--and I read one of them aloud to Mother, a
+chapter each evening. More flowers came also and the darkened bedroom
+became a bower of beauty and perfume. If I had yielded to my own wishes
+I should have returned both roses and books. It was better, as I saw
+it, that we and our wealthy neighbors had nothing to do with each other.
+Real friendship was out of the question; the memory of Mrs. Colton's
+frigid bow and her reference to me as a "person" proved that. Her
+daughter might think otherwise, or might think that she thought so,
+but I knew better. However, I did not like to pain Mother by refusing
+offerings which, to her, were expressions of sympathy and regard, so I
+had no protest and tried to enthuse over the gifts and loans. After
+all, what did they amount to? One tea-rose bred from Dorinda's carefully
+tended bush, or one gushful story book selected by Almena Doane from
+the new additions to the town library and sent because she thought "Mrs.
+Comfort might find it sort of soothin' and distractin'," meant more real
+unselfish thought and kindly feeling than all the conservatory exotics
+and new novels which the rich girl's whim supplied from her overflowing
+store. I was surprised only that the whim lasted so long.
+
+Behind all this, I think, and confirming my feeling, was the fact that
+Miss Colton did not repeat her call. A week or more passed and she did
+not come. I caught glimpses of her occasionally in the auto, or at the
+post-office, but I took care that she should not see me. I did not wish
+to be seen, though precisely why I could not have explained even to
+myself. The memory of that night in the rain, and of our meetings in the
+grove, troubled me because I could not keep them from my mind. They kept
+recurring, no matter what I did or where I went. No, I did not want
+to meet her again. Somehow, the sight and memory of her made me more
+dissatisfied and discontented than ever. I found myself moodily
+wishing for things beyond my reach, longing to be something more than I
+was--more than the nobody which I knew I must always be. I remembered my
+feelings on the morning of the day when I first saw her. Now they seemed
+almost like premonitions.
+
+I kept away; not only from her, but from George Taylor and Captain
+Dean and the townspeople. I went to the village scarcely at all. Sim
+Eldredge, who had evidently received orders from headquarters to drop
+the Lane "agency," troubled me no more, merely glowering reproachfully
+when we met; and Alvin Baker, whose note had been renewed, although he
+hailed me with effusive cordiality, did not press his society upon
+me, having no axe to grind at present. Zeb Kendrick was using the
+Lane again, but he took care to bring no more "billiard roomers" as
+passengers. I had as yet heard nothing from my quarrel with Tim Hallet.
+
+I spent a good deal of my time in the Comfort, or wandering about the
+shore and in the woods. One warm, cloudy morning the notion seized me to
+go up to the ponds and try for black bass. There are bass in some of the
+larger ponds--lakes they would be called anywhere else except on Cape
+Cod--and, if one is lucky, and the weather is right, and the bait
+tempting, they may be caught. This particular morning promised to
+furnish the proper brand of weather, and a short excursion on the flats
+provided a supply of shrimps and minnows for bait. Dorinda, who happened
+to be in good humor, put up a lunch for me and, at seven o'clock, with
+my rod and landing net in their cases, strapped, with my fishing boots
+and coffee pot, to my back, and my bait pail in one hand and lunch
+basket in the other, I started on my tramp. It was a long four miles
+to Seabury's Pond, my destination, and Lute, to whom, like most
+country people, the idea of a four-mile walk was sheer lunacy, urged my
+harnessing the horse and driving there. But I knew the overgrown wood
+roads and the difficulty of piloting a vehicle through them, and,
+moreover, I really preferred to go afoot. So I marched off and left him
+protesting.
+
+Very few summer people--and only summer people or irresponsible persons
+like myself waste time in freshwater fishing on the Cape--knew where
+Seabury's Pond was. It lay far from macadam roads and automobile
+thoroughfares and its sandy shores were bordered with verdure-clad hills
+shutting it in like the sides of a bowl. To reach it from Denboro one
+left the Bayport road at "Beriah Holt's place," followed Beriah's
+cow path to the pasture, plunged into the oak and birch grove at
+the southern edge of that pasture, emerged on a grass-grown and
+bush-encumbered track which had once been the way to some early
+settler's home, and had been forsaken for years, and followed that
+track, in all its windings, until he saw the gleam of water between the
+upper fringe of brush and the lower limbs of the trees. Then he left the
+track and clambered down the steep slope to the pond.
+
+I am a good walker, but I was tired long before I reached the slope.
+The bait pail, which I refilled with fresh water at Beriah's pump, grew
+heavier as I went on, and I began to think Lute knew what he was talking
+about when he declared me to be "plumb crazy, hoofin' it four mile
+loaded down with all that dunnage." However, when the long "hoof" was
+over, and I sat down in a patch of "hog-cranberry" vines for a smoke,
+with the pond before me, I was measurably happy. This was the sort of
+thing I liked. Here there were no Shore Lane controversies, but real
+independence and peace.
+
+After my smoke was finished and I had rested, I carried my "dunnage"
+around to the point where I intended to begin my fishing, put the lunch
+basket in a shady place beneath the bushes, and the bait pail in the
+water nearby, changed my shoes for the fishing boots, rigged my rod and
+was ready.
+
+At first the fishing was rather poor. The pond was full of perch
+and they were troublesome. By and by, however, I hooked a four-pound
+pickerel and he stirred my lagging ambition. I waded on, casting and
+playing beyond the lily pads and sedge. At last I got my first bass, a
+small one, and had scarcely landed him than a big fellow struck, fought,
+rose and broke away. That was spur sufficient. All the forenoon I waded
+about the shores of that pond. When at half-past eleven the sun came
+out and I knew my sport was over, for the time at least, I had four
+bass--two of them fine ones--and two, pickerel. Then I remembered my
+appetite and Dorinda's luncheon.
+
+I went back to the point and inspected the contents of the basket.
+Sandwiches, cold chicken, eggs, doughnuts and apple puffs. They looked
+good to me. Also there were pepper and salt in one paper, sugar in
+another, coffee in a third, and milk in a bottle. I collected some dry
+chips and branches and prepared to kindle a fire. As I bent over the
+heap of sticks and chips I heard the sound of horses' hoofs in the woods
+near by.
+
+I was surprised and annoyed. The principal charm of Seabury Pond was
+that so few people visited it. Also fewer still knew how good the
+fishing was there. I was not more than ordinarily selfish, but I did not
+care to have the place overrun with excursionists from the city, who
+had no scruples as to number and size of fish caught and would ruin
+the sport as they had ruined it at other and better known ponds. The
+passerby, whoever he was--a native probably--would, if he saw me, ask
+questions concerning my luck, and be almost sure to tell every one he
+met. I left my fire unkindled, stepped back to the shade of the bushes
+and waited in silence, hoping the driver would go on without stopping.
+There was no real road on this side of the pond, but there was an
+abandoned wood track, like that by which I had come. The horse was
+approaching along the track; the sounds of hoofs and crackling branches
+grew plainer.
+
+The odd part of it was that I heard no rattle of wheels. It was almost
+as if the person was on horseback. This seemed impossible, because no
+one in Denboro or Bayport--no one I could think of, at least--owned or
+rode a saddle horse. Yet the hoof beats grew louder and there was no
+squeak, or jolt, or rattle to bear them company. They came to a point in
+the woods directly opposite where I sat in the shade of the bushes and
+there they stopped. Then they recommenced and the crackle of branches
+was louder than ever. The rider, whoever he was, was coming down the
+bank to the pond.
+
+A moment more and the tall swamp-huckleberry bushes at the edge of
+the sandy beach parted and between them stepped gingerly a clean-cut,
+handsome brown horse, which threw up its head at the sight of the water
+and then trotted lightly toward it. The rider, who sat so easily in the
+saddle, was a girl. And the girl was Mabel Colton!
+
+She did not notice me at first, but gave her attention to the horse. The
+animal waded into the water to its knees and, in obedience to a pull on
+the reins, stopped, bent its head, and began to drink. Then the rider
+turned in her seat, looked about her, saw the heap of wood for the fire,
+the open lunch basket, the rods and landing-net, and--me.
+
+I had stepped from the bushes when she first appeared and was standing
+motionless, staring, I imagine, like what Dorinda sometimes called her
+husband--a "born gump." There was Fate in this! no doubt about it. The
+further I went to avoid this girl, and the more outlandish and forsaken
+the spot to which I fled, the greater the certainty of our meeting.
+A feeling of helplessness came over me, as if I were in the clutch of
+destiny and no effort of mine could break that clutch.
+
+For a moment she looked as if she might be thinking the same thing. She
+started when she saw me and her lips parted.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed, softly. Then we gazed at each other without
+speaking.
+
+She was the first to recover from the surprise. Her expression changed.
+The look of alarm caused by my sudden appearance left her face, but the
+wonder remained.
+
+"Why! Why, Mr. Paine!" she cried. "Is it you?"
+
+I stepped forward.
+
+"Why, Miss Colton!" said I.
+
+She drew a breath of relief. "It IS you!" she declared. "I was beginning
+to believe in hallucinations. How you startled me! What are you doing
+here?"
+
+"That is exactly what I was going to ask you," I replied. "I am here for
+a fishing excursion. But what brought you to this out-of-the-way place?"
+
+She smiled and patted the horse's shoulder. "Don here brought me,"
+she answered. "He saw the water and I knew he was thirsty, so I came
+straight down the bank. But I didn't expect to find any one here. I
+haven't seen a horse or a human being for an hour. What a pretty little
+lake this is. What is its name?"
+
+"It is called Seabury's Pond. How did you find it?"
+
+"I didn't. Don found it. He and I came for a gallop in the woods and I
+let him choose his own paths. I have been in his charge all the morning.
+I haven't the least idea where we are. There, Don! you have had enough
+and you are splashing us dreadfully. Come back!"
+
+She backed the horse out of the water and turned his head toward the
+woods.
+
+"It is great fun to be lost," she observed. "I didn't suppose any one
+could be lost in Denboro."
+
+"But this isn't Denboro. Seabury's Pond is in Bayport township."
+
+"Is it, really? In Bayport? Then I must be a long way from home."
+
+"You are; four miles and a half, at least. More than that over the
+road."
+
+She looked at her watch and frowned slightly.
+
+"Dear me!" she said. "And it is after twelve already. I am perfectly
+sure I can't find the way back in time for luncheon."
+
+"I shall be glad to go with you and show you the way."
+
+"No, indeed! Don and I will get home safely. This isn't the first
+time we have been lost together, though not on Cape Cod. Of course
+I shouldn't think of taking you from your fishing. Have you had good
+luck?"
+
+"Pretty fair. Some bass and two good-sized pickerel."
+
+"Really! Bass? I didn't know there were any about here. May I see them?"
+
+"Certainly. They are over there in the bushes."
+
+She swung lightly down from the saddle and, taking her horse by the
+bridle, led him toward the spot where my catch lay, covered with leaves
+and wet grass. I removed the covering and she bent over the fish.
+
+"Oh, splendid!" she exclaimed, with enthusiasm. "That big one must be
+a three-pounder. I envy you. Bass fishing is great sport. Did you get
+these on a fly--the bass, I mean?"
+
+"No. I use a fly in the spring and fall, but seldom in June or July,
+here. Those were taken with live bait-shrimp. The pickerel with minnows.
+Are you fond of fishing, Miss Colton?"
+
+"Yes, indeed. Whoa, Don! steady! Yes, I fish a good deal in September,
+when we are at our lodge in the Adirondacks. Trout there, principally.
+But I have caught bass in Maine. I thought I must give it up this year.
+I did not know there were fish, in fresh water, on the Cape."
+
+"There are, a few. The people about here pay no attention to them. They
+scorn such small fry. Cod and pollock are more in their line."
+
+"I suppose so. But that is all the better for you, isn't it? Were you
+fishing when I interrupted you?"
+
+"No, I was just getting ready for lunch. My fire was ready to kindle."
+
+"Fire? Why did you need a fire?"
+
+"For my coffee."
+
+"Coffee! You are a luxurious picnicer, Mr. Paine. Hot coffee on a
+fishing trip! and without a guide. And you are unfeeling, besides, for
+you remind me that I am very hungry. I must go at once. How far am I
+from home? Four miles, did you say?"
+
+"Four and a half, or more, by road. And the roads are like those you
+have been traveling this morning. I doubt if you could find the way,
+even with your horse's help. I must insist upon going with you as far as
+the main road between Denboro and Bayport."
+
+"I shall not permit it."
+
+"But I insist."
+
+Her answer was a little laugh. She put her foot in the stirrup and
+vaulted to the saddle.
+
+"Your insisting is useless, you see," she said. "You are on foot and I
+have the advantage. No, Don and I will go alone, thank you. Now, will
+you please tell me the way?"
+
+I shrugged my shoulders. "Go back along the road you came," I said,
+"until you reach the second, no, the third, path to the right. Follow
+that to the second on the left. Then follow that for two hundred yards
+or so until--well, until you reach a clump of bushes, high bushes.
+Behind these is another path, a blind one, and you must take care to
+pick the right clump, because there is another one with a path behind it
+and that path joins the road to Harniss. If you should take the Harniss
+road you would go miles out of your way. Take the blind path I speak of
+and--"
+
+She interrupted me. "Stop! stop!" she exclaimed; "please don't. I am
+absolutely bewildered already. I had no idea I was in such a maze. Let
+me see! Second to the right; third to the left--"
+
+"No, third to the right and second to the left."
+
+"And then the bushes and the choice of blind paths. Don, I see plainly
+that you and I must trust to Providence. Well, it is fortunate that the
+family are accustomed to my ways. They won't be alarmed, no matter how
+late I may be."
+
+"Miss Colton, I am not going to allow you to go alone. Of course I am
+not. I can set you on the right road and get back here in plenty of time
+for fishing. The fish are not hungry in the middle of the day."
+
+"No, but you are. I know you must be, because--no, good day, Mr. Paine."
+
+She spoke to the horse and he began to move. I took my courage between
+my teeth, ran after the animal and seized the bridle.
+
+"You are not going alone," I said, decidedly. I was smiling, but
+determined.
+
+She looked at me in surprised indignation.
+
+"What do you mean?" she said.
+
+I merely smiled. Her chin lifted and her brows drew together. I
+recognized that look; I had seen it before, on that afternoon when I
+announced my intention of carrying her from the dingy to the skiff.
+
+"Will you be good enough to let go of my rein?" she asked. Every word
+was a sort of verbal icicle. I felt the chill and my smile was rather
+forced; but I held the bridle.
+
+"No," I said, serenely as I could. For a minute--I suppose it was not
+longer than that, it seemed an hour to me--we remained as we were. Then
+her lips began to curl upward at the corners, and, to my surprise, she
+burst out laughing.
+
+"Really, Mr. Paine," she said, "you are the most impossible person I
+ever met. Do you always order people about this way? I feel as if I were
+about five years old and you were my nurse. Are we to stand here the
+rest of the afternoon?"
+
+"Yes; unless you permit me to go with you and show you the way."
+
+"But I can't. I'm not going to spoil your picnic. I know you want your
+lunch. You must. Or, if you don't, I want mine."
+
+"If you go alone, there are nine chances in ten that you will not get
+home in time for dinner, to say nothing of lunch."
+
+She looked at me oddly, I thought, and started to speak. Whatever it
+was she was going to say she evidently thought better of it, for she
+remained silent.
+
+Then I had a new idea. Whether or not it was her look which inspired it
+I do not know. I think it must have been; I never would have dared such
+a thing without inspiration.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, hesitatingly, "if you really are not--if you are
+sure your people will not worry about you--I--I should be glad to share
+my lunch with you. Then we could go home together afterward."
+
+She did not look at me now. Instead she turned her head.
+
+"Are--are you sure there is enough for two?" she asked, in a curiously
+choked tone.
+
+By way of answer I led the horse to the bushes, drew the lunch basket
+from the shade, and threw back the cover. Dorinda's picnic lunches were
+triumphs and she had never put up a more tempting one.
+
+Miss Colton looked down into the basket.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed.
+
+"There appears to be enough, doesn't there?" I observed, drily.
+
+"But--but I couldn't think of . . . Are you sure I won't be . . . Thank
+you. Yes, I'll stay."
+
+Before I could offer my hand to help her from the saddle she sprang to
+the ground. Her eyes were sparkling.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said, in a burst of confidence, "it is shameless to
+tell you so, I know, but I was dreadfully afraid you weren't going to
+ask me. I am absolutely STARVED."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+"And now," continued Miss Colton, after an interval during which, I
+presume, she had been waiting for some reply to her frank declaration
+concerning mind and appetite, "what must I do to help? Shall I unpack
+the basket?"
+
+I was struggling, as we say in Denboro, to get the ship under control. I
+had been taken aback so suddenly that I had lost steerage way. My slight
+experience with the vagaries of the feminine mind had not prepared me
+for the lightning changes of this kind. Not two minutes before she had,
+if one might judge by her look and tone, been deeply offended, almost
+insulted, because I refused to permit her wandering off alone into the
+woods. My invitation to lunch had been given on the spur of the moment
+and with no idea that it would be accepted. And she not only accepted,
+but had expected me to invite her, had been fearful that I might not do
+so. She told me so, herself.
+
+"Shall I unpack the basket?" she repeated. She was looking at me
+intently and the toe of her riding boot was patting the leaves. "What is
+the matter? Are you sorry I am going to stay?"
+
+It was high time for me to get under way. There were squalls on the
+horizon.
+
+"Oh, no, no!" I exclaimed, hastily. "Of course not. I am delighted. But
+you need not trouble to help. Just let me attend to your horse and I
+will have lunch ready in a jiffy."
+
+I led Don over to the little green belt of meadow between the trees and
+the sand of the beach, unbuckled the reins and made him fast to a stout
+birch. He bent his head and began to pull big mouthfuls of the rich
+grass. He, too, was evidently glad to accept my invitation.
+
+When I returned to my camping ground I found the basket unpacked and the
+young lady arranging the eatables.
+
+"You shouldn't have done that," I said. "I am the host here."
+
+She did not look up. "Don't bother the table maid," she observed,
+briskly. "That fire is not kindled yet."
+
+I lit the fire and, going over to the bushes, selected two of the fish,
+a bass and a pickerel. I carried them down to the shore of the pond and
+began cleaning them, using my jacknife and a flat stone. I was nearing
+the end of the operation when she came over to watch.
+
+"Why are you doing that?" she asked. "You are not going to cook
+them--now--are you?"
+
+"I am going to try," I replied.
+
+"But how? You haven't anything to cook them in."
+
+"I don't need it. You don't appreciate the conveniences of this hotel,
+Miss Colton. There! now we're ready."
+
+I rose, washed my hands in the pond, and picked up two other flat
+stones, large ones, which I had previously put aside. These I carried
+to the fire and, raking aside the burning logs with a stick, laid the
+stones in a bed of hot coals.
+
+"Those are our frying pans," I informed her. "When they are hot enough
+they will cook the fish. At least, I hope they will. Now for the
+coffee."
+
+But she waved me aside. "The coffee is my affair," she said. "I insist
+upon making the coffee. Oh, you need not look at me like that. I am not
+altogether useless. I studied Domestic Science--a little--in my prep
+school course. As much as I studied anything else," laughingly.
+
+"But--"
+
+"Mr. Paine, I am not on horseback now and you can't hold my bridle as
+you did Don's. If you will fill the coffee pot and put it on to boil.
+Thank you. I am glad to see that even you obey orders, sometimes."
+
+I had cooked fish in out-of-door fashion often before, but I am quite
+sure I never took such pains as I did with these. They were not culinary
+triumphs, even at that, but my guest was kind enough to pronounce them
+delicious. The lunch basket contained two plates, but only one knife
+and fork. These I insisted upon her using and I got on very well
+with sharpened sticks and a spoon. The coffee was--well, it had one
+qualification, strength.
+
+We conversed but little during the meal. The young lady said she was too
+hungry to talk and I was so confounded with the strangeness of the
+whole affair that I was glad to be silent. Sitting opposite me, eating
+Dorinda's doughnuts and apple puffs and the fish that I--_I_ had cooked,
+was "Big Jim" Colton's daughter, the automobile girl, the heiress, the
+"incarnation of snobbery," the young lady whose father I had bidden go
+to the devil and to whom, in company with the rest of the family, I
+had many times mentally extended the same invitation. And now we were
+picnicing together as if we were friends of long standing. Why, Nellie
+Dean could not appear more unpretentious and unconscious of social
+differences than this girl to-day! What would her parents say if they
+saw us like this? What would Captain Jed, and the rest of those in
+rebellion against the Emperor of New York, say? That I was a traitor,
+hand and glove with the enemy. Well, I was not; and I did not intend to
+be. But for her to--
+
+She interrupted my meditations.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she observed, suddenly, "you will excuse my mentioning it,
+but you are distinctly not entertaining. You have not spoken a word for
+five minutes. And you are not attending to my needs. The apple puffs are
+on your side of the--table."
+
+I hastened to pass the paper containing the puffs.
+
+"I beg your pardon," I said, hurriedly. "I--I was daydreaming, I guess."
+
+"So I imagined. I forgive you; this lunch would tempt me to forgive
+greater sins than yours. Did that delightful old housekeeper of yours
+cook all these nice things?"
+
+"She did. So you think Dorinda delightful, do you?"
+
+"Yes. She is so sincere and good-hearted. And so odd and bright and
+funny. I could listen to her for hours."
+
+"Humph! Well, if you were a member of her household you would have that
+privilege often. I doubt if her husband considers it such a privilege."
+
+"Her husband? Oh, yes! I met him. He is a character, too, isn't he?"
+
+"Yes; a weak one."
+
+She put down her coffee cup and sighed, contentedly.
+
+"I think I never tasted anything so good as this lunch," she observed.
+"And I'm quite sure I never ate so much at one sitting. I am going to
+help you clear away, but please don't ask me to do it just now. Have you
+finished? You may smoke, if you like."
+
+I had been longing for a smoke and now I filled my pipe and lighted it.
+
+"Now we can talk, can't we?" she said. "I want you to tell me about your
+mother. How is she?"
+
+"Just as she was when you saw her," I answered. "Mother is always the
+same."
+
+"She is a dear. I had heard so many nice things about her and I was
+not disappointed. I intended to make only a short call and I stayed and
+stayed. I hope I did not tire her."
+
+"Not at all. Mother enjoyed your call exceedingly."
+
+"Did she? I am so glad. I really am. I went to your house with a
+good deal of misgiving, Mr. Paine. I feared that my coming might be
+considered an intrusion."
+
+"I told you that it would not."
+
+"I know. But, under the circumstances--Father's disagreement
+with--considering all the--the--Oh, what shall I call it?"
+
+"The late unpleasantness," I suggested.
+
+Again came the twinkle in her eye. She nodded.
+
+"Thank you," she said. "That is a quotation, but it was clever of you to
+think of it. Yes, considering the late unpleasantness, I was afraid
+my visit might be misunderstood. I was fearful that your mother
+or--someone--might think I came there with an ulterior motive, something
+connected with that troublesome Lane dispute. Of course no one did think
+such a thing?"
+
+She asked the question quickly and with intense seriousness. I
+remembered Lute's hint and my own secret suspicions, but I answered
+promptly.
+
+"Of course not," I said.
+
+"You did not think that, did you?"
+
+"No," unblushingly.
+
+"I came because from what I had heard of your mother I was sure she must
+be a wonderful woman. I wanted to meet her. And she IS wonderful; and so
+patient and sweet and good. I fell in love with her. Everyone must love
+her. You should be proud of your mother, Mr. Paine."
+
+"I am," I answered, simply.
+
+"You have reason. And she is very proud of you."
+
+"Without the reason, I'm afraid."
+
+She did not speak. Her silence hurt. I felt that I knew what she was
+thinking and I determined to make her say it.
+
+"Without the reason," I repeated.
+
+"I did not say that."
+
+"But you thought it."
+
+My stubborn persistence was a mistake. Again, as at our meeting in the
+grove, I had gone too far. Her answer was as completely indifferent as
+speech and tone could be.
+
+"Indeed?" she said, coldly. "It is barely possible that I did not think
+about it at all. . . . Now, Mr. Paine, if you are ready shall we clear
+away?"
+
+The clearing, most of it, was done silently. I washed the plates, the
+coffee pot and other things, in the pond and she packed them in the
+basket. As I returned with the knife and forks I found her looking at
+the coffee pot and smiling.
+
+"What is the matter?" I asked, sulkily. I was provoked with myself for
+forgetting who and what I was, and with her for making me forget. "Isn't
+it clean?"
+
+"Why, yes," she answered, "surprisingly so. Did they teach Domestic
+Science at your college, too?"
+
+I started. "MY college!" I repeated. "How did you know I had been at
+college? Did Mother tell you?"
+
+She laughed gleefully.
+
+"Did Mother tell you?" I demanded. "If she did--"
+
+"Well, what if she did? However, she did not. But you have told me now.
+Harvard, was it? or Yale?"
+
+I tossed the knife and fork into the basket and turned away.
+
+"Princeton, perhaps," suggested Miss Colton.
+
+I walked over and began to unjoint my rod. I was a fool to be trapped
+like this. No one in Denboro except Mother and George Taylor knew of my
+brief college career, and now I had, practically, told this girl of it.
+She might--if she were sufficiently interested to remember, which
+was fortunately not probable--tell her father and he might ask other
+questions concerning my history. Where would those questions lead?
+
+I was angrily tugging at the rod when I heard her step behind me. I did
+not turn.
+
+"I beg your pardon," she said.
+
+I pretended not to hear.
+
+"I beg your pardon, Mr. Paine," she said again.
+
+"It's all right," I muttered. "No apologies are necessary."
+
+I said it like a sullen schoolboy. There was another moment of silence.
+Then I heard her move away. I looked over my shoulder. She was walking
+toward the meadow where Don, the horse, was picketed. There was offended
+dignity in every line of her figure.
+
+For a moment I fought with my pride and injured self-respect. Then I
+hurried after her.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said.
+
+"Well?" she neither turned nor stopped.
+
+"Miss Colton, I should not have answered like that. I was rude."
+
+She stopped. "You were," she said.
+
+"I know it. I am sorry. I apologize."
+
+"No apologies are necessary."
+
+Here was tit for tat. I did not know what more to say, so I said
+nothing.
+
+"Do I understand that you ask my pardon?" she inquired, still without
+turning.
+
+"I do. If you will permit me, I will explain. I--"
+
+She whirled about and faced me. To my astonishment she was smiling once
+more.
+
+"Of course you won't explain," she declared. "I had no right to ask
+you about your college. But I couldn't help guessing. I told you that
+I liked puzzles. We'll say no more about it. I have enjoyed this picnic
+and I won't have it spoiled. Now why are you taking your rod apart?"
+
+"Because I know you want to go home and I am going with you to show you
+the way."
+
+"But I don't have to go yet, do I? It is not late. And I thought perhaps
+you would let me see you catch another bass. Won't you? Please."
+
+Once more she had me at a disadvantage. I had no desire for more
+fishing, and I was fearful of further questions, but what could I do?
+And it was not late--but a little past two o'clock.
+
+So I rigged the rod again and led the way down the shore to the spot
+where the sedge extended out into the pond, with the lily pads beyond
+it. She walked beside me. Then she seated herself on a fallen tree and
+I baited the hook with a lively minnow and cast. For some time I got
+not even a nibble. As I waited she and I talked. But now it was I who
+questioned.
+
+"Do you like Denboro?" I asked.
+
+"I am beginning to like it very much. At first I thought it very dull,
+but now I am getting acquainted."
+
+"There are few cottagers and summer people here. But in Harniss there is
+a large colony. Very nice people, I believe."
+
+"Yes, I have met some of them. But it was not the summer people I meant.
+I am beginning to know the townspeople and to like some of them. I met
+that delightful old Captain Warren the other day."
+
+"He is as good as they make."
+
+"Indeed he is. And I had an interview with another captain, Miss Dean's
+father, yesterday. We had an interesting encounter."
+
+"So I should imagine. Captain Jed! Whew! It MUST have been interesting."
+
+"It was. Oh, we were very fierce at first--at least he was, and I fought
+for my side as hard as I could. He said Father was a selfish pig for
+wanting to close the Lane, and I said it was because of its use by the
+pigs that he wished to close it."
+
+"Ha! ha! How did it end?"
+
+"Oh, we agreed to disagree. I respect Captain Dean for his fight; but
+Father will win, of course. He always does."
+
+"He won't win this time, Miss Colton."
+
+"Why not? Oh, I actually forgot I was talking to the head and front of
+the opposition. So you think he will not win, Mr. Paine?"
+
+"I am sure of it. He cannot close that Lane until I sell it, and I shall
+not sell."
+
+She regarded me thoughtfully, her chin upon her hand.
+
+"It would be odd if he should not, after all," she said. "He prides
+himself on having his own way. It would be strange if he should be
+beaten down here, after winning so often in New York. Your mother
+told me something of your feeling in the matter, Mr. Paine. Father has
+offered you a good price for the land, hasn't he?"
+
+"He has offered me a dozen times what it is worth."
+
+"Yes. He does not count money when he has set his heart upon anything.
+And you refused?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But Nellie Dean says the town also wished to buy and you refused its
+offer, too."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You don't seem to care for money, either, Mr. Paine. Are all Cape Cod
+people so unmercenary? Or is it that you all have money enough--. . .
+Pardon me. That was impolite. I spoke without thinking."
+
+"Oh, never mind. I am not sensitive--on that point, at least."
+
+"But I do mind. And I am sorry I said it. And I should like to
+understand. I see why the townspeople do not want the Lane closed. But
+you have not lived here always. Only a few years, so Miss Dean says.
+She said, too, that that Mr. Taylor, the cashier, was almost the only
+intimate friend you have made since you came. Others would like to be
+friendly, but you will not permit them to be. And, yet for these
+people, mere acquaintances, you are sacrificing what Father would call a
+profitable deal."
+
+"Not altogether for them. I can't explain my feeling exactly. I know
+only that to sell them out and make money--and heaven knows I need
+money--at their expense seems to me dead wrong."
+
+"Then why don't you sell to THEM?"
+
+"I don't know. Unless it was because to refuse your father's offer and
+accept a lower one seemed a mean trick, too. And I won't be bullied into
+selling to anyone. I guess that is it, as much as anything."
+
+"My! how stubborn you must be."
+
+"I don't know why I have preached this sermon to you, Miss Colton, your
+sympathies in the fight are with your father, naturally."
+
+"Oh, no, they are not."
+
+I almost dropped the rod.
+
+"Not--with--" I repeated.
+
+"Not altogether. They are with you, just at present. If you had sold--if
+you had given in to Father, feeling as you do, I should not have any
+sympathy with you at all. As it is--"
+
+"As it is?" I asked eagerly--too eagerly. I should have done better to
+pretend indifference.
+
+"As it is," she answered, lightly, "I respect you as I would any sincere
+fighter for a losing cause. And I shall probably feel some sympathy
+for you after the cause is lost. Excuse my breaking in on your sermon,
+provided it is not finished, but--I think you have a bite, Mr. Paine."
+
+I had, very much of a bite. The minnow on my hook had been forgotten and
+allowed to sink to the bottom, and a big pout had swallowed it, along
+with the hook and a section of line. I dragged the creature out of the
+water and performed a surgical operation, resulting in the recovery of
+my tackle.
+
+"There!" I exclaimed, in disgust. "I think I have had enough fishing
+for one day. Suppose we call it off. Unless you would like to try, Miss
+Colton."
+
+I made the offer by way of a joke. She accepted it instantly.
+
+"May I?" she cried, eagerly. "I have been dying to ever since I came.
+
+"But--but you will get wet."
+
+"No matter. This is an old suit."
+
+It did not look old to my countrified eyes, but I protested no more.
+There was a rock a little below where we then were, one of the typical
+glacial boulders of the Cape--lying just at the edge of the water and
+projecting out into it. I helped her up on to this rock and baited her
+hook with shrimp.
+
+"Shall I cast for you?" I asked.
+
+"No indeed. I can do it, thank you."
+
+She did, and did it well. Moreover, the line had scarcely straightened
+out in the water when it was savagely jerked, the pole bent into a
+half-circle, and out of the foaming eddy beneath its tip leaped the
+biggest bass I had seen that day, or in that pond on any day.
+
+"By George!" I exclaimed. "Can you handle him? Shall I--"
+
+She did not look at me, but I received my orders, nevertheless.
+
+"Please don't! Keep away!" she said sharply.
+
+For nearly fifteen minutes she fought that fish, in and out among the
+pads, keeping the line tight, handling him at least as well as I could
+have done. I ran for the landing net and, as she brought her captive up
+beside the rock, reached forward to use it. But she stopped me.
+
+"No," she said, breathlessly, "I want to do this all myself."
+
+It took her several more minutes to do it, and she was pretty well
+splashed, when at last, with the heavy net dragging from one hand and
+the rod in the other, she sprang down from the rock. Together we bent
+over the fish.
+
+"A four-pounder, if he is an ounce," said I. "I congratulate you, Miss
+Colton."
+
+"Poor thing," she mused. "I am almost sorry he did not get away. He IS a
+beauty, isn't he! Now I am ready to go home."
+
+That journey home was a strange experience to me. She rode Don and
+bore the lunch basket and the net before her on the saddle. I walked
+alongside, carrying the rod, boots, and the fish in the otherwise empty
+bait pail. The sunshine, streaming through the leaves of the arching
+boughs overhead, dappled the narrow, overgrown paths with shifting
+blotches of light and shadow. Around us was the deep, living green of
+the woods, the songs of birds, the chatter of red squirrels, and the
+scent of wild honeysuckle. And as we moved onward we talked--that is,
+she did most of the talking and I listened. Yet I must have talked more
+than I knew, because I remember expressing opinions concerning books
+and operas and pictures, subjects I had not discussed for years except
+occasionally with Mother, and then only because she was still interested
+in them. I seemed, somehow, to have become a different, a younger man,
+under the influence of these few hours with the girl I had professed to
+hate so cordially. Our companionship--perfectly meaningless as it was,
+the mere caprice of an idle day on her part--had rejuvenated me. During
+that homeward walk I forgot myself entirely, forgot that I was Ros
+Paine, the country loafer; forgot, too, that she was the only child of
+the city millionaire, that we had, or could have, nothing in common.
+She, also, seemed to forget, and we chatted together as unconsciously
+and easily as if we had known each other all our lives.
+
+Yet it may be that her part in the conversation was not altogether
+without a purpose. She led me to speak of Denboro and its people, of how
+they lived, and of the old days of sailing ships and deep sea skippers.
+George Taylor's name was mentioned and I praised him highly, telling of
+his rise from poor boy to successful man, as we rated success locally.
+
+"He manages that bank well," I declared. "Everyone says so. And, from
+what I have seen of his management, I know it to be true."
+
+"How do you know?" she asked.
+
+"Because I have had some experience in banking myself. I--"
+
+I stopped short. My tongue was running away with me. She did not ask the
+question which I dreaded and expected. Instead she said, looking down at
+me:
+
+"You are a loyal friend, aren't you, Mr. Paine."
+
+"I have reason to be loyal to George," I answered, with feeling.
+
+"Are you as loyal to yourself?"
+
+I looked up at her in surprise.
+
+"What do you mean?" I asked.
+
+"I have been trying to understand you, Mr. Paine. Trying to get the
+answer to the puzzle. In one way I think I have it. I understand your
+attitude in the Lane affair and I think I know why you came to Denboro
+and are staying here."
+
+I stopped short. "You--you know THAT?" I cried.
+
+"I think I do. You believe that your mother needs you and you will not
+leave her. That is your reason for living here, I think. But, in another
+way, I cannot understand you at all."
+
+She spoke to the horse and we moved on again. I waited for her to
+continue, but she was silent.
+
+"How? What is the other way! The way in which you cannot understand me?"
+I asked.
+
+"Shall I tell you? Do you wish me to be perfectly frank?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I cannot understand how a man such as you seem to be, young, educated,
+and with life before him, can be content to do as you do, spend your
+time in fishing, or sailing, or shooting. To have no ambition at all.
+My father was a poor country boy, like your friend, Mr. Taylor, but he
+worked night and day until he became what he is now. And even now he
+works, and works hard. Oh, I am proud of him! Not because he is what he
+is, but because he has done it all himself. If I were a man I would have
+some purpose in life; I would do SOMETHING worth while if it were only
+to sell fish from a cart, like that old fellow with the queer name--what
+is it?--Oh, yes! Theophilus Newcomb."
+
+I did not answer. She had said all that was necessary, and more. It was
+quite enough for me.
+
+"There!" she observed, after a moment. "You asked me to tell you and I
+did. If you never speak to me again it will be exactly what I deserve.
+But I thought it and so I said it. Expressing my thoughts is one of my
+bad habits. . . . Oh, why, we are almost home, aren't we!"
+
+We had come to the edge of the grove bordering Beriah Holt's pasture.
+The grove was on the west side of a little hill. Before us the pasture
+sloped away to Beriah's house and barn, with the road beyond it. And
+beyond that, in the distance, were the steeples and roofs of Denboro.
+Among them the gables and tower of the Colton mansion rose, conspicuous
+and costly.
+
+She turned in the saddle. "I presume I may leave you now, Mr. Paine,"
+she said. "Even you must admit that the rest of the way is plain
+sailing. Thank you for your hospitality and for your services as guide.
+I will send the basket and net over by one of the servants."
+
+"I will take them now," I said, shortly.
+
+"Very well, if you prefer. Here they are."
+
+I took them from her.
+
+"Good afternoon," she said. "And thanks once more for a very pleasant
+picnic."
+
+"You are quite welcome, I'm sure. Thank you for your frank opinion of
+my--worthlessness. It was kind of you to express it."
+
+The sarcasm was not lost upon her.
+
+"I meant it as a kindness," she replied.
+
+"Yes. And it was true enough, probably. Doubtless I shall derive great
+benefit from your--words of wisdom."
+
+Her patience, evidently, was exhausted. She turned away. "Oh, that," she
+said, indifferently, "is your affair. I told you what I believed to
+be the truth, that was all. What you do is not likely to be of vast
+importance to me, one way or the other. Come, Don!"
+
+Don cantered down the slope. I watched him and his rider disappear
+beyond the trees in the distance. Then I picked up my pail and other
+burdens and followed in their wake. The sun was behind a cloud. It had
+been a strange day with a miserable ending. I was furiously angry with
+her, but I was more angry with myself. For what she had told me WAS the
+truth, and I knew it.
+
+I strode on, head down, through the village. People spoke to me, asking
+what luck I had had and where I had been, but I scarcely noticed them.
+As I reached the Corners and was passing the bank someone called my
+name. I glanced up and saw George Taylor descending the steps.
+
+"Hold on, Ros," he hailed. "Wait a minute. What's your rush? Hold on!"
+
+I halted reluctantly.
+
+"Fishing again, I see," he observed, as he reached my side. "Any luck?"
+
+"Fair," I told him.
+
+"What pond?"
+
+"Seabury's."
+
+"Go alone?"
+
+"Yes." That I had not been alone since was no business of his.
+
+"Humph! You ain't exactly what a fellow'd call talkative this afternoon,
+seems to me. Anything wrong?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Tuckered out?"
+
+"I guess so."
+
+"Well, so am I, but I ain't had your fun getting that way. Small and I
+have been at it night and day getting things in shape so he could leave.
+He's gone. Went this noon. And that ain't the worst of it; I haven't got
+anybody yet to take his place. I'll have to be cashier and bookkeeper
+too for a spell. There's applicants enough; but they don't suit. Guess
+likely you'll have to help me out, after all, Ros. The job is yours if
+you say the word."
+
+He laughed as he said it. Even to him the idea of my working was a joke.
+
+But the joke did not seem funny to me, just then. I walked on for some
+distance without a word. Then I asked a question.
+
+"What is expected of a man in that position?" I asked.
+
+"Expected? Why, plain bank bookkeeping--not much else at first. Yet
+there's a good chance for a likely fellow to be considerable more, in
+time. I need help in my part of the work. That's why I haven't hired
+any of the dozen or so who are after the place. What makes you ask? You
+don't know of a good man for me, do you, Ros?"
+
+"When do you want him to begin?"
+
+"To-morrow morning, if he satisfies me."
+
+"Would I satisfy you?"
+
+"You! Humph! Try me and see, that's all I'd ask."
+
+"All right. I'll be on hand in the morning."
+
+He stopped, looked at me, and then seized me by the arm.
+
+"See here!" he cried, "I'm lost in the fog, I guess likely. What do you
+mean by that? Is it time to laugh--or what?"
+
+"It may be; I don't know. But I take the bookkeeper's position in your
+bank. Now, good-by. Don't talk to me. I don't feel like talking."
+
+"But--but, Ros."
+
+"Good-by."
+
+I walked on. I had taken but a few steps when he overtook me.
+
+"Ros," he said, "I ain't going to say but just one thing. If you meant
+what you said I'm the most tickled man on the Cape. But you ain't asked
+a word about the salary."
+
+"I know it. I haven't asked because I don't care. I'll be on hand in the
+morning."
+
+I left him standing there, and hurried down the Lower Road. As I had
+said to him, I did not feel like talking. I did not want even to see any
+one. I wanted to be let alone. But it was fated that I should not be,
+not yet. Sim Eldredge was waiting for me around the corner. He stepped
+out from behind the fence where he had been hidden.
+
+"Ros!" he whispered. "Ros Paine! Wait. It's me, Sim. I want to ask you
+somethin'. Wan't that George Taylor you was speakin' to just now?"
+
+"Yes," I answered, impatiently. "What of it?"
+
+"Say, Ros, you and me ain't pulled that Colton trade off, but it ain't
+my fault. You ain't got no hard feelin's against me, I know. And I want
+you to do a little mite of favor for me. Will you?"
+
+"What is it? If it has anything to do with the Lane, I tell you now
+that--"
+
+"It ain't--it ain't. It's about that bookkeepin' job in the bank, Henry
+Small's place, the one he's just quit. I've got a third cousin, name of
+Josiah Badger, over to South Harniss. He's a smart young chap, and an
+A-1 accountant at figgers. He's been keepin' books down at the fish
+wharf--see? Now, he'd like that job and, bein' as you and George are
+so thick, I cal'lated maybe you'd sort of use your influence along of
+George, and--and get it for him. There ain't nothin' in it for me--that
+is, nothin' much. But I feel friendly toward Josiah and you know I like
+to do little kindnesses for folks. So--"
+
+"There! there!" I interrupted. "It's no use, Sim. I can't help you."
+
+"Why! yes you can."
+
+"No, I can't. I don't know your cousin, and besides--well, you are too
+late. The place is filled."
+
+Sim's expression changed. He looked surprised and crestfallen.
+
+"Filled?" he exclaimed. "Why, no, 'tain't! If 'twas I'd have known it,
+wouldn't I? Who'd you hear had got it? Whoever you heard, 'tain't so."
+
+"Yes, it is."
+
+"How do you know? Who is it, then?"
+
+I hesitated. Before noon of the next day every soul in Denboro would
+have heard the news. Eldredge might as well hear it now.
+
+"I've taken the place myself," I said.
+
+"You?" Sim actually forgot to whisper; he shouted the word. "YOU! Ha!
+ha! ha! Ros, quit your foolin'."
+
+"I'm not fooling. I go to work in the bank to-morrow morning."
+
+"But--Oh, my soul! You! Aw, I know better! Say, Ros, don't let's waste
+time like this. Fun's all right, but . . . My heavens to Betsy! YOU work
+for a livin'! If I believed that I'd believe anything. Tell me, now. Who
+has got that job? . . . Why don't you answer me?"
+
+I answered him. "Shut up!" I said, fiercely. Then I vaulted the fence
+and set out for home across lots.
+
+I heard the next day that Sim went back to the post-office and informed
+the gathering there that Ros Paine had taken to drinking.
+
+"He was tight as a biled owl," declared Sim; "and ugly--don't talk!
+Wanted to fight me because I wouldn't believe he was goin' to work. Him!
+What in the everlastin' would HE want to work for? My heavens to Betsy!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+I think Taylor was almost as surprised as Eldredge had been, when, at
+half-past eight the following morning, I appeared at the bank. He was
+already at his desk and, when he looked up and saw me, he whistled.
+
+"Whew!" he exclaimed. "So. I didn't dream it, after all. You're here,
+ain't you."
+
+"I am here," I answered, opening the gate and stepping in behind the
+rail.
+
+"Going to take it back and say you never said it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Come to go to work? Really?"
+
+"That is my intention, unless you have changed your mind."
+
+"Not me. It ain't likely. But, Ros, I--sit down a minute and let's talk.
+What are you doing this for?"
+
+It was a question I had been asking myself at intervals during a
+restless night. Now I gave the only truthful answer.
+
+"I don't know," I said.
+
+"You don't know!"
+
+"No. And I don't seem to care. Suppose we don't talk about it. I am
+here, and I am ready to begin work. That's enough, isn't it?"
+
+"Why, no; not quite. You're not doing it just to help me out?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You don't need to work. You've got money enough."
+
+"No, I haven't. But money isn't my reason. I haven't any reason. Now
+show me the books, will you?"
+
+"Don't be in a hurry. What does your mother think about it?"
+
+"I haven't told her yet. Time enough for that when I know that I really
+mean it and you know that I am competent to fill the position. George,
+if you keep on cross-examining me I am likely to quit before I begin. I
+don't know why I am doing this, but just now I think I am going to do it
+if I can. However, I am not sure. So you had better be careful."
+
+"Humph! What did you catch up at that pond yesterday? I never saw a
+day's fishing make such a difference in a man in my life. . . . All
+right, Ros. All right. I won't pester you. Too glad to have you here for
+that. Now about the salary."
+
+"Before we speak of that there is one more point. How about your
+directors? Dean and the rest? Do they know you offered me the position?"
+
+"Sure thing! They put the whole affair in my hands. They'll be
+satisfied. And as for Cap'n Jed--why, he was the one that suggested
+hiring you in the first place."
+
+"Captain Jed! Captain Jed Dean! HE suggested it?"
+
+"Yup. In a way, he did. You may not know it, Ros, but you've made a good
+deal of a hit with the old man. He ain't been used to having anybody
+stand up to him as you have. As a general thing Denboro jumps when he
+snaps the whip. You didn't, and he couldn't understand why. He is the
+kind that respects anything they can't understand. Then, too, Nellie
+likes you, and she's his idol, you know. Ah hum!"
+
+He sighed and, for a moment, seemed to forget me altogether. I reminded
+him by another question.
+
+"But why should the captain think of me for this place?" I asked. "Why
+should he dream that I would take it? I gave you no encouragement."
+
+"I don't know as he did dream it. But he and I were speaking of you and
+he said he'd like to do something to show you what the town thought of
+your holding out against Colton. That tickled him down to the keel. I
+said you'd be a first-class helper to me in this bank, that I heard you
+knew something about banking--"
+
+"George!"
+
+"It's all right. I only mentioned that I heard rumors that you were in a
+city bank somewhere at one time. He didn't ask any more and I shouldn't
+have told him if he had. But the idea pleased him, I could see that.
+'Why don't you try to get him?' says he. 'Maybe the days of miracles
+ain't past. Perhaps even he'd condescend to work, if the right job came
+his way.'"
+
+"So that's what you call his suggesting me, do you? Humph!"
+
+"Well, I told him about it last night, when I was up to see Nellie,
+and he was pleased as Punch. Surprised, of course, but pleased. He's
+practically the whole board, as far as settling things is concerned, so
+it is all right. He ain't the worst friend you've got, by a long shot."
+
+I imagined that I understood what Captain Jed's "friendship" meant. My
+accepting the bank position was one more bond binding me to his side in
+the Shore Lane battle. And, so long as I was under Taylor's eye and his
+own, I could not be subject to the Colton influence.
+
+George and I discussed the question of salary, if his offer and my
+prompt acceptance might be called a discussion. The pay was not large
+to begin with, but it was more than I had a right to expect. And I was
+perfectly honest when I said that money was not the consideration which
+led me to make the sudden change in my habit of life. I was sick of
+idleness; I had longed for something to occupy my life and time; I might
+as well be doing this as anything; Taylor's offer had appealed to me
+when he first made it; these were the excuses I evolved for my own
+satisfaction and I tried to believe them real. But one reason I would
+not admit, even in my thoughts, as a possibility. It was not that
+girl, or anything she had said, which influenced me. No! over and over
+again--no.
+
+Sam Wheeler, the young fellow who acted as assistant bookkeeper and
+messenger, came in, and Taylor, after showing me the books and giving
+me a few hints as to what my duties would be, turned me over to him for
+further instruction. I found I needed but little. The pages, with their
+rows of figures, seemed like old friends. I almost enjoyed poring over
+them. Was it possible that I was going to like this new venture of mine?
+
+Before noon I was fairly certain of it. The work in a country bank is
+different from that in the large city institutions, in that it is by no
+means as specialized. I found that, later on, I should be expected
+to combine the work of teller with that of bookkeeper. And this,
+too, seemed natural. I worked as steadily as I could, considering
+interruptions, and the forenoon was over almost before I knew it.
+
+The interruptions, however, were numerous and annoying; some of them,
+too, were amusing. Depositors came, saw me behind the bars of the
+window, and, after expressing their astonishment, demanded to know what
+I was doing there. If I had answered all the questions put to me by the
+curious Denboroites I should have found time for little else. But Taylor
+helped me by shooing the curious ones away. "Don't bother the new hand,"
+he said. "If you want to know particulars ask me. Anything I don't tell
+you you can read in next week's Item. This is a bank, not a question
+box."
+
+Captain Elisha Warren came in and was as surprised as the rest. After an
+interview with the cashier he returned to my window and requested me to
+open up. When I did so he reached in a big hand and seized mine.
+
+"Shake, Ros," he said, heartily. "I'm glad for the bank and I'm gladder
+still for you. Come hard at fust, does it?"
+
+"A little," I confessed. "Not as hard as I expected, though."
+
+"Fust day or two out of port is always the toughest. You'll get your sea
+legs on pretty soon. Then you'll be glad you shipped, I cal'late."
+
+"I hope so," I answered, rather dubiously.
+
+"I know you will. There's nothin' so tiresome as doin' nothin'. I know,
+because that's been my job for quite a spell. Seems sometimes as if I'd
+have a fit, I get so sick of loafin'."
+
+His idea of a "loaf" was rising at six and weeding his garden,
+superintending the labor on his cranberry swamps or about his barns and
+grounds, attending bank and Selectmen's meetings, and generally keeping
+busy until sunset.
+
+"I tell Abbie, my housekeeper," he continued, "that if 'twan't for my
+age I believe I'd go to sea again just to keep from fallin' apart with
+dry rot. I asked her if she'd noticed how my timbers creaked, and she
+said I didn't keep still long enough for her to notice anything. Ho! ho!
+Nothin' makes her more provoked than for me to mention gettin' old or
+goin' to sea. All the same, I envy you your youth, Ros. You've got your
+life afore you, and I'm glad to see that you're goin' to make somethin'
+of it. I always said you'd wake up if somebody give you a punch. Who
+punched you, Ros?"
+
+My reply was non-committal.
+
+"Better mind my own business, hadn't I," he observed. "All right,
+I will. No offense meant, you understand. But, you see, I've never
+believed that work was the cuss of mankind, like some folks, and no
+matter how much money a young feller's got I think he's better off doin'
+somethin'. That's the gospel accordin' to Elisha. Well, good luck and a
+pleasant v'yage. See you again soon. Say," turning back, "keep an eye on
+George, will you? Folks in love are l'ble to be absent-minded, they tell
+me, and I should not want him to be absent with any of my money. Hear
+that, do you, George?"
+
+Taylor, who was standing near, laughed and walked away. A moment later
+I saw him looking out of the window with the same strange expression on
+his face which I had noticed several times before when his approaching
+marriage was hinted at. Something was troubling him, that was plain. He
+loved Nellie devotedly, I knew; yet he obviously did not like to hear
+the marriage mentioned.
+
+Sim Eldredge was one of the first visitors to the bank, but his visit
+was a short one. He entered the door, walked straight to the teller's
+window and peered through the bars. I heard him catch his breath.
+
+"Good morning, Sim," said I. "What can I do for you?"
+
+"Do?" he repeated. "Do for me? Nothin'--nothin', 'special. You--you
+meant it, then?"
+
+"I told you I did."
+
+"My soul!" was all the answer he made. Then he turned and walked out.
+
+At about eleven o'clock I was half-way through the addition of a
+column of figures when I heard some one say, "Well, by time!" with such
+anguished fervor that it was almost like a prayer for help. I looked up.
+Lute Rogers was staring in at me, open-mouthed and horror-stricken.
+
+"Hello, Lute!" I said.
+
+Lute swallowed hard.
+
+"They told me 'twas so," he stammered. "They said so and--and I laughed
+at 'em. Ros, you ain't, be you?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Goin' to stay in there and--and take Henry's job?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You be! And you never said nothin' to nobody? To Dorinda? Or even
+Comfort?"
+
+"No; not yet."
+
+"Nor to me. To ME, by time! You let them fellers at the store make a
+fool of me--"
+
+"No one could do that, Lute. I have told you so often."
+
+"And you let them know it afore I did. And me livin' right in the house
+with you! By time! I--I--"
+
+"There, there, Lute! don't cry. I'll tell you all about it when I come
+home for dinner."
+
+"Yes, I should think you might do that much. Treatin' your own family
+like--why did you tell Sim Eldredge?"
+
+"Sim asked me and so I told him, that was all. Don't stand there
+fidgeting. Run along home, there's a good fellow. Mr. Taylor has his eye
+on you already."
+
+Lute glanced apprehensively toward the cashier's desk and turned to go.
+
+"Well!" he exclaimed, "I've said you was crazy more'n once, that's some
+satisfaction. Say! can I tell 'em to home?"
+
+I hesitated. "You may tell Dorinda if you like," I answered. "But I
+prefer to tell Mother, myself."
+
+George rose from his desk just then and Lute hurried to the door. I
+smiled. I imagined his arrival in our kitchen and how he would explode
+the sensational news upon his unsuspecting wife.
+
+But I was not altogether calm, though I did my best to appear so, when
+I entered that kitchen at a quarter past twelve. Lute was seated in a
+chair by the window, evidently watching and waiting. He sprang up as I
+entered.
+
+"Set down," ordered Dorinda, who was taking a clam pie from the oven.
+She merely nodded when I came in. Dorinda often spoke in meeting against
+"sinful pride"; yet she had her share of pride, sinful or not. She would
+not ask questions or deign to appear excited, not she.
+
+"But Dorinda," cried her husband, "it's Ros. Don't you see?"
+
+"You set down, Lute Rogers. Well," turning to me, "dinner's ready, if
+you are."
+
+"I shall be in a few minutes," I answered. "I want to see Mother first."
+
+Breaking the news to Mother was a duty which I dreaded. But it turned
+out to be not dreadful at all. Mother was surprised, of course, but she
+did not offer a single objection. Her principal feeling seemed to be
+curiosity as to my reasons for the sudden change.
+
+"Of course, Roscoe, if you are happier I shall be, too," she said.
+"I know it must have been very dull for you here. My conscience has
+troubled me not a little all these years. I realize that a man, a young
+man like you, needs an interest in life; he wants something more than
+the care and companionship of a useless creature like me."
+
+"Mother, how often have I told you not to speak like that."
+
+"But he does. Many times, when you and I have been here together, I have
+been on the point of urging you to leave me and go back to the world and
+take your place in it. More than once, you remember, dear, I have hinted
+at such a thing, but you have always chosen not to understand the hints,
+and I have been so weak and selfish that I have not pressed them. I am
+glad you have done this, if it seems right to you. But does it? Are you
+sure?"
+
+"I think so, Mother. I confess I am not sure."
+
+"This country bank is a pretty small place, isn't it? Not big enough for
+my boy to prove his worth in."
+
+"It is quite big enough for that. That doesn't require a Rothschild's
+establishment."
+
+"But your decision must have been a very sudden one. You did not mention
+that you thought of such a thing. Not even to me."
+
+"It was sudden," I answered. "I took the position on the spur of the
+moment."
+
+"But why? What led you to do it?"
+
+"I don't know, Mother."
+
+"What influenced you? Has any one urged you?"
+
+"George Taylor offered me the place some time ago. He urged me."
+
+"No one else?"
+
+I avoided the issue. "You don't mind, then, Mother," I said. "You are
+willing that I should try the experiment?"
+
+"I am glad, if it pleases you. And you must let me say this now, Roscoe,
+because it is true and I mean it. If another and better opportunity
+comes to you, one that might take you away from Denboro--and from
+me--for a time, of course, I want you to promise me that you will not
+refuse it on my account. Will you promise?"
+
+"No. Of course I shan't promise any such thing. Is it likely that I
+would leave you, Mother?"
+
+"I know that you would not leave me unless I were willing for you to
+go. I know that, Roscoe. But I am much better and stronger than I was. I
+shall never be well--"
+
+"Don't say that," I interrupted, hastily.
+
+"But I must say it, because it is true. I shall never be well, but I am
+strong enough now to bear the thought of your leaving me and when the
+time comes I shall insist upon your doing so. I am glad we have had this
+talk, dear. I am glad, too, that you are going to be busy once more in
+the way you like and ought to be. You must tell me about your work every
+day. Now go, because your dinner is ready and, of course, you must be
+getting back to the bank. Kiss me, Boy."
+
+And as I bent over her she put her arms about my neck.
+
+"Boy," she whispered, "I know there is some reason for your doing this,
+a reason which you have not told me. You will tell me some day, won't
+you?"
+
+I straightened hurriedly and tried to laugh. "Of course I'll tell you,
+Mother," I replied. "If there is anything to tell."
+
+The clam pie was on the table in the dining-room and Dorinda was seated
+majestically before it. Lute was fidgeting in his chair.
+
+"Here he is," he exclaimed, as I joined the pair at the table. "Ros, how
+did you ever come to do it?"
+
+His wife squelched him, as usual. "If Roscoe's got anything to tell,"
+she observed, with dignity, "he'll tell it without your help or anybody
+else's. If he ain't, he won't. This pie's colder than it ought to be,
+but that isn't my fault."
+
+As I ate I told them of my sudden determination to become a laboring
+man. I gave the reasons that I had given Mother.
+
+"Um-hm," said Dorinda.
+
+"But I can't understand," pleaded Lute. "You don't need to work, and
+I've sort of took a pride in your not doin' it. If I was well-off, same
+as you be, I bet George Taylor'd have to whistle afore I wore out MY
+brains in his old bank."
+
+"He wouldn't have time to whistle more'n once," was Dorinda's comment.
+
+"Now, Dorinda, what kind of talk is that? Wouldn't have time to whistle?
+You do say more things without any sense to 'em! Just talk to hear
+yourself, I cal'late. What are you grinnin' at, Roscoe?"
+
+"I can't imagine, Lute. This clam pie is a triumph. May I have another
+helping, Dorinda?"
+
+Dorinda did not answer, but the second helping was a liberal one. She
+was so quiet and the glances she gave me from time to time were so odd
+that I began to feel uneasy. I was fairly sure that she approved of my
+new venture, but why did she look at me like that?
+
+"Well," said I, looking at my watch and rising, "what do you think of
+it? Am I doing right?"
+
+Lute leaned back in his chair. "There's consider'ble to be said on that
+subject," he announced. "Work, as a general thing, I consider all right;
+I've told you that afore. But when it comes to--"
+
+"What do you think, Dorinda?" I interrupted.
+
+Dorinda stirred her tea.
+
+"Think?" she repeated. "I think . . . When's that Colton girl comin' to
+call on Comfort again?"
+
+I had taken my hat from the hook. Now, with it in my hand, I turned and
+faced her.
+
+"How should I know that?" I demanded. "That's a trifle off the subject,
+isn't it?"
+
+"Um-hm," said Dorinda. "Maybe 'tis."
+
+I went out hurriedly.
+
+Within the week I was at home in my new position. The strangeness of
+regular hours and regular employment wore away with surprising rapidity.
+There were, of course, mornings when sea and sky and the freshness of
+outdoors tempted me and I wondered whether or not I had been foolish
+to give up my fine and easy life. But these periods of temptation were
+shorter and less frequent as I became more and more familiar with my
+duties and with the routine of the bank. I found myself taking a greater
+interest in the institution and, to my astonishment, I was actually
+sorry when Saturday came. It seemed odd enough to once more have money
+in my pocket which I had earned. It was not a great amount, of course,
+but I felt it to be mine. Yes, there was no doubt about it, I had done
+the right thing, and was glad. I was grateful to Taylor for having given
+me the opportunity. Perhaps I should have been grateful to the person
+whose brutal and impertinent frankness had piqued me into grasping that
+opportunity, but I was not.
+
+She made her second call upon Mother two days after our impromptu picnic
+at Seabury's Pond. I heard all about it when I came home that afternoon.
+It appeared that she had brought more flowers and a fresh supply of
+books. She had remained even longer than on her first visit and she
+and Mother had talked about almost everything under the sun. One topic,
+however, had not been discussed, a fact which my guarded questions made
+certain. She, like myself, had said nothing concerning the day in the
+woods.
+
+"I told her of your consenting to help Mr. Taylor in his dilemma," said
+Mother.
+
+"Did you?" said I. "It was kind of you to put it in that way."
+
+"That was the truthful way of putting it, wasn't it? She seemed very
+much interested."
+
+"Indeed. And surprised, I presume."
+
+"Why, yes, I think so. She seemed surprised at first; then she laughed;
+I could not understand why. She has a very pleasant laugh, hasn't she?"
+
+"I have never noticed." This was untrue.
+
+"She has. She is a charming girl. I am sorry you were not here when she
+called. I told her you would be home soon and asked her to wait, but she
+would not."
+
+"I am glad she didn't."
+
+"Roscoe!"
+
+"I am, Mother. That young lady comes here to see you merely because she
+has nothing else to do just now. I shouldn't accept too many favors from
+her."
+
+Mother said I was unreasonable and prejudiced and I did not argue the
+point. Lute and Dorinda discussed the caller at the supper table until I
+was constrained to leave the room. Mabel Colton might amuse herself with
+Mother and the two members of our household whom she had described as
+"characters," she might delude them into believing her thoughtful and
+sympathetic and without false pride, but I knew better. She had insulted
+me. She had, in so many words, told me that I was lazy and worthless,
+just as she might have told her chauffeur or one of the servants. That
+it was true made no difference. Would she have spoken in that way to--to
+Victor Carver, for instance? Hardly. She was just what I had thought
+her at first, a feminine edition of Victor, with more brains than he
+possessed.
+
+Captain Jed Dean came into the bank the third day after my installation
+as bookkeeper and teller. I was alone in the director's room, going
+over some papers, and he entered and shook hands with me. The old fellow
+professed delight at my presence there.
+
+"George tells me you're takin' hold fust-rate," he said. "That's good.
+I'm glad to hear it."
+
+"Why?" I asked. There was a trace of his old pomposity in the speech--or
+I imagined there was--and I chose to resent it. These were the days when
+I was in the mood to resent almost anything.
+
+"Why?" he repeated, in surprise. "What do you mean?"
+
+"Why are you glad?" I said. "I can't see what difference it makes to you
+whether I succeed or not."
+
+He regarded me with a puzzled expression, but, instead of taking
+offense, he laughed.
+
+"You've got a chip on your shoulder, ain't you, Ros?" he observed.
+"Workin' you too hard at the start, are we?"
+
+"No," I answered, curtly.
+
+"Then what is the matter?"
+
+"Why, nothing, unless it is that everyone I meet seems to take such
+a great interest in my being here. I believe all of Denboro talks of
+nothing else."
+
+"Not much else, I shouldn't wonder. But that's to be expected, ain't it?
+Everybody's glad you're makin' good."
+
+"Humph! They all seem to regard that as the eighth wonder of the world.
+The position doesn't require a marvel of intelligence; almost any one
+with a teaspoonful of brains could fill it."
+
+"Why no, they couldn't. But that's nothin' to do with it. I see what's
+the matter with you, Ros. You think all hands are knocked on their beam
+ends because you've gone to work. Some of 'em are, that's a fact, and
+you can't blame 'em much, considerin' how long you've lived here without
+doin' anything. But all of 'em that amount to a three-cent piece are
+glad, and the rest don't count anyway. You've made a good many friends
+in this town lately, son."
+
+I smiled bitterly. "Friends," I said.
+
+"Why, yes, friends. And friends are worth havin', especially if you
+make 'em without beggin' for their friendship. I give in that you've
+surprised some of us. We didn't know that you had it in you. But your
+standin' up to old Colton was a fine thing, and we appreciated it."
+
+"That is because you were against his grabbing the Lane."
+
+"What of it? And 'twan't that altogether. I, for one, ain't complainin'
+because you stood up to me and wouldn't sell to the town. By the way,
+Tim Hallet's gang haven't bothered you lately, have they?"
+
+"No. And I advise them not to."
+
+He chuckled. "I heard you advised 'em to that effect," he said. "I ain't
+complainin' at that, either, even though I knew what they was up to and
+thought 'twas more or less of a joke. But I liked the way you fired 'em
+out of there, not carin' a tinker's darn who was behind 'em. So long as
+a man stands square in his boots and don't knuckle to anybody he won't
+lose anything with Jed Dean. That's me!"
+
+"You ought to like Colton, then," I said. "He hasn't knuckled, much."
+
+Captain Jed grinned. "Well," he said, slowly, "I don't object to that in
+him. He seems to be a fighter and that's all right. Maybe if I was one
+of his tribe in New York I should like him. But I ain't. And you ain't,
+Ros. We're both of us country folks, livin' here, and he's a city shark
+buttin' into the feedin' grounds. He wants to hog the whole place and
+you and I say he shan't. I'm thankful to him for one thing: his comin'
+here has waked you up, and it's goin' to make a man of you, or I miss my
+guess."
+
+I did not answer.
+
+"You mustn't get mad because I talk this way," he went on. "I'm old
+enough to be your dad, Ros Paine, and I know what I'm talkin' about. I
+never took much of a shine to you in the old days. You was too much of
+what the story books call a 'gentleman' to suit me. I've had to scratch
+all my life for what I've got, but I've got it. When a young, able
+feller like you was contented to loaf around as you did and take no
+interest in nothin', I, naturally, figgered he was no-account. I see
+now I was wrong. All you needed was somethin' to stir you up and set you
+goin'. KEEP goin', that's my advice to you. And so long as you do, and
+don't bend when the pressure gets hard, you'll be somebody afore you
+die. And the friends you've made'll stand back of you."
+
+"How about the enemies I have made?"
+
+"Enemies? I suppose likely you have made some enemies, but what of it?
+I've made enemies all my life. It ain't because I'm popular here in
+Denboro that I'm what I am. Now is it?"
+
+The truthful answer would have been no. Captain Dean was not popular,
+but he was respected even by the many who disliked and disagreed with
+him. I hesitated, trying to think what to say.
+
+"You know 'tain't that," he said. "Popularity I never had, though it's
+a pleasant enough thing and sometimes I wish--But there, this ain't
+experience meetin'. I'm glad you're here in this bank. You're smart, and
+George says you are worth more than Henry Small ever was, even so early.
+If you really are what it begins to look as if you are I'm glad for
+Denboro. Maybe there'll be somebody besides George fit to run this town
+after I'm gone."
+
+I smiled. The last remark was so characteristic that it was funny. He
+was turning away, but he noticed the smile and turned back.
+
+"That's a joke, hey?" he asked.
+
+"Captain," I said, "you are not consistent. When you and I first talked
+about the Lane you said that you would not blame me if I closed it. If
+it was yours you wouldn't have Tom, Dick, and Harry driving fish carts
+through it."
+
+"Did I say that?"
+
+"Yes. And you said, on another occasion, that anyone would sell anything
+if they were offered money enough."
+
+"Humph! Well, sometimes I say 'most anything but my prayers. Matildy
+says I forget them pretty often, but I tell her her Friday night
+speeches are long enough to make up. Maybe I meant what I said to you at
+those times, Ros. I shouldn't wonder if I did. But 'twas a lie just the
+same. There are things I wouldn't sell, of course. Nellie, my daughter's
+one of 'em. She's goin' to get a good husband in George here, but
+her happiness means more to me than money. She's one of the things I
+wouldn't sell. And my Selectman's job is another. I fought for that,
+not so much for the honor, or whatever you call it, but because--well,
+because I wanted to show 'em that I could get it if I set out to. I
+don't presume likely you can understand that feelin'."
+
+"I think I can," I answered. "Mr. Colton gave about the same reason for
+his determination to close the Lane. You and he seem to be a good deal
+alike, after all."
+
+He looked at me from beneath his bushy brows. His mouth twisted in a
+grim smile.
+
+"Say, son," he said, "if I hadn't been so free with my proclamations
+about bein' your friend you and me would have a settlement for that
+little bit of talk. The Emperor and me alike! Ugh!"
+
+The next afternoon he came in again and asked me to step outside the
+railing. He had something to say to me, he declared.
+
+We sat down together on the settee by the wall.
+
+"Ros," he said, in a low tone, "have you had any new offer for your
+property? Not from Colton or the town, but from anybody else?"
+
+"No," I answered. "What do you mean?"
+
+"You ain't heard anything from a Boston firm claimin' to represent the
+Bay Shore Development Company, or some such?"
+
+"No. What sort of a company is that?"
+
+"I don't know; that is, I don't know much about it. But there's talk
+driftin' 'round that a Boston syndicate is cal'latin' to buy up all the
+shore front land from South Ostable to the Bayport line and open it up
+for summer house lots. The name is the Bay Shore Development Company, or
+somethin' like that. You ain't heard from 'em, then?"
+
+"Not a word. Where did your information come from?"
+
+"From nobody in particular. It just seems to be in the air. Alvin Baker
+heard it over to Ostable. The feller that told him got it from somebody
+else, who got it from another somebody, and so on. There's talk about
+good prices bein' offered and, accordin' to Alvin, Ostable folks are
+pretty excited. Elnathan Mullet, who owns that strip below your house,
+knows somethin' about it, I think. I shouldn't wonder if he'd had an
+offer, or a hint, or somethin'. But Elnathan's mouth shuts tighter than
+a muskrat trap and I couldn't get nothin' out of him. He just looked
+knowin' and that was all. But, if it's so, it may mean a heap to
+Denboro."
+
+I was considering the news when he spoke again.
+
+"It might mean a lot to you, Ros," he whispered.
+
+"How so?"
+
+"Why, this way: If this concern offered you enough money you might sell
+out to them, mightn't you? Sell all your place, I mean; you could
+get another one easy enough. You ain't particular about livin' by the
+shore."
+
+"But--you urge me to SELL!" I exclaimed. "Sell the Shore Lane with the
+rest?"
+
+"Why not? You wouldn't be sellin' to Colton. And, if this development
+scheme is what they say it is, there'll be roads cut through all along
+shore. The town could use any of 'em; at least that arrangement might be
+made. Think it over, Ros. If they do offer and offer enough, I'd sell,
+if I was you. Say! that would be a reef under His Majesty's bows, hey?
+Jolt him some, I cal'late."
+
+I did not answer. This was a new possibility. Of course his reason for
+advising my selling was plain enough, but, leaving the Coltons entirely
+aside, the idea was not without allurement. The town's convenience
+in the matter of a road might be considered, just as he said. And my
+scruples against selling at a profit were, after all, based upon that
+feature.
+
+"You think it over," he counseled. "Don't say nothin' to nobody, but
+just think--and wait. I'll keep my eye to wind'ard and see what I
+can find out. I tell you honest, Ros, I'll feel safer when I know old
+Imperial's game's blocked for good and all."
+
+Old Imperial himself made his appearance before closing hours. I looked
+up from my work to see him standing by the window. He had not expected
+to see me there--evidently his daughter had not considered Mother's news
+of sufficient importance to repeat--and, at first, he did not recognize
+me.
+
+"Good afternoon, Mr. Colton," said I.
+
+He nodded. "Cash this for me, will you," he said, pushing a check
+through the opening. "What? Hello! What in blazes are you doing in
+there?"
+
+"I am employed here now," I answered.
+
+"Humph! how long since?"
+
+"Ten days, or such matter."
+
+"What are you doing in a bank?"
+
+"Banking was my business, at one time."
+
+"Thought you hadn't any business."
+
+"I haven't had any, for some years. Now I have. How do you wish this
+money? In tens and fives?"
+
+"Yes. Nothing bigger. Down here it restricts the circulation if you
+spring a twenty dollar bill on them. So you've taken to banking? I was
+thinking of corraling you for a gunning trip one of these days. Now it's
+all off, I suppose."
+
+"It looks that way. Sorry I am to be deprived of the pleasure."
+
+"Humph!" Then, with one of his sudden changes, "How big a business does
+this concern do? What do your deposits amount to?"
+
+I gave him the figures, as printed in the yearly statement. He made no
+comment. Instead he observed, "You haven't been around to accept that
+offer of mine yet, Paine."
+
+"Not yet," I answered.
+
+"Suppose I ought to raise it, now that you're a financier yourself.
+However, I shan't."
+
+"I haven't asked you to."
+
+He smiled. "No, you haven't," he said. "Well, it is open--for a while.
+If I were you I'd accept it pretty soon."
+
+"Possibly."
+
+"Meaning that I am not you, hey? I'm not. I haven't your high
+principles, Paine. Can't afford 'em. You're what they call a
+'Progressive' in politics, too, aren't you?"
+
+"Here is your money," I said, ignoring the question.
+
+"I'll bet you are!" he declared, taking the bills. "I never saw one of
+you high-principled chaps yet that wasn't--until he got rich enough to
+be something else. Progress is all right, maybe, but I notice that you
+fellows pay for it and the rest of us get it. Just as I am going to get
+that land of yours."
+
+"You haven't got it yet," I said, serenely. I had made up my mind that
+this time he should not provoke me into losing my temper.
+
+He seemed to divine my determination. His eye twinkled. "You're
+improving, Paine," he observed. "I'll give you a piece of advice; it has
+cost me a good deal to learn, but I'll give it to you: Don't ever let
+the other fellow make you mad."
+
+I remembered our first interview and I could not resist the temptation
+to retort.
+
+"If my recollection is correct," I said, "you forgot that the first time
+we met."
+
+He laughed aloud. "So I did," he admitted. "Maybe if I hadn't it would
+not cost me so much to get my own way in your case."
+
+He walked out of the building. I heard one exclamation from behind and,
+turning, saw Sam Wheeler, my youthful assistant, staring at me.
+
+"My--gosh!" exclaimed Sam, his tone a mixture of wonder and admiration,
+"I don't see how you dast to talk back to him like that, Ros. He'll sic
+the--the 'System' onto you, won't he?"
+
+It was evident that Sam had been reading the magazines.
+
+I heard no more from Captain Jed and nothing from the mysterious
+"Development Company" for the remainder of that week. But on Sunday, as
+I sat in the boat house, smoking my after dinner pipe and reading, Lute
+excitedly entered, followed by a well-dressed, smooth-shaven man of
+middle age, whom he introduced as Mr. Keene of Boston, "who's driven all
+the way from Ostable a-purpose to see you, Ros."
+
+Mr. Keene shook hands with me cordially and apologized for intruding
+upon my day of rest. He intended returning to the city in the morning,
+he said, and, as he had a little matter to discuss with me, had taken
+the liberty of calling. "I shan't take more than half an hour of your
+time, Mr. Paine," he explained. "At least I feel certain that you and I
+can reach an agreement in that period. If I might be alone with you--"
+
+This hint, evidently intended for Lute's benefit, was quite lost upon
+the last named individual, who had seated himself on the edge of the
+work bench and was listening with both ears. I was obliged to tell
+him that his presence was superfluous and request his returning to the
+house, which he reluctantly did, moving slowly and looking back with
+an expression of grieved disappointment. After he had gone I asked Mr.
+Keene what his "little matter" might be.
+
+His reply was prompt and to the point. He gave me his card. He was, it
+seemed, junior partner in the firm of Barclay and Keene, real estate
+brokers and promoters, Milk Street, Boston. And, just now, he was acting
+as representative of the Bay Shore Development Company. "A concern of
+which, in spite of all our precautions and attempts at secrecy, you may,
+perhaps, have heard, Mr. Paine," he added, smiling.
+
+I admitted that I had heard rumors concerning the company's existence.
+But, except for these very vague rumors, I knew nothing about it.
+
+He expected that, he said, and was glad to give me further and complete
+information. In fact, that was his reason for coming so many miles to
+see me. If I would be good enough to listen he would tell me just what
+the Bay Shore Company was and what it contemplated doing.
+
+I listened and he talked. According to him the Bay Shore syndicate--that
+is what it was, a syndicate of capitalists--represented one of the
+biggest real estate propositions ever conceived. Those behind it were
+awake to the possibilities of the Cape as a summer resort. Shore land,
+water front property in the vicinity, was destined to increase in value,
+provided it was properly exploited and developed. The company's idea was
+to do just that--exploit and develop.
+
+"We've been quietly looking about," he continued, "and are all ready for
+the preliminaries. And naturally, the first preliminary is to secure the
+land to develop. You have some of that land, Mr. Paine. We know just how
+much, as we do the holdings of every other party we have approached
+or intend to approach. I am here to get your figures and, if possible,
+conclude the purchase of your property this afternoon. It is Sunday,
+of course," he added, with a good-humored laugh, "and contracts signed
+to-day are not legal; but we can make a verbal contract and the papers
+may be signed later. I will defer my departure until the afternoon train
+to-morrow for that purpose. Now name your figure, Mr. Paine."
+
+Of course I had guessed what was coming. If I intended to sell at all
+here was my opportunity to do so--to, as Captain Jed expressed it,
+"block Colton's game" without sacrificing the principle for which I had
+fought, and make a good bit of money for myself. Another home near by
+could be secured, I had no doubt, and to it Mother might be safely and
+easily moved. Yet I hesitated to express even a qualified willingness.
+
+"You appear to be certain that I will sell," I observed. "Isn't that
+taking a good deal for granted, Mr. Keene?"
+
+He smiled--in fact he smiled almost too often to please me. There is
+such a thing as being too cordial and good-natured; and he was so very
+friendly on short acquaintance.
+
+"I understand," he said. "I have heard about you, Mr. Paine. This,
+however, is a different matter. We are not hogs, Mr. Paine, but business
+men. If our plans go through, Denboro will be grateful to us and to
+you."
+
+"IF they go through? I thought you were certain of their going through."
+
+"Certainly, certainly. There is, of course, an 'if' in all human plans,
+but our particular 'if' is a small one. I hope you will name your figure
+now, at once. Don't be afraid. We are disposed to be liberal. And,
+understand, this is entirely a cash transaction. You shall have the
+money in one hand as you sign the contract with the other. Ha! ha! What
+is the price to be?"
+
+But I would not name a price. I seemed to feel as unreasonably reluctant
+to close with the Bay Shore Development Company as I had been with
+Captain Jed or Colton.
+
+"Shall I make a bid?" asked Keene.
+
+"No, not yet at any rate. Tell me, this: Whose land have you already
+bought?"
+
+He shook his head. "That, of course," he said, with the same gracious
+smile, "I can hardly tell even to you. Some of the deals are not yet
+closed, and, as a business man yourself, Mr. Paine, you--"
+
+"I am not a business man," I interrupted, impatiently. "At least, not
+much of a one. You say there are capitalists behind your scheme. Who are
+they?"
+
+He laid his hand on my knee. "Why, that," he said, "is a secret no
+one is supposed to know. Men--financiers such as we are proud to
+serve--permit their names to be known only when the corporation is ready
+to begin actual operations. That is natural enough. If I were to
+mention names--well, some of your Yankee neighbors would want to become
+millionaires before selling."
+
+There was truth in this. I imagine that he guessed he had made an
+impression, for he went on to shout his praises of the company and the
+greatness of its plan. He talked and talked; in fact he talked too much.
+I did not like to hear him. I did not like HIM, that was the trouble. He
+was too smooth and voluble altogether. And he made a mistake in patting
+my knee.
+
+"Very well," said I, rising from my chair; "I'll think it over."
+
+He was plainly disappointed. "I don't wish to hurry you, of course," he
+said, not moving from his chair, "but we are anxious to close. This is
+to be cash, remember, and I stand ready to make an offer. I am sure we
+can reach an agreement, satisfactory to both sides, Mr. Paine."
+
+"Perhaps, but I prefer to think the matter over before naming a price or
+hearing your offer."
+
+As a matter of fact I did not intend to sell, or consider selling, until
+I had discussed the whole affair with Mother. But there was no need to
+tell him that.
+
+"I am sorry, I confess," he said. "I hoped this particular deal might be
+closed. We have so many of these little details, Mr. Paine, and time
+is money. However, if you insist upon it, I presume the company will be
+willing to wait a few days."
+
+"I am afraid it will have to."
+
+"Very well, very well. I shall be down again in a day or two. Of course,
+waiting may have some effect upon the price. To-day I was empowered to
+. . . You don't care to hear? Very well. So glad to have met you, Mr.
+Paine. Of course you will not mention the subject of our interview to
+anyone. Business secrets, you know. Thank you, thank you. And I will see
+you again--Thursday, shall we say?"
+
+I refused to say Thursday, principally because he had said it first. I
+suggested Saturday instead. He agreed, shook hands as if I were an old
+friend from whom he parted with regret, and left me.
+
+No, I did not like Mr. Keene. He was too polite and too familiar. And,
+as I thought over his words, the whole prospectus of the Bay Shore
+Development Company seemed singularly vague. The proposal to buy my land
+was definite enough, but the rest of it was, apparently, very much in
+the air. There was too much secrecy about it. No one was to tell anyone
+anything. I was glad I had insisted upon time for consideration. I
+intended to consider thoroughly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+When I left the boat house I did not go directly home, but wandered
+along the beach. I had puzzled my brain with Mr. Keene and his
+errand until I determined not to puzzle it any longer that day. If my
+suspicions were unfounded and existed merely because of my dislike of
+the Bay Shore Company's representative, then they were not worth worry.
+If they were well founded I had almost a week in which to discover the
+fact. I would dismiss the whole matter from my thoughts. The question
+as to whether or not I would sell the land at all to anybody, which was,
+after all, the real question, I resolved to put off answering until I
+had had my talk with Mother.
+
+I walked on by the water's edge until I reached the Lane; turning into
+that much coveted strip of territory I continued until I came opposite
+the Colton mansion, where, turning again, I strolled homeward by the
+path through the grove. Unconsciously my wandering thoughts strayed to
+Mabel Colton. It was here that I had met her on two occasions. I had an
+odd feeling that I should meet her here again, that she was here now.
+I had no reason for thinking such a thing, certainly the wish was not
+father to the thought, but at every bend in the path, as the undergrowth
+hid the way, I expected, as I turned the corner, to see her coming
+toward me.
+
+But the path was, save for myself, untenanted. I was almost at its end,
+where the pines and bushes were scattering and the field of daisies, now
+in full bloom, began, when I heard a slight sound at my left. I looked
+in the direction of the sound and saw her. She was standing beneath a
+gnarled, moss-draped old pine by the bluff edge, looking out over the
+bay.
+
+I stopped, involuntarily. Then I moved on again, as noiselessly as I
+could. But at my first step she turned and saw me. I raised my hat.
+She bowed, coldly, so it seemed to my supersensitive imagination, and
+I replaced the hat and continued my walk. I thought I heard the bushes
+near which she stood rustle as if she had moved, but I did not look
+back.
+
+Then, close behind me, I heard her voice.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said.
+
+I turned. She had followed me and was standing in the path, a bit out
+of breath, as if she had hurried. I waited for her to speak, but she did
+not.
+
+"Good afternoon, Miss Colton," I said, awkwardly. Some one had to speak,
+we could not stand staring at each other like that.
+
+She said "Good afternoon," also. Then there was another interval of
+silence.
+
+"You--you wished to speak to me?" I stammered.
+
+"I DID speak to you," with significant emphasis on the "did." "I thought
+you might, possibly, be interested to know that Don and I reached home
+safely the other day."
+
+Considering that she had called upon Mother since, it seemed to me
+that my knowledge of her reaching home safely might have been taken for
+granted; but I said:
+
+"I am very glad to hear it, Miss Colton."
+
+"We had no difficulty in finding the way after you left us."
+
+The way being almost straight, and over the main traveled roads, this,
+too, was fairly obvious.
+
+"I felt sure you would have no trouble--after I left you," I answered,
+with a significant emphasis of my own.
+
+She did not reply and, as I had nothing further to say, I waited for her
+to continue, or to break off the interview. She did neither, but stood,
+as if irresolute, looking down and stirring with her foot the leaves at
+the edge of the path. Suddenly she looked up.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said, "you are making it hard for me to say what I
+intended. But I think I should say it, and so I will. I beg your pardon
+for speaking as I did when I last saw you. I had no right to judge or
+criticize you, none whatever."
+
+"You do not need to apologize, Miss Colton. What you told me was
+probably true enough."
+
+The conventional answer to this would have been a half-hearted denial of
+my statement. I presume I expected something of the sort. But this girl
+was not conventional.
+
+"Yes," she said, thoughtfully, "I think it was. If I had not thought so
+I should not have said it. But that makes no difference. You and I are
+strangers, almost, and I had no right to speak as I did. I am impulsive,
+I know it, and I often do and say things on impulse which I am sorry for
+afterward. I offended you."
+
+"Oh no, no," I put in, hurriedly. She had offended me, but this frank
+confession touched me more than the offense had hurt. She was doing a
+hard thing and doing it handsomely.
+
+"Yes, I offended you," she repeated, firmly. "I have considered the
+matter a good deal since then, and it seems to me that you were right to
+feel offended. You had been very kind to me on several occasions and I
+had been your"--with a half smile--"your guest that day. I should not
+have hurt your feelings. Will you accept my apology?"
+
+"Why, yes, of course, since you insist, Miss Colton."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+She was turning to go; and I could not let her go thus. Although she had
+apologized for speaking her thought she had not retracted the thought
+itself. I was seized with a desire for justification in her eyes. I
+wanted to explain; forgetting for the moment that explanations were
+impossible.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, impulsively.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"May I--may I say a word?"
+
+"Certainly, if you wish."
+
+She turned again and faced me.
+
+"Miss Colton, I--I--" I began, and paused.
+
+"Well?" she said, patiently, "What is it?"
+
+"Miss Colton," I blundered on, "you should not have apologized. You were
+right. Your estimate of me was pretty nearly correct. I realized that
+when you gave it and I have been realizing it ever since. I deserved
+what I got--perhaps. But I should not wish you to think--that is,
+I--well, I had reasons, they seemed to me reasons, for being what I
+was--what I am. I doubt if they were altogether good reasons; I am
+inclined now to think they were not. But I had come to think them good.
+You see, I--I--"
+
+I stopped, face to face with the fact that I could not give those
+reasons to her or any one else. She was looking at me expectantly, and
+with, so it seemed to me, an expression of real, almost eager interest.
+I faltered, tried to go on, and then surrendered, absolutely, to the
+hopelessness of the situation.
+
+"It is no use," I said, "I can't tell you what those reasons were."
+
+I turned as I said it. I did not care to see her expression change. I
+knew what she must be thinking and I had no desire to read the thought
+in her eyes. I stood there, waiting for her to leave in disgust.
+
+"I can't tell you," I repeated, stubbornly.
+
+"Very well." Her tone was as coldly indifferent as I had anticipated.
+"Was that all you wished to say to me, Mr. Paine?"
+
+"Miss Colton, I should like to explain if I could. But I cannot."
+
+"Pray don't trouble yourself. I assure you I had no intentions of asking
+for your--reasons. Good afternoon."
+
+I heard her skirts brush the leaves at the border of the path. She was
+going; and the contemptuous slur at my "reasons" proved that she did not
+believe them existent. She believed me to be a liar.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, sharply; "wait."
+
+She kept on.
+
+"Wait," I said again. "Listen to me."
+
+She seemed to hesitate and then turned her head.
+
+"I am listening," she said. "What is it?"
+
+"You have no right to disbelieve me."
+
+"I disbelieve you? Why should you think I disbelieve you? I am not
+sufficiently interested to believe or disbelieve, I assure you."
+
+"But you do. You judge me--"
+
+"_I_ judge you! You flatter yourself, Mr. Paine."
+
+"But you do. You apologized just now for judging me without a hearing
+the other day. You acknowledged that you should not have done it. You
+are doing the same thing now."
+
+"I apologized for presuming to offer advice to a stranger. I did not
+apologize for the advice itself. I think it good. I do not care to argue
+the matter further."
+
+"You are not asked to argue. But your sneer at my reasons proves that
+you believe that I have none and am merely trying to justify myself with
+trumped up and lying excuses. You are wrong, and since you presumed to
+judge me then you must listen to me now. I have--or had--reasons for
+living as I have done, for being the idler and good-for-nothing you
+believe me to be. I can't tell you what they are; I can tell no one. But
+I do ask you to believe that I have them, that they are real, and that
+my being what you termed ambitionless and a country loafer is not my
+condition from choice. It is my right to insist upon your believing
+that. Do you believe it?"
+
+At last I had made an impression. My earnestness seemed to have shaken
+her contemptuous indifference. She looked at me steadily, frowning a
+little, but regarding me less as if I were a clod and more and more as
+if I were the puzzle she had once declared me to be. I did not shun her
+look now, but met it eye to eye.
+
+"Do you believe me?" I demanded.
+
+Slowly her frown was disappearing.
+
+"Do you believe me?" I said, again. "You must."
+
+"Must?"
+
+"Yes, you must. I shall make you. If not now, at some other time. You
+must believe me, Miss Colton."
+
+The frown disappeared altogether and she smiled.
+
+"If you order me to I suppose I must," she said, with a shrug of mock
+resignation. "I should have learned by this time that it is useless to
+say no when you say yes, Mr. Paine."
+
+"But do you?"
+
+She turned altogether and faced me.
+
+"I am very glad to believe you," she said, with simple directness.
+
+I stammered a "Thank you" and was silent. I dared not trust myself to
+speak at the moment. Somehow the sincerity of her words moved me far
+more than their trifling import warranted. She had declared her belief
+that I was not a liar, that was all; and yet I stood there fighting down
+all sorts of ridiculous emotions. The situation was decidedly strained,
+but, as usual, she saved it.
+
+"It seems to me," she said, with the twinkle which I had learned
+to recognize as a forerunner of mischief on her part, "that you are
+inclined to make mountains out of mole-hills, Mr. Paine. Was there any
+need to be quite so fiercely tragic? And, besides, I think that even now
+you have not told the whole truth."
+
+"The whole truth? Why, Miss Colton, I have just explained that--"
+
+"Oh, not that truth! Your mysterious 'reasons' are not my affair. And
+I have told you that I was willing to take those on trust. But you have
+not been quite truthful in another particular. You intimated that you
+were an idler. I have been given to understand that you are far from
+being an idler just now."
+
+I was relieved. "Oh, I see!" I exclaimed. "You mean--some one has told
+you of my employment at the bank."
+
+"A number of persons have told me. Surely you did not expect to keep
+THAT a secret--in Denboro?"
+
+"Well, scarcely," I admitted, with a laugh. "That was known almost
+before I was sure of it myself. You should have seen Eldredge's face
+when I announced my intention. And Lute--Mrs. Rogers' husband--hasn't
+completely recovered yet. The sight of me, actually trying to earn a
+living, was too much for him. You see what a miracle worker you are,
+Miss Colton."
+
+"Did you really accept the position simply because of what I said to
+you?"
+
+"Yes. The chance had been offered me before, but it was your frankness
+that shocked me into taking it."
+
+"Not really? You are joking."
+
+"No, I'm not. You are responsible. Are you sorry?"
+
+Her answer was a question.
+
+"Are you?" she asked.
+
+"No. At first it seemed ridiculous and strange, even to myself; but now
+I like the work. It is like old times."
+
+"Old times?"
+
+I was forgetting myself again; talking too much was a dangerous
+train--for me. I laughed, with pretended carelessness.
+
+"Why, yes; I was employed in a bank at one time. I think I told you
+that. Have you been motoring much of late, Miss Colton?"
+
+"Yes. Tell me, please: You really like your work?"
+
+"Yes, I do."
+
+"Then I will answer your question. I am not a bit sorry. I am glad I was
+impertinent and intrusive, especially now that I have apologized and
+you have accepted the apology. I am very glad I told you you should do
+something worth while."
+
+"Even if it were nothing more than to follow Thoph Newcomb's example and
+sell fish."
+
+"Yes," laughingly, "even that. I WAS impertinent, wasn't I! I don't
+wonder you were offended."
+
+"I needed the impertinence, I guess. But frankly, Miss Colton, I can't
+see why you should be glad because I have gone to work. I can't see what
+difference my working or idling can possibly make to you."
+
+"Oh, it doesn't, of course--except on general principles. I am a
+dreadful idler myself; but then, I am a woman, and idleness is a woman's
+right."
+
+I thought of Dorinda and of the other housewives of Denboro and how
+little of that particular "right" they enjoyed; which thought brought
+again and forcibly to my mind the difference between this girl's life
+and theirs--and Mother's--and my own.
+
+"A man," continued Miss Colton, sagely, "should not idle. He should work
+and work hard--so that the rest of us may be as good for nothing as we
+please. That is philosophy, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You were good enough not to say what sort of philosophy. Thank you. But
+seriously, Mr. Paine, I am fond of your mother--very fond, considering
+our short acquaintance--and when I saw her lying there, so patient, and
+deprived of the little luxuries and conveniences which she needs, and
+which a little more money might bring to her, it seemed to me . . .
+Gracious! what a lot of nonsense I am talking! What is the matter with
+me this afternoon? Do let's change the subject. Have you sold your land
+yet, Mr. Paine? Of course you haven't! That is more nonsense, isn't it."
+
+I think she had again spoken merely on the impulse of the moment;
+doubtless there was no deliberate intention on her part to bring me to a
+realization of my position, the position I occupied in her thoughts;
+but if she had had such an intent she could not have done it more
+effectively. She believed me to have been neglecting Mother, and her
+interest in my "doing something worth while" was inspired merely because
+she wished Mother to be supplied with those "luxuries and conveniences"
+she had mentioned. Well, my question was answered; this was the
+difference my working or idling made to her. And, for a minute or two,
+I had been foolish enough to fancy her interested, as a friend, in my
+success or failure in life. I might have known better. And yet, because
+of the novelty of the thing, because I had so few friends, I felt a pang
+of disappointment.
+
+But I resolved she should not know she had disappointed me. I might have
+been a fool, but I would keep my foolishness a secret.
+
+"No, Miss Colton," I said, with a smile, "I haven't sold yet."
+
+"Father said he saw you at the bank. Did he say anything about the
+land?"
+
+"He said his offer was still open, that was all."
+
+"You are resolved not to sell."
+
+"To him? Yes, I am resolved. I think he knows it. I tried to make it
+plain."
+
+"You say to him. Are you thinking of selling to any one else? To the
+town?"
+
+"No. Probably not to any one. Certainly not to your father or the town."
+
+She looked at me, with an odd expression, and seemed to hesitate.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said, slowly, "would you resent my giving you another
+bit of--advice?"
+
+"Not at all. What is it this time?"
+
+"Why, nothing. I must not give you any advice at all. I won't. Instead
+I'll give you one of Father's pet proverbs. It isn't an elegant one, but
+he is very fond of repeating it. 'There are more ways of killing a cat
+than choking it to death with butter.' There! you will admit it is not
+elegant."
+
+"But Miss Colton! Killing a cat! What in the world?"
+
+"You mustn't ask me. I shouldn't have said even that. But remember, it
+is father's pet proverb. I must go. Please give my love to your mother
+and tell her I shall call again soon. Good-by."
+
+She walked briskly away and did not look back. I went home. I thought a
+great deal during the evening and until late that night. When, at last,
+I did go to bed I had not made much progress in the problem of the cat,
+but I did believe that there was a rat in the vicinity. I was beginning
+to scent one. If I was not mistaken it called itself the Bay Shore
+Development Company.
+
+I said nothing to Mother of the new proposal to buy our land, but next
+morning at the bank I wrote a letter to the cashier of a bank in Boston,
+one of our correspondents, and with which our little institution was on
+very friendly terms. I asked the cashier to make some guarded inquiries
+concerning the Bay Shore Company, to find out, if possible, who was
+behind it and also to inquire concerning Barclay and Keene, the real
+estate brokers of Milk Street.
+
+The reply to my letter reached me on Friday. It was satisfactory,
+eminently so. And when, on Saturday afternoon, Mr. Keene, bland and
+smiling as ever, made his appearance at the house, I was ready for him.
+I stood on the step and made no move to invite him within. "Well, Mr.
+Paine," he said, cordially, "are you ready to talk business?"
+
+"Quite ready," I answered.
+
+He beamed with satisfaction.
+
+"Good!" he exclaimed. "Then what is your figure?"
+
+"My figure is a naught," I replied, with emphasis. "You may tell your
+employer that I do not care to sell the land to him, no matter whether
+he calls himself James Colton or the Bay Shore Development Company. Oh
+yes; and, if you like, you may add that this particular cat declines to
+be choked."
+
+Mr. Keene showed signs of choking, himself, and I shut the door and left
+him outside. Lute, who had been listening at the dining-room window and
+had heard only fragments of the brief interview, was in a state of added
+incoherence.
+
+"Well, by time!" he gasped. "What--what sort of talk was that? Chokin' a
+cat! A cat!! We ain't got no cat."
+
+"Haven't we?" I observed. "Why, no, so we haven't! Perhaps you had
+better explain that to Mr. Keene, Lute. It may help him to understand
+the situation. And add that I suggest his telling the person who sent
+him here that soft-soap is no improvement on butter."
+
+I think Lute did tell him just that, doubtless with all sorts of excuses
+for my insanity, for the next day, Sunday, as I walked along the beach,
+a big body came ploughing down the sandy slope and joined me.
+
+"Hello!" said Colton.
+
+"Good morning," said I.
+
+"How are independence and public spirit these days?"
+
+"Very well, thank you. How are Development Companies developing?"
+
+He put back his head and laughed. He did not seem a bit chagrined or
+discomfited. The joke was on him, but he could enjoy it, nevertheless.
+In spite of my antagonism toward this man I could not help admiring
+certain traits of his character. He was big, in every way. Little
+repulses or setbacks did not trouble him.
+
+"Say," he said, "how did you know about that cat?"
+
+"Saw his footprints," I replied. "They were all over the scheme. And
+your friend Keene purred too loud."
+
+"I don't mean that. Keene was a fool; that was plain enough for anyone
+to see. I had to use him; if Barclay hadn't been sick it might have
+been different. But how did you come to send me that message about the
+butter? Man, that is one of my favorite sayings--the choking the cat
+thing! How did you know that? I never said it to you."
+
+"Oh, it is an old saying. I have heard it often; and it did seem to fit
+in this case. I imagined you would understand and appreciate."
+
+"Um--yes," dryly. "I appreciated all right. As to understanding--well,
+I'll understand later on. That's another little conundrum for me to
+work out. Somebody's been talking, of course. Here! hold on!" as I was
+walking away: "Don't go. I want to talk to you."
+
+He characteristically did not ask whether or not I wanted to talk to
+him, but, as I happened to be in no hurry, I stopped and waited for him
+to continue. He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked me over,
+very much as he might have looked over a horse he was thinking of
+buying.
+
+"Paine," he said, suddenly, "do you want to go to work?"
+
+"Work?" I repeated. "I am at work already."
+
+"You've got a job, such as it is. It might be work for the average jay,
+but it isn't for you. I'll give you something to work at--yes, and work
+for."
+
+I stared at him in wondering suspicion.
+
+"What is this; another Development Company?" I demanded.
+
+"Ha! ha! not this time. No, this is straight. If you'll say that you'll
+work for me I'll make an opening for you in my New York office."
+
+I did not answer. I was trying to fathom the motive behind this new
+move.
+
+"I'll put you to work in my office," he went on. "It may not be much to
+begin with, but you can make it anything you like; that'll be up to you.
+As to salary--well, I don't know what you're getting in that one-horse
+bank, but I'll double it, whatever it is. That will be the start, of
+course. After that it is up to you, as I said."
+
+"Mr. Colton this may be a good joke, but I don't see it--yet."
+
+"I don't joke often in business; can't afford to."
+
+"You are really serious? You mean what you say?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But why? You don't know anything about me."
+
+"I know all that is necessary. And I have found out that you are all
+right, so far as bank work goes. That fellow Taylor and some others told
+me that. But I didn't need their telling. Why, man, it is part of my
+trade to know men when I see them. I have to know 'em. I said a while
+ago that you didn't belong in this forsaken hole of a town. God knows
+it IS forsaken! Even my wife is beginning to admit that, and she was the
+keenest to come here. Some day I shall get sick of it and sell out, I
+suppose."
+
+"Sell out?"
+
+"Oh, not yet. Mabel--my daughter--seems to like it here, for some
+unknown reason, and wants to stay. And I don't intend to sell until I've
+bought--what I set out to buy. But I'm not the subject we're talking
+about just now. You are. Come! here's your chance to be somebody. More
+chance than I had, I'll tell you that. You can go to work in my office
+next week, if you want to. Will you?"
+
+I laughed at the idea. I believed I had found the motive I was seeking.
+"Of course not," I said. "You can't close the Lane by that kind of
+bribery, Mr. Colton."
+
+"Bribery be hanged! Come, come, Paine! Wake up, or I shall think your
+brains aren't up to standard, after all. When I bribe I bribe. When I
+ask a man to work for me there are no strings tied to the offer. Forget
+your picayune land for a minute. Time enough to remember that when I've
+got it, which will be some day or other, of course. I'm making you this
+offer because I want you. You're sharp; you saw through that Development
+game. You're clever--your sending me that 'cat' message proves it. And
+your not telling me where the idea for the message came from proves that
+you can keep your mouth shut. I could use a dozen fellows like you, if
+I could get them. You interested me right at the start. A chap with sand
+enough to tell Jim Colton to go to the devil is always interesting. I'm
+offering you this chance because I think it is a good chance for both
+of us. Yes, and because I like you, I suppose, in spite of your
+pig-headedness. Will you take it?"
+
+"No, thank you," I answered.
+
+"Why? Because you can't leave your sick mother? She'll be all right.
+I was talking with the doctor--Quimby, his name is, isn't it--and he
+happened to mention that he was encouraged about her. Said she had been
+distinctly better for the last month."
+
+I could not believe it. Doctor Quimby had said nothing of the sort to
+me. It was impossible. Mother BETTER!
+
+"That doesn't mean she is going to be well and strong again, of course,"
+he added, not unkindly. "But I think Quimby believes she may be well
+enough to--perhaps--sit up one of these days. Be wheeled about in a
+chair, or something of that sort . . . Why! what is the matter? You
+looked as if I had knocked you out. Hasn't the doctor said anything to
+you?"
+
+"No," I stammered. I WAS knocked out. I could not believe it. Mother,
+the bed-ridden invalid of six long years, to be well enough to sit up!
+to use a wheeled chair! It could not be true. It was too good to be
+true.
+
+"So, you see, you could leave her all right," went on Colton. "If it was
+necessary you could get a nurse down here to look after her while you
+were away. And you might get home every fortnight or so. Better take my
+offer, Paine. Come!" with a grunt of impatient amusement, "don't keep me
+waiting too long. I am not used to coaxing people to work for me; it is
+usually the other way around. This offer of mine happens to be pretty
+nearly a disinterested one, and," with one of his dry smiles, "all my
+offers are not that kind, as you ought to know. Will you say yes now? Or
+do you want till to-morrow to think it over?"
+
+The news concerning Mother had upset me greatly, but my common-sense was
+not all gone. That there was something behind his offer I believed, but,
+even if there were not--if it was disinterested and made simply because
+my unearthing of the Bay Shore "cat" had caught his fancy--I did not
+consider for a moment accepting it. Not if Mother was like other women,
+well and strong, would I have accepted it. In Denboro I was Roscoe
+Paine, and my life story was my own secret. In New York how long would
+it be before that secret and my real name were known, and all the old
+disgrace and scandal resurrected?
+
+"What do you say?" asked Colton, again. "Want more time to think about
+it, do you?"
+
+I shook my head. "No," I answered. "I have had time enough. I am obliged
+for the offer and I appreciate your kindness, but I cannot accept."
+
+I expected him to express impatience or, perhaps, anger; at least to ask
+my reasons for declining. But his only utterance was a "Humph!" For a
+moment he regarded me keenly. Then he said:
+
+"Haven't got the answer yet, have I? All right. Well," briskly, "when
+are you and I going on that shooting trip?"
+
+"There is no shooting at present," I answered, as soon as I could adjust
+my mind to this new switch in the conversation.
+
+"That so? Any fishing?"
+
+"I believe the squiteague are running outside. I heard they were."
+
+"What? Squit--which?"
+
+"Squiteague. Weakfish some people call them."
+
+"They are pretty fair sport, aren't they?"
+
+"Yes, fair. Nothing like bluefish, however."
+
+"All right. What is the matter with our going squint--squint--something
+or othering one of these days? Will you go? Or are you as pig-headed
+about that as you are about other things?"
+
+I laughed. "Not quite," I said. "I should be glad of your company, Mr.
+Colton."
+
+"Next Saturday suit you?"
+
+"Yes. After bank hours."
+
+"All right. I'll look after the boat. You provide the bait and tackle.
+That's fair, isn't it? Right. Be on hand at my dock at one o'clock.
+Morning."
+
+He walked off. Neither of us had thought of the tide--he, probably, not
+realizing that high water was an important factor, and I being too much
+agitated by what he had said about Mother, and the suddenness with which
+the fishing trip was planned, to think calmly of anything.
+
+That week was a strange one to me, and the first of many strange ones.
+My manner of life was changing, although I did not realize it and
+although the change came through no effort of my own. Our house, which
+had been so long almost a hermitage, if a home containing four persons
+might be called that, was gradually becoming a social center. Matilda
+Dean had called once a week regularly for some time and this particular
+week Captain Jed came with her. Captain Elisha Warren and his cousin and
+housekeeper, Miss Abbie Baker, drove down for a half-hour's stay. George
+Taylor and Nellie spent an evening with us. I feared the unaccustomed
+rush of company might have a bad effect upon Mother, but she seemed
+actually the better for it. She professed to believe that Denboro was
+awakening to the fact of my merits as a man and a citizen. "They are
+finding you out at last, Boy," she said. I laughed at her. I knew
+better. It was because of my position in the bank that these people
+came. I was making good there, apparently, and the surprise at
+this caused Captain Warren and the rest to take a new, and no doubt
+transitory interest in me.
+
+And I thought I knew Captain Jed's reason for coming. An interview
+between us gave me the inkling. Matilda was in Mother's room and Dean
+and I were together in the dining-room.
+
+"Ros," said the captain, suddenly, "you ain't backin' water, are you?"
+
+"Backing water? What do you mean by that?"
+
+"In this Lane business. You ain't cal'latin' to sell out to Colton,
+after all?"
+
+"Well, hardly. Why do you say that?"
+
+"Nothin', maybe. But they tell me you're kind of thick with the R'yal
+family lately. Beriah Holt says he see you and the Colton girl come out
+of the woods back of his place one afternoon a spell ago. She was on
+horseback and you was walkin', but Beriah says you and she was mighty
+friendly."
+
+I might have expected this. In Denboro one does few things unnoticed.
+
+"She had lost her way in the woods and I helped her to find the road
+home," I said, "that was all."
+
+"Hum! You helped her to find the road the night of the strawberry
+festival, too, didn't you?"
+
+"How in the world did you find that out?"
+
+"Oh, it just sort of drifted around. I've got pretty big ears--maybe
+you've noticed 'em--and they gen'rally catch some of what's blowin'
+past. There was a coachman mixed up in that night's work and he talked
+some, I shouldn't wonder; most of his kind do."
+
+"Well, what of it?" I asked, sharply. "I helped her as I would your
+daughter if she had been caught alone in a storm like that. I should
+have been ashamed not to."
+
+"Sartin! Needn't get mad about it. What's this about your takin' his
+Majesty off fishin' next Saturday?"
+
+All of my personal affairs seemed to be common property. I was losing my
+temper in spite of my recent good resolutions.
+
+"Look here, Captain Dean," I said, "I have a right to take any one
+fishing, if I choose. Mr. Colton asked me to do it and I saw no reason
+for saying no."
+
+"Funny he should ask you. He ain't asked anybody else in town."
+
+"I don't know that and I don't care. I shall do as I please. I have
+no grievance against the Coltons. I shall not sell them my land, but I
+reserve the right to meet them--yes, and to associate with them--if I
+choose. You and your friends may as well understand that, Captain."
+
+"There! there! don't get huffy. I ain't got the right to say what your
+rights are, Ros. And I don't think for a minute you'd back water on the
+Lane business a-purpose. But I do think you're takin' chances. I tell
+you, honest, I'm scart of old Colton, in a way, and I ain't scart
+of many folks. He's a fighter and he's smart. He and I have had some
+talks--"
+
+"You have?" I interrupted.
+
+"Yup. Lively squabbles they was, too. Each of us expressin' our opinion
+of t'other and not holdin' back anything to speak of. I don't know how
+he felt when we quit, but I know I respected him--for his out and open
+cussedness and grit, if nothin' else. And I think he felt the same way
+about me. But he's smart--consarn him, he is! And HE never backs water.
+That's why I think you're takin' chances in bein' too friendly with him.
+He's layin' low and, if you get off your guard just once he'll grab."
+
+I hesitated; then I made up my mind.
+
+"Captain Dean," I said, "his smartness hasn't caught me yet. I'm going
+to tell you something, but first you must promise not to tell anyone
+else."
+
+He promised and I told him of Mr. Keene and the Bay Shore Company.
+He listened, interrupting with chuckles and exclamations. When I had
+finished he seized my hand and wrung it.
+
+"By the everlastin'!" he exclaimed, "that was great! I say again, you're
+all right, Ros Paine. Even _I_ swallered that Development Company, hook,
+line, and sinker. But YOU saw through it!"
+
+"I tell you this," I said, "so that you will understand I have no
+intention of backing water."
+
+"I know you ain't. Knew it afore and now I know it better. But I can't
+understand what the Colton game is--and there is a game, sure. That
+daughter of his, now--she may be in it or she may not. She's pretty
+and I will give in that she's folksy and sociable with us natives; it's
+surprisin', considerin' her bringin' up. Nellie and Matildy like her,
+Nellie especial. They're real chummy, as you might say. Talk and talk,
+just as easy and common as you and I this minute. I've heard 'em two or
+three times at my house when they thought I wasn't listenin' and twice
+out of the three they was talkin' about you."
+
+"About ME?" I repeated.
+
+"Yes. I don't wonder you're surprised. I was myself. Asked Nellie about
+it and she just laughed. Said you was the principal object of
+interest in town just now, which is more or less true. But it makes me
+suspicious, all the same. Why should a girl like that Colton one talk
+about a feller like you? You're as fur apart, fur's anything in common
+is concerned, as molasses is from vinegar. Ain't that so?"
+
+It was so, of course, but he need not have been so brutally frank in
+telling me. However, I nodded and admitted that he was right.
+
+"Yes," he said. "A blind horse could see there was no sensible, open and
+above-board reason for HER bein' interested in YOU. So there's another
+reason, the way I look at it, and that's why I'd be mighty careful,
+mighty careful, Ros. Her pa's got a new trick up his sleeve and she's
+helpin' him play it, that's my notion. So be careful, won't you."
+
+"I'll be careful," said I. I knew, as well as I knew my real name--which
+he did not--that Mabel Colton was not helping her father play any
+tricks. I had seen enough of her to be certain she was not tricky. And,
+besides, if she were in sympathy with her parent, why had she given me
+the hint which put me on the trail of the Development Company? Why had
+she given me the hint at all? That was the real riddle, and I had
+not, as yet, hit upon a plausible answer. Those I had hit upon were
+ridiculous and impossible, and I put them from my mind. But she was not
+tricky, that I knew.
+
+Captain Jed changed the subject and we talked of Nellie's wedding, which
+was to take place in a month. The captain was full of various emotions,
+regret at losing his daughter and joy because of her getting such a good
+husband. His last words were these:
+
+"Ros," he said, "be careful, for my sake full as much as yours. This
+Lane business and Nellie's gettin' married have sort of possessed me,
+same as the evil spirits did the swine, in scriptur'. I lay awake nights
+fussin' for fear the marriage won't turn out happy or for fear
+you'll sell the Lane after all. And one's just as likely to happen as
+t'other--which means they're both impossible, I cal'late. But look out
+for that Colton girl, whatever else you do. She's a good deal better
+lookin' than her dad, but she's just as dangerous. You mark my words,
+son, the feller that plays with fire takes chances. So don't be TOO
+sociable with any of the tribe."
+
+And the very next afternoon the dangerous person herself called and she
+and I spent an hour in Mother's room, where the three of us chatted
+like old friends. She had the rare power of making one forget self and
+personal worries and I could readily understand why Mother had been so
+completely won by her. She was bright and cheery and sympathetic. Here
+there was no trace of the pride of class and the arrogance which had
+caused me to hate her so heartily at first. It seemed almost as if
+she had set herself the task of making me like her in spite of my
+prejudices. My reason told me that this could not be; it was merely her
+fancy for Mother which caused her to notice me at all; she had as much
+as said so more than once. But I did like her; I acknowledged it in
+my thoughts; and, after she had gone, the room, with its drawn shades,
+seemed doubly dark and gloomy. Mother was silent for a few minutes and
+I, too, said nothing. Then:
+
+"She is a wonderful girl, isn't she, Roscoe," said Mother.
+
+She was altogether too wonderful, that was the trouble. A girl like
+her had no place in our lives. I went out for a walk and a smoke by the
+bluff edge; and, almost before I knew it, I found myself standing at
+the border of the grove, looking at the great house and trying to guess
+which was her room and if she was there and of what or whom she might be
+thinking just then. "Mark my words, son," Captain Jed had declared, "the
+feller that plays with fire takes chances."
+
+I turned on my heel and set out for home. I would take no chances. I
+must not play with fire, even though the flames had, for the moment,
+dazzled me. I had called myself a fool many times in the past few years,
+but I would not be so great a fool as that.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+So I resolved, more resolutely than ever, to keep out of her way, to
+see as little of her as possible! and, as had happened before to similar
+resolutions of mine with which she was concerned, this one was rendered
+non-effective, through no fault of my own, almost as soon as it was
+made. For on Saturday afternoon, as I approached the Colton wharf, laden
+with bait and rods for the fishing excursion in the Colton boat, I saw
+her standing there beside her father, waiting for me.
+
+"We've got a passenger, Paine," said "Big Jim." "You've met her before,
+I believe--on the water and in it. No objections to my daughter's going
+along, have you?"
+
+What could I say; except to announce delight at the addition to our
+party? Perhaps I did not say it as heartily as I might, for, Miss
+Colton, who was regarding me with a mischievous smile, observed
+demurely:
+
+"I am sure he must be delighted, Father. Mr. Paine knows I am very fond
+of fishing; don't you, Mr. Paine?"
+
+"Yes; oh, yes, of course," I stammered.
+
+"He does, eh!" Her father seemed surprised. "How did he find that out?"
+
+I thought the question was addressed to her, so I did not answer. She
+seemed to think otherwise, for she said:
+
+"Did you hear, Mr. Paine? Father asks how you knew I was fond of
+fishing."
+
+"Why--er--you told me so, Miss Colton," I replied. If she had not
+related her Seabury Pond experience to her parents I did not propose to
+be trapped into doing so. She laughed merrily.
+
+"Did I?" she asked. "Yes, I believe I did."
+
+Mr. Colton looked at us, each in turn.
+
+"Humph!" he observed; "I don't seem to be aboard this train. What's the
+joke?"
+
+She saved me the problem of inventing a satisfactory answer.
+
+"Oh, it's a little joke of Mr. Paine's and my own," she explained. "I'll
+tell you about it by and by, Father. It would take too long to tell now.
+He saved my life once more, that's all."
+
+"Oh! that's all! Humph! And you did not think a trifle like that worth
+mentioning to me, I suppose. Would you mind telling me what it was he
+saved you from this time?"
+
+"From starvation. I was a famished wayfarer and he took me in. There,
+Daddy, don't puzzle your poor brain any longer. It is all right and
+I'll tell you all about it when we get home. Now I am sure we should
+be starting if we are to have any fishing at all. Shall we cast off,
+Mr.--that is, Captain Paine?"
+
+That fishing trip was not a huge success if judged solely by the size
+of the catch. The weakfish were not hungry or we did not tempt them with
+bait to their taste that day. We got a half dozen, of which I caught
+three, Miss Colton two, and her father but one. His, however, was a big
+one, much the biggest of the six, and he had a glorious time landing it.
+He fished as he appeared to do everything else, with intense earnestness
+and determination. He evidently considered the struggle a sort of
+personal disagreement between the fish and himself and, as usual,
+intended to have his way. He succeeded after a while, and announced that
+he had not enjoyed anything as much since arriving in Denboro.
+
+His daughter also seemed to be enjoying herself. She was quite as good a
+fisher as her father, and, when the sport was over, and we reeled in
+our lines preparatory to starting for home, rallied him not a little
+at having been the least successful of the party. He took her teasing
+good-naturedly.
+
+"You think it is quite a feat to get the better of your old dad, don't
+you, my lady," he observed.
+
+"Of course I do. It is, isn't it?"
+
+He chuckled. "Well, maybe you're right," he admitted. "You do it oftener
+than any one else, that is certain. Paine, you might take lessons from
+her, if you are still hoping to keep up your end in the little fight you
+and I have on hand."
+
+She turned to me and smiled. Her graceful head was silhouetted against
+the red glow of the sunset and a loosened strand of her hair waved in
+the light breeze.
+
+"I think Mr. Paine does not need lessons from any one," she said. "He
+seems to be holding his own very well."
+
+"But he's frightened, all the same. Come, Paine, own up now. You know
+you are frightened, don't you?"
+
+"Not very," I answered, truthfully.
+
+"So? Then you aren't as sensible as you ought to be. A wise man knows
+when to be scared. Let's make a little bet on it. I'll bet you two to
+one that I'll own that land of yours inside of six months."
+
+I shook my head. "I never bet on certainties," I declared. "I should be
+ashamed to collect my winnings."
+
+This seemed to amuse them both, for they both laughed.
+
+"Father," said Miss Colton, "I am afraid you don't learn by experience.
+You have lost one bet already, you know."
+
+"That's so. And I haven't paid it yet, either. I must, or you'll be
+telling every one that I am a poor sport. Paine, this young lady bet me
+a new pipe against a box of gloves that you wouldn't--"
+
+"Father," broke in the young lady, herself, "stop."
+
+"Oh, all right, all right. Just as you say. But I tell you this, Paine;
+SHE hasn't any scruples against betting on certainties."
+
+She was leaning against the cockpit rail, looking forward, and I could
+not see her face. She spoke without turning.
+
+"You thought yours was the certainty," she said. "You warned me that I
+was sure to lose."
+
+"Did I? Well, you may, even yet. On the whole, I think I'll wait a while
+before buying those gloves. Remember, there was no time limit. When you
+said that--"
+
+"Father," more firmly, "please be quiet. You have said quite enough. Mr.
+Paine is not likely to be interested in the family gambling."
+
+I was interested in this particular "gamble." The wager had, obviously,
+something to do with me. I suppose I should have felt flattered at being
+made the subject of a bet in such select circles, but I did not. I had
+not been informed as to the details of that bet.
+
+There was nothing more said about it at the time and my passengers
+talked of other things as we sailed home before the fast dying breeze.
+It died almost altogether as we passed the lighthouse at Crow Point and
+entered the bay and, for an hour, we barely held our own against the
+tide. The sun set, twilight came, and the stars appeared one by one.
+Colton, lying at full length on the deck forward of the cockpit, smoked
+in lazy enjoyment. His only remark in ten minutes was to the effect that
+his wife had probably drowned us all, in her mind, a dozen times over by
+now.
+
+His daughter, sitting by the rail and looking out over the smooth,
+darkly glimmering water, bade him be quiet.
+
+"You must not talk," she said. "This is the most wonderful night I ever
+experienced. How still it is! You can hear every sound. Hark!"
+
+From the dusk, to port, came the clear strokes of a church bell striking
+eight.
+
+"That is the clock at the Methodist Church, isn't it?" asked Miss
+Colton.
+
+"Yes," said I.
+
+"The church where the strawberry festival was held?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Colton struck a match to relight his cigar.
+
+"Shouldn't think that would be a pleasant reminder to either of you," he
+observed. "I am mighty sure it wasn't to me."
+
+Miss Colton did not answer, nor did I.
+
+The breeze sprang up again soon after, from a different quarter this
+time, but the tide had ebbed so far that I was obliged to make the
+detour around the end of the flat upon which Victor had grounded the
+dingy. "Big Jim" raised himself on his elbow.
+
+"Hello!" he exclaimed, "here's another joyful spot. Mabel, it was along
+here somewhere that Paine acquired the habit of carrying you about like
+a bundle. It must have been a picturesque performance. Wish I might have
+seen it."
+
+He laughed heartily.
+
+"Father," said the young lady, coldly, "don't be silly--please."
+
+He chuckled and lay down again, and no one spoke during the rest of the
+voyage. It was after nine when I brought the boat up to the wharf, made
+her fast, and lowered and furled the sail.
+
+"Better come up to the house with us and have a bit to eat, Paine,"
+urged Colton. "You must be hungry; I know I am."
+
+"Oh, no, thank you," said I. "Supper will be waiting for me at home."
+
+"Glad to have you, if you'll come. Tell him to come, Mabel."
+
+Miss Colton's invitation was not over-cordial.
+
+"I presume Mr. Paine knows what is best for him to do," she said. "Of
+course we shall be glad to have him, if he will come."
+
+I declined, and, after thanking me for the sail and the pleasure of the
+fishing trip, they left me, Colton carrying his big squiteague by the
+gills, its tail slapping his leg as he climbed the bluff. A moment later
+I followed.
+
+The night was, as my feminine passenger had said, wonderfully quiet, and
+sounds carried a long way. As I reached the juncture of the path and
+the Lane I heard a voice which I recognized as Mrs. Colton's. She was
+evidently standing on the veranda of the big house and I heard every
+word distinctly.
+
+"You are so unthinking, James! You and Mabel have no regard for my
+feelings at all. I have been worried almost to death. Do you realize the
+time? I warned you against trusting yourself to the care of that common
+FELLOW--"
+
+The "fellow" heard no more. He did not wish to. He was tramping heavily
+through the dew-soaked undergrowth. He needed now no counsel against
+"playing with fire." The cutting contempt of Mrs. James W. Colton's
+remark was fire-extinguisher sufficient for that night.
+
+Miss Colton and I met again at the door of the bank a day or two later,
+just at closing time. Sam Wheeler had already gone and I left George at
+his desk, poring over papers and busily figuring. He was working
+over time much of late and explained his industry by the fact of his
+approaching marriage and his desire to make things easy for me to handle
+while he was on his brief wedding trip. I was not much alarmed by the
+prospect. He was to be gone but a week and I had become sufficiently
+familiar with the routine to feel confident in assuming the
+responsibility. Small, my predecessor, had a brother who had formerly
+been employed in the bank and was now out of work, and he was coming in
+to help during the cashier's absence. I was not worried by the prospect
+of being left in charge, but I was worried about George. He, so it
+seemed to me, had grown pale and thin. Also he was nervously irritable
+and not at all like his usual good-natured self. I tried to joke him
+into better humor, but he did not respond to my jokes. He seemed, too,
+to realize that his odd behavior was noticeable, for he said:
+
+"Don't mind my crankiness, Ros. I've got so much on my mind that I'd be
+mean to my old grandmother, if I had one, I guess likely. Don't let my
+meanness trouble you; it isn't worth trouble."
+
+I laughed. "George," I said, "if I ever dreamed of such a thing as
+getting married myself, you would scare me out of it. You ought to be a
+happy man, and act like one; instead you act as if you were about to be
+jailed."
+
+He caught his breath with a sort of gasp. Then, after a pause and
+without looking up, he asked slowly:
+
+"Jailed? What in the world made you say that, Ros?"
+
+"I said it because you act as if you were bound for state's prison
+instead of the matrimonial altar. George, what IS troubling you?"
+
+"Troubling me? Why--why, nothing special, of course. Catching up with my
+work here makes me nervous and--and kind of absent-minded, I guess. Act
+absent-minded, don't I?"
+
+He did, there was no doubt of that, but I did not believe it was his
+work which caused the absent-mindedness.
+
+"If there is any trouble, George," I said, earnestly; "if you're in any
+difficulty, personally, I shall be very glad to help you, if I can. I
+mean that."
+
+For a moment I thought he hesitated. Then he shook his head.
+
+"I know you mean it, Ros," he answered. "I'm much obliged to you, too.
+But there's nothing to help me with. I'm just nervous and tired, that's
+all."
+
+I did not believe it, but I felt that I had said all I could,
+considering his attitude. I bade him good night and left the building.
+As I came down the steps Miss Colton was just crossing the road from
+Eldredge's store, a good sized brown paper parcel in her hand.
+
+Ever since the day when Captain Jed had given me his warning I had been
+strengthening my resolution. The remark of Mrs. Colton's which I had
+overheard on the night of the fishing trip, although it revealed to me,
+as I believed, my real standing in the minds of my neighbors, whatever
+they might pretend when in my company, was, after all, only a minor
+detail. I knew that I must break off my acquaintance with this girl. By
+all that was sensible and sane it must be broken off. I must not, for
+my own sake, continue to meet her, to see her and speak with her. No;
+I would avoid her if I could, but, at all events, I would break off the
+association, even if I were obliged to offend her, deliberately offend
+her, to accomplish my purpose. I swore it; and then I swore at myself
+for being so weak-minded as to need to swear. That I should be afraid
+of a girl, a mere girl, ten years younger than I, who, as the casual
+pastime of an idle summer, had chosen to pretend an interest in me! I
+was not afraid of her, of course; I was afraid of myself. Not that I was
+in danger of falling in love with her--that idea was too ridiculous
+to be even funny. But she was becoming a disturbing influence in my
+life--that was it, a disturbing influence--and I must not permit myself
+to be disturbed.
+
+So now, as I saw the disturbing influence crossing the road in my
+direction, my first thought was to retreat to the bank. But it was
+too late to retreat; she had seen me, and she bowed pleasantly as she
+approached.
+
+"Good afternoon," she said.
+
+I bowed and admitted that the afternoon was a good one, conscious as I
+did so that Sim Eldredge had followed her to the door of his store and
+was regarding us with marked interest.
+
+She exhibited the package. "I am acting as my own errand boy, you see,"
+she said, smiling. "It was such a beautiful day that I refused to send
+any one for this, or even to ride. I did not realize that a few yards
+of muslin would make such a bundle. Now I must carry it, I suppose, in
+spite of appearances."
+
+I believed I saw an opportunity to escape.
+
+"I am going directly home," I said. "Let me carry it down for you. I
+will send it over to your house by Lute."
+
+"Oh, no thank you. I could not think of troubling Mr. Rogers. But do you
+really want to carry it? You may, for a while. We will take turns. I
+am going directly home, too; and we will walk down together. Unless, of
+course, you are in a hurry."
+
+I think it was the expression of my face which led her to add the last
+sentence. If I had had time to think, to summon my resolution, it is
+possible--yes, it is possible that I should have declared myself to
+be in a hurry and gone on alone. But she had caught me unawares and
+resolution was wanting. I announced that I was in no hurry at all, and
+took the parcel.
+
+We walked on together, she chatting easily, and I pretending to listen,
+although aware that our progress was watched by eager eyes and commented
+upon and exclaimed over by many tongues. The drawn shades of parlor
+windows moved significantly as we passed and, as we turned into the
+Lower Road, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Sim Eldredge and his
+clerk and Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker on the store platform, staring
+after us. As if this audience was not sufficient, and to make the affair
+complete, we met Captain Dean strutting importantly on his way to the
+post-office. He bowed and said "Afternoon," but the look he gave me was
+significant. There was surprise in it, and distrust. I knew I should
+have to do more explaining at our next meeting. And I knew, too, or
+could guess, what was being said that very moment at the store, and of
+the surmising and theorizing and strengthening of suspicions which would
+go on at a dozen supper tables that evening.
+
+My companion, however, appeared to be quite unconscious of all this.
+That I might be suspected and misjudged because she had chanced to
+prefer my company to a walk home alone did not, evidently, occur to
+her. There was no reason why it should, of course; she was not in the
+position where the opinion or suspicions of Denboro's inhabitants need
+concern her in the least. But I, angry at Captain Jed for his look and
+with Sim Eldredge and his companions for their impudent stares and the
+trouble I knew their gossipy tongues would make for me, was gloomy and
+resentful.
+
+She did most of the talking and I walked beside her, putting in a word
+occasionally and doing my best to appear as unconcerned as she really
+was. We crossed Elnathan Mullet's bridge and continued down the Shore
+Lane. Suddenly I was aware that she had not spoken for some minutes.
+
+"Eh? Yes, Miss Colton; what is it?" I stammered. Then I realized that
+we were standing beside the granite posts marking the entrance to the
+Colton grounds. I had been so wrapped in my unpleasant thoughts and
+forebodings that we had reached our journey's end without my noticing
+it.
+
+"Well!" I exclaimed, and then added the brilliant observation, "We are
+here, aren't we."
+
+"We are," she said, dryly. "Didn't you know it?"
+
+"Why, I had not realized. The walk has seemed so short."
+
+"Yes, I'm sure it must. I think you have spoken exactly six words in the
+last five minutes. Will you come in?"
+
+"Oh no; no, thank you."
+
+"Why not? Father is in and will be glad to see you."
+
+"I--I must be getting on toward home. Supper will be ready."
+
+She bit her lip. "Far be it from me to criticize your domestic
+arrangements, Mr. Paine," she said, "but it does seem to me that your
+housekeeper serves meals at odd hours. It is only a few minutes after
+four, by my watch."
+
+She had me at a disadvantage. I imagined I must have appeared
+embarrassed. I know I felt that way.
+
+"I did not realize . . . I thought it much later," I stammered.
+
+"Then you will come in? Father will like to discuss the fishing with
+you, I know. He has talked of little but his wonderful weakfish ever
+since he caught it."
+
+"No, thank you, Miss Colton. Really, I must not stop."
+
+She took the parcel from my hands.
+
+"Very well," she said, indifferently; "as you please. I thank you for
+your kindness in walking down with me. Good afternoon, Mr. Paine."
+
+She turned away. Here was the opportunity I had been waiting for, the
+opportunity of breaking off our acquaintance. If I knew anything I knew
+the tone of that "Good afternoon" meant that, for some reason or other,
+she was offended, just as I had been certain I wished her to be. Here
+was the opportunity, Heaven sent, to rid my life of its disturbing
+influence. Just what I had prayed for had come to pass.
+
+And so, to prove the sincerity of my prayers and the worth of my high
+resolve, I--called her back.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said.
+
+She, apparently, did not hear me, so I called again.
+
+"Miss Colton."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"I seem somehow or other to have offended you." And even as I said it I
+realized the completeness of the back-down, realized it and blushed. I
+was ashamed of my weakness. Yet when she asked me to repeat my words I
+did so.
+
+"You spoke to me?" she said, coldly.
+
+"I--I said I had not meant to offend you."
+
+"Why should you imagine that I am offended, pray? You seem to think
+other people must necessarily regard you as seriously as you do
+yourself. I am not offended."
+
+"But you are."
+
+"Very well; then I am. We won't argue the matter; it is scarcely worth
+argument, is it?"
+
+This observation called for no answer in particular, at least I could
+not think of one. While I was groping for a word she spoke again.
+
+"Don't let me detain you, Mr. Paine," she said. "I am sure your--supper,
+was it?--must be waiting."
+
+"Miss Colton, you--you seem to resent my not accepting your invitation
+to visit your father. I assure you I--I should be very glad to call upon
+him."
+
+"Thank you. I will tell him so. He will be grateful, doubtless. Your
+condescension is overwhelming, Mr. Paine."
+
+"Miss Colton, everything I say seems to be wrong this afternoon. I don't
+know what I have done. Twice you have spoken of my condescension."
+
+Her foot was beginning to pat the grass. I recognized the battle signal,
+but I kept on.
+
+"I don't understand what you mean by condescension," I said.
+
+"Don't you, indeed? You are very dense all at once, Mr. Paine."
+
+"Possibly. But I don't understand."
+
+For an instant she hesitated. Then she turned on me with a gust of
+fierce impatience which took my breath away. Her eyes flashed.
+
+"You do," she declared. "You do understand, I am not blind. Do you
+suppose I could not see that you wished to avoid me when I met you at
+the bank just now? That my company was neither welcome nor desired? That
+you accepted my suggestion of walking down together merely because you
+could think of no excuse for declining?"
+
+This was a staggerer. And the worst of it was its truth.
+
+"Miss Colton," I faltered, "I can't understand what you mean. I--"
+
+"You do understand. And please," with a scornful laugh, "oh, PLEASE
+understand that I am not troubled because of THAT. Your charming and
+cultivated society is not indispensable to my happiness, Mr. Paine,
+strange as that may appear to you. Really," with cutting contempt, "it
+is not."
+
+"That I quite understand, Miss Colton," I said, "but--"
+
+"But you are like every one else in this horrid, narrow, bigoted place.
+Don't you suppose that I see it everywhere I go! Every one here hates
+us--every one. We are intruders; we are not wanted here, and you all
+take pains to make us feel as uncomfortable as you can. Oh, you are all
+snobs--all of you."
+
+I actually gasped.
+
+"Snobs!" I repeated. "We--snobs?"
+
+"Yes. That is exactly what you are. When Father came here he meant to be
+a citizen, a good citizen, of the town. He had intended to do all sorts
+of things to help the village and the people in it. He and I discussed
+ever so many plans for doing good here. And we wanted to be friendly
+with every one. But how have you treated us! No one comes to see us. We
+are avoided as if we had the small-pox. The majority of people scarcely
+speak to us on the street. I am so lonely and--"
+
+She stopped. I had never seen her so agitated. As for me, astonishment
+is much too mild a term to use in describing my feelings. That these
+people, these millionaires and aristocrats should feel that they had
+been avoided and slighted, that we Denboroites were the snobs, that THEY
+should be lonely because no one, or almost no one, came to call upon
+them--this was too much for my bewildered brain to grasp all at once.
+
+The young lady went on.
+
+"And you!" she exclaimed. "You are as bad as the rest. Father has called
+upon you several times. I have called on your mother. Father and I have
+tried to be friendly and neighborly. Not that we are lacking in friends.
+We," haughtily, "are not obliged to BEG for friendship. But we felt it
+our duty to--"
+
+I interrupted. There is a limit to forbearance and I considered that
+limit reached.
+
+"Miss Colton," I declared, "you are talking nonsense. Considering the
+manner in which your father treated me when we first met, I--"
+
+"How did you treat him? How did you treat Mr. Carver and me when you
+first met us in the auto? You insulted us. It was plain enough then that
+you hated us."
+
+"I--why, Miss Colton, I did not know who you were."
+
+"Indeed! Would it have made any difference if you had known? I doubt it.
+No, you are like the rest of the people here. Because we have come from
+the city you have chosen to be as envious and petty and disagreeable
+as you can. Even Nellie Dean, whom I know better than any one here, has
+never returned my call. There is a concerted plan to make us feel we are
+neither welcome nor wanted. Very well," disdainfully, "we know it. I,
+for one, shall not force my presence upon any one of you again. And it
+is probable that I shall manage to exist even without the delights of
+Denboro society. Good-by, Mr. Paine."
+
+"But, Miss Colton--"
+
+"Good-by."
+
+"Miss Colton, listen to me. You are wrong, all wrong, I tell you. There
+is no plan or plot to make you feel uncomfortable. We are plain village
+people here, and you are wealthy and have been used to associating with
+those of your class. Every one in Denboro knew that when you came, and
+they have been shy of intruding where they might not be welcome. Then
+there was that matter of the Lane here."
+
+"Oh, that precious Lane! I wish I had never seen it."
+
+"I have wished that a number of times in the past few months. But it is
+here and the question overshadows everything else in the village just
+now. It does not seem of much importance to you, perhaps; perhaps it is
+not so very important to me; but--"
+
+Again she interrupted me.
+
+"I think it is important enough to make you forget--ordinary courtesy,"
+she declared. "Yes, courtesy. DON'T look at me like that! You know what
+I mean. As I told you before, I am not blind. Do credit me with some
+intelligence. All the way during this cheerful walk of ours you scarcely
+spoke a word. Did you suppose I did not know what was troubling you? I
+saw how that Captain Dean looked at you. I saw those people staring from
+the post-office door. I knew what you were afraid of their saying: that
+you are altogether too companionable with Father and me; that you intend
+selling the land to us, after all. That is what you thought they would
+say and you were afraid--AFRAID of their gossip. Oh, it is humiliating!
+And, for a time, I really thought you were different from the rest and
+above such things."
+
+I began to feel as if I were once more a small boy receiving a lecture
+from the governess.
+
+"I am not at all afraid of them, Miss Colton," I protested.
+
+"You are. Why? Your conscience is clear, isn't it? You don't intend
+selling out to my father?"
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"Then why should you care what people like that may think? Oh, you weary
+me! I admired you for your independence. There are few persons with the
+courage to face my father as you have done and I admired you for it. I
+would not have had you sell us the land for ANYTHING."
+
+"You would not?" I gasped.
+
+"Certainly not! I have been on your side all the time. If you had sold
+I should have thought you, like all the rest, holding back merely for
+a higher price. I respected you for the fight you were making. You must
+have known it. If I had not why do you suppose I gave you that hint
+about the Development Company?"
+
+"Goodness knows!" I exclaimed, devoutly.
+
+"And I was sure you could not be bribed by an offer of a position
+in Father's office. It was not really a bribe--Father has, for some
+unexplainable reason, taken a fancy to you--but I knew you would believe
+it to be bribery. That is why I was so positive in telling him that you
+would not accept. And now you--oh, when I think of how I have LOWERED
+myself! How I have stooped to . . . But there! I am sure that supper
+of yours must be waiting. Pray condescend to convey my regrets to the
+faithful--what is her name? Odd that I should forget a name like THAT.
+Oh, yes! Dorinda!--Pray convey my regrets to the faithful Dorinda
+for being unwittingly the cause of the delay, and assure her that the
+offense will NOT be repeated. Good-by, Mr. Paine."
+
+She walked off, between the granite posts and along the curved drive.
+This time I made no attempt to call her back. The storm had burst so
+unexpectedly and had developed into such a hurricane that I had had time
+to do little more than bend my head before it. But I had had time enough
+to grow angry. I would not have called her back then for the world. She
+had insulted me, not once only, but again and again. I stood and watched
+her go on her way, and then I turned and went on my own.
+
+The parting had come. The acquaintance was broken off; not precisely as
+I had intended it to be broken, but broken, nevertheless, and ended
+for good and all. I was glad of it. There would be no more fishing
+excursions, no more gifts of flowers and books, no more charity calls.
+The "common fellow" was free from the disturbing influence and he was
+glad of it--heartily glad of it.
+
+Yet his gladness was not as apparent to others as it should, by all
+that was consistent, have been. Lute, evidently, observed no traces of
+transcendent happiness, when I encountered him in the back yard, beside
+the woodpile, sharpening the kindling hatchet with a whetstone, a
+process peculiarly satisfying to his temperament because it took such a
+long time to achieve a noticeable result.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" he hailed. "Why! what ails you?"
+
+"Ails me?" I repeated, crossly. "Nothing ails me, of course."
+
+"Well, I'm glad to hear it. You look as if you'd lost your last friend."
+
+"I haven't lost any friends. Far from it."
+
+"Nobody's dead, then?"
+
+"No. Though I could find some who are half dead without trying very
+hard."
+
+More perfectly good sarcasm wasted. Lute inquired eagerly if I meant
+old Mrs. Lobelia Glover. "I heard yesterday she was pretty feeble," he
+added. "'Tain't to be expected she'll last a long spell, at her age.
+Doctor Quimby says she had a spine in her back for twenty years."
+
+I made no comment upon poor Mrs. Glover's surprising affliction. I
+merely grunted and went into the house. Dorinda looked at me curiously.
+
+"What's the trouble?" she asked.
+
+"Trouble! There isn't any trouble. You and Lute seem to be looking for
+trouble."
+
+"Don't have to look far to find it, in this world. Anything wrong at the
+bank?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Um-hm. Settin' so long on the fence make you uneasy? I told you the
+pickets would wear through if you roosted on 'em too long."
+
+"There is nothing the matter, I tell you. How is Mother?"
+
+"She ain't any wuss. If 'twan't an impossibility I'd say she was better
+the last month than I'd seen her since she was took. Nellie Dean called
+on her this afternoon."
+
+"Humph! I should think a next week's bride would be too busy to call on
+any one except possibly the dressmaker."
+
+"Um-hm. Well, Nellie looks as if she'd been callin' on the dressmaker
+pretty often. Anyhow she looked worried and Olindy Cahoon's dressmakin'
+gabble is enough to worry anybody. She left a note for you."
+
+"Who? Olinda?"
+
+"Land sakes! no! What would Olindy be doin' down here? There ain't
+any brides to dress in this house, or bridegrooms either unless you're
+cal'latin' to be one, or Lute turns Mormon. That last notion ain't such
+a bad one," with a dry smile. "Another wife or two to help me take care
+of him would come in handy."
+
+"Who did leave the note for me, then?"
+
+"Nellie, of course. She wanted me to be sure you got it. Somethin' about
+that wonderful weddin', I s'pose. I left it upstairs on your bureau."
+
+I found the note and put it in my pocket to read later on. I did not
+feel like reading it then. I did not feel like doing anything or seeing
+any one; yet least of all did I feel like being alone. For if I was
+alone I should think, and I did not want to think. I prowled about my
+room for a time and then went down and spent a short time with Mother.
+Her first question was concerning my day at the bank, and her second if
+I had seen any of the Coltons recently. "I rather hoped Miss Mabel would
+come to see me to-day," she added. "I look forward to her visits so, I
+think she's a real friend of ours, Roscoe. I know you don't, dear,
+or you try to believe you do not; but she is--I am convinced of it. I
+wonder if she will come to-morrow."
+
+I could have put a stop to her wondering on that subject, but I was in
+no mood to do it then. I went into the dining-room. Dorinda warned me
+not to go far from the house because supper would be ready in a few
+minutes. The word "supper" reminded me of my unfortunate choice of an
+excuse and the sarcastic reference to our odd domestic arrangements;
+which reminded me, in its turn, of other sarcasms which had followed it.
+My "charming and cultivated society" was not necessary to her happiness
+. . . When she thought of how she had lowered herself . . . Other people
+did not necessarily regard me as seriously as I did myself . . . And so
+on . . . until Dorinda called me in to sit at the table, and pretend
+to eat while she and Lute commented on my lack of appetite and my
+absent-mindedness.
+
+It was eight o'clock, and I had gone up to my room to escape from their
+solicitude and pointed questioning, when I happened to think of Nellie's
+note. I had not been curious concerning its contents, for, as I had
+agreed to act as best man at the wedding, I assumed, as Dorinda had
+done, that she had written on that, to her, all-important topic. I took
+the note from my pocket and tore open the envelope.
+
+Nellie had not written about the wedding. Her letter was a long
+one, evidently written in great agitation and with words blotted and
+underscored. Its subject was the man she loved, George Taylor. She was
+so anxious about him. Did I remember, that night when my mother was ill,
+how she had spoken of him to me and asked if I had noticed how troubled
+and worried he seemed of late?
+
+"And, Roscoe," she wrote, "I have noticed it more and more since then.
+He IS in trouble. There is something on his mind, something that he will
+not tell me and that I can see is worrying him dreadfully. He is not
+like himself at all. I KNOW something is wrong, and I cannot find out
+what it is. I want to help him SO much. Oh, please, Roscoe, don't
+think this is just a foolish girl's imagination, and does not amount to
+anything. It does. I know it does. You are his best friend. Can't YOU
+find out what is troubling him and help him, for my sake? I have meant
+to speak to you about this ever so many times, but I seldom see you
+alone and I could not speak while he was with me. So I decided to write
+this letter. If you will try, just TRY to find out what ails him and
+help him I shall never, NEVER forget your kindness. Perhaps he does not
+want to marry me. Perhaps he does not care for me as much as he thought
+he did and will not tell me because he does not want me to feel bad.
+If that is it tell him not to mind my feelings at all. I want him to be
+happy. If it would make him happier to have me give him up I will do it,
+even though I shall pray to die right away. Oh can't you help him and
+me, Roscoe? Please, PLEASE try. A girl ought to be perfectly happy who
+is going to be married. And I am so miserable. I can't tell Mother
+and Father because they would not believe me. They would think I just
+imagined it all. But YOU won't think that, will you? You will see him
+and try to help him, for my sake."
+
+And so on, eight closely written pages, ending with another plea to me
+to see "poor George" and help him, and begging me to "burn this letter,
+because I should be so ashamed to have any one else see it."
+
+It was a pitiful letter and, even in the frame of mind I was then in,
+disgusted with humanity and hating the entire feminine sex, I could
+not help feeling sorry for Nellie Dean. Of course I was surprised at
+receiving such a letter and I believed, just as she begged me not to
+believe, that the cause of her distress and anxiety was more imaginary
+than real. But that something was troubling George Taylor I had felt
+certain for a good while. The idea that he did not love Nellie I knew
+was preposterous. That was not it. There was something else, but what I
+could not imagine. I wanted to help the girl if I could, but how could I
+ask George to tell me his secrets? I, with a secret of my own.
+
+After pondering for some time I decided to walk up to George's boarding
+place and talk with him. Nothing would come of the interview, probably,
+but I might as well do that as anything else. I must do something,
+something besides sit in that room and see mocking faces in every
+corner, faces with dark eyes and scornful lips which told me that my
+charming and cultivated society was not necessary to their happiness.
+
+Taylor rented the upper floor of a house a quarter of a mile from the
+bank. His housekeeper answered my ring and informed me that her employer
+had not yet come home.
+
+"He did not even come home for supper," she said. "Stayed over to
+Nellie's probably. You'll most likely find him there."
+
+But I was pretty certain he was not at the Deans', for as I passed their
+house, I noticed the windows were dark, indicating that the family, like
+most of respectable Denboro, had already retired. I walked on to the
+Corners. Eldredge's store was closed, but the billiard room was radiant
+and noisy. I could hear Tim Hallet's voice urging some one to take a new
+cue, "'cause that one ain't pocketed many balls yet."
+
+I looked across at the bank. The front portion of it was black enough,
+but the window of the directors' room was alight. I had located the
+object of my search; the cashier was there, working overtime, as he did
+so often nowadays.
+
+I had my key in my pocket and I unlocked the big door and entered
+quietly. The door of the directors' room was open a little way and I
+tiptoed over and peeped in through the crack. Taylor was seated in a
+chair beside the big table, his elbows upon the table and his head in
+his hands. As I stood there, watching him, he took his hands away and
+I saw his face. Upon it was an expression of abject misery and utter
+despair. I opened the door and entered.
+
+He heard the sound of the opening door and leaped to his feet. His chair
+fell backward on the floor with a clatter, but he paid no attention to
+it.
+
+"Good God!" he cried, wildly. "Who's that?"
+
+He was deathly pale and trembling violently. His appearance startled and
+alarmed me.
+
+"It's all right," I said, hastily. "It is I--Paine. I saw the light and
+knew you must be here. What ails you? What IS the matter?"
+
+For a moment he stood there staring. Then he turned and picked up the
+fallen chair.
+
+"Oh, it's you, Ros, is it?" he faltered. "I--I--Lord, how you scared me!
+I--I--"
+
+"George! what IS the matter with you? For heaven's sake! stand up, man!"
+He was swaying and I thought he was going to faint. "George! George
+Taylor! Are you ill? I am going for the doctor."
+
+"No, no! Stay where you are. I ain't sick. I'll be all right in a
+minute. You--you scared me, creeping in that way. Sit down, sit down."
+
+He steadied himself with one hand on the table and with the other
+reached to shut a drawer which had been open beside him. The drawer was
+almost full of papers, and, lying upon those papers, was a revolver.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+Before he could close the drawer completely I caught his arm and held
+it.
+
+"George," I cried, "George, what is the matter? Tell me; you must tell
+me."
+
+He tried to pull his arm free. Finding that I would not let him do this
+he gave up the attempt and, with a poor attempt at a laugh, answered,
+"Matter? Why, nothing is the matter. I am tired and nervous, same as
+I've told you I've been for the last two or three months, and you scared
+me, tiptoeing in like a sneak thief, this time of night."
+
+"Time of night! It is but a little after nine. What is the matter with
+you?"
+
+"Nothing is the matter, I tell you. Let go of my arm, Ros. What do you
+mean by holding on to me like this?"
+
+"What do YOU mean, George? What does THAT mean?"
+
+I pointed to the drawer. He looked and, with a sudden effort, jerked his
+arm free and closed the drawer.
+
+"That?" with a forced laugh. "Oh, that's nothing. It was late and I was
+alone here, so--"
+
+"I know better. George, you're frightening us all. Don't you suppose we
+can see that something is wrong with you? I have seen it ever since I
+came here to work. You are worrying your friends. You worry me. Give us
+a chance to help you. Give ME a chance. You owe me that. Tell me your
+trouble and I'll pull you out of it; see if I don't."
+
+My confidence was, of course, only pretence, but my earnestness had some
+effect. He looked at me wistfully, and shook his head.
+
+"Nobody can pull me out," he said. "You're a good fellow to want to
+help, but you can't. There ain't any trouble. I'm just nervous--"
+
+"I know better. You're lying, George. Yes, you are; you're lying."
+
+"Humph! You're pretty plain spoken, Ros Paine. There ain't many people
+I'd take that from."
+
+"You'll take it from me, because you can't help it and because you know
+it is true. Come, George; come. You have been a friend to me; the only
+real friend I have had in years. I have been looking for a chance to
+get even for what you have done for me. Maybe here is the chance. Let me
+help you. I will."
+
+He was wavering; I could see it. But again he shook his head.
+
+"Nobody can help me," he said.
+
+"George, for my sake--well, then, if not for my sake or your own, then
+for Nellie's, give me a chance. You aren't treating her right, George.
+You should think of her. You--"
+
+"Stop! Damn you, Ros Paine! what right have you to--"
+
+"The right of a friend, her friend and yours. You're frightening the
+poor girl to death. She is beginning to be afraid you don't care for
+her."
+
+"I? I don't care for HER? I don't--Oh, my God!"
+
+To my utter amazement he began to laugh. And then, all at once, his
+laughter ceased, he swayed, choked, and, suddenly collapsing in the
+chair, dropped his head upon his arms on the table and sobbed, sobs that
+shook him from head to heel.
+
+For one strong, healthy, normal man to see another cry is a
+disconcerting and uncomfortable experience. Masculine tears do not flow
+easily and poor George, on the verge of hysterics, was a pitiful and
+distressing spectacle. I was almost as completely disorganized as he. I
+felt ashamed for him and ashamed of myself for having seen him in such
+a condition. I wanted desperately to help him and I did not know what
+to do, so beyond patting him on the back and begging him repeatedly
+to brace up and not behave like that, I did nothing. At last his sobs
+ceased and he was silent. I had risen from my chair and now I
+stood there with a hand on his shoulder; the ticking of the ancient
+eight-sided clock on the wall sounded loud in the room.
+
+Suddenly he sat up and threw off my hand.
+
+"Well," he said, bitterly, "I'm a fine specimen of a man, ain't I. Ain't
+you proud of me?"
+
+"I am mighty sorry for you," I answered. "And I mean to help you."
+
+"You can't."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Because I do know, Ros," he turned and looked me straight in the eye.
+"I am going to give you some good advice. Take it, for your own sake.
+Clear out of here and leave me. Don't have anything more to do with me.
+Clear out."
+
+I did not move.
+
+"Are you going to do as I tell you?" he demanded. "Mind, I'm telling you
+this for your own good. Will you clear out and leave me?"
+
+I smiled. "Of course not," I answered.
+
+"Don't be a fool. You can't afford to be my friend. Clear out and leave
+me, do you hear?"
+
+"I hear. Now, George, what is it?"
+
+His fingers tapped the table. I could see he was making up his mind.
+
+"You want to know?" he said. "You won't be satisfied until you do?"
+
+"I have made that fairly plain, I hope. At least I've tried to."
+
+His fist clenched and he struck the table.
+
+"Then, by the Almighty, I'll tell you!" he cried, fiercely. "It'll be
+all over the county in a week. You might as well know it now. I'm a
+crook. I'm a thief. I've stolen money from this bank and I can't pay it
+back because I haven't got it and can't get it. I'm a crook, I tell you,
+and in a week or so it'll be the county jail for mine. Unless--unless,"
+with a significant glance at the drawer, "something else happens to me
+in the meantime. There; now you know. Are you satisfied? Are you happy
+because you've found out?"
+
+I did not answer. To tell the truth I was not entirely overcome by
+surprise at the disclosure. I had begun to suspect something of the
+sort. Yet, now that my suspicions were confirmed, I was too greatly
+shocked and horrified to speak at once.
+
+"Well?" he sneered. "Now will you clear out and let me settle this my
+own way?"
+
+I pulled my chair forward and sat down.
+
+"Tell me all about it, George," I said, as calmly as I could. "How much
+is it?"
+
+He stared at me aghast. "You won't go?" he cried. "You--you are going to
+stick by me even--even--"
+
+"There! there! pull yourself together, old fellow. We won't give up the
+ship yet. How much is it? It can't be a great sum."
+
+"It ain't. But, Ros--you--you can't--you mustn't be mixed up in this. I
+shan't let you. Don't you see?"
+
+I argued and pleaded and reasoned with him for what seemed a long time
+before he would consent to tell me the whole story. And when it was told
+there was nothing new or novel in it. The old tale of an honest man who
+had not meant to go wrong, but, tempted by one of those wiles of the
+devil, an "inside tip" on the stock market, had bought heavily on
+margins, expecting to clear a handsome profit in a short time. The stock
+was Louisville and Transcontinental and the struggle for its control by
+certain big interests had made copy for financial writers for nearly
+a year. George had bought at a time when one syndicate had, so it
+believed, secured the control.
+
+Then something went wrong in the deal and the shares began to decline
+in value. He put up more margins and still more, but it continued to
+decline. Finally under the spur of another "tip," the last of his own
+savings having gone to the insatiate brokers, he sent, to bolster his
+account and to save him from utter ruin, some bonds belonging to the
+bank.
+
+"Not much," he declared, "only about thirty-five hundred dollars' worth,
+that's all. I never would have done it, Ros, but I was wild, desperate,
+you see. Here I was, getting ready to be married; Nellie and Cap'n Jed
+and the rest believing me to be comfortably fixed. It's easy enough now
+to say that I ought to have gone to her and told her. If I hadn't been
+certain that the market would turn and I'd be all right in a week, I'd
+have done it. But I was sure I'd be all right and I couldn't take the
+chance. I knew what her father would say about her marrying a pauper,
+and I just couldn't take the risk of losing her; I couldn't. She means
+more to me than--than--oh, wait until your time comes! Wait until the
+girl comes along that you care for more than the whole world. And
+then see what you'd do. See what it would mean to give her up! Just
+wait--wait and see!"
+
+"Yes, yes," I put in, hastily. "I understand, George. But the stock,
+Louisville and Transcontinental, how is it now?"
+
+"Just the same. It is dead, practically speaking. It hasn't moved half
+a point for six weeks. I've been expecting it would, but it hasn't. It's
+all right; the value is there; I know it. If I could only hang on and
+wait I could get my money back, part of it, anyhow. But I can't. I
+can't wait. And the broker people have got those bonds. Ros, I've been
+fighting this thing for weeks and weeks. I ain't slept a night for
+years, or so it seems. And next week--next WEEK I was to be married. My
+God! think of it!"
+
+"Here, here! Don't do that," I urged. "Brace up. You and I must work
+this out. Wasn't there any one you could go to? Anyone you could borrow
+the money of? Thirty-five hundred isn't such a lot."
+
+"Whom could I go to? I tried. Lord knows I tried! I did borrow a
+thousand of Cap'n Elisha Warren; trumped up some excuse or other and got
+that. But that was all he could let me have. And I know he thought my
+asking for that was queer."
+
+"Did you consider going straight to Cap'n Dean and--"
+
+"Dean? Cap'n Jed? Her father? Oh, Ros, don't be a fool altogether! I
+beg your pardon, old man! I don't mean it. You mustn't mind. I ain't
+responsible for what I say just now. But I couldn't go to Cap'n Jed. You
+know him. He's as straight and square and honest as he is obstinate and
+cranky. If I went to him I couldn't tell him the truth. And if I
+lied he'd suspect and want to know why I needed to borrow money. And
+Nellie--don't you see? There's the real awfulness of the whole thing. I
+couldn't go to her and tell her I was a thief. I couldn't see her face
+when I told her. And yet she's got to know it. She's got to know it!"
+
+"But why? The stock may go up any day and then you could withdraw part
+of your margin."
+
+He struck the table with another blow. "The stock ain't moved for six
+weeks, I tell you," he declared. "And, Ros," he leaned forward, his
+haggard face working with emotion, "those bonds ain't in our safe here,
+where they should be, and the bank examiner is due here within the next
+four days. He's at Middleboro now. I 'phoned Bearse, the cashier there,
+this very forenoon on a matter of business, and he happened to mention
+that the examiner was in his bank and working his way down the Cape.
+It's all up with me! All up! And Nellie! poor girl; I can't be here when
+she finds it out. I know you think I'm a poor specimen of a man, Ros,
+but I can't face the music. No," desperately, "and I won't."
+
+He was giving way again, but I seized his shoulder and shook him.
+
+"Stop it!" I commanded. "Stop it, George! Let me think. Be quiet now and
+let me think. There must be a way out somewhere. Let me think."
+
+He leaned back in his chair. "All right," he said, hopelessly; "think,
+if you want to. Though why you should want to think about a thing like
+me I don't see. And I used to despise a crook as much as any one! and a
+coward still more! And now I'm both a crook and a coward."
+
+I knew his cowardice was merely on Nellie's account. George Taylor was
+no coward in the ordinary sense of the word, nor was he a crook. I rose
+and paced up and down the room. He watched me listlessly; it was plain
+that he felt no confidence whatever in my being able to help him. After
+a time he spoke.
+
+"It's no use, Ros," he said. "Don't worry your head about me; I ain't
+worth it. If there was any way out, any way at all, I'd have sighted it
+long ago. There ain't. Take my advice and leave me. You don't want to be
+mixed up with an embezzler."
+
+I turned on him, impatiently. "I have been mixed up, as you call it,
+with one before," I said, sharply. "Is my own family record so clean
+that I need to pretend--there, George! don't be an idiot. Let me think."
+
+The clock chimed ten. I stopped in my walk and turned to him.
+
+"George," I said, "tell me this: If you had the money to buy back these
+bonds belonging to the bank you would be all right, wouldn't you? If you
+had it in your hands by to-morrow morning, I mean."
+
+"Yes; IF I had it--but I haven't."
+
+"You could send the money to the brokers and--"
+
+"Send! I wouldn't send; I'd go myself and fetch the bonds back with me.
+Once I had them in that safe again I--"
+
+"And you would not take any more risks, even if the market dropped and
+they had to sell out your account? Even if you lost every cent of your
+investment?"
+
+The fierce earnestness of his answer satisfied even me. "What do you
+think I am?" he demanded. "Investment be hanged! It's my name as an
+honest man that I care about. Once let me get that back again and I'll
+face the poorhouse. Yes, and I'll tell Nellie the truth, all except that
+I was a thief; I can't tell her that. But I will tell her that I haven't
+got a cent except my salary. Then if she wants to give me up, all right.
+I'll bear it as best I can. Or, if she doesn't, and I lose my job here,
+I'll get another one somewhere else; I'll work at anything. She and I
+can wait and . . . But what is the use of talking like this? I've been
+over every inch of the ground a thousand times. There ain't a ray of
+light anywhere. The examiner will be here, the bonds will be missing,
+and I--I'll be in jail, or in hell, one or the other."
+
+"No, you won't," I said, firmly.
+
+"I won't! Why not?"
+
+"Because there IS a ray of light. More than a ray. George, you go home
+and go to bed. To-morrow morning I may have news for you, good news."
+
+The blood rushed to his face. He seized the arm of his chair.
+
+"Good news!" he gasped. "Good news for ME! Ros--Ros, for the Lord's
+sake, what do you mean? You don't mean you see a way to--"
+
+"Never mind what I mean. But I should like to know what you mean by not
+coming to me before? What are friends for, if not to help each other?
+Who told you that I was dead broke?"
+
+"You? Why, you ain't got . . . Have you? Ros Paine, you ain't got
+thirty-five hundred to spare. Why, you told me yourself--"
+
+"Shut up! Get up from that chair and come with me. Yes, you; and now,
+this minute. Give me that thing you've got in the drawer there. No, I'll
+take it myself. You ought to be ashamed of its being there, George. I am
+ashamed of you, and, if I thought you really meant to use it, I should
+be still more ashamed. Come! don't keep me waiting."
+
+"But--but Ros--"
+
+"Will you do as I tell you?"
+
+I dragged him, almost literally dragged him, from the chair. Then, after
+extinguishing the lamp, I led him to the door of the bank and locked it,
+putting the key in my pocket.
+
+"Now," said I, "I want you to make me a promise. I want you to quit
+behaving like a coward, because you are not one, and promise me that you
+will go straight home and to bed. I'll see you again the first thing in
+the morning. Then, I think--yes, I think your troubles, the worst part
+of them, will be over."
+
+"But, Ros, PLEASE--I can't believe it! Won't you tell me--"
+
+"Not a word. Will you promise me to behave like a man and go home? Or
+must I go with you?"
+
+"No. I'll--I'll promise. I'll go straight home. But, oh Ros, I can't
+understand--"
+
+"Good night."
+
+I left him standing there, stammering incoherently like a man awakening
+from a nightmare, and hurried away.
+
+I could not describe my progress down the dark Lower Road and along the
+Shore Lane. I do not remember any portion of it. I think I ran most
+of the way and if I met any one--which is not likely, considering the
+time--he or she must have thought me crazy. My thoughts were centered
+upon one fixed purpose. I had made up my mind to do a certain thing and,
+if possible, to do it that very night. If I did not, if I had time in
+which to reflect, to consider consequences, I might lose my nerve and it
+would not be done at all.
+
+It was with a feeling of great relief that, as I came in sight of the
+Colton house, I saw lights in the rooms on the lower floor. The family,
+not being native born Denboroites, had not retired even though it was
+well after ten. I hastened up the long drive, and stood before the big
+door, my hand upraised to the knocker. And then, just for a moment, I
+hesitated.
+
+If I lifted that knocker and let it fall; if I summoned the servant and
+announced that I wished to speak with Mr. Colton; if I did what I had
+come there to do, it would be all over with me in the village. My new
+born popularity, the respect which Cap'n Warren and Cap'n Jed and
+the rest of the townspeople had shown toward me of late, the cordial
+recognition which had been mine during the past few weeks and which,
+in spite of pretended indifference, I had come to expect and enjoy, all
+these would be lost if I persisted in my purpose. My future in Denboro
+depended upon whether or not I knocked at that door. And it was not too
+late to back out, even yet. I had only to turn quietly away and tell
+George, when I saw him in the morning, that I could not help him as I
+had hoped. And then I thought of his face as I saw it when I entered the
+bank--and of Nellie's letter to me.
+
+I seized the knocker and rapped sharply.
+
+For a few moments my knock was unanswered. Then I heard footsteps and
+the door was opened. Johnson, the butler, opened it, and his clerical
+countenance assumed a most astonished expression when he saw me standing
+before him.
+
+"Is Mr. Colton in?" I asked.
+
+"What? What--sir?" stammered Johnson. The "sir" was added under protest.
+He did not wish to show more respect than was absolutely necessary to a
+countryman, but he scarcely dared speak as disrespectfully as he felt.
+Therefore he compromised by voicing the respect and looking the other
+way.
+
+"Is Mr. Colton in?" I repeated.
+
+"I don't know. I--I don't think so--sir."
+
+The windows at my left were, I knew, those of the library, the room
+where "Big Jim" and I had had our first lively discussion of the Shore
+Lane matter. I glanced at them.
+
+"I think he is," I said. "In fact I know it; there is his shadow on the
+curtain. Tell him Mr. Paine wishes to speak with him."
+
+Johnson looked as insolent as he dared, and still hesitated.
+
+"It is very late," he said. "Mr. Colton is not in the 'abit of receiving
+callers at this time of night and--"
+
+He was interrupted. The door behind him, the door leading from the
+library to the hall, opened and Colton himself appeared.
+
+"What is it, Johnson?" he asked. "Anything wrong?"
+
+The butler hastened to explain.
+
+"No sir," he said; "nothing wrong exactly, sir. There is a person 'ere
+to see you, sir, and--"
+
+"To see me, eh? Who is it? Why, hello, Paine! is that you?"
+
+"Mr. Colton," said I, "I am sorry to disturb you at such a late hour,
+but--"
+
+"Come in, come in," he interrupted. "What are you standing out there
+for? Johnson, why didn't you ask Mr. Paine in? What do you mean by
+keeping him out there?"
+
+Mr. Johnson looked troubled.
+
+"It was so late, sir," he stammered, "I thought--"
+
+"You thought! If I had wanted any one to think I never should have hired
+you. Come in, Paine. Come into the library."
+
+He led the way to the library and I followed him. It was my second
+visit to the big, handsomely furnished room and again, as on the first
+occasion, the sight of the books and all the other refinements and
+luxuries which money brings to its possessor gave me a pang of envy
+and resentment. It added increased bitterness to the humiliation of my
+errand. I had left that room defiantly expressing my independence. I had
+come back to it--
+
+"Sit down," ordered Colton, pulling forward the big, leather-covered
+chair. "Have a cigar?"
+
+"No thank you."
+
+"Humph! That's what you said when you were here before. You're young,
+Paine. When you get to be as old as I am you'll never refuse a good
+cigar, or anything else that is good, when it is offered you. Well,
+you're still standing. Aren't going to refuse to sit down, are you?"
+
+That was exactly what I was going to do. I would not sit down in that
+house. I would not accept the slightest courtesy from this man or any of
+his people. I would get rid of the unpleasant task I had come to do and
+then go away, never to return. They might make the most of the triumph
+which was to be theirs, but I would compel them to understand that I
+was not seeking their favor. I would not accept their patronage and they
+should know it. This, as I look back at it now, seems silly and childish
+enough, but I was not myself that night.
+
+"Mr. Colton," said I, ignoring the proffered chair, "I have come to see
+you on a matter of business."
+
+"Business, eh? Umph! I thought probably you were going to ask me to
+go fishing with you again. I'm all ready for another tussle with
+those--what do you call 'em--squid--squit--good Lord! what a name for a
+decent fish! But I don't care a continental what you call 'em. I'm ready
+to get at 'em when you say the word."
+
+"My business will not detain either of us long. I--"
+
+"Sit down, man, sit down. You make me nervous standing there."
+
+"No. I won't sit."
+
+He looked at me.
+
+"What is the matter with you?" he asked. "You haven't got a balky
+digestion, have you? I've been fighting one for the last week. That fool
+of a country doctor tells me if I'm not careful what I eat I'll keel
+over pretty soon. I told him I'd eaten what I dashed please ever since
+I'd had teeth and I wasn't going to quit now. But I do feel like the
+devil. Look it, don't I?"
+
+He did look ill, that was a fact, though I had not noticed it before
+and was far from feeling pity for him then. In fact I was rather glad to
+know that he was uncomfortable. I wanted him to be.
+
+"What is the matter with you?" he demanded. "You look as if you had seen
+your grandmother's ghost."
+
+I ignored the question. "Mr. Colton," I began again. "You made an offer
+not long ago."
+
+I had caught his attention at last. He leaned back in his chair.
+
+"I did," he said. "Ye-es, I did. Do you mean you are going to accept
+it?"
+
+"In a way--yes."
+
+"In a way? What do you mean by that? I tell you frankly, Paine, if you
+go to work for me there must be no 'ifs' or 'buts' about it. You'll
+enter my office and you'll do as I, or the men under me, tell you to
+do."
+
+I was glad he said that, glad that he misunderstood me. It gave me an
+opportunity to express my feelings toward him--as I was feeling then.
+
+"Don't let that trouble you," I said, sarcastically. "There will be no
+'ifs' and 'buts' so far as that is concerned. I have no desire to work
+for you, Mr. Colton, and I don't intend doing so. That was not the offer
+I meant."
+
+He was surprised, I am sure, but he did not express astonishment. He
+bent forward and looked at me more keenly than ever.
+
+"There was only one other offer that I remember making you," he said,
+slowly. "That was for that land of yours. I offered you five thousand
+dollars for it. Do you mean you accept that offer?"
+
+"Not exactly."
+
+"Humph! Paine, we're wasting a lot of time here, it seems to me. My time
+is more or less valuable, and my digestion is, as I told you, pretty
+bad. Come! get it over. What do you mean? Are you going to sell me that
+land?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+He puffed deliberately at his cigar. His gaze did not leave my face.
+
+"Why?" he asked, after a moment.
+
+"That is my own affair. I will sell you the land, but not for five
+thousand dollars."
+
+His expression changed. He knocked the ashes from his cigar and frowned.
+
+"I see," he sneered. "Humph! Well, I've tried to make it plain to you
+fellows down here that I couldn't be held up. I thought I'd done it, but
+evidently I haven't. Five hundred is a good price for that land. Five
+thousand is ridiculous, but I gave you my reasons for being willing to
+be robbed that much. That, however, is the limit. I'll give you five
+thousand, but not another cent. You can take it or get out."
+
+This was better. When he talked like that I could answer him and enjoy
+it.
+
+"I'll get out very shortly," I said. "You are no more anxious to have
+that happen than I am. I don't want your other cent. I don't want your
+five thousand dollars. I'll sell you the land on one condition--no, on
+two. The first is that you pay me thirty-five hundred dollars for it."
+
+"WHAT?"
+
+I had upset his composure this time. He forgot to sneer; he even forgot
+to smoke.
+
+"What?" he cried again. "Thirty-five hundred! Why, I offered you--"
+
+"I know your offer. This is mine: I will sell you the land for
+thirty-five hundred, and not another cent. That, as you say, is the
+limit. You can take it or--or I will follow your suggestion and get
+out."
+
+We looked at each other. His fingers moved toward the match box on the
+table. He took a match, scratched it, and held it to the end of his
+cigar. Then he took the cigar from his lips, blew out the match and
+tossed the latter into the fireplace.
+
+"What is the second condition?" he asked, abruptly.
+
+"That you pay me in cash, in money and not by check, at once."
+
+"At once? Now, do you mean?"
+
+"Yes, now. To-night if possible; if not, no later than nine o'clock
+to-morrow morning."
+
+"Humph! Do you think I carry thirty-five hundred loose in my change
+pocket?"
+
+"I don't know. But that is the second condition."
+
+"Humph! . . . Look here, Paine; what--? I offered you the five thousand.
+That offer holds good."
+
+"I don't accept it. I will sell for thirty-five hundred; no more and no
+less."
+
+"But why not more?"
+
+"I don't know. Yes, I do, too. You said once that you were willing to
+pay forty-five hundred for the privilege of having your own way. Perhaps
+I am willing to sacrifice fifteen hundred for the privilege of having
+mine. At all events I mean what I say."
+
+"But why just thirty-five? Wouldn't you take thirty-six?"
+
+"No. It is useless to argue, Mr. Colton, and useless to ask my reasons.
+I have them, and that is enough. Will you accept MY offer?"
+
+He hesitated. The sneer had left his face and his tone when he addressed
+me was respectful, though there was a curious note of chagrin or
+dissatisfaction in it. I had expected him to be eager and, perhaps,
+mockingly triumphant. He was not. He seemed reluctant, almost
+disappointed.
+
+"I suppose I'll have to," he said. "But, Paine, what is up? Why are you
+doing this? You're not afraid of me? No, of course you're not. You're
+not the kind to squeal and lie down because you think the odds are
+against you . . . Confound you!" with a sudden burst of impatience, "you
+are enough to upset all the self-conceit a man's got in him. Just as I
+think I'm beginning to size you up you break loose in a new place."
+
+"Pardon me," I put in, "but I don't see that you are helping to save
+that valuable time of yours. I understand that you accept. Will you pay
+me now?"
+
+He rose, threw away his cigar, and, with his hands in his pockets, stood
+regarding me.
+
+"Your mind is made up, is it?" he asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Humph! Have you thought of what our mutual friend Dean and the rest of
+the patriots may say when they find this out?"
+
+I had thought of little else all the way from the bank to his door. I
+was thinking of it then.
+
+"Of course," he added, "that is not my affair, but--"
+
+"It is not."
+
+"You're right; it isn't. Still--hang it all, Paine! I don't often feel
+any compunctions when I beat a fellow in a game like this, and I did
+intend to have my own way in this one--"
+
+"Well, you're having it, aren't you?" I put in. "Why talk so much about
+it?"
+
+"Because I am not so sure I am having it. Of course I can see that, for
+some reason or other, you need thirty-five hundred dollars. Anyone but
+you, if they were going to sell, would get the last dime they could
+squeeze. You won't, because you are as pig-headed as--as--"
+
+"Oh, do cut it short," I snapped. And then, a trifle ashamed of my
+rudeness, "Excuse me, Mr. Colton, but this isn't exactly pleasant for me
+and I want to get it over. Will you pay me now?"
+
+"Hold on; let me finish. I was going to say that, if you needed the
+thirty-five, perhaps I could manage to let you have it."
+
+I stared at him. "Let me have it!" I cried. "Do you mean you'll lend it
+to me?"
+
+"Why, yes, maybe. You and I have had such a first-rate, square, stand
+up fight that I rather hate to have it end. I want to lick you, not have
+you quit before I've really begun to fight. There's no fool philanthropy
+in this, understand; it is just for my own satisfaction."
+
+I was so taken aback by this totally unexpected offer from the man whom
+I had insulted a dozen times since I entered his house, that I found it
+almost impossible to answer.
+
+"What do you say?" he asked.
+
+"No," I faltered. And then more firmly, "No; certainly not. I--I am much
+obliged to you, Mr. Colton, but--no."
+
+"All right. You know best. I'll take your offer and I will hand you the
+money at the bank to-morrow morning. Will that do?"
+
+"Not at the bank, Mr. Colton. Send it over to the house, if you can
+conveniently."
+
+"I'll have it here before ten. My lawyer will draw up the papers and
+arrange for transfer of title in a few days. What? Going, are you? Good
+night. Oh--er--Paine, remember that my other offer, that of the place in
+my office, is open when you're ready to take it."
+
+I shook my head. I had turned to go, but now I turned back, feeling
+that, perhaps, I should apologize again for my rudeness. After all, he
+had been kind, very kind, and I had scarcely thanked him. So I turned
+back to say something, I hardly knew what.
+
+My doing so was a mistake. The door behind me opened and a voice said
+reproachfully, "Father, are you still here? The doctor said . . . Oh, I
+beg pardon."
+
+I recognized the voice. Of all voices in the world I wished least to
+hear it just then. My back was toward the door and I kept it so. If she
+would only go! If she would only shut that door and go away!
+
+I think she would have gone but her father called her.
+
+"Mabel," he cried, "Mabel, don't go. It's all right. Come in. Paine and
+I have finished our talk. Nothing more you wished to say, was there,
+Paine?"
+
+"No," said I. I was obliged to turn now; I could not get out of that
+room without doing it. So turn I did, and we faced each other.
+
+"Good evening, Miss Colton," I said, with all the calmness I could
+muster.
+
+She said, "Good evening," distantly and without any enthusiasm, but I
+saw her glance at her father and then at me and I knew she was wondering
+what our being together could possibly mean.
+
+"Paine has been making me a little call," explained Colton, his eye
+twinkling. "Mabel, I'll risk another bet that you can't guess why he
+came."
+
+"I shall not try," she said, disdainfully.
+
+"Oh, you'd better! No? You won't? Well, then, I'll tell you. He has just
+sold me that land of his . . . Don't look at me like that; he has. We
+had a little disagreement as to price, but," with a grin, "I met his
+figures and we closed the deal. Aren't you going to congratulate him
+on having come to his senses at last? Come! he's waiting for
+congratulations."
+
+This was not true. I was waiting for nothing; I was on my way to the
+door. But, to reach it I was obliged to pass her and our eyes met. My
+glance wavered, I know, but hers did not. For a moment she looked at me.
+Then she smiled. Whenever I am tempted to be vain, even now, I remember
+that smile.
+
+"I congratulate him," she said. "Come, Father; you must go to bed now."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+I am not going to attempt a description of my thoughts that night.
+It would take too long and the description would be wearisome. Other
+people's miseries are not interesting and I shall not catalog mine.
+Morning came at last and I rose, bathed my hot face in cold water, and
+went down stairs. Early as it was, not yet six, I heard Dorinda in the
+kitchen and, having no desire for conversation, I went out and walked up
+and down the beach until breakfast time. I had to pretend to eat, but
+I ate so little that both Lute and Dorinda once more commented upon
+my lack of appetite. Lute, who had never become fully reconciled to my
+becoming a member of the working class, hastened to lay the blame for my
+condition upon my labors at the bank.
+
+"The trouble is," he announced, dogmatically, "the trouble is, Roscoe,
+that you ain't fitted for bein' shut up astern of a deck. Look at
+yourself now! Just go into Comfort's room and stand in front of her
+lookin' glass and look at yourself. There you be, pale and peaked and
+wore out. Look for all the world just as I done when I had the tonsils
+two winters ago. Ain't that so, Dorindy?"
+
+His wife's answer was a contemptuous sniff.
+
+"If you mean to say that you looked peaked when you had sore throat,"
+she announced, "then there's somethin' the matter with your mind or your
+eyesight, one or t'other. You peaked? Why, your face was swelled up
+like a young one's balloon Fourth of July Day. And as for bein' pale! My
+soul! I give you my word I couldn't scurcely tell where your neck left
+off and the strip of red flannel you made me tie 'round it begun."
+
+"Don't make no difference! I FELT pale, anyhow. And I didn't eat no
+more'n Ros does. You'll have to give in to that, Dorindy. I didn't eat
+nothin' but beef tea and gruel."
+
+"You et enough of them to float a schooner."
+
+"Maybe I did," with grieved dignity; "maybe I did. But that's no reason
+why you should set there and heave my sufferin's in my face."
+
+"What is the man talkin' about now? I didn't heave 'em in your face.
+They come there themselves, same as sore throat sufferin's generally do,
+and if you hadn't waded around in the snow with leaky boots, because
+you was too lazy to take 'em to the shoemaker's to be patched, they
+wouldn't."
+
+Lute drew back from the table. "It's no use!" he declared, "a man can't
+even be sick in peace in this house. Some wives would have been sorry to
+see their husbands with one foot in the grave."
+
+"Your feet was in the cookstove oven most of the time. There! there! the
+more you talk the further from home you get. You started in with Roscoe
+and the bank and you're in the grave already. If I was you I'd quit
+afore I went any further. Land knows where you might fetch up if you
+kept on! I . . . Mercy on us! who's at the kitchen door this time in the
+mornin'?"
+
+Her husband, ever curious, was on his way to answer the knock already.
+He came back, a moment later, sputtering with excitement.
+
+"It's that Mr. butler, the Johnson over to Mr. Colton's," he whispered.
+"I mean it's that Jutler--that--There, Dorindy! you see what sort of a
+state your hectorin' has worked me into! It's that parson critter who
+opens Colton's door for him, that's who 'tis. And he wants to see Ros. I
+tried to find out what for, but he wouldn't tell."
+
+Even Dorinda showed surprise. She looked at the clock, "This hour of the
+mornin'!" she exclaimed; "what in the world--?"
+
+I hastened to the kitchen, closing the dining-room door behind me
+just in time to prevent Lute's following me. Johnson, the butler,
+was standing on the mica slab at the threshold inspecting our humble
+premises with lofty disdain.
+
+"Mr. Colton sent this to you, sir," he said, handing me an envelope. "He
+wishes you to send a receipt by me."
+
+I took the envelope and, stepping back out of sight, tore it open.
+Inside was a check on a New York bank for four thousand dollars. It was
+made payable to "Bearer." With it was this brief note:
+
+
+Dear Paine:
+
+This is the best I can do for you, as I haven't the money on hand. Cash
+it yourself, take out your thirty-five hundred and hold the additional
+five hundred until I, or one of the family, call for it. I made the
+thing payable to Bearer because I imagined you would prefer it that way.
+Send me some sort of receipt by Johnson; anything will do. I will see my
+lawyer in a day or two. Meanwhile have your papers, deeds, etc., ready
+when he calls for them.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+JAMES W. COLTON.
+
+
+For a minute I considered. If I could cash the check at the bank without
+Taylor's knowledge and get him off to Boston on the early train, I
+might be able to cover my tracks. It was necessary that they should be
+covered. Knowing George as I did I knew that he would never consent to
+my sacrifice. He would not permit me to wreck my future in Denboro to
+save him. The money must be turned over to the Boston bankers and
+the bank's bonds once more in the vault where they belonged before he
+learned where that money came from. Then it would be too late to refuse
+and too late to undo what had been done. He would have to accept and
+I might be able to prevail upon him to keep silent regarding the whole
+affair. I disliked the check with Colton's name upon it; I should have
+much preferred the cash; but cash, it seemed, could not be had without
+considerable delay, and with that bank examiner's visit imminent
+every moment of time was valuable. I folded the check, put it in my
+pocketbook, and, hastily scribbling a receipt in pencil at the bottom
+of Colton's note, replaced the latter in the envelope and handed it to
+Johnson, who departed.
+
+Entering the dining-room I found Dorinda and Lute at the window, peering
+after the butler.
+
+"By time!" exclaimed Lute, "if I didn't know I should say he was a
+bigger big-bug than old Colton himself. Look how he struts! He sartin is
+a dignified lookin' man. I don't see how he ever come to be just hired
+help."
+
+"Um-hm," sniffed the cynical Mrs. Rogers. "Well; you can get an awful
+lot of dignity for its board and lodgin'! There's nothin' much more
+dignified or struts much better'n a rooster, but it's the hens that lay
+the eggs. What did he want, Roscoe?"
+
+I made some excuse or other for Mr. Johnson's early call and, taking
+my cap from the rack, hurried from the house. I went "across lots" and,
+running a good part of the way, reached the bank just as Sam Wheeler was
+sweeping out. He expressed surprise at my early arrival and wished to
+know what was up.
+
+"Ain't nothin' wrong, is there, Ros?" asked Sam anxiously. "I saw by the
+paper that the market was feverish again yesterday."
+
+Sam was an ambitious youth and, being desirous of becoming a banker in
+the shortest possible time, read the financial page with conscientious
+thoroughness. I assured him that the market's fever was not
+contagious--at least I had not contracted the disease--and sent him
+out to sweep the front steps. As soon as he had gone I opened the safe,
+found, to my joy, that we had an abundance of currency on hand, cashed
+the Colton check and locked it securely in the drawer of my own desk. So
+far I was safe. Now to secure George's safety.
+
+He came in soon after, looking as if, as he had told me, he had not
+slept for years. He bade Sam good morning and then walked over to my
+side.
+
+"Well, Ros?" he asked, laying a shaking hand on the desk beside me.
+
+"Not here, George," I whispered. "Come into the directors' room."
+
+I led the way and he followed me. I closed the door behind us, took the
+thirty-five hundred dollars in notes from my pocket and laid them on the
+table.
+
+"There's the money, George," I said. "Now you've got just time enough to
+catch that nine o'clock train for Boston."
+
+I thought, for a moment, he was going to collapse altogether. Then he
+pounced upon the money, counted it with fingers that trembled so he
+could scarcely control them, and turned to me.
+
+"Ros--Ros--" he stammered. "Where did you--how did you--Great God, man!
+I--I--"
+
+"There! there!" I interrupted. "I told you I wasn't a pauper exactly.
+Put that where you won't lose it and clear out. You haven't any time to
+argue."
+
+"But--but, Ros, I hadn't ought to take this from you. I don't see where
+you got it and--"
+
+"That's my business. Will you go?"
+
+"I don't know as I ever can pay you. Lord knows I'll try all my life,
+but--"
+
+I seized his arm. "George," I urged, impatiently, "you fool, don't waste
+time. Get that train, do you hear! Those bonds must be in that safe by
+night. Go!"
+
+The mention of the bonds did what my urging had failed to do. He crammed
+the bills into his pocket book, thrust the latter into an inside pocket,
+and rushed from the room. I followed him as far as the outer door. He
+was running up the road like a wild man. Sam stared after him.
+
+"For mercy sakes!" he cried, "what's the matter with the boss? Has he
+gone loony?"
+
+"No," I said, turning back to my desk; "he's sane enough, I guess. He's
+after the train."
+
+"I should think he was after somethin'. Did you see the face he had on
+him? If he ain't crazy then you and I are, that's all I've got to say."
+
+"All right, Sam," I answered, drawing a long breath, "perhaps that's it.
+Perhaps you and I are the crazy ones--one of us, at any rate."
+
+All that day I worked hard. I did not go home for lunch, but sent Sam
+over to Eldredge's store for canned ham and crackers which I ate at my
+desk. It was a fairly busy day, fortunately, and I could always find
+some task to occupy my mind. Lute called, at two o'clock, to inquire why
+I had not been home and I told him that Taylor was away and I should be
+late for supper. He departed, shaking his head.
+
+"It's just as I said," he declared, "you're workin' yourself sick,
+that's what you're doin'. You're growin' foolish in the head about
+work, just the same as Dorindy. And YOU don't need to; you've got money
+enough. If I had independent means same as you've got I tell you I'd
+have more sense. One sick invalid in the family's enough, ain't it?"
+
+"No doubt, Lute," I replied. "At all events you must take care of your
+health. Don't YOU work yourself sick."
+
+Lute turned on me. "I try not to," he said, seriously; "I try not to,
+but it's a hard job. You know what that wife of mine is cal'latin' to
+have me do next? Wash the hen house window! Yes sir! wash the window
+so's the hens can look at the scenery, I presume likely. I says to her,
+says I, 'That beats any foolishness ever I heard! Next thing you'll want
+me to put down a carpet in the pigsty, won't ye? You would if we kept a
+pig, I know.'"
+
+"What did she say to that?" I inquired.
+
+"Oh, the land knows! Somethin' about keepin' one pig bein' trouble
+enough. I didn't pay much attention. But I shan't wash no hen's window,
+now you can bet on that!"
+
+I shouldn't have bet much on it. He went away, to spend the next hour in
+a political debate at Eldredge's, and I wrote letters, needlessly long
+ones. Closing time came and Sam went home, leaving me to lock up. The
+train was due at six-twenty, but it was nearly seven before I heard it
+whistle at the station. I stood at the front window looking up the road
+and waiting.
+
+I waited only a few minutes, but they were long ones. Then I saw George
+coming, not running this time, but walking with rapid strides. The
+crowd, waiting on the post-office steps, shouted at him but he paid
+no attention. He sprang up the steps and entered the bank. I stepped
+forward and seized his hand. One look at his face was enough; he had the
+bonds, I knew it.
+
+"Ros, you here!" he exclaimed. "Is it all right? The examiner hasn't
+showed up?"
+
+"No," I answered. "You have them, George?"
+
+"Right in my pocket, thank the Lord--and you, Ros Paine. Just let me get
+them into that safe and I--What! You're not going?"
+
+"Yes, I'm going. I congratulate you, George. I am as glad as you are.
+Good night."
+
+"But Ros, I want to tell you about it. I want to thank you again. I
+never shall forget . . . Ros, hold on!"
+
+But I was already at the door. "Good night," I called again, and went
+out. I went straight home, ate supper, spent a half hour with Mother,
+and then went to my room and to bed. The excitement was over, for good
+or bad the thing was done beyond recall, and I suddenly realized that I
+was very tired. I fell asleep almost immediately and slept soundly until
+morning. I was too tired even to think.
+
+I had plenty of time to think during the fortnight which followed and
+there was enough to think about. The lawyer came and the papers were
+signed transferring to James W. Colton the strip of land over which
+Denboro had excited itself for months. Each day I sat at my desk
+expecting Captain Dean and a delegation of indignant citizens to rush in
+and denounce me as a traitor and a turncoat. Every time Sam Wheeler met
+me at my arrival at the bank I dreaded to look him in the face, fearing
+that he had learned of my action and was waiting to question me about
+it. In spite of all my boasts and solemn vows not to permit "Big Jim"
+Colton to obtain the Shore Lane I had sold it to him; he could, and it
+was to be expected that he would, close it at once; Denboro would make
+its just demand upon me for explanations, explanations which, for George
+and Nellie's sake, I could not give; and after that the deluge. I was
+sitting over a powder mine and I braced myself for the explosion.
+
+But hours and days passed and no explosion came. The fishcarts rattled
+down the Lane without hindrance. Except for the little flurry of
+excitement caused by the coming wedding at the Dean homestead the
+village life moved on its lazy, uneventful jog. I could not understand
+it. Why did Colton delay? He, whose one object in life was to have his
+own way, had it once more. Now that he had it why didn't he make use of
+it? Why was he holding back? Out of pity for me? I did not believe it.
+Much more likely that his daughter, whose pride I had dared to offend,
+had taken the affair in her hands and this agony of suspense was a
+preliminary torture, a part of my punishment for presuming to act
+contrary to her imperial will.
+
+I saw her occasionally, although I tried my best not to do so. Once we
+passed each other on the street and I stubbornly kept my head turned in
+the other direction. I would risk no more looks such as she had given me
+when, in response to her father's would-be humorous suggestion, she had
+offered me her "congratulations." Once, too, I saw her on the bay, I was
+aboard the Comfort, having just anchored after a short cruise, and she
+went by in the canoe, her newest plaything, which had arrived by freight
+a few days before. A canoe in Denboro Bay was a distinct novelty;
+probably not since the days of the Indians had one of the light,
+graceful little vessels floated there, and this one carried much comment
+among the old salts alongshore. It was the general opinion that it was
+no craft for salt water.
+
+"Them things," said Zeb Kendrick, sagely, "are all right for ponds
+or rivers or cricks where there ain't no tide nor sea runnin'. Float
+anywheres where there's a heavy dew, they say they will. But no darter
+of mine should go out past the flats in one of 'em if I had the say.
+It's too big a risk."
+
+"Yup; well, Zeb, you ain't got the say, I cal'late," observed Thoph
+Newcomb. "And it takes more'n say to get a skiff like that one. They
+tell me the metal work aboard her is silver-plated--silver or gold, I
+ain't sure which. Wonder the old man didn't make it solid gold while he
+was about it. He'd do anything for that girl if she asked him to. And
+she sartin does handle it like a bird! She went by my dory t'other
+mornin' and I swan to man if she and the canoe together wan't a sight
+for sore eyes. I set and watched her for twenty minutes."
+
+"Um--ye-es," grunted Zeb. "And then you charged the twenty minutes in
+against the day's work quahaugin' you was supposed to be doin' for me, I
+suppose."
+
+"You can take out the ten cents when you pay me--if you ever do," said
+Newcomb, gallantly. "'Twas wuth more'n that just to look at her."
+
+The time had been when I should have agreed with Thoph. Sitting in the
+canoe, bare-headed, her hair tossing in the breeze, and her rounded arms
+swinging the light paddle, she was a sight for sore eyes, doubtless.
+But it was not my eyes which were sore, just then. I watched her for a
+moment and then bent over my engine. I did not look up again until the
+canoe had disappeared beyond the Colton wharf.
+
+I did not tell Mother that I had sold the land. I intended to do so;
+each morning I rose with my mind made up to tell her, and always I
+put off the telling until some other time. I knew, of course, that she
+should be told; that I ought to tell her rather than to have her learn
+the news from others as she certainly would at almost any moment, but I
+knew, too, that even to her I could not disclose my reason for
+selling. I must keep George's secret as he had kept mine and take the
+consequences with a close mouth and as much of my old indifference to
+public opinion as I could muster. But I realized, only too well, that
+the indifference which had once been real was now only pretense.
+
+I have said very little about George Taylor's gratitude to me, nor his
+appreciation of what I had done for him. The poor fellow would have
+talked of nothing else if I had let him.
+
+"You've saved my good name and my life, Ros," he said, over and over
+again, "and not only my life, but what is a mighty sight more worth
+saving, Nellie's happiness. I don't know how you did it; I believe yet
+that there is something behind all this, that you're keeping something
+from me. I can't see how, considering all you've said to me about your
+not being well-off, you got that money so quick. But I know you don't
+want me to talk about it."
+
+"I don't, George," I said. "All I ask of you is just to forget the whole
+thing."
+
+"Forget! I shan't forget while I live. And, as soon as ever I can scrape
+it together, I'll pay you back that loan."
+
+He had kept his word, so far as telling Nellie of his financial
+condition was concerned. He had not, of course, told her of his use of
+the bank bonds, but he had, as he said he would, told her that, in all
+probability, he should be left with nothing but his salary.
+
+"I told her she was free to give me up," he said, with emotion, "and
+what do you suppose she said to me? That she would marry me if she knew
+she must live in the poorhouse the rest of her days. Yes, and be happy,
+so long as we could be together. Well, I ain't worth it, and I told her
+so, but I'll do my best to be worth something; and she shan't have to
+live in the poorhouse either."
+
+"I don't think there's much danger of that," I said. "And, by the way,
+George, your Louisville and Transcontinental speculation may not be
+all loss. You may save something out of it. There has been considerable
+trading in the stock during the past two days. It is up half a point
+already, according to the papers. Did you notice it?"
+
+"Yes, I noticed it. But I tell you, Ros, I don't care. I'll be glad to
+get some of my money back, of course; enough to pay you and Cap'n Elisha
+anyhow; but I'm so happy to think that Nellie need never know I was a
+thief that I don't seem to care much for anything else."
+
+Nellie was happy, too. She came to me and told me of her happiness. It
+was all on George's account, of course.
+
+"The poor fellow had lost money in investments," she said, "and he
+thought I would not care for him if I found out he was poor. He isn't
+poor, of course, but if he was it would make no difference to me. I am
+so glad to see him without that dreadful worried look on his face that
+I--I--Oh, you must think me awful silly, Roscoe! I guess I am. I know I
+am. But you are the only one I can talk to in this way about--about him.
+All Ma wants to talk about now is the wedding and clothes and such, and
+Pa always treats me as if I was a child. I feel almost as if you were
+the closest friend I have, and I know George feels the same. He says you
+have helped him out of his troubles. I was sure you would; that is why I
+wrote you that letter. We are both SO grateful to you."
+
+Their gratitude and the knowledge of their happiness were my sole
+consolations in this trying time. They kept me from repenting what I
+had done. It was hard not to repent. If Colton had only made known his
+purchase and closed the Lane at once, while my resolution was red hot,
+I could have faced the wrath of the village and its inevitable
+consequences fairly well, I believed; but he still kept silent and made
+no move. I saw him once or twice; on one occasion he came into the bank,
+but he came only to cash a check and did not mention the subject of the
+Lane. He did not look well to me and I heard him tell Taylor something
+about his "damned digestion."
+
+The wedding day came. I, as best man, was busy and thankful for the
+bustle and responsibility. They occupied my mind and kept it from
+dwelling on other things. George worked at the bank until noon, getting
+ready to leave the institution in my charge and that of Dick Small,
+Henry's brother, who had reported for duty that morning. The marriage
+was to take place at half past one in the afternoon and the bridal
+couple were to go away on the three o'clock train. The honeymoon trip
+was to be a brief one, only a week.
+
+Every able-bodied native of Denboro, man, woman and child, attended that
+wedding, I honestly believe. It was the best sort of advertising for
+Olinda Cahoon and Simeon Eldredge, for Olinda had made the gowns worn
+by the bride and the bride's mother and a number of the younger female
+guests, and Sim had sold innumerable bottles of a peculiarly penetrating
+perfume, a large supply of which he had been talked into purchasing by a
+Boston traveling salesman.
+
+"Smell it, Ros, do ye?" whispered Sim, grinning triumphantly between
+the points of a "stand-up" collar. "I give you my word when that
+slick-talkin' drummer sold me all that perfumery, I thought I was stuck
+sure and sartin. But then I had an idee. Every time women folks come
+into the store and commenced to talk about the weddin' I says to 'em,
+says I, 'Can't sell you a couple of handkerchiefs to cry on, can I, Miss
+So-and-so? Weddin's are great places for sheddin' tears, you know.' If
+I sold 'em the handkerchiefs all well and good; but if they laughed
+and said they had a plenty, I got out my sample bottle of 'May Lilock',
+that's the name of the cologne, and asked 'em to smell of it. 'If you
+cry with that on your handkerchief,' says I, 'all hands will be glad to
+have you do it. And only twenty cents a bottle!' You wouldn't believe
+how much I sold. You can smell this weddin' afore you come in sight of
+the house, can't ye now."
+
+You could, and you continued to smell it long after you left. My best
+suit reeked of "May Lilac" weeks later when I took it out of the closet.
+
+Dorinda was there, garbed in rustling black alpaca, her Sunday gown for
+ten years at least, and made over and "turned" four or five times. Lute
+was on deck, cutaway coat, "high water" trousers and purple tie, grand
+to look upon, Alvin Baker and Elnathan Mullet and Alonzo Black and
+Thoph Newcomb and Zeb Kendrick were, as the Item would say, "among those
+present" and if Zeb's black cutaway smelled slightly of fish it was, at
+least, a change from the pervading "May Lilac."
+
+Captain Jed strutted pompously about, monarch of the day. He greeted me
+genially.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" he said. "You out here? Thought you'd be busy overhaulin'
+George's runnin' riggin' and makin' sure he was all ready to heave
+alongside the parson."
+
+"I have been," I answered. "I am on my way back there now."
+
+"All right, all right. Matildy give me fits for not stayin' upstairs
+until the startin' gun was fired, but I told her that, between her with
+her eyes full of tears and Olindy Cahoon with her mouth full of pins,
+'twas no place for a male man. So I cleared out till everything was
+shipshape. Say, Ros," he laid his hand on my shoulder and bent to
+whisper in my ear: "Say, Ros," he said, "I'm glad to see you're takin'
+my advice."
+
+"Taking your advice?" I repeated, puzzled.
+
+"Yes; about not playin' with fire, you know. I ain't heard of you and
+the Princess cruisin' together for the past week. Thought 'twas best
+not to be too familiar with the R'yal family, didn't you? That's right,
+that's right. We can't take chances. We've got Denboro and the Shore
+Lane to think about, ain't we?"
+
+I did not answer. I did not risk looking him in the face.
+
+"She's liable to be here most any time, I cal'late," he went on. "Nellie
+would insist on invitin' her. And I must say that, to be honest, the
+present she sent is the finest that's come aboard yet. The only thing
+I've got against her is her bad judgment in pickin' a father. If 'twan't
+for that I--hello! Who--Why, I believe--"
+
+There was a commotion among the guests and heads were turned toward the
+door. The captain started forward. I started back. She had entered the
+room and was standing there, looking about her with smiling interest.
+I had forgotten that, considering her friendship with Nellie, she was
+certain to be invited.
+
+She was dressed in a simple, but wonderful, white gown and wore a bunch
+of lilies of the valley at her bosom. The doorway was decorated with
+sprays of honeysuckle and green boughs and against this background she
+made a picture that brought admiring whispers from the people near me.
+She did not notice me at first and I think I should have escaped by the
+side door if it had not been for Sim Eldredge. Simeon was just behind me
+and he darted forward with outstretched hand.
+
+"Why, how d'ye do, Miss Colton!" exclaimed Sim. "You're just in time,
+ain't ye! Let me get you a chair. Alvin," to Mr. Baker, who, perspiring
+beneath the unaccustomed dignity of a starched shirt front, occupied a
+front seat, "get up and let Miss Colton set down."
+
+She looked in Sim's direction and saw me, standing beside him. I had
+no opportunity to avoid her look now, as I had done when we met in
+the street. She saw me and I could not turn away. I bowed. She did not
+acknowledge the bow. She looked calmly past me, through me. I saw, or
+fancied that I saw, astonishment on the faces of those watching us.
+Captain Jed stepped forward to greet her and I went into the adjoining
+room, where George was anxiously awaiting me.
+
+"Good land, Ros!" he exclaimed, with a sigh of relief, "I was beginning
+to be afraid you'd skipped out and left me to go through it all alone.
+Say something to brace me up, won't you; I'm scared to death. Say," with
+a wondering glance at my face, "what's struck YOU? You look more upset
+than I feel."
+
+I believe I ordered him not to be an idiot. I know I did not "brace him
+up" to any extent.
+
+It was a very pretty wedding. At least every one said it was, although
+they say the same of all weddings, I am told. Personally I was very
+glad when it was over. Nellie whispered in my ear as I offered her my
+congratulations, "We owe it all to you, Roscoe." George said nothing,
+but the look he gave me as he wrung my hand was significant. For a
+moment I forgot myself, forgot to be envious of those to whom the door
+for happiness was not shut. After all I had opened the door for these
+two, and that was something.
+
+I walked as far as the corner with Lute and Dorinda. Dorinda's eyes were
+red and her husband commented upon it.
+
+"I thought a weddin' was supposed to be a joyful sort of thing," he
+said, disgustedly. "It's usually cal'lated to be. Yet you and the rest
+of the women folks set and cried through the whole of it. What in time
+was there to cry about?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know, Luther," replied Dorinda in, for her, an unusually
+tolerant tone. "Perhaps it's because we've all been young once and can't
+forget it."
+
+"I don't forget, no more'n you do. I ain't so old that I can't remember
+that fur back, I hope. But it don't make me feel like cryin'."
+
+"Well, all right. We won't argue about it. Let's be pleasant as we can,
+for once."
+
+Now that is where Lute should have taken the hint and remained silent.
+At least he should have changed the subject. But he was hot and
+uncomfortable and, I suspect, his Sunday shoes were tight. He persisted.
+
+"Huh!" he sniffed; "I don't see's you've given me no sensible reason for
+cryin'. If I recollect right you didn't cry at your own weddin'."
+
+His wife turned on him. She looked him over from head to foot.
+
+"Didn't I?" she said, tartly. "Well, maybe not. But if I'd realized what
+was happenin' to me, I should."
+
+"Lute," said I, as I parted from them at the corner, "I am going to the
+bank for a little while. Then I think I shall take a short run down the
+bay in the Comfort. Did you fill her tank with gasolene as I asked you
+to?"
+
+Lute stopped short. "There!" he exclaimed, "I knew there was somethin' I
+forgot. I'll do it soon's ever I get home."
+
+"When you get home," observed Dorinda, firmly, "you'll wash that
+henhouse window."
+
+"Now, Dorinda, if that ain't just like you! Don't you hear Roscoe askin'
+me about that gas? I've had that gas in my head ever since yesterday."
+
+"Um-hm," wearily. "Well, I shouldn't think a little extry more or less
+would make much difference. Never mind, don't waste any more on me.
+Get the gas out of your head, if Roscoe wants you to. You can wash the
+window afterward."
+
+Lute's parting words were that he would fill that tank the very first
+thing. If he had--but there! he didn't.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+The fog had come almost without warning. When, after leaving the bank,
+at four o'clock or thereabouts, I walked down to the shore and pulled my
+skiff out to where the Comfort lay at her moorings, there had not been
+a sign of it. Now I was near the entrance of the bay, somewhere abreast
+Crow Point, and all about me was gray, wet blankness. Sitting in the
+stern of the little launch I could see perhaps a scant ten feet beyond
+the bow, no more.
+
+It was the sudden shift of the wind which had brought the fog. When I
+left the boat house there had been a light westerly breeze. This had
+died down to a flat calm, and then a new breeze had sprung up from the
+south, blowing the fog before it. It rolled across the water as swiftly
+as the smoke clouds roll from a freshly lighted bonfire. It blotted
+Denboro from sight and moved across the bay; the long stretch of beach
+disappeared; the Crow Point light and Ben Small's freshly whitewashed
+dwellings and outbuildings were obliterated. In ten minutes the Comfort
+was, to all appearances, alone on a shoreless sea, and I was the only
+living creature in the universe.
+
+I was not troubled or alarmed. I had been out in too many fogs on that
+very bay to mind this one. It was a nuisance, because it necessitated
+cutting short my voyage, although that voyage had no objective point and
+was merely an aimless cruise in search of solitude and forgetfulness.
+The solitude I had found, the forgetfulness, of course, I had not. And
+now, when the solitude was more complete than ever, surrounded by
+this gray dismalness, with nothing whatever to look at to divert my
+attention, I knew I should be more bitterly miserable than I had been
+since I left that wedding. And I had been miserable and bitter enough,
+goodness knows.
+
+Home and the village, which I had been so anxious to get away from, now
+looked inviting in comparison. I slowed down the engine and, with an
+impatient growl, bent over the little binnacle to look at the compass
+and get my bearings before pointing the Comfort's nose in the direction
+of Denboro. Then my growl changed to an exclamation of disgust. The
+compass was not there. I knew where it was. It was on my work bench in
+the boat house, where I had put it myself, having carried it there to
+replace the cracked glass in its top with a new one. I had forgotten it
+and there it was.
+
+I could get along without it, of course, but its absence meant delay and
+more trouble. In a general way I knew my whereabouts, but the channel
+was winding and the tide was ebbing rapidly. I should be obliged to run
+slowly--to feel my way, so to speak--and I might not reach home until
+late. However, there was nothing else to do, so I put the helm over
+and swung the launch about. I sat in the stern sheets, listening to
+the dreary "chock-chock" of the propeller, and peering forward into the
+mist. The prospect was as cheerless as my future.
+
+Suddenly, from the wet, gray blanket ahead came a call. It was a good
+way off when I first heard it, a call in a clear voice, a feminine voice
+it seemed to me.
+
+"Hello!"
+
+I did not answer. I took it for granted that the call was not addressed
+to me. It came probably, from the beach at the Point, and might be
+Mrs. Small hailing her husband, though it did not sound like her voice.
+Several minutes went by before it was repeated. Then I heard it again
+and nearer.
+
+"Hello! Hello-o-o! Where are you?"
+
+That was not Mrs. Small, certainly. Unless I was away off in my
+reckoning the Point was at my right, and the voice sounded to the left.
+It must come from some craft afloat in the bay, though before the fog
+set in I had seen none.
+
+"Hello-o! Hello, the motor boat!"
+
+"Hello!" I answered. "Boat ahoy! Where are you?"
+
+"Here I am." The voice was nearer still. "Where are you? Don't run into
+me."
+
+I shifted my helm just a bit and peered ahead. I could see nothing. The
+fog was thicker than ever; if that were possible.
+
+"Where are you?" repeated the unseen voyager, and to my dismay, the hail
+came from the right this time.
+
+"Don't move!" I shouted. "Stay where you are. I will keep shouting . . .
+LOOK OUT!"
+
+Out of the fog to starboard a long dark shadow shot, silent and swift.
+It was moving directly across the Comfort's bow. I jammed the wheel over
+and the launch swung off, but not enough. It struck the canoe, for it
+was a canoe, a glancing blow and heeled it down to the water's edge.
+There was a scrape, a little scream, and two hands clutched at the
+Comfort's rail. I let go the wheel, sprang forward and seized the owner
+of the hands about the waist. The canoe, half full of water, disappeared
+somewhere astern. I swung Mabel Colton aboard the launch.
+
+I think she spoke first. I do not remember saying anything, and I think
+it must have been at least a full minute before either of us broke
+the silence. She lay, or sat, upon the cockpit floor, her shoulders
+supported by the bench surrounding it, just where I had placed her after
+lifting her over the rail. I knelt beside her, staring as if she were a
+spirit instead of a real, and rather damp, young lady. And she stared at
+me. When she spoke her words were an echo of my thought.
+
+"It IS you?" she gasped.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"This--this is the third time."
+
+"Yes."
+
+Another interval of silence. Then she spoke once more and her tone was
+one expressing intense conviction.
+
+"This," she said, slowly, "is getting to be positively ridiculous."
+
+I did not deny it. I said nothing.
+
+She sat up. "My canoe--" she faltered.
+
+The mention of the canoe brought me partially to my senses. I realized
+that I was kneeling on the deck of a launch that was pounding its way
+through the fog with no one at the helm. I sprang to my feet and seized
+the wheel. That my doing so would be of little use, considering that the
+Comfort might be headed almost anywhere by this time, did not occur to
+me. Miss Colton remained where she was.
+
+"My canoe--" she repeated.
+
+I was awakening rapidly. I looked out into the mist and shook my head.
+
+"I am afraid your canoe has gone," I said. And then, as the thought
+occurred to me for the first time, "You're not hurt, I hope? I dragged
+you aboard here rather roughly, I am afraid."
+
+"No, I am not hurt. But--where are we?"
+
+"I don't know, exactly. Somewhere near the mouth of the bay, that is
+all I can be sure of. You, are certain you are not hurt? You must be wet
+through."
+
+She got upon her feet and, leaning over the Comfort's rail, gazed about
+her.
+
+"I am all right," she answered. "But don't you know where you are?"
+
+"Before the fog caught me I was nearly abreast the Point. I was running
+at half speed up the channel when I heard your hail. Where were you?"
+
+"I was just beyond your boat house, out in the middle of the bay. I had
+come out for a paddle before dinner. I did not notice the fog until it
+was all about me. Then I think I must have been bewildered. I thought
+I was going in the direction of home, but I could not have been--not if
+you were abreast the Point. I must have been going directly out to sea."
+
+She shivered.
+
+"You are wet," I said, anxiously. "There is a storm coat of mine in the
+locker forward. Won't you put that about your shoulders? It may prevent
+your taking cold."
+
+"No, thank you. I am not wet, at all; or, at least, only my feet and the
+bottom of my skirt. I shall not take cold."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Please don't worry. I am all right, or shall be as soon as I get home."
+
+"I am very sorry about your canoe."
+
+"It doesn't matter."
+
+Her answers were short now. There was a different note in her voice. I
+knew the reason of the change. Now that the shock and the surprise of
+our meeting were over she and I were resuming our old positions. She was
+realizing that her companion was the "common fellow" whose "charming and
+cultivated society" was not necessary to her happiness, the fellow to
+whom she had scornfully offered "congratulations" and whom she had cut
+dead at the Deans' that very afternoon. I made no more suggestions and
+expressed no more sympathy.
+
+"I will take you home at once," I said, curtly.
+
+"If you please."
+
+That ended conversation for the time. She seated herself on the bench
+near the forward end of the cockpit and kept her head turned away from
+me. I, with one hand upon the wheel--a useless procedure, for I had no
+idea where the launch might be headed--looked over the rail and listened
+to the slow and regular beat of the engine. Suddenly the beat grew less
+regular. The engine barked, hiccoughed, barked again but more faintly,
+and then stopped altogether.
+
+I knew what was the matter. Before I reached the gasolene tank and
+unscrewed the little cover I knew it. I thrust in the gauge stick and
+heard it strike bottom, drew it out and found it, as I expected, dry
+to the very tip. I had trusted, like an imbecile, to Lute. Lute had
+promised to fill that tank "the very first thing," and he had not kept
+his promise.
+
+There was not a pint of gasolene aboard the Comfort; and it would be my
+cheerful duty to inform my passenger of the fact!
+
+She did not wait for me to break the news. She saw me standing there,
+holding the gauge stick in my hand, and she asked the natural question.
+
+"What is the matter?" she demanded.
+
+I swallowed the opinion of Mr. Rogers which was on the tip of my tongue.
+
+"I am sorry," I stammered, "but--but--well, we are in trouble, I am
+afraid."
+
+"In trouble?" she said coldly. "What trouble do you mean?"
+
+"Yes. The fact is, we have run out of gasolene. I told my man, Rogers,
+to fill the tank and he hasn't done it."
+
+She leaned forward to look at me.
+
+"Hasn't done it?" she repeated. "You mean--why, this boat cannot go
+without gasolene, can it?"
+
+"Not very well; no."
+
+"Then--then what are we going to do?"
+
+"Anchor and wait, if I can."
+
+"Wait! But I don't wish to wait. I wish to be taken home, at once."
+
+"I am sorry, but I am afraid that is impossible."
+
+I was on my way forward to where the anchor lay, in the bow. She rose
+and stepped in front of me.
+
+"Mr. Paine."
+
+"Yes, Miss Colton."
+
+"I tell you I do not wish you to anchor this boat."
+
+"I am sorry but it is the only thing to do, under the circumstances."
+
+"I do not wish it. Stop! I tell you I will not have you anchor."
+
+"Miss Colton, we must do one of two things, either anchor or drift. And
+if we drift I cannot tell you where we may be carried."
+
+"I don't care."
+
+"I do."
+
+"Yes," with scornful emphasis, "I presume you do."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean--never mind what I mean."
+
+"But, as I have explained to you, the gasolene--"
+
+"Nonsense! Do you suppose I believe that ridiculous story?"
+
+"Believe it?" I gazed at her uncomprehendingly. "Believe it," I
+repeated. "Don't you believe it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Miss Colton, do you mean that you think I am not telling you the truth?
+That I am lying?"
+
+"Well," fiercely, "and if I did, would it be so astonishing,
+considering--considering the TRUTHS you have told me before?"
+
+I made no further effort to pass her. Instead I stepped back.
+
+"Would you mind telling me," I demanded, with deliberate sarcasm, "what
+possible reason you think I might have for wishing to keep you here?"
+
+"I shall tell you nothing. And--and I will not have you anchor this
+boat."
+
+"Is it your desire then that we drift--the Lord knows where?"
+
+"I desire you to start that engine and take me home."
+
+"I cannot start the engine."
+
+"I don't believe it."
+
+For a moment I hesitated. Then I did what was perhaps the most senseless
+thing I ever did in all my life, which is saying considerable. I turned
+my back on her and on the anchor, and seated myself once more in the
+stern sheets. And we drifted.
+
+I do not know how long we drifted before I regained my sanity. It must
+have been a good while. When I first returned to my seat by the wheel it
+was with the firm determination to allow the Comfort to drift into the
+bottomless pit rather than to stir hand or foot to prevent it. In fact
+that particular port looked rather inviting than otherwise. Any torments
+it might have in store could not be worse than those I had undergone
+because of this girl. I sat, silent, with my gaze fixed upon the
+motionless engine. I heard my passenger move once or twice, but I did
+not look at her.
+
+What brought me to my senses was the boat hook, which had been lying on
+the seat beside me, suddenly falling to the floor. I started and looked
+over the rail. The water, as much of it as I could see through the fog,
+was no longer flat and calm. There were waves all about us, not big
+ones, but waves nevertheless, long, regular swells in the trough of
+which the Comfort rocked lazily. There was no wind to kick up a sea.
+This was a ground swell, such as never moved in Denboro Bay. While I sat
+there like an idiot the tide had carried us out beyond the Point.
+
+With an exclamation I sprang up and hurried forward. Miss Colton was
+sitting where I had left her.
+
+"What is it?" she asked. "What are you going to do?"
+
+"I am going to anchor," I said.
+
+"I do not wish you to anchor."
+
+"I can't help that. I must. Please stand aside, Miss Colton."
+
+She tried to prevent me, but I pushed her away, not too gently I am
+afraid, and clambered forward to the bow, where the anchor lay upon its
+coil of line. I threw it overboard. The line ran out to its very end and
+I waited expectantly for the jerk which would tell me that the anchor
+had caught and was holding. But no jerk came. Reaching over the bow I
+tried the line. It was taut and heavy. Then I knew approximately how far
+we had drifted. We were beyond the shoal making out from Crow Point over
+the deep water beyond. My anchor rope was not long enough to reach the
+bottom.
+
+Still I was not alarmed. I was provoked at my own stubbornness which had
+gotten us into this predicament and more angry than ever at the person
+who was the cause of that stubbornness. But I was not frightened. There
+were other shoals further out and I left the anchor as it was, hoping
+that it might catch and hold on one of them. I went back once more to my
+seat by the wheel.
+
+Then followed another interval of silence and inaction. From astern and
+a good way off sounded the notes of a bell. From the opposite direction
+came a low groan, indescribably mournful and lonely.
+
+My passenger heard it and spoke.
+
+"What was that?" she demanded, in a startled tone.
+
+"The fog horn at Mackerel Island, the island at the mouth of Wellmouth
+harbor," I answered.
+
+"And that bell?"
+
+"That is the fog bell at Crow Point."
+
+"At Crow Point? Why, it can't be! Crow Point is in Denboro Bay, and that
+bell is a long way behind us."
+
+"Yes. We are a mile or more outside the Point now. The tide has carried
+us out."
+
+"Carried us--Do you mean that we are out at sea?"
+
+"Not at sea exactly. We are in Cape Cod Bay."
+
+"But--why, we are still drifting, aren't we? I thought you had
+anchored."
+
+"I tried to, but I was too late. The water is too deep here for the
+anchor to reach bottom."
+
+"But--but what are you going to do?"
+
+"Nothing at present. There is nothing I can do. Sit down, please."
+
+"Nothing! Nothing! Do you mean that you propose to sit there and let us
+be carried out to sea?"
+
+"We shall not be carried far. There is no wind. When the tide turns we
+shall probably be carried in again."
+
+"But," sharply, "why don't you do something? Can't you row?"
+
+"I have only one oar."
+
+"But you must do something. You MUST. I--I--It is late! it is growing
+dark! My people! What will they think?"
+
+"I am sorry, Miss Colton."
+
+"Sorry! You are not sorry! If you were you would do something, instead
+of sitting there as--as if you enjoyed it. I believe you do enjoy it.
+You are doing it purposely to--to--"
+
+"To what, pray?"
+
+"Never mind."
+
+"But I do mind. You have accused me of lying, Miss Colton, and of
+keeping you here purposely. What do you mean by it?"
+
+"I mean that--that--Oh, you know what I mean! You hate me and you hate
+my father, and you are trying to--to punish us for--for--"
+
+I had heard enough. I did not propose to hear any more.
+
+"Miss Colton," I interrupted, sternly, "stop! this is silly. I assure
+you that I am as anxious to end this--excursion--of ours as you can be.
+Your being afloat in Denboro Bay in a canoe was your own recklessness
+and not my fault. Neither was it my fault that the launch collided with
+your canoe. I called to you not to move, but to stay where you were.
+And, moreover, if you had permitted me to anchor when I first attempted
+to do so we should not be in this scrape. I shall get you out of it just
+as quick as I can. In order that I may do so I shall expect you to stop
+behaving like a child and do as I tell you. Sit down on that bench and
+keep still."
+
+This had the effect I meant it to. She looked at me as if she could not
+believe she had heard aright. But I met her gaze squarely, and, with a
+shudder of disgust, or fear, I do not know which, she turned her back
+upon me and was silent. I went forward to the cuddy, found the tin horn
+which, until that moment, I had forgotten, and, returning, blew strident
+blasts upon it at intervals. There was little danger of other craft
+being in our vicinity, but I was neglecting no precautions.
+
+The bell at Crow Point sounded further and further astern. The twilight
+changed to dusk and the dusk to darkness. The fog was as thick as ever.
+It was nearly time for the tide to turn.
+
+Suddenly there was a jerk; the launch quivered, and swung about.
+
+"Oh! what was that?" demanded Miss Colton, shortly.
+
+"The anchor," I answered. "We have reached the outer shoal."
+
+"And," hesitatingly, "shall we stay here?"
+
+"Yes; unless--"
+
+"Unless what?"
+
+"Unless . . . Hush! listen!"
+
+There was an odd rushing sound from the darkness astern, a sort of hiss
+and low, watery roar. I rushed to the bow and dragged the anchor inboard
+with all my strength. Then I ran to the wheel. I had scarcely reached it
+when I felt a hand on my arm.
+
+"What is it?" asked the young lady, her voice quivering. "Oh, what is
+it?"
+
+"Wind," I answered. "There is a squall coming. Sit down! Sit down!"
+
+"But--but--"
+
+"Sit down."
+
+She hesitated and I seized her arm and forced her down upon the bench
+beside me. I threw the helm over. The rushing sound grew nearer. Then
+came a blast of wind which sent my cap flying overboard and the fog
+disappeared as if it had been a cloth snatched away by a mighty hand.
+Above us was a black sky, with stars showing here and there between
+flying clouds, and about us were the waves, already breaking into foam
+upon the shoal.
+
+The Comfort rocked and wallowed in the trough. We were being driven by
+the wind away from the shoal, but not fast enough. Somehow or other we
+must get out of that dangerous neighborhood. I turned to my companion.
+She had not spoken since the squall came.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, "give me your hands."
+
+I presume she could not imagine what I meant. No doubt, too, my tone and
+the request frightened her. She hesitated. I seized her hands and placed
+them on the spokes of the wheel.
+
+"I want you to hold that wheel just as it is," I commanded. "I must go
+forward and get steerage way on this craft somehow, or we shall capsize.
+Can you hold it, do you think?"
+
+"Yes; I--I think so."
+
+"You must."
+
+I left her, went to the cuddy and dragged out the small canvas tarpaulin
+which I used to cover the engine at night. With this, a cod line, the
+boathook, and my one oar I improvised a sort of jury rig which I tied
+erect at the forward end of the cockpit. Then I went aft and took the
+wheel again. The tarpaulin made a poor apology for a sail, but I hoped
+it might answer the purpose well enough to keep the Comfort before the
+wind.
+
+It did. Tacking was, of course, out of the question, but with the gale
+astern the launch answered her helm and slid over the waves instead of
+rolling between them. I sighed in relief. Then I remembered my passenger
+sitting silent beside me. She did not deserve consideration, but I
+vouchsafed a word of encouragement.
+
+"Don't be frightened," I said. "It is only a stiff breeze and this boat
+is seaworthy. We are all right now."
+
+"But why did you take up the anchor?"
+
+By way of answer I pointed aft over the stern. In the darkness the froth
+of the shoal gleamed white. I felt her shudder as she looked.
+
+"Where are we going now--please?" she asked, a moment later.
+
+"We are headed for the Wellmouth shore. It is the only direction we can
+take. If this wind holds we shall land in a few hours. It is all deep
+water now. There are no more shoals."
+
+"But," anxiously, "can we land when we reach there? Isn't it a bad
+coast?"
+
+"Not very. If we can make Mackerel Island we may be able to get ashore
+at the light or anchor in the lee of the land. It is all right, Miss
+Colton. I am telling you the truth. Strange as it may seem to you, I
+really am."
+
+I could not help adding the last bit of sarcasm. She understood. She
+drew away on the bench and asked no more questions.
+
+On drove the Comfort. The first fierceness of the squall had passed and
+it was now merely what I had called it, a stiff breeze. Out here in the
+middle of the bay the waves were higher and we shipped some spray over
+the quarter. The air was sharp and the chill penetrated even my thick
+jacket.
+
+"You must be cold," I said. "Aren't you?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But you must be. Take the wheel a moment."
+
+"I am not cold."
+
+"Take the wheel."
+
+She took it. I groped about in the cuddy again, got out my storm coat,
+an old pea jacket which I wore on gunning expeditions, and brought it to
+her.
+
+"Slip this on," I said.
+
+"I do not care for it."
+
+"Put it on."
+
+"Mr. Paine," haughtily, "I tell you . . . . oh!"
+
+I had wrapped the coat about her shoulders and fastened the upper
+button.
+
+"Now sit down on the deck here," I ordered. "Here, by my feet. You will
+be below the rail there and out of the wind."
+
+To my surprise she obeyed orders, this time without even a protest. I
+smiled grimly. To see her obey suited my humor. It served her right. I
+enjoyed ordering her about as if I were mate of an old-time clipper and
+she a foremast hand. She had insulted me once too often and she should
+pay for it. Out here social position and wealth and family pride counted
+for nothing. Here I was absolute master of the situation and she
+knew it. All her life she would remember it, the humiliation of being
+absolutely dependent upon me for life and safety and warmth. I looked
+down at her crouching at my feet, and then away over the black water.
+The Comfort climbed wave after wave.
+
+"Mr. Paine."
+
+The tone was very low but I heard it.
+
+I came out of my waking dream--it was not a pleasant one--and answered.
+
+"Yes?" I said.
+
+"Where are we?"
+
+"We are making fair progress, everything considered. Are you warmer
+now?"
+
+"Yes--thank you."
+
+She said no more, nor did I. Except for the splash of the spray and the
+flapping of the loose ends of the tarpaulin, it was quiet aboard the
+Comfort. Quiet, except for an odd sound in the shadow by my knee. I
+stooped and listened.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, quickly. "What is it?"
+
+No answer. Yet I heard the sound again.
+
+"What is it, Miss Colton?" I repeated. "What is the matter? Why are you
+crying?"
+
+"I--I am NOT crying," indignantly. And on the very heels of the denial
+came a stifled sob.
+
+That sob went to my heart. A great lump rose in my own throat. My brain
+seemed to be turning topsy-turvy. A moment before it had been filled
+with bitterness and resentment and vengeful thoughts. Now these had
+vanished and in their place came crowding other and vastly different
+feelings. She was crying, sobbing there alone in the dark at my feet.
+And I had treated her like a brute!
+
+"Miss Colton," I pleaded, in an agony of repentance, "what is it? Is
+there anything I can do? Are you still cold? Take this other coat, the
+one I have on. I don't need it, really. I am quite warm."
+
+"I am not cold."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Oh, please don't speak to me! PLEASE!"
+
+I closed my lips tightly and clutched the wheel with both hands. Oh, I
+had been a brute, a brute! I should have known that she was not herself,
+that she was frightened and nervous and distraught. I should have been
+considerate and forbearing. I should have remembered that she was only a
+girl, hysterical and weak. Instead I had--
+
+"Miss Colton," I begged, "please don't. Please!"
+
+No answer; only another sob. I tried again.
+
+"I have been a cad," I cried. "I have treated you abominably. I don't
+expect you to forgive me, but--"
+
+"I--I am so frightened!" The confession was a soliloquy, I think; not
+addressed to me at all. But I heard it and forgot everything else. I let
+go of the wheel altogether and bent over her, both hands outstretched,
+to--the Lord knows what. I was not responsible just then.
+
+But while I still hesitated, while my hands were still in the air above
+her, before they touched her, I was brought back to sanity with a rude
+shock. A barrel or so of cold water came pouring over the rail and
+drenched us both. The launch, being left without a helmsman, had swung
+into the trough of the sea and this was the result.
+
+I am not really sure what happened in the next few seconds. I must, I
+imagine, have seized the wheel with one hand and my passenger with
+the other. At any rate, when the smoke, so to speak, had cleared, the
+Comfort was headed on her old course once more, I was back on the bench
+by the wheel, Mabel Colton's head was on my shoulder, and I was telling
+her over and over that it was all right now, there was no danger, we
+were perfectly safe, and various inanities of that sort.
+
+She was breathing quickly, but she sobbed no more. I was glad of that.
+
+"You are sure you are not hurt?" I asked, anxiously.
+
+"Yes--yes, I think so," she answered, faintly. "What was it? I--I
+thought we were sinking."
+
+"So did I for a moment. It was all my fault, as usual. I let go the
+wheel."
+
+"Did you? Why?"
+
+"I don't know why." This was untrue; I did. "But you are wet through," I
+added, remorsefully. "And I haven't another dry wrap aboard."
+
+"Never mind. You are as wet as I am."
+
+"Yes, but _I_ don't mind. I am used to it. But you--"
+
+"I am all right. I was a little faint, at first, I think, but I am
+better now." She raised her head and sat up. "Where are we?" she asked.
+
+"We are within a few miles of the Wellmouth shore. That light ahead
+is the Mackerel Island light. We shall be there in a little while. The
+danger is almost over."
+
+She shivered.
+
+"You are cold!" I cried. "Of course you are! If I only had another coat
+or something. It is all my fault."
+
+"Don't say that," reproachfully. "Where should I have been if it had not
+been for you? I was paddling directly out toward those dreadful shoals.
+Then you came, just as you have done before, and saved me. And," in a
+wondering whisper, "I knew it was you!"
+
+I did not ask her what she meant; I seemed to understand perfectly.
+
+"Yes," I said.
+
+"But I tell you I knew it was you," she repeated. "I did not know--I
+did not suspect until the moment before the collision, before the launch
+came in sight--then, all at once, I knew."
+
+"Yes. That was when I knew."
+
+She turned and gazed at me.
+
+"YOU knew?" she gasped, hysterically. "Why--what do you mean?"
+
+"I can't explain it. Just before your canoe broke through the fog I
+knew, that is all."
+
+It was unexplainable, but it was true. Call it telepathy or what you
+will--I do not know what it was--I am certain only that, although I had
+not recognized her voice, I had suddenly known who it was that would
+come to me out of the fog. And she, too, had known! I felt again, with
+an almost superstitious thrill, that feeling of helplessness which had
+come over me that day of the fishing excursion when she rode through the
+bushes to my side. It was as if she and I were puppets in the hands of
+some Power which was amusing itself at our expense and would have its
+way, no matter how we might fight against it.
+
+She spoke as if she were struggling to awaken from a dream.
+
+"But it can't be," she protested. "It is impossible. Why should you and
+I--"
+
+"I don't know . . . Unless--"
+
+"Unless what?"
+
+I closed my lips on the words that were on the tip of my tongue. That
+reason was more impossible than all else.
+
+"Nothing," I stammered.
+
+She did not repeat her question. I saw her face, a dainty silhouette
+against the foam alongside, turned away from me. I gazed at it until
+I dared gaze no longer. Was I losing my senses altogether? I--Ros
+Paine--the man whose very name was not his own? I must not think such
+thoughts. I scarcely dared trust myself to speak and yet I knew that I
+must. This silence was too dangerous. I took refuge in a commonplace.
+
+"We are getting into smoother water," I said. "It is not as rough as it
+was, do you think?"
+
+If she heard the remark she ignored it. She did not turn to look at me.
+After a moment she said, in a low voice:
+
+"I can't understand."
+
+I supposed her to be still thinking of our meeting in the fog.
+
+"I cannot understand myself," I answered. "I presume it was a
+coincidence, like our meeting at the pond."
+
+She shook her head. "I did not mean that," she said. "I mean that I
+cannot understand how you can be so kind to me. After what I said, and
+the way I have treated you; it is wonderful!"
+
+I was obliged to wait another moment before I could reply. I clutched
+the wheel tighter than ever.
+
+"The wonderful part of it all," I said, earnestly, "is that you should
+even speak to me, after my treatment of you here, to-night. I was a
+brute. I ordered you about as if--"
+
+"Hush! Don't! please don't. Think of what I said to you! Will you
+forgive me? I have been so ungrateful. You saved my life over and over
+again and I--I--"
+
+"Stop! Don't do that! If you do I shall--Miss Colton, please--"
+
+She choked back the sob. "Tell me," she said, a moment later, this time
+looking me directly in the face, "why did you sell my father that land?"
+
+It was my turn to avoid her look. I did not answer.
+
+"I know it was not because of the money--the price, I mean. Father told
+me that you refused the five thousand he offered and would accept only
+a part of it; thirty-five hundred, I think he said. I should have known
+that the price had nothing to do with it, even if he had not told me.
+But why did you sell it?"
+
+I would have given all I had, or ever expected to have, in this world,
+to tell her the truth. For the moment I almost hated George Taylor.
+
+"Oh, I thought I might as well, give in then as later," I answered, with
+a shrug. "It was no use fighting the inevitable."
+
+"That was not it. I know it was not. If it had been you would have taken
+the five thousand. And I know, too, that you meant what you said when
+you told me you never would sell. I have known it all the time. I know
+you were telling me the truth."
+
+I was astonished. "You do?" I cried. "Why, you said--"
+
+"Don't! I know what I said, and I am so ashamed. I did not mean it,
+really. For a moment, there in the library, when Father first told me, I
+thought perhaps you--but I did not really think it. And when he told me
+the price, I KNEW. Won't you tell me why you sold?"
+
+"I can't. I wish I could."
+
+"I believe I can guess."
+
+I started. "You can GUESS?" I repeated.
+
+"Yes. I think you wanted the money for some purpose, some need which
+you had not foreseen. And I do not believe it was for yourself at all. I
+think it was for some one else. Wasn't that it?"
+
+I could not reply. I tried to, tried to utter a prompt denial, but the
+words would not come. Her "guess" was so close to the truth that I could
+only stammer and hesitate.
+
+"It was," she said. "I thought so. For your mother, wasn't it?"
+
+"No, no. Miss Colton, you are wrong. I--"
+
+"I am not wrong. Never mind. I suppose it is a secret. Perhaps I shall
+find out some day. But will you forgive me for being so hateful? Can
+you? What is the matter?"
+
+"Nothing--nothing. I--you are too good to me, that is all. I don't
+deserve it."
+
+"Hush! And we will be friends again?"
+
+"Yes. . . . . Oh, no! no! I must not think of it. It is impossible."
+
+"Must not think of it? When I ask you to? Can't you forgive me, after
+all?"
+
+"There was nothing to forgive."
+
+"Yes, there was, a great deal. Is there something else? Are you still
+angry with me because of what I said that afternoon at the gate?"
+
+"No, of course not."
+
+"It was hateful of me, I know. But I could see that you wished to avoid
+me and I was provoked. Besides, you have punished me for that. You have
+snubbed me twice since, sir."
+
+"_I_ snubbed YOU?"
+
+"Yes--twice. Once when we met in the street. You deliberately turned
+away and would not look at me. And once when I passed you in the canoe.
+You saw me--I know you did--but you cut me dead. That is why I did not
+return your bow to-day, at the wedding."
+
+"But you had said--I thought--"
+
+"I know. I had said horrid things. I deserved to be snubbed. There! now
+I have confessed. Mayn't we be friends?"
+
+"I . . . Oh, no, we must not, for your sake. I--"
+
+"For my sake! But I wish it. Why not?"
+
+I turned on her. "Can't you see?" I said, despairingly. "Look at the
+difference between us! You are what you are and I--"
+
+She interrupted me. "Oh," she cried, impatiently, "how dare you speak
+so? How dare you believe that money and--all the rest of it influences
+me in my friendships? Do you think I care for that?"
+
+"I did not mean money alone. But even that Miss Colton, that evening
+when we returned from the trip after weakfish, you and your father and
+I, I heard--I did not mean to hear but I did--what your mother said when
+she met you. She said she had warned you against trusting yourself to
+'that common fellow,' meaning me. That shows what she thinks. She was
+right; in a way she was perfectly right. Now you see what I mean by
+saying that friendship between us is impossible?"
+
+I had spoken at white heat. Now I turned away. It was settled. She must
+understand now.
+
+"Mr. Paine."
+
+"Yes, Miss Colton."
+
+"I am sorry you heard that. Mother--she is my mother and I love her--but
+she says foolish things sometimes. I am sorry you heard that, but since
+you did, I wish you had heard the rest."
+
+"The rest?"
+
+"Yes. I answered her by suggesting that she had not been afraid to trust
+me in the care of Victor--Mr. Carver. She answered that she hoped I did
+not mean to compare Mr. Carver with you. And I said--"
+
+"Yes? You said--?"
+
+"I said," the tone was low but I heard every syllable, "I said she was
+right, there was no comparison."
+
+"You said THAT!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You said it! And you meant--?"
+
+"I meant--I think I meant that I should not be afraid to trust you
+always--anywhere."
+
+Where were my good resolutions--my stern reasons to remember who and
+what I was--to be sane, no matter at what cost to myself? I do not know
+where they were; then I did not care. I seized her hand. It trembled,
+but she did not draw it away.
+
+"Mabel--" I cried. "Mabel--"
+
+"BUMP!"
+
+The Comfort shook as the bow of a dory scraped along her starboard
+quarter. A big red hand clasped the rail and its mate brandished a
+good-sized club before my eyes.
+
+"Now," said a determined voice, "I've got ye at last! This time I've
+caught ye dead to rights! Now, by godfreys, you'll pay me for them
+lobsters!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+If I had been giving undivided attention to my combined duties as
+steersman and pilot, instead of neglecting them for other and more
+engrossing matters, I should, doubtless, have seen the dory before. As
+it was I had not seen it at all, nor heard the oars. It had sneaked up
+on the Comfort out of the darkness and its occupant had laid us aboard
+as neatly as you please.
+
+I was, to say the least, startled and surprised. I dodged the
+threatening club and turned a dazed face toward the person brandishing
+it. He appeared to be a middle-sized, elderly person, in oilskins and
+souwester, and when he spoke a gray whisker wagged above the chin strap
+of the souwester.
+
+"Who in blazes are you?" I demanded, as soon as I could get the words
+together.
+
+"Never you mind that. You know who I be all right enough. Be you goin'
+to pay me for them lobsters? That's what _I_ want to know."
+
+"What lobsters?"
+
+"Them lobsters you've been stealin' out of my pots for the last
+fortnight."
+
+"_I_ have been stealing?"
+
+"Yes, you. I been layin' for you all night long. I don't know who
+you be, but you'll pay for them lobsters or come along with me to the
+lock-up, one or t'other."
+
+I looked about, over the water. The light toward which I had been trying
+to steer blazed dead ahead, surprisingly near and bright. Except for
+that, however, there was no sign of anything except darkness and waves.
+
+"Look here, my man," I said. "I haven't stolen your lobsters; but--"
+
+"I know better. I don't know who you be, but I'd know you was a thief if
+I run acrost you in prayer-meetin'. Just to look at you is enough."
+
+I heard a hysterical giggle from the bench beside me. Evidently the
+person with the club heard it, too, for he leaned forward to look.
+
+"So there's two of ye, eh!" he said. "Well, by godfreys, I don't care if
+there's a million! You'll pay for them lobsters or go to the lock-up."
+
+I laughed aloud. "Very well," I said. "I am agreeable."
+
+"You're agreeable! What do you mean by that? This ain't no laughin'
+matter, I'll tell you that."
+
+I laughed again. "I don't care what you tell me," I observed. "And if
+you will take us somewhere ashore--to the lock-up or anywhere else--I
+shall be much obliged."
+
+The occupant of the dory seemed to be puzzled. He leaned forward once
+more.
+
+"What sort of talk is that?" he demanded. "Where's my lobsters? . . .
+Hey! What? I swan to man, I believe one of ye's a woman! Have the
+females turned thieves, too?"
+
+"I don't know. See here, my friend, my name is Paine, and I'm the only
+lobster aboard this craft. This lady and I belong in Denboro. My launch
+has run out of gasolene and we have been drifting about the bay since
+five o'clock. Now, for heaven's sake, don't talk any more, but take us
+to the lock-up and be quick about it."
+
+The unknown paid no attention to my entreaty. Instead he leaned still
+further over the Comfort's rail. The dory careened until I expected to
+see her capsize.
+
+"I swan to man!" he muttered. "I swan to man! 'Tain't possible I'm
+mistook!"
+
+"It scarcely seems possible, I admit. But I'm afraid it is true."
+
+I heard the club fall with a clatter.
+
+"My--godfreys! Do you mean to say--? From Denboro? Out of gasolene!
+Why--why, you've got sail up!"
+
+"Nothing but a tarpaulin on an oar."
+
+"And you've been cruisin' all night? Through the fog--the squall--and
+all?"
+
+"Yes," wearily, "yes--yes--yes."
+
+"But--but ain't you drownded?"
+
+"Not quite. If you don't let go of that rail we shall be soon."
+
+"Driftin' all night! Ain't you wet through?"
+
+"Yes. Might I suggest that we postpone the rest of the catechism until
+we reach--the lock-up?"
+
+This suggestion apparently was accepted. Our captor suddenly became very
+much alive.
+
+"Give me a line," he ordered. "Anchor rope'll do. Where is it? up
+for'ard?"
+
+He pawed the dory along, hand over hand, until he reached the Comfort's
+bow. I heard the thump of the anchor as he dragged it into the dory.
+Then came the creak and splash of oars. His voice sounded from somewhere
+ahead.
+
+"Head for the light," he shouted. "I'm goin' to tow you in."
+
+"In where?"
+
+"In ashore. That's Mack'rel Island light. My name's Atwood. I'm keeper
+of it."
+
+I turned to my passenger.
+
+"It looks," I said, "as if our voyage was almost over."
+
+And it was. Mr. Atwood had a tough job on his hands, towing the launch.
+But the make-shift sail helped some and I did my best to steer in his
+wake. Miss Colton and I had no opportunity to talk. The gentleman in
+the dory kept up a running fire of remarks, shouted between grunts,
+and embroidered with cheerful profanity. We caught fragments of the
+monologue.
+
+"I swan to man--ugh--I thought ye was thieves, for sartin. Some
+everlastin', dam--ugh--have been sneakin' out nights and haulin' my
+lobster pots. Ugh--if I'd caught 'em I was cal'latin' to--ugh--break
+their--ugh--ugh--This dory pulls like a coal barge--I--Wet through,
+ain't ye? And froze, I cal'late--Ugh--and hungry, too--Ugh--ugh--My old
+woman's tendin' light. She--ugh--Here we be! Easy now!"
+
+A low shore loomed black across our bows. Above it the lighthouse rose,
+a white chalk mark against the sky with a red glare at its upper end.
+Mr. Atwood sprang overboard with a splash. The launch was drawn in at
+the end of its anchor rope until its keel grated on the sand.
+
+"Now then!" said our rescuer. "Here we be! Made harbor at last, though I
+did think I'd crack my back timbers afore we done it. I'll tote the lady
+ashore. You can wade, can't ye?"
+
+I could and I was very glad of the opportunity. I turned to take Miss
+Colton in my arms, but she avoided me.
+
+"Here I am, Mr. Atwood," she said. "Oh, thank you."
+
+She was swung into the air and moved shoreward to the accompaniment of
+mighty splashings.
+
+"Don't be scart, ma'am," said Mr. Atwood. "I shan't let ye drop. Lord
+sakes! I've toted more women in my time than you can shake a stick at.
+There's more da--that is, there's more summer folks try to land on this
+island at low tide than there is moskeeters and there's more of them
+than there's fiddles in--Hi! come on, you, Mr. What's-your-name!
+Straight as you go."
+
+I came on wading through eelgrass and water until I reached a sandy
+beach. A moment later we stood before a white door in a very white
+little house. Mr. Atwood opened the door, revealing a cosy little
+sitting room and a gray-haired, plump, pleasant-faced woman sitting in a
+rocking chair beside a table with a lamp upon it.
+
+"Hello, Betsy!" bellowed our rescuer, stamping his wet rubber boots on
+the braided mat. "Got company come to supper--or breakfast, or whatever
+you want to call it. This is Mr. Paine from Denboro. This is his wife,
+Mrs. Paine. They've been cruisin' all the way from Cape Cod to Kamchatky
+in a motor boat with no power to it. Don't that beat the Old Scratch,
+hey?"
+
+The plump woman rose, without a trace of surprise, as if having company
+drop in at three o'clock in the morning was nothing out of the ordinary,
+and came over to us, beaming with smiles.
+
+"I'm real glad to see you, Mrs. Paine," she exclaimed. "And your
+husband, too. You must be froze to death! Set right down while I fix up
+a room for you and hunt up some dry things for you to put on. I won't be
+but a minute."
+
+Before I could offer explanations, or do more than stammer thanks,
+and rather incoherent ones at that, she had bustled out of the room. I
+caught one glimpse of Mabel Colton's face; it was crimson from neck to
+brow. "Mrs. Paine!" "Your husband!" I was grateful to the doughty Mr.
+Atwood, but just then I should have enjoyed choking him.
+
+The light keeper, quite unaware that his unfortunate misapprehension of
+the relationship between his guests might be embarrassing, was doing his
+best to make us feel at home.
+
+"Take off your boots, Mr. Paine," he urged. "The old lady'll fetch you
+a pair of my slippers and some socks in a minute. She'll make your wife
+comf'table, too. She's a great hand at makin' folks comf'table. I tell
+her she'd make a cake of ice feel to home on a hot stove. She beats--"
+
+The "old lady" herself interrupted him, entering with a bottle in one
+hand and a lamp in the other.
+
+"Joshua!" she said, warningly.
+
+"Well, what is it, Betsy?"
+
+"Be careful how you talk."
+
+"Talk!" with a wink at me. "I wan't goin' to say nothin'."
+
+"Yes, you was. Mrs. Paine, you mustn't mind him. He used to go mate on
+a fishin' schooner and, from all I can learn, they use pretty strong
+language aboard these boats."
+
+"Pick it up same as a poll parrot," cut in her husband. "Comes natural
+when you're handlin' wet trawl line in February. Can't seem to get no
+comfort out of anything milder."
+
+"He's a real good-hearted man, Joshua is, and a profession' church
+member, but he does swear more'n he ought to. But, as I tell the
+minister, he don't mean nothin' by it."
+
+"Not a damn thing!" said Mr. Atwood, reassuringly. The bottle, it
+appeared, contained Jamaica ginger, a liberal dose of which Mrs. Atwood
+insisted upon our taking as a precaution against catching cold.
+
+"There's nothin' better," she said.
+
+"You bet there ain't!" this from the lightkeeper. "A body can't get
+within forty fathoms of a cold with a swallow of that amidships. It's
+hotter than--"
+
+"Joshua!"
+
+"The Fourth of July," concluded her husband, triumphantly.
+
+"And now, Mrs. Paine," went on the lady of the house, "your room's all
+ready. I've laid out some dry things for you on the bed and some of
+Joshua's, too. You and your husband--"
+
+I thought it high time to explain.
+
+"The lady is not my wife," I said, quickly.
+
+"She ain't! Why, I thought Joshua said--"
+
+"He--er--made a mistake. She is Miss Colton, a summer resident and
+neighbor of mine in Denboro."
+
+"Sho! you don't say! That's just like you, Joshua!"
+
+"Just like me! Well, how'd I know? I beg your pardon, Miss, I'm sure.
+Shan't beg your hus--I mean Mr. Paine's pardon; he ought to thank me for
+the compliment. Haw! haw!"
+
+Miss Colton herself made the next remark.
+
+"If my room is ready, Mrs. Atwood," she said,, without even a glance in
+my direction, "I think I will go to it. I AM rather wet."
+
+"Wet! Land sakes, yes! I guess you be! Come right in, Joshua, take them
+clothes of yours into our room and let Mr. Paine put 'em on."
+
+Her husband obeyed orders. After I was alone in the room to which
+he conducted me and enjoying the luxury of dry socks, I heard him
+justifying his mistake in stentorian tones.
+
+"I couldn't help it, Betsy," I heard him say. "I took it for granted
+they was married. When I hove alongside that motor boat they was
+a-settin' close up together in the stern sheets and so, of course, I
+thought--"
+
+"You hadn't any business to. You made that poor young lady blush
+somethin' dreadful. Most likely they're just keepin' company--or
+engaged, or somethin'. You ought to be more careful."
+
+I wondered if the young lady herself heard all this. I didn't see how
+she could help it.
+
+Kinder-hearted people than these two never lived, I do believe. It was
+after three in the morning, both had been up all night, we were absolute
+strangers to them, and yet, without a word of complaint, they gave the
+remainder of the hours before daylight to making us comfortable. When I
+dressed as much of myself as a suit of Mr. Atwood's--his Sunday best, I
+presume--would cover, and, with a pair of carpet slippers about the size
+and shape of toy ferry boats on my feet, emerged from the bedroom, I
+found the table set in the kitchen, the teapot steaming and Mrs.
+Atwood cooking "spider bread" on the stove. When Miss Colton, looking
+surprisingly presentable--considering that she, too, was wearing
+borrowed apparel four sizes too large for her--made her appearance, we
+sat down to a simple meal which, I think, was the most appetizing I ever
+tasted.
+
+The Atwoods were bursting with curiosity concerning our getting adrift
+in the motor boat. I described the adventure briefly. When I told of
+Lute's forgetfulness in the matter of gasolene the lightkeeper thumped
+the table.
+
+"There, by godfreys!" he exclaimed. "I could see it comin'! That
+feller's for all the world like a cook I had once aboard the Ezry H.
+Jones. That cook was the biggest numskull that ever drawed the breath
+of life. Always forgettin' somethin', he was, and always at the most
+inconvenient time. Once, if you'll believe it, I had a skipper of
+another vessel come aboard and, wishin' to be sort of hospitable, as you
+might say, I offered him a glass of rum."
+
+"Joshua!"
+
+"Oh, it's all right, Betsy. This was years ago. I'm as good a teetotaler
+now as you be, and I never was what you'd call a soak. But I've SEEN
+fellers--Why, I knew one once that used to go to bed in the dark. He
+was so full of alcohol he didn't dast to light a match fear he'd catch
+a-fire. Fact! He was eighty-odd then, and he lived to be nigh a hundred.
+Preserved, you understand, same as one of them specimens in a museum.
+He'd kept forever, I cal'late, if he hadn't fell off the dock. The water
+fixed him; he wasn't used to it. He was the wust--"
+
+"Never mind him. Stick to the cook."
+
+"Yes, yes. Well, I sent that cook for the rum and when he fetched it, I
+thought it smelt funny. And when I TASTED it--godfreys! 'Twas bay rum;
+yes, sir, bay rum! same as they put on your hair. You see, he'd forgot
+to buy any rum when we was in our last port and, havin' the bay rum
+along he fetched that. 'Twas SOME kind of rum and that was enough for
+him. I WAS mad, but that visitin' skipper, he didn't care. Drank it down
+and smacked his lips. 'I'm a State of Maine man,' he says, 'and that's
+a prohibition state. This tastes like home,' he says. 'If you don't mind
+I'll help myself to another.' 'I don't mind,' says I, 'but I'm sorry I
+ain't got any hair-ile. If I had you might have a barber-shop toddy.'
+Yes, sir! Ho-ho! that's what I said. But he didn't mind. He was--"
+
+And so on. The yarns were not elegant, but, as he told them, they were
+funny. Mabel Colton laughed as heartily as the rest of us. She appeared
+to be in fine spirits. She talked with the Atwoods, answered their
+questions, and ate the hot "spider bread" and butter as if she had never
+tasted anything as good. But with me she would not talk. Whenever I
+addressed a remark to her, she turned it with a laugh and her next
+speech was pretty certain to be addressed to the lightkeeper or his
+wife. As for our adventure in the launch, that she treated as a joke.
+
+"Wan't you awful scared when that squall struck so sudden?" inquired
+Mrs. Atwood.
+
+"Dreadfully."
+
+"Humph!" this from Joshua; "I cal'late Mr. Paine was some scart too.
+What did you do, Mr. Paine?"
+
+"I rigged that canvas on the oar as soon as possible," I answered.
+
+"Um-hm. That was good judgment."
+
+"Tell me, Mr. Atwood," asked the young lady innocently, "are all
+seafaring men very dictatorial under such circumstances?"
+
+"Very--which?"
+
+"I mean do they order people about and make them do all sorts of things,
+whether they wish to or not?"
+
+"Sartin. Godfreys! I never asked nobody what they wished aboard the Ezry
+H. Jones."
+
+"And do they tell them to 'sit down and keep still'?"
+
+"Gen'rally they tell 'em to get up and keep movin'. If they don't they
+start 'em pretty lively--with a rope's end."
+
+"I see. Even when they are--ladies?"
+
+"Ladies? Godfreys! we never had but one woman aboard the Ezry. Had the
+skipper's wife one v'yage, but nobody ever ordered her around any to
+speak of. She was six feet tall and weighed two hundred. All hands was
+scart to death of her."
+
+"Suppose she had been ordered to 'sit down and keep still'; what do you
+think would have happened?"
+
+"Don't know. If 'twas one of the hands I guess likely she'd have hove
+him overboard. If 'twas the skipper I shouldn't wonder if she'd have
+knocked him down--after she got over the surprise of his darin' to do
+such, a thing. She had HIM trained, I tell ye!"
+
+"Miss Colton thinks me rather a bully, I am afraid," I said. "I did
+order her about rather roughly."
+
+Mr. Atwood burst into a laugh. "That Ezry Jones woman was the skipper's
+wife," he declared. "Makes a lot of diff'rence, that does. I was
+considerable of a bully myself afore Betsy got me on the parson's books.
+Now I'm the most peaceable critter ever you see. Your turn's comin',
+Miss Colton. All you got to do is be patient."
+
+"Joshua!" said Mrs. Atwood, in mild reproof. "You mustn't mind his talk,
+Miss Colton. He's a terrible joker."
+
+Miss Colton changed the subject. She did not so much as look at me again
+during the meal and, after it was over, she went to her room, explaining
+that she was very tired and would try to get a little sleep.
+
+I had discovered that the lighthouse, being close to the mainland, was
+equipped with a telephone. Now I begged permission to use it. I called
+up Denboro and asked to be connected with the Colton home. I felt very
+sure that there would be no sleep in the big house that night and I
+wished to relieve their anxiety and to send word to Mother. Mr. Colton
+himself answered my call.
+
+I announced my identity and explained where I was and that his daughter
+was in my care and perfectly safe.
+
+"Thank God!" was the fervent exclamation at the other end of the wire,
+and the voice which uttered it was shaking with emotion. "Stay where you
+are a moment, Paine. Let me tell my wife. She is almost crazy. Hold the
+wire."
+
+I held the wire and waited. The next voice which reached my ears was
+Mrs. Colton's. She asked a dozen questions, one after the other. Was
+Mabel safe? Was I sure she was safe? Wasn't the poor child almost dead
+after all she'd been through? What had happened? What was she doing away
+over there in that dreadful place? Why had I taken her there?
+
+I answered as well as I could, telling briefly of the collision in
+the fog and what followed. The explanation appeared to be rather
+unsatisfactory.
+
+"You take the wire, James," I heard the lady say. "I can't make it all
+out. Mabel is at some horrid lighthouse and there is no kerosene, or
+something. The poor child! Alone there, with that man! Tell him she must
+be brought home at once. It is dreadful for her! Think what she must
+have suffered! And with HIM! What will people say? Tell him to bring her
+home! The idea! I don't believe a word--"
+
+"Hello--hello, Paine!" Colton was at the 'phone once more. "Can you get
+Mabel--Miss Colton, over to Wellmouth, do you think?"
+
+"Yes. I will get a boat as soon as I can. Miss Colton is in her room,
+asleep I hope. She is very tired and I think she should rest until
+daylight. I will get her to Wellmouth in time for the morning train."
+
+"Never mind the train. I'll come after her in the auto. I will start
+now. I will meet you at the landing--at the wharf, if there is one."
+
+"Very well. Will you be good enough to send word to my mother that I am
+safe and sound? She will be worried."
+
+"Yes, yes, I'll send word. Tell Mabel to be careful and not take cold.
+. . . Yes, Henrietta, I am attending to everything. Good-by, Paine."
+
+That was all, not a word of thanks. I did not expect thanks and I made
+allowances for the state of mind at the mansion; but that telephone
+conversation, particularly Mrs. Colton's share in it, cast a gloom over
+my spirits. I did not care to hear more of Mr. Atwood's yarns and jokes.
+I went to my own room, but I did not sleep.
+
+At half-past five I was astir again. The lightkeeper, it appeared, had
+an auxiliary engine in a catboat which he owned and could let me have a
+sufficient supply of gasolene to fill the Comfort's tank. When this was
+done--and it took a long time, for Joshua insisted upon helping and
+he was provokingly slow--I returned to the sitting room and asked Mrs.
+Atwood to call Miss Colton.
+
+"Land sakes!" was the cheery answer, "I didn't have to call her. She's
+been up for fifteen minutes. Said she was goin' to take a cruise around
+the lighthouse. I cal'late you'll find her out there somewheres. Go
+and fetch her here. You two must have a bite--a cup of hot coffee and a
+biled egg, anyhow--afore you leave. Yes, you must. I shan't listen to a
+no from either of you."
+
+I went out and crossed the sandy yard to the whitewashed lighthouse.
+There was no sign of Miss Colton in the yard, but the door of the
+lighthouse was open and I entered. No one there. The stairs, winding
+upward, invited me to climb and I did so. The little room with the big
+lantern, the latter now covered with a white cloth, was untenanted
+also. I looked out of the window. There she was, on the iron gallery
+surrounding the top of the tower, leaning on the rail and gazing out
+over the water. She had not heard me. For a moment I stood there,
+watching her.
+
+She was not wearing Mrs. Atwood's gown now, but her own, wrinkled and
+stained from its last night's drenching in salt water, but dry now. She
+was bareheaded and her brown hair was tossing in the sea breeze. The
+sun, but a little way above the horizon and shining through the morning
+haze, edged her delicate profile with a line of red gold. I had never
+seen her look more beautiful, or more aristocratic and unapproachable.
+The memory of our night in the launch seemed more like an unbelievable
+dream than ever, and the awakening more cruel. For I was awake now. What
+I had heard over the 'phone had awakened me thoroughly. There should be
+no more dreaming.
+
+I stepped out upon the gallery.
+
+"Good morning," I said.
+
+She turned quickly, and I heard her catch her breath with a little gasp.
+
+"I beg pardon," said I; "I'm afraid I startled you."
+
+She was startled, that was evident, and, it seemed to me, a trifle
+embarrassed. But the embarrassment was but momentary.
+
+"Good morning," she said. "How very silent you can be when you choose,
+Mr. Paine. How long have you been standing there, pray?"
+
+"Only a moment. I came to call you to breakfast."
+
+"To breakfast?"
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Atwood insists upon our breakfasting before I take you
+ashore."
+
+"Oh! Why didn't you call me? I would have come down."
+
+"I did not see you until I reached the lantern room. My silence was not
+premeditated. I made noise enough, or so it seemed to me; but you were
+so wrapped in your thoughts--"
+
+"Nonsense!" She interrupted me almost sharply. "I was not 'wrapped' in
+anything, except the beauty of this view. It IS beautiful, isn't it?"
+
+"Very," I answered, but fear I was not looking at the view. It may be
+that she noticed this, for she said:
+
+"You have come into your own again, I see. So have I."
+
+She indicated her gown with a smile and a gesture. I laughed.
+
+"Yes," I said. "I have returned unto Joshua that which was his."
+
+"You should have kept it. You have no idea what a picturesque
+lightkeeper you make, Mr. Paine."
+
+Somehow or other this harmless joke hurt.
+
+"Yes," I answered, drily, "that is about my measure, I presume."
+
+Her eyes twinkled. "I thought the measure rather scant," she
+observed, mischievously. "I wish I might have a snap-shot of you in
+that--uniform."
+
+"I am afraid the opportunity for that is past."
+
+"But it--" with a little bubble of mirth, "it was so funny."
+
+"No doubt. I am sorry I can't oblige you with a photograph."
+
+She looked at me, biting her lip.
+
+"Is your bump of humor a dent, Mr. Paine?" she inquired. "I am afraid it
+must be."
+
+"You may be right. I don't appreciate a joke as keenly as--well, as Mr.
+Carver, for instance."
+
+She turned her back upon me and led the way to the door.
+
+"Shall we go to breakfast?" she asked, in a different tone.
+
+Breakfast was a silent meal, so far as we two were concerned. The
+Atwoods, however, talked enough to make up the deficiency.
+
+As we rose from the table the young lady turned to the lightkeeper.
+
+"Mr. Atwood," she said, "I presume you are going to be kind enough to
+take me to Wellmouth?"
+
+"Why, Miss, I--I wan't cal'latin' to. Mr. Paine here, he's got all the
+gas he needs now and he'll take you over in his launch."
+
+"Oh! But you will go, if I ask you to?"
+
+"Sartin sure."
+
+"You have been so very kind that I dislike to ask another favor; but
+I hoped you would send a telegram for me. My father and mother will be
+very much alarmed and I must wire them at once. You will have to send it
+'collect,' for," with a rueful smile, "I haven't my purse with me."
+
+"Land sakes! that'll be all right. Glad to help you out."
+
+I put in a word. "It will not be necessary," I said, impatiently. "I
+have money enough, Miss Colton."
+
+I was ignored.
+
+"Thank you so much, Mr. Atwood. You will come with me and look out for
+the telegram?"
+
+"Yes. Yes--yes. But I don't see what you need to send no telegram for.
+Mr. Paine here, he telephoned to your folks last night."
+
+She looked at me and then at Joshua.
+
+"Last night?" she repeated.
+
+"Why yes--or this mornin' after you'd gone to bed. He was dead set on
+it. I could see he was 'most tired and wore out, but he wouldn't rest
+till he'd 'phoned your folks and told 'em you was safe and sound. Didn't
+seem to care nothin' about himself, but he was bound your pa and ma
+shouldn't worry."
+
+She turned to me.
+
+"Did you?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," I answered. "Your father is to meet us at the Wellmouth wharf."
+
+"Why didn't you tell me?"
+
+"I intended to. I meant to tell you when I saw you in the lighthouse,
+but--I forgot it."
+
+She said no more, but when Joshua, hat and boots on, met us at the door
+she spoke to him.
+
+"You need not go, Mr. Atwood," she said. "It will not be
+necessary--now."
+
+"Godfreys! I'd just as soon as not. Ruther, if anything."
+
+He hurried down to the beach. I was about to follow when a hand touched
+my arm. I turned, to find a pair of brown eyes, misty but wonderful,
+looking into mine.
+
+"Thank you," said Miss Colton.
+
+"Don't mention it."
+
+"But I shall. It was thoughtful and kind. I had forgotten, or--at
+least--I took it for granted there was no 'phone here. But you did not
+forget. It was thoughtful, but--it was like you."
+
+I was breathing hard. I could not look at her.
+
+"Don't," I said, roughly. "It was nothing. Anyone with common sense
+would have thought of it and done it, of course."
+
+"I did not. But you--Oh, it was like you! Always some one else and
+never yourself. You were worn out. You must have been, after--" with a
+shudder--"last night. Oh, I have so much to thank you for! I--"
+
+"Come on! Heave ahead!" It was Mr. Atwood, bellowing from the beach.
+"All aboard for Wellmouth and pints alongshore."
+
+Betsy appeared in the door behind us.
+
+"All ready, be you?" she asked.
+
+I could not have answered, but my companion was once more as calm and
+cool as the morning itself.
+
+"All ready," she answered. "Good-by, Mrs. Atwood. And thank you over and
+over again. You have been so kind." With a sudden flash of enthusiasm.
+"Every one is kind. It is a beautiful world. Good-by."
+
+She ran lightly down the slope and I followed.
+
+The trip to Wellmouth was of but a half hour's duration. Atwood talked
+all the time. Miss Colton laughed at his stories and seemed to be
+without a care. She scarcely looked at me during the passage, and if
+she caught me looking at her and our glances met she turned away. On the
+wharf was a big automobile, surrounded by a gaping crowd of small boys
+and 'longshore loafers.
+
+We drew up beside the landing. Our feminine passenger sprang ashore and
+ran up the steps, to be seized in her father's arms. Mrs. Colton was
+there also, babbling hysterically. I watched and listened for a moment.
+Then I started the engine.
+
+"Shove off," I ordered. The lightkeeper was astonished.
+
+"Ain't ye goin' ashore?" he demanded.
+
+"No," I answered, curtly. "I'm going home. Shove off."
+
+The launch was fifty feet from the pier when I heard a shout. Colton
+was standing on the wharf edge, waving his hand. Beside him stood his
+daughter, her mother's arms about her.
+
+"Here! Paine!" shouted Colton. "Come back! Come back and go home with us
+in the car. There is plenty of room."
+
+I did not answer.
+
+"Come back! Come back, Paine!" he shouted again. Mrs. Colton raised her
+head from her daughter's shoulder.
+
+"James! James!" she cautioned, without taking the trouble to lower
+her voice, "don't make a scene. Let him go in his dreadful boat, if he
+prefers to."
+
+"Paine!" cried her husband again.
+
+"I must look out for the launch," I shouted. "I shall be home almost as
+soon as you are. Good-by."
+
+I left the lightkeeper at his island. He refused to accept a cent
+from me, except in payment for the gasolene, and declared he had had a
+"fust-rate night of it."
+
+"Come and see us again, Mr. Paine," he said. "Come any time and fetch
+your lady along. She's a good one, she is, and nice-lookin', don't talk!
+You're a lucky critter, did you know it? Haw! haw! Good-by."
+
+The Comfort never made better time than on that homeward trip. I
+anchored her at her moorings, went ashore in the skiff, and hastened up
+to the house. It was past ten o'clock and I would be over an hour
+late at the bank. A fine beginning for my first day in charge of the
+institution!
+
+The dining-room door was open, but no one was in the dining-room. The
+kitchen door, however, was shut and from behind it I heard Dorinda's
+voice.
+
+"You can get right out of this house," she said. "I don't care if you've
+got a mortgage on the rest of the Cape! You ain't got one on this house,
+and you nor nobody else shall stay in it and talk that way. There's the
+door."
+
+"Dorindy!" wailed another voice--Lute's. "You mustn't talk so--to him!
+Don't you realize--"
+
+"I realize that if I had a husband instead of a jellyfish I shouldn't
+have to talk. Be still, you!"
+
+A third voice made itself heard.
+
+"All right," it growled. "I ain't anxious to stay here any longer than
+is necessary. Bein' an honest, decent man, I'm ashamed to be seen here
+as it is. But you can tell that low-lived sneak, Ros Paine, that--"
+
+I opened the door.
+
+"You may tell him yourself, Captain Dean," said I. "What is it?"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+My unexpected entrance caused a sensation. Lute, sitting on the edge of
+one of the kitchen chairs, an agonized expression on his face, started
+so violently that he almost lost his balance. Dorinda, standing with her
+back toward me, turned quickly. Captain Jedediah Dean, his hand on the
+knob of the door opening to the back yard, showed the least evidence of
+surprise. He did not start, nor did he speak, but looked at me with a
+countenance as grim and set and immovable as if it had been cast in a
+mould.
+
+Lute, characteristically enough, uttered the first word.
+
+"By time!" he gasped. "It's Ros himself! Ros--Ros, you know what he
+says?" He pointed a shaking finger at the captain. "He says you--"
+
+"Keep still!" Dorinda struck her palms together with a slap, as if her
+husband had been what she often called him, a parrot. Then, without
+another glance in his direction, she stepped backward and took her stand
+beside me.
+
+"I'm real glad to see you home safe and sound, Roscoe," she said,
+calmly.
+
+"Thank you, Dorinda. Now, Captain Dean, I believe you were sending a
+message to me just now. I am here and you can deliver it. What is it you
+have to say?"
+
+Before he could answer Dorinda spoke once more.
+
+"Lute," she said, "you come along with me into the dinin'-room."
+
+"But--but, Dorindy, I--"
+
+"You come with me. This ain't any of my business any more, and it never
+was any of yours. Come! move!"
+
+Lute moved, but so slowly that his progress to the door took almost a
+full minute. His wife paid no heed to the pleading looks he gave her
+and stood majestically waiting until he passed her and crossed the sill.
+Then she turned to me.
+
+"If you want me, just speak," she said. "I shall be in the dining-room.
+There ain't no need for Comfort to know about this. She doesn't know
+that you've been away and hasn't been worried at all. I'll look out for
+her. Lute'll be with me, so you needn't fret about him, either."
+
+She closed the door.
+
+"Now, Captain Dean," I repeated, "what is it you have to say?"
+
+The captain's grim mouth twisted in a savage sneer.
+
+"You know what I'm goin' to say as well as I do," he answered.
+
+"Possibly, but you had better say it."
+
+"It won't take me long. You've sold that Shore Lane land to Jim Colton,
+ain't you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+My calm affirmative seemed to astonish him. I think he expected a
+denial. His hand left the doorknob and he stepped toward me.
+
+"You--HAVE!" he cried. "You don't even take the trouble to--You have the
+face to stand there and tell me--"
+
+He almost choked.
+
+"Captain Dean," I interrupted, quickly, "wait a moment. Listen to me. I
+have sold Colton the land. I did not intend selling it at all, least of
+all to him, but circumstances compelled me to change my mind. I did it
+because I was obliged to. It is done. I am sorry I had to do it, but,
+under the same conditions, I should do it again. I am not ashamed."
+
+He leaned forward, steadying himself with a hand upon the table, and
+stared at me.
+
+"You ain't ashamed?" he repeated. "You ain't ashamed! Why, you--Didn't
+you tell me you'd never sell that land? Didn't you promise me?"
+
+"I did not promise anything. At first I promised not to sell without
+letting you know of my intention. Afterward I took back that promise."
+
+"But why did you sell? You said it wan't a question of price at all. You
+made your brags that it wan't! To me, over and over, you made 'em. And
+then you sneak off and--"
+
+"Stop! I did think it was not a question of price. Then I found out that
+it was."
+
+He clenched his fist.
+
+"Damn you!" he shouted, furiously. "You liar! You sneak! After I--"
+
+"That is enough, Captain. This has gone far enough. I have sold the
+land--for what seemed to me a good reason--and your calling me names
+will not change the situation. I don't care to hear them. You had better
+go."
+
+"WHAT?"
+
+"I say you had better go."
+
+"_I_ go? You'll put me out?"
+
+"No, certainly not. But there is nothing to be gained by a quarrel, and
+so, for both our sakes, I think you had better go away."
+
+For a moment I thought he would strike me. Then his fist fell heavily
+upon the table. His lips were quivering like those of an infirm person.
+He looked old, and I had never before considered him an old man.
+
+"What made you do it?" he cried, desperately. "What made you do it? Is
+it all settled? Can't you back out?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But--but why didn't you sell to me--to the town? If you had to sell why
+didn't you do that? Why did you go to him?"
+
+"Because he would pay me what I needed; because his price was higher
+than any you or the town could offer."
+
+"How did you know that? My heavens above! I'd have paid--I'd have paid
+most anything--out of my own pocket, I would. I tell you this meant
+everything to me. I'm gettin' along in years. I ain't been any too well
+liked here in Denboro, and I knew it. You think that didn't make no
+difference to me, maybe I pretended it didn't, but it did; by the
+Almighty, it did! I intended for folks to be thankful to me for--I--Oh,
+WHY did you do it, Ros?"
+
+I shook my head. I was sorry for him now--sorry and astonished. He
+had given me a glimpse of the real Jedediah Dean, not the pompous,
+loud-voiced town politician and boss, but the man desirous of fighting
+his way into the esteem and liking of his neighbors.
+
+"I'm sorry, Captain," I said. "If I had known--if I had had time to
+think, perhaps I might have acted differently. But I had no time. I
+found that I must have the money which that land would bring and that I
+had to have it immediately. So I went where I knew I could get it."
+
+"Money? You needed money? Why didn't you come to me? I'd have lent it to
+you."
+
+"You?"
+
+"Yes, me. What do you cal'late I've been backin' you all this summer
+for? What did I get you that job in my bank for?"
+
+"YOU? George Taylor engaged me for that place."
+
+"Maybe so. But do you suppose he did it on his own hook? HE couldn't
+hire you unless the directors said so and the directors don't say
+anything, the majority of 'em, unless I say it first. _I_ put the notion
+in George's head. He didn't know it, but I did. And I put it in the
+directors' heads, too. Ros Paine, I always liked you, though I did use
+to think you was a gentleman loafer. There was a somethin' about you
+even then, a kind of hands-off, mind your own business independence
+about you that I liked, though I knew mighty well you never liked me.
+And after you and me got together on this Lane thing I liked you more
+and more. You could tell me to go to the devil as well as you could
+anybody else, and I'll shake hands with a feller that'll do that. I
+always wanted a boy of my own. Nellie's a good girl, no better afloat or
+ashore, but she is a girl. George is a good feller, too, but somehow,
+or 'nother, I'd come to think of you as the kind of son I'd have had, if
+the Almighty had give me one. Oh, what did you do this for?"
+
+I could not answer. He had overwhelmed me. I never felt meaner or more
+wicked. I had been ready to face him, ready for the interview with him
+which I knew was inevitable and which I had foreseen, but not this kind
+of an interview.
+
+He took his hand from the table and stood erect.
+
+"Money!" he said. "You wanted money. You must have wanted it bad. What
+did you want it for?"
+
+"I can't tell you."
+
+"You had better. It's your only chance, I tell you that!"
+
+"I can't help it, Captain Dean. I can't tell you. I wish I could."
+
+He regarded me in silence for a moment. Then: "All right," he said,
+solemnly. "I'm through with you, Ros Paine. In one way I'm through with
+you. In another I ain't. I cal'late you was figgerin' to go straight up
+to the bank, as bold as brass, and set down at George Taylor's desk and
+draw your wages like an honest man. Don't you ever dare set foot in that
+bank again. You're fired! bounced! kicked out! Do you understand?"
+
+"Very well; I understand."
+
+"You will understand, whether you do now or not. Colton's got the Shore
+Lane and you've got his dirty money in your pocket. He's paid you, but
+the town ain't. The town you sold out ain't paid you--but I'm goin' to
+see that it does. Ros Paine, I'm goin' to drive you out of Denboro."
+
+He turned on his heel, strode to the door, went out, and slammed it
+behind him.
+
+I went back to the dining-room. Lute was nowhere in sight, but Dorinda
+was standing by the mantel, dusting, as usual, where there was no
+dust. I did not speak but walked toward the door leading to the stairs.
+Dorinda stepped in front of me.
+
+"Roscoe," she said, sharply, "can he do it?"
+
+"Do it?" I repeated. "What do you mean?"
+
+"Can he give you your walkin' papers at that bank? Oh, I heard him! I
+tried not to, but he hollered so I couldn't help it. That kitchen door
+ain't much thicker'n a sheet of paper, anyhow. Can he do it?"
+
+"I guess so. He seems to be boss of that institution."
+
+"But can't 'Lisha Warren or some of the other directors help you? Jed
+Dean don't boss 'Lisha Warren--not much."
+
+"I shan't ask for help. Please don't trouble me, Dorinda."
+
+I tried to pass her, but she would not permit it.
+
+"I shan't trouble you, Ros," she said. "I guess you've got troubles
+enough without me. But you let me ask you this: Are you goin' to let him
+drive you out of town?"
+
+I shrugged my shoulders. "It may not take much driving," I announced,
+listlessly, "if it were not for Mother I should be only too glad to go."
+
+Again I tried to pass, but this time she seized my arm.
+
+"Roscoe Paine," she cried, "don't you talk like that. I don't want to
+hear another word like that. Don't you let Jed Dean or nobody else drive
+you out of Denboro. You ain't done nothin' to be ashamed of, have you?"
+
+"I sold that land to Mr. Colton. I don't know how Captain Jed found it
+out, but it is true enough; I did exactly what he said I did."
+
+"Found out! He found out from somebody over to Ostable where the deed
+was recorded, that is how he found out. He said so. But I don't care for
+that. And I don't care if you sold the Lane ten times over. You didn't
+do it for any mean or selfish reason, that I know. There ain't a selfish
+bone in your body, Roscoe. I've lived along with you all these years and
+I know. Nobody that was mean or selfish would give up their chances in
+life and stay here in this one-hoss town because his ma was sick and had
+took a notion that she couldn't bear to part with him. Don't you mind
+Jed Dean--pig-headed old thing!--or anybody else in Denboro. Hold up
+your head and show 'em you don't care for the whole caboodle of 'em. Let
+'em talk and act like fools, if they want to. It comes natural to most
+of 'em, I cal'late, and they'll be sorry some day. Don't you let 'em
+drive you out. They won't come inside THIS house with their talk, not
+while I'm here, I tell you that!"
+
+Her eyes, behind the brass-rimmed spectacles, flashed fire. This was the
+longest speech I had ever heard her make.
+
+"There, Dorinda," I said, smiling, "don't worry on my account. I'm not
+worth it. And, whatever I do, I shall see that you and Lute are provided
+for."
+
+Instead of calming her this statement seemed to have the exactly
+opposite effect.
+
+"Stop it!" she snapped. "The idea! Do you suppose it's for myself I'm
+talkin' this way to you? I guess 'tain't! My soul! I'll look out for
+myself, and Lute, too, long's I'm able to walk; and when I can't walk
+'twill be because I've stopped breathin'. It's for you I'm talkin', for
+you and Comfort. Think of her."
+
+I sighed. "I have been thinking of her, Dorinda," I declared. "She
+doesn't know a word about this."
+
+"Then tell her."
+
+"I can't tell her my reason for selling, any more than I can tell
+you--or Dean."
+
+"Tell her what you can, then. Tell her as much of the truth as you can.
+She'll say you done right, of course. Whatever you do is right to her."
+
+I made no reply. She regarded me keenly.
+
+"Roscoe," she went on, "do you WANT to go somewheres else?"
+
+"I don't know, Dorinda. I might as well be here as anywhere, perhaps. I
+am rather blue and discouraged just now, that's all."
+
+"I can't blame you much. But bein' discouraged don't do any good.
+Besides, it's always darkest just afore dawn, they say; anyhow, I've had
+that preached to me ever since I was a girl and I've tried to believe
+it through a good many cloudy spells. Roscoe, don't you let old Jed or
+anybody DRIVE you out of Denboro, but, if you WANT to go--if you think
+you'd ought to go, to earn money or anything, don't you worry about
+leavin' Comfort. I'll look out for her as well as if she was my own.
+Remember that."
+
+I laid my hand on hers. "Thank you," I said, earnestly. "Dorinda, you
+are a good woman."
+
+To my surprise the eyes behind the spectacles became misty. Tears
+in Dorinda's eyes! When she spoke it was in, for her, a curiously
+hesitating tone.
+
+"Roscoe," she faltered, "I wonder if you'd be cross if I asked about
+what wan't any of my business. I'm old enough to be your grandma, pretty
+nigh, so I'm goin' to risk it. You used to be independent enough. You
+never used to care for the town or anybody in it. Lately you've changed.
+Changed in a good many ways. Is somethin' besides this Lane affair
+frettin' you? Is somebody frettin' you? Are you worried about--that
+one?"
+
+She had caught me unawares. I felt the blood tingle in my cheeks. I
+tried to laugh and made a failure of the attempt.
+
+"That one?" I repeated. "I--Why, I don't understand, Dorinda."
+
+"Don't you? Well, if you don't then I'm just talkin' silly, that's all.
+If you do, I . . . . Humph! I might have known it!"
+
+She turned like a shot and jerked the door open. There was a rattle, a
+series of thumps, and a crash. Lute was sprawling upon the floor at
+our feet. I gazed at him in open-mouthed astonishment. Dorinda sniffed
+scornfully.
+
+"I might have known it," she repeated. "Sittin' on the stairs there,
+listenin', wan't you?"
+
+Lute raised himself to his knees.
+
+"I think," he panted, "I--I swan! I shouldn't wonder if I'd broke my
+leg!"
+
+"Um-hm! Well, if you'd broke your neck 'twouldn't have been no more'n
+you deserve. Shame on you! Sneakin' thing!"
+
+"Now, Dorindy, I--I wan't listenin'. I was just--"
+
+"Don't talk to me. Don't you open your mouth. And if you open it to
+anybody else about what you heard I'll--I declare I'll shut you up
+in the dark closet and keep you there, as if you was three year old.
+Sometimes I think your head ain't any older than that. Go right out of
+this house."
+
+"But where'll I go?"
+
+"I don't care where you go. Only don't let me set eyes on you till
+dinner time. March!"
+
+Lute backed away as she advanced, waving both his hands and pleading and
+expostulating.
+
+"Dorindy, I tell you . . . WHAT makes you so unlikely? . . . I was just
+. . . All right then," desperately, "I'll go! And if you never set eyes
+on me again 'twon't be my fault. You'll be sorry then. If you never see
+me no more you'll be sorry."
+
+"I'll set eyes on you at dinner time. I ain't afraid of that. Git!"
+
+She followed him to the kitchen and then returned.
+
+"Ah hum!" she sighed, "it's pretty hard to remember that about darkest
+just afore dawn when you have a burden like that on your shoulders to
+lug through life. It's night most of the time then. Poor critter! he
+means well enough, too. And once he was a likely enough young feller,
+though shiftless, even then. But he had a long spell of fever three year
+after we was married and he's never been good for much since. I try to
+remember that, and to be patient with him, but it's a pretty hard job
+sometimes."
+
+She sighed again. I had often wondered how a woman of her sense could
+have married Luther Rogers. Now she was telling me.
+
+"I never really cared for him," she went on, looking toward the door
+through which the discomfited eavesdropper had made his exit. "There was
+somebody else I did care for, but he and I quarreled, and I took Luther
+out of spite and because my folks wanted me to. I've paid for it since.
+Roscoe," earnestly, "Roscoe, if you care for anybody and she cares for
+you, don't let anything keep you apart. If she's worth a million or
+fifty cents that don't make any difference. It shouldn't be a matter
+of her folks or your folks or money or pride or anything else. It's a
+matter for just you and her. And if you love each other, that's enough.
+I tell you so, and I know."
+
+I was more astonished than ever. I could scarcely believe that this was
+the dry, practical Dorinda Rogers who had kept house for Mother and me
+all these years. And with my astonishment were other feelings, feelings
+which warned me that I had better make my escape before I was trapped
+into betraying that which, all the way home from Mackerel Island, I
+had been swearing no one should ever know. I would not even admit it to
+myself, much less to anyone else.
+
+I did not look at Dorinda, and my answer to her long speech was as
+indifferent and careless as I could make it.
+
+"Thank you, Dorinda," I said. "I'll remember your advice, if I ever need
+it, which isn't likely. Now I must go to my room and change my clothes.
+These are too badly wrinkled to be becoming."
+
+When I came down, after an absence of half an hour, she was sitting by
+the window, sewing.
+
+"Comfort's waitin' to see you, Roscoe," she said. "I've told her all
+about it."
+
+"YOU'VE told her--what?" I demanded, in amazement.
+
+"About your sellin' the Lane and losin' your job, and so on. Don't look
+at me like that. 'Twas the only common-sense thing to do. She'd heard
+old Leather-Lungs whoopin' out there in the kitchen and she'd heard you
+and me talkin' here in the dinin'-room. I hoped she was asleep, but she
+wan't. After you went upstairs she called for me and wanted to know
+the whole story. I told her what I knew of it. Now you can tell her the
+rest. She takes it just as I knew she would. You done it and so it's all
+right."
+
+"Roscoe, is that you?"
+
+It was Mother calling me. I went into the darkened room and sat down
+beside the bed.
+
+She and I had much to say to each other. This time I kept back nothing,
+except my reason for selling the land. I told her frankly that that
+reason was a secret, and that it must remain a secret, even from her.
+
+"I hate to say that to you, Mother," I told her. "You don't know how I
+hate it. I would tell you if I could."
+
+She pressed my hand. "I know you would, Roscoe," she said. "I am quite
+content not to know. That your reason for selling was an honorable one,
+that is all I ask."
+
+"It was that, Mother."
+
+"I am sure of it. But," hesitatingly, "can you tell me this: You did not
+do it because you needed money--for me? Our income is the same as ever?
+We have not met with losses?"
+
+"No, Mother. Our income is the same that it has been for years."
+
+"Then it was not because of me; because you felt that I should have
+those 'luxuries' you talk about so often? Oh, I don't need them, Roscoe
+I really don't. I am--I scarcely dare say it for fear it may not be
+true--but I THINK I am better than I have been. I feel stronger."
+
+"I know you are better, Mother. Doctor Quimby is very much encouraged."
+
+"Is he? I am so glad! For your sake, Boy. Perhaps the time will come
+when I may not be your Old Man Of the Sea as I am now. But you did not
+sell the land because of me?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You did not sell it for yourself, that I know. I wonder . . . But,
+there! I mustn't wonder, and I won't. Captain Dean was very angry and
+unreasonable, Dorinda says. I suppose his pride is hurt. I'm afraid he
+will make it unpleasant for you in the village."
+
+"He will do his best, I'm sure of that."
+
+"You poor boy! As if you did not have enough to bear without that! He
+has asked you to resign from the bank?"
+
+I smiled. "He has pitched me out, neck and crop," I answered. "I
+expected that, of course."
+
+"But what will you do? Can't Mr. Taylor help you? Perhaps he will use
+his influence with the captain."
+
+"I don't need his influence, Mother. I took the place merely because of
+a whim. Now that I have lost it I am no worse off than I was before."
+
+"But you enjoyed the work?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+I was only beginning to realize how much I had enjoyed it. I sighed,
+involuntarily.
+
+Mother heard the sigh and the pressure of her hand on mine tightened.
+
+"Poor boy!" she said again. Then, after a moment, "I wish I might talk
+with Miss Colton about this."
+
+I started violently. What had put that idea in her head?
+
+"Miss Colton!" I exclaimed. "Mother, whatever you do, don't speak to
+her--about me."
+
+"Why not? She has not called on us for some time, but she is interested
+in you, I know. And perhaps her father could--"
+
+"Mother, don't."
+
+She was silent for an instant. Then she said, quietly. "Boy, what is it?
+Is there something else you haven't told me? Something about--her?"
+
+"No, no," I stammered.
+
+"Isn't there? Are you sure?"
+
+I do not know what reply I should have made. Her question, coming so
+close upon the heels of Dorinda's hints, upset me completely. Was it
+written upon my face, for everyone to see? Did I look the incredible
+idiot that I knew myself to be? For I did know it. In spite of my
+determination not to admit it even in my innermost thoughts, I knew. I
+was in love with Mabel Colton--madly, insanely, hopelessly in love with
+her, and should be until my dying day. I had played with fire too long.
+
+Before I could answer there came a knock at the door. It opened and
+Dorinda's head appeared. She seemed, for her, excited.
+
+"There's somebody to see you, Ros," she said. "You'd better come out
+soon's you can. He's in a hurry."
+
+"Someone to see me," I repeated. "Who is it?"
+
+Dorinda glanced at Mother and then at me. She did not so much as
+whisper, but her lips formed a name. I rose from my chair.
+
+Mother looked at me and then at Dorinda.
+
+"Who is it, Roscoe?" she asked.
+
+"Just a caller on a business matter," I answered, hurriedly. "I'll be
+out at once, Dorinda."
+
+"But who is it, Roscoe?"
+
+"It's Mr. Colton, Mother. He has probably come to--"
+
+"Dorinda," Mother interrupted me, "ask Mr. Colton to come in here."
+
+"But, Mother--"
+
+"Ask him to come in here, Dorinda. I should like to meet him."
+
+Dorinda hesitated, but when Mother spoke in that tone none of us
+hesitated long. She disappeared. A moment later the door opened wide
+and Colton entered. The sudden transition from sunlight to semidarkness
+bewildered him for a moment, doubtless, for he stood there without
+speaking. Dorinda, who had ushered him in, went out and closed the door.
+I stepped forward.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. Colton," I said, as calmly as I could. "You have
+never met my mother, I think. Mother, this is Mr. Colton, our neighbor."
+
+Colton turned toward the bed and murmured a few words. For once, I
+think, he was startled out of his customary cool self-possession. And
+when Mother spoke it seemed to me that she, too, was disturbed.
+
+"Roscoe," she said, quickly, "will you draw that window-shade a little
+more? The light is rather strong. Thank you. Mr. Colton, I am very glad
+to meet you. I have heard of you often, of course, and I have met your
+daughter. She has been very kind to me, in many ways. Won't you sit
+down?"
+
+I drew forward a chair. Our visitor accepted it.
+
+"Thank you, Mrs. Paine," he said. "I will sit. To be honest, I'm very
+glad of the opportunity. I have been under the doctor's care for the
+past few weeks and last night's performance is not the best sort of
+treatment for a tender digestion. The doctor told me what I needed was
+rest and sleep and freedom from care. I told him I probably shouldn't
+get the last item till I was dead. As for the rest--and sleep--Humph!"
+with a short laugh, "I wonder what he would have said if he had seen me
+last night."
+
+Mother's face was turned away from him on the pillow. "I am sorry to
+hear that you have been ill, Mr. Colton," she said.
+
+"Ill! I'm not ill. I have never been sick in my life and I don't propose
+to begin now. If the crowd in New York would let me alone I should be
+all right enough. There is a deal on there that is likely to come to
+a head pretty soon and my people at the office are nervous. They keep
+'phoning and telegraphing and upsetting things generally. I'll have to
+run over there myself in a day or two and straighten it out. But there!
+I didn't come here to worry you with my troubles. I feel as if I knew
+you, Mrs. Paine."
+
+"Knew me? Knew ME, Mr. Colton?"
+
+"Yes. I have never had the pleasure of meeting you before, but my
+daughter has spoken of you often. She is a great admirer of yours. I
+won't tell you all the nice things she has said about you, for she has
+probably said them to you or to your son, already."
+
+"You should be very proud of your daughter, Mr. Colton. She is a
+charming girl."
+
+"Thanks. Just among us three I'll admit, in confidence, that I think
+you're right. And I'll admit, too, that you have a pretty good sort of
+a son, Mrs. Paine. He is inclined to be," with a glance in my direction,
+"a little too stubborn and high-principled for this practical world,
+but," with a chuckle, "he can be made to listen to reason, if you give
+him time enough. That is so, isn't it, Paine?"
+
+I did not answer. Mother spoke for me.
+
+"I am not sure that I understand you, Mr. Colton," she said, quietly.
+"I presume you are referring to the sale of the land. I do not know why
+Roscoe changed his mind in that matter, but I do know that his reason
+was a good one, and an honest one."
+
+"He hasn't told it to you, then?"
+
+"No. But I know that he thought it right or he never would have sold."
+
+I broke in here. I did not care to hear my own praises.
+
+"Did you call to discuss the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton?" I inquired. "I
+thought that affair settled."
+
+"It is. No, I didn't come to discuss that. Mrs. Paine, I don't know why
+your son sold me that land, but I'm inclined to think, like you, that he
+wouldn't have done it unless he thought it was right. I know mighty
+well he wasn't afraid of me. Oh, you needn't laugh, young man. There
+ARE people in that fix, plenty of 'em. No, I didn't come to talk 'Lane.'
+That bird is dead. I came, first of all, to thank you for what you did
+for my daughter last night."
+
+Mother turned her head and looked at him.
+
+"For your daughter? Last night? Roscoe, what does he mean?"
+
+"Nothing, Mother, nothing," I said, hastily. "I was unlucky enough to
+run the Comfort into Miss Colton's canoe in the bay yesterday afternoon
+in the fog. Fortunately I got her into the launch and--and--"
+
+"And saved her from drowning, then and a dozen times afterward. He
+hasn't told you, Mrs. Paine? No, I can see that he hasn't. All right, I
+will. Paine, if your ingrowing modesty won't stand the pressure you had
+better leave the room. This is about what happened, Mrs. Paine, as Mabel
+tells it."
+
+I tried to prevent him, but it was no use. He ignored me altogether and
+went on to tell of the collision in the fog, the voyage across the
+bay, and my telephone from the lighthouse. The story, as he told it,
+magnified what he called my coolness and common-sense to a ridiculous
+extent. I lost patience as I listened.
+
+"Mr. Colton," I interrupted, "this is silly. Mother, the whole affair
+was more my fault than my good judgment. If I had anchored when it first
+happened we should have been home in an hour, instead of drifting all
+night."
+
+"Why didn't you anchor, then?" asked Colton.
+
+"Because I--I--"
+
+I stopped short. I could not tell him why I did not anchor. He laughed
+aloud.
+
+"That's all right," he said. "I guess Mabel's story is near enough to
+the truth for all practical purposes. Mrs. Paine," with a sudden change
+to seriousness, "you can understand why I have come here this morning.
+If it had not been for your son's pluck, and cool head, and good
+judgment I--Mrs. Colton and I might have been--God knows in what state
+we might have been to-day! God knows! I can't think of it."
+
+His voice trembled. Mother put out a hand and took mine.
+
+"Roscoe," she said, "Roscoe."
+
+"So I came to thank him," went on our visitor. "This isn't the first
+time he has done something of the sort. It seems almost as if he--But
+never mind that. I'm not going to be foolish. Your son and I, Mrs.
+Paine, have been fighting each other most of the summer. That's all
+right. It was a square fight and, until this newest freak of his--and he
+has got me guessing as to what it means--I admit I thought he was quite
+as likely to lick me as I was to lick him. I've watched him pretty
+closely and I am a pretty fair judge of a man, I flatter myself. Did he
+tell you that, a while ago, I offered him a place in my office?"
+
+"In your office? You offered him that? No, he did not tell me. Roscoe!"
+reproachfully.
+
+"I did not tell you, Mother, because it was not worth while. Of course I
+could not accept the offer."
+
+She hesitated and, before she spoke, Colton broke in.
+
+"Why not? That was what you were going to say, Mrs. Paine, I take it.
+That is what _I_ said--why not? And I say it again. Paine, that offer is
+still open."
+
+I shook my head. "I told you then that I could not accept," I said. "It
+is impossible."
+
+"Why is it impossible? So far as I am concerned I believe you would be a
+mighty good investment."
+
+"Impossible," I said again.
+
+"Nothing is impossible. We won't waste words. I am going to be plain and
+I think Mrs. Paine will excuse me. You think you should not leave your
+mother, perhaps. I understand that reason. It would be a good one,
+except that--well, that it isn't good any longer. Your mother is much
+better than she was. Quimby--her doctor and mine--says so. I shall see
+that she is well looked after. If she needs a nurse she shall have
+one, the best we can get. Oh, be still and let me finish! You can talk
+afterward. You're not going so far away. New York isn't the end of the
+earth; it is only the center, or it thinks it is. You'll be in close
+touch with Denboro all the time and you can come here whenever you want
+to. Now will you take my offer?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Young man, if I didn't know there were brains inside that head of yours
+I should think it was, as the boys say, solid ivory. Confound you! Here,
+Mrs. Paine," turning to Mother, "you take him in hand. Tell him he must
+come with me."
+
+"Mother--" I protested. He cut my protest short.
+
+"Tell him," he ordered.
+
+Mother looked at me. "I think, perhaps, you should accept, Roscoe," she
+said, slowly.
+
+"Accept! Mother!"
+
+"Yes. I--I think you should. I am sure everyone else would think so. I
+should not wish you to do so if Mr. Colton was merely trying to be kind,
+to help you from motives of gratitude, or charity--"
+
+"Don't use that word, please," snapped "Big Jim." "When I lose my mind I
+may take to charity, but not before. Charity! Good Lord!"
+
+"But it is not charity. I am better, Roscoe; I realize it every day;
+and with Dorinda I shall get on perfectly well. I have been thinking of
+something like this for a long time. You owe it to yourself, Roscoe. The
+chance is one that many men would be very, very glad to have come their
+way. I shall not urge you, Boy. You must decide for yourself, and I know
+you will; but, Roscoe, I shall be quite contented--yes, glad and proud,
+if you say yes to Mr. Colton."
+
+The gentleman named nodded emphatic approval. "That's the talk!" he
+exclaimed. "Mrs. Paine, I congratulate you on your common-sense."
+
+"I think, like you, that you will have made a good investment, Mr.
+Colton," was Mother's answer.
+
+I rose to my feet. This must be ended now, for all time.
+
+"I thank you, Mr. Colton," I said, though not as steadily as I could
+have wished. "I am greatly obliged to you and I realize that you offer
+me an exceptional opportunity, or what would be one for another man. But
+I cannot accept."
+
+"Look here, Paine! I'll speak plainer still. I understand that that
+Shore Lane trade of ours has become common property, or, at any rate, it
+will be common property soon. If I see the situation clearly, Denboro is
+likely to be a rather unpleasant place for you. That fellow Dean has a
+lot of influence here--heaven knows why!--and he hates me worse than Old
+Nick hates holy water. Oh, I know you're not afraid of him! But what
+is the use of taking the rough road when the smooth one is right before
+your feet? Say yes, and let's end it."
+
+"No," said I, stubbornly. "No, Mr. Colton."
+
+"You mean it? Very well, I leave you in your Mother's hands. She will
+probably bring you to your senses before long. Mrs. Paine, you can
+handle him, I have no doubt. I am glad to have met you, and, with your
+permission, I shall call on you again. So will Mabel. As for you, young
+man, I thank you for last night's work. You will, perhaps, accept thanks
+if you refuse everything else. Good morning."
+
+He rose, bowed, and walked to the door. As he opened it he staggered,
+perceptibly. I thought, for an instant, that he was going to fall, and I
+sprang to his assistance.
+
+"It's all right," he said, gruffly. "This digestion of mine sets my head
+spinning sometimes. That doctor says I shall upset completely unless I
+rest. I told him he was a fool and I intend to prove it. Let me be. I
+can walk, I should hope. When I can't I'll call the ambulance--or the
+hearse. I'll find the way out, myself. Good-by."
+
+The door closed behind him.
+
+"Roscoe," said Mother, quickly, "come here."
+
+I turned toward her. She was looking at me with a strange expression.
+
+"What is it, Mother?" I asked, anxiously.
+
+"Roscoe," she whispered, "I know him. I have met him before."
+
+"Know him! You have met Mr. Colton--before? Where?"
+
+"At our home in the old days. He came there once with--with your father.
+He was our guest at dinner."
+
+I could scarcely believe it. Then, as the thought of what this might
+mean flashed to my mind, I asked anxiously:
+
+"Did he know you, do you think?"
+
+"No, I am sure he did not. We met but once and I have," with a little
+sigh, "changed since then. But I recognized him. The name of Colton was
+familiar to me when you first mentioned it, some time ago, but I did
+not remember where I had heard it. Of course, I did not connect this Mr.
+Colton with--that one."
+
+I frowned. This complicated matters still more, and further
+complications were superfluous.
+
+"And, knowing this, knowing that he might recognize you at any time, you
+urged me to accept his offer," I said, reproachfully. "Mother!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Mother, how can you? Would you have me go to New York and enter a
+banking house where, any hour of any day, I might be recognized by some
+of the men I once knew? Where I might expect at any moment to be called
+by my real name? How can you?"
+
+She gazed at me earnestly. "Why not tell him, Roscoe?" she asked.
+
+I stared at her, aghast. "Tell him!" I repeated. "Tell him who I am?
+Tell him our story, the story that--Mother, are you crazy?"
+
+"No. I believe I am sane, at least. I have been thinking a great deal of
+late. As I have been growing stronger I have been thinking more and more
+and I am not sure that you and I have been right in hiding here as
+we have done. It was all my fault, I know, but I was weak and--and I
+dreaded all the gossip and scandal. But, Boy, it was a mistake. After
+all, we have done no wrong, you and I--we, personally, have nothing to
+be ashamed of. Why not end all this? Go to Mr. Colton, tell him who you
+are, tell him our story; then, if he still wants you--"
+
+I interrupted. "No, Mother," I said, "no, no! It is impossible. Even if
+he knew, and it made no difference, I could not do it. I may go away! I
+may feel that I must go, if you are well enough for me to leave you, but
+I can not go with him. I ought not to see him again. I must not see HER.
+. . . . Oh, don't you understand? Mother, I--I--"
+
+She understood. I had seized her hand and now she stroked it gently with
+her own.
+
+"So it is true," she said, quietly. "You love her, Roscoe."
+
+"Yes! yes! yes!" I answered, desperately. "Oh, don't speak of it,
+Mother! I am insane, I think."
+
+"Does she care for you, Boy? Have you spoken to her?"
+
+"MOTHER! Is it likely?"
+
+"But I think she does care, Roscoe. I think she does. She must."
+
+This was so characteristic that, although I was in anything but a
+laughing mood, I could not help smiling.
+
+"How could she help it? I presume you mean," I observed, sarcastically.
+"There, Mother, don't worry. I did not intend that you or anyone else
+should know what an idiot I am, but don't worry--I shan't do anything
+ridiculous or desperate. I may go somewhere, to get away from Denboro,
+and to earn a living for you and me, but that is all. We won't speak of
+her again."
+
+"But if she does care, Boy?"
+
+"If she does--Of course, she doesn't--but, if she does, can't you see
+that only makes it worse? Think who she is and who and what I am! Her
+family--Humph! you have not met her mother; I have."
+
+"But if she loves you--"
+
+"Do you think I should permit her to ruin her life--for me?"
+
+"Poor boy! I am SO sorry!"
+
+"It is all right, Mother. There! we won't be foolish any longer. I am
+going for a walk and I want you to rest. I am glad, we have had this
+talk; it has done me good to speak what I have been thinking. Good-by. I
+will be back soon."
+
+She would have detained me, but I broke away and went out. My walk was a
+long one. I tramped the beach for eight long miles and, though one
+might think that my adventures of the night before had provided exercise
+enough, this additional effort seemed to do no harm. I forgot dinner
+entirely and supper was on the table when I returned to the house.
+
+I found Dorinda in a condition divided between anxiety and impatience.
+
+"Have you seen anything of that man of mine?" she demanded. "I ain't
+seen hide nor hair of him since I pitched him out of this room this
+mornin'!"
+
+I was surprised and a little disturbed. I remembered Lute's threat about
+"never seein' me no more."
+
+"You don't suppose he has run away, or anything like that, do you?" I
+asked.
+
+"He wouldn't run far; runnin's too much like work. But why he wan't home
+for dinner I don't understand. I never knew him to miss a meal's vittles
+afore. I hope nothin' ain't happened to him, that's all. Well, we'll
+have our supper, anyhow. After that we'll see."
+
+But we did not have to see. We were at the table when we heard the sound
+of hurrying footsteps on the walk. The gate closed with a bang. Dorinda
+rose from her chair.
+
+"I swan! I believe that's him now!" she exclaimed.
+
+"If it is, he is certainly running this time," I observed. "What--"
+
+The door was thrown open and the missing member of the household
+appeared. He was red-faced and panting, but there was a curious air of
+dignified importance in his bearing. Dorinda's lips shut tightly.
+
+"Well, Lute," said I, "where have you been?"
+
+Lute struggled for breath.
+
+"Don't ask me where I've been!" he gasped. "Don't waste no time askin'
+ME questions. Get your hat on, Ros! Get your hat on this minute! Where
+did I put that? Where in time did I put it?"
+
+He was fumbling in his pockets. Dorinda and I looked at each other. She
+shook her head.
+
+"He's gone stark foolish at last!" she said, with decision. "Well,
+I've been expectin' it! Lute Rogers, stop pawin' yourself over and act
+sensible, if you can. What is the matter with you?"
+
+"Matter with me! Nothin's the matter with ME; but there's somethin' the
+matter with other folks, I tell you that! Doctor Quimby's been there
+twice already, and the telephone's been goin', and--and--My time! you
+ought to seen her face! 'Twas just as white as--as--WHERE did I put that
+letter?"
+
+His "pawing" became more frantic than ever. His wife stepped forward and
+seized him by the arm.
+
+"Stop it, I tell you!" she commanded. "Stop it! Who's sick? Whose
+telephone's ringin'? What letter are you talkin' about? Answer me! Stop
+that Saint Vitus dancin' and answer me this minute!"
+
+She gave him a shake and his cap fell to the floor. From it fell an
+envelope. Lute pulled himself free and pounced upon it.
+
+"There 'tis!" he exclaimed. "By time! I was scart I'd lost it! Read it,
+Ros! read it!"
+
+He handed me the envelope. It bore my name. I tore it open--took out the
+sheet of notepaper which it inclosed, and read as follows:
+
+
+"Dear Mr. Paine:
+
+"Father is very ill, and I am in great trouble. I think you, perhaps,
+can help us both. Will you come over at once? PLEASE do.
+
+"Hastily yours,
+
+"MABEL COLTON."
+
+
+"And--and--" panted Lute, "she told me to tell you to please hurry. And
+you'd ought to seen her face! She--"
+
+I heard no more. I did not wait to get my hat, as the excited bearer
+of the note had urged me to do. Bareheaded, I hurried out of the
+dining-room and along the path toward the Colton mansion.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+It was early in the evening, but the big house was lighted as if for a
+reception; lights in the rooms above, lights in the library and hall
+and drawing-room. Doctor Quimby's horse and buggy stood by one of
+the hitching posts and the Colton motor car was drawn up by the main
+entrance. From the open windows of the servants' quarters came the
+sounds of excited voices. I hastened to the front door. Before I could
+push the button of the electric bell the door was opened. Johnson, the
+butler, peered out at me. Most of his dignity was gone.
+
+"Is it you, Mr. Paine?" he asked, anxiously. "Come in, sir, please. Miss
+Mabel has been asking for you not a minute ago, sir."
+
+I entered the hall. "What is it, Johnson?" I asked, quickly. "How is Mr.
+Colton?"
+
+The butler looked behind him before replying. He shook his head
+dubiously.
+
+"He's awful ill, sir," he whispered. "The doctor's been with him for an
+hour; 'e's unconscious and Mrs. Colton is takin' on something terrible.
+It's awful, sir, ain't it!"
+
+His nervousness was sufficient indication of the general demoralization
+of the household. And from one of the rooms above came the sobs of a
+hysterical woman.
+
+"Brace up, man," I whispered in reply. "This is no time for you to go to
+pieces. Where is Miss Colton?"
+
+"She's with her father, sir. Step into the library and I'll call her."
+
+He was not obliged to call her, for, at that moment, I heard her voice
+speaking from the head of the stairs.
+
+"Who is it, Johnson?" she asked, in a low tone.
+
+"It's Mr. Paine, Miss Mabel."
+
+I heard a little exclamation, of relief it seemed to me. Then she
+appeared, descending the staircase. Her face was, as Lute had said,
+pale, but her manner was calm, much calmer than the butler's.
+
+She came to me and extended her hand. "Thank you for coming," she said.
+"I was sure you would."
+
+"How is your father, Miss Colton?" I asked.
+
+"He is no worse. Come into the library, please. Johnson, if Mother or
+the doctor need me, I shall be in the library. Come, Mr. Paine."
+
+We entered the library together. The room in which I had had my two
+memorable encounters with "Big Jim" Colton was without its dominant
+figure now. His big armchair was drawn up beside the table and the
+papers and writing materials were in the place where I had seen them. A
+half-burned cigar lay in the ash tray. But the strong fingers which
+had placed it there were weak enough now and the masterful general of
+finance was in his room upstairs fighting the hardest battle of his
+life, fighting for that life itself. A door at the end of the library, a
+door which I had not noticed before, was partially open and from within
+sounded at intervals a series of sharp clicks, the click of a telegraph
+instrument. I remembered that Colton had told me, in one of his
+conversations, that he had both a private telephone and telegraph in his
+house.
+
+Miss Colton closed the door behind us, and turned to me.
+
+"Thank you for coming," she said, again. "I need help and I could think
+of no one but you. You have hurried dreadfully, haven't you!"
+
+She was looking at my forehead. I caught a glimpse of my face in the
+mirror above the mantel and reached for my handkerchief.
+
+"I must have run every step of the way," I answered. "I didn't realize
+it. But never mind that. Tell me about your father."
+
+"He was taken ill soon after he returned from your house. He was in the
+library here and I heard him call. When I reached him he was lying upon
+the couch, scarcely able to speak. He lost consciousness before we could
+get him to his room. The doctor says it is what he has feared, an attack
+of acute indigestion, brought on by anxiety and lack of rest. It was my
+fault, I am afraid. Last night's worry--Poor Father!"
+
+For just a moment I feared she was going to break down. She covered her
+eyes with her hand. But she removed it almost immediately.
+
+"The doctor is confident there is no great danger," she went on.
+"Danger, of course, but not the greatest. He is still unconscious
+and will be for some time, but, if he is kept perfectly quiet and not
+permitted to worry in the least, he will soon be himself again."
+
+"Thank God for that!" I exclaimed, fervently. "And your mother--Mrs.
+Colton--how, is she?"
+
+Her tone changed slightly. I inferred that Mrs. Colton's condition was
+more trying than serious.
+
+"Mother is--well, in her nervous state any shock is disturbing. She is
+bearing the anxiety as well as we should expect."
+
+I judged that not much was expected.
+
+"It was not on account of Father's illness that I sent for you, Mr.
+Paine," she went on. "If he had not been ill I should not have needed
+you, of course. But there is something else. It could not have happened
+at a more unfortunate time and I am afraid you may not be able to give
+me the help I need. Oh, I hope you can! I don't know what to do. I know
+it must be dreadfully important. Father has been troubled about it for
+days. He has been saying that he must go to New York. But the doctor had
+warned us against his going and so we persuaded him to wait. And now . . .
+sit down, please. I want to ask your advice."
+
+I took the chair she indicated. She drew another beside me and seated
+herself.
+
+"Mr. Paine--" she began. Then, noticing my expression, she asked, "What
+is it?"
+
+"Nothing," I answered, "nothing except--Isn't that the telegraph
+instrument I hear? Isn't someone calling you?"
+
+"Yes, yes, it is Mr. Davis, Father's confidential man, his broker, in
+New York. He is trying to get us, I am sure. He telephoned an hour ago.
+I got a part of his message and then the connection was broken off.
+Central says there is something the matter with the wire, a big storm in
+Connecticut somewhere. It may take a whole day to repair it. And it is
+SO important! It may mean--I don't know WHAT it may mean! Oh, Mr. Paine,
+DO you know anything about stocks?"
+
+I looked at her blankly.
+
+"Stocks?" I repeated.
+
+"Yes, yes," a trifle impatiently. "Stocks--the stock market--railroad
+shares--how they are bought and sold--do you know anything about them?"
+
+I was more puzzled than ever, but I answered as best I could.
+
+"A very little," I replied. "I used to know a good deal about them once,
+and, of late, since I have been in the Denboro bank, my knowledge has
+been brushed up a bit. But I am afraid it is pretty fragmentary."
+
+"Do you know anything about Louisville and Transcontinental?"
+
+I started. Louisville and Transcontinental was the one stock about which
+I did know something. Of late I had read everything the papers printed
+concerning it. It was the stock in which George Taylor had risked
+so much and which had come so near to ruining him. No wonder I was
+startled. Why did she mention that particular stock?
+
+"What?" I stammered.
+
+"Louisville and Transcontinental," she repeated, eagerly. "DO you know
+anything about it? Why do you look at me like that?"
+
+I must be careful. It was not possible that she could have learned
+George's secret. No one knew that except George himself, and his
+brokers, and I. Yet--yet why did she ask that question? I must be on my
+guard.
+
+"I did not realize that I was looking at you in any extraordinary way,
+Miss Colton," I answered.
+
+"But you were. Why? Do you know anything about it? If you do--oh, if you
+do you may be able to help me, to advise me! And, for Father's sake, I
+want advice so much."
+
+For her father's sake! That did not sound as if her question concerned
+George or me. A trifle reassured, I tried to remember something of what
+I had read.
+
+"I know, of course," I answered, slowly, "what every one knows, that the
+California and Eastern has been, or is reported to have been, trying to
+get control of the L. and T. Its possession would give the California
+people the balance of power and mean the end of the present rate war
+with the Consolidated Pacific. The common stock has fluctuated between
+30 and 50 for months and there have been all sorts of rumors. So much
+the newspapers have made common property. That is all I know."
+
+"You did not know then that Father and his associates control the
+California and Eastern?"
+
+I leaned back in my chair.
+
+"No," I said, "I did not know that. Then your father--"
+
+"Father tells me a great deal concerning his business affairs. I have
+been very much interested in this. It seems almost like a great war and
+as if Father were a general. He and his associates have gradually bought
+up the C. and E. until they practically own it. And they have been
+working to get the Louisville road. Last winter, you remember, there was
+a great excitement and the stock went up and then down again. That
+was when it looked as if the other side--the Consolidated Pacific--had
+beaten Father, but they had not. You remember that?"
+
+I remembered it. That is to say, George had told me of the rise and fall
+of the stock. It was then that he had bought.
+
+"Yes," I said, "I remember something of it."
+
+"If Father had stayed in New York he would have won before this. Oh,"
+with a burst of pride, "they can NEVER beat him when he is leading the
+fight himself! He has, through his brokers, been selling--what do they
+call it? Oh, yes, selling the Louisville stock 'short' ever since. I am
+not sure just what that means, but perhaps you know."
+
+"I think I do," I answered, thoughtfully. "He has been selling, quietly,
+so as to force the stock down, preparatory to buying in. I remember
+the papers have said that the C. and E. were reported as having lost
+interest in the Louisville. That was only a blind, I presume."
+
+"Yes. Father never gives up, you know that. But he was very anxious that
+the Consolidated Pacific people should think he had. And now--now, when
+he is so ill--comes this! Mr. Davis telephoned that--Yes, what is it?"
+
+There had been a knock at the door. It opened and the butler appeared.
+
+"A telegram for Mr. Colton, Miss Mabel," he said.
+
+"Give it to me. Tell the man to wait, Johnson. It is from Mr. Davis,"
+she exclaimed, turning to me. "I am sure it is. Yes. See!"
+
+She handed me the yellow telegram. I read the following aloud:
+
+
+"James W. Colton,
+
+"Denboro, Mass.
+
+"Galileo potato soap currency tomato deeds command army alcohol thief
+weather family--"
+
+
+"What on earth--!" I exclaimed.
+
+"That is in the code, Father's private code. Don't you see? The code
+book is here somewhere. I must find it."
+
+She was rummaging in the drawer of the desk. With a sigh of relief she
+produced a little blue leather-covered book.
+
+"Here it is," she said. "Now read me the telegram and I will write the
+translation. Hurry!"
+
+I read again:
+
+"'Galileo'--"
+
+"That means 'Consolidated Pacific'. Go on."
+
+It took us five minutes to translate the telegram. When we had finished
+the result was:
+
+"Consolidated Pacific crowd wise situation. Strong buying close market
+to-day. Expect worse to-morrow. We are bad shape. Can deliver only part.
+Sure big advance opening and more follow. What shall I do? Why do
+not you answer private telegraph line? Telephone out order. Wire
+instructions immediately. Better still come yourself. Davis."
+
+"Is that all?" asked Miss Colton. "What answer shall we make?"
+
+"Wait. Wait, please, until I dig some sort of sense out of all this.
+'Wise situation'--"
+
+"Wise TO situation, I presume that means. The Consolidated Pacific
+is wise to the situation. 'Wise' is slang, isn't it? It used to be at
+college."
+
+"It is yet, even in Denboro. Humph! let me think. 'Sure big advance
+opening.' I suppose that means the market will open with Louisville
+and Transcontinental at a higher figure and that the price is sure to
+advance during the day."
+
+"Yes. Yes, it must mean that. But why should Mr. Davis be so excited
+about it? He said something about 'ruin' over the 'phone. What does 'We
+are bad shape' mean? And 'Can deliver only part'?"
+
+"I don't know . . . unless . . . Humph! If we had some particulars. Why
+don't you answer on the private telegraph, as he says?"
+
+"Because I can't. Don't you see? I can't. There is no telegraph operator
+in the house. When we first came Father had a secretary, who could use
+the telegraph; but he sent him back to New York. Said he was sick of the
+sight of him. They did not get on well together."
+
+"But your father must have used the telegraph since."
+
+"Yes. Father used it himself. He was a telegraph operator when he was
+a young man. Oh, you don't know what a wonderful man my father is! His
+story is like something in a book. He--But never mind that. Hark! there
+is the instrument going again. It must be dreadfully important. Mr.
+Davis is so worried."
+
+"He seems to be, certainly."
+
+"But what shall we do?"
+
+"I wish I knew, but I don't. You know nothing of the particulars?"
+
+"No. Nothing more than I have told you. Oh, CAN'T you help me? I feel
+somehow as if Father had left me in charge of his affairs and as if I
+must not fail. Now, when he is helpless! when he is . . . Oh, can't YOU
+do something, Mr. Paine? I thought you might. You are a banker."
+
+"A poor imitation only, I am afraid. Let me think. Did you tell this man
+Davis of your father's illness?"
+
+"No. I thought perhaps Father would not wish it. And I had no
+opportunity . . . Oh, dear! there is someone at the door again! Who is
+it?"
+
+Johnson's voice replied. "It is me, Miss Mabel," he said. "The telegraph
+person says he can't wait any longer. He 'asn't 'ad his supper. And
+there is a twenty-five-cent charge for bringing the message, Miss."
+
+"Tell him he must wait a minute longer," I answered, for her. "Miss
+Colton, it seems to me that, whether we can do anything or not, we
+should know the particulars. Tell that man--Phineas Cahoon, the depot
+master, I suppose it is--that there is an answer and he must wait for
+it. Now let's consult that code."
+
+She took the code book and I picked up a sheet of paper and a pencil
+from the table.
+
+"We must ask him to send all the particulars," I declared. "Look up
+'send' in the code, Miss Colton."
+
+She was turning the pages of the little book when the butler knocked
+once more.
+
+"He says he can't send any message until morning, Miss Mabel. The
+telegraph office closes at eight o'clock."
+
+The code book fell to the table. Miss Colton stared helplessly at me.
+
+"What SHALL we do?" she breathed.
+
+I rose to my feet. "Wait, Johnson," I called. "Make that man wait a
+moment longer. Miss Colton, I have an idea. Would your father be willing
+to--but, that is silly! Of course he would! I'll see Cahoon myself."
+
+I found Phineas, long-legged and gaunt, sitting on the front step of the
+colonial portico. He had been invited into the hall, but had refused the
+invitation. "I had on my workin' duds," he explained later. "A feller
+that's been handlin' freight all the afternoon ain't fit to set on
+gold-plated furniture." He looked up in surprise as I came out.
+
+"Well, for thunder sakes!" he exclaimed, in astonishment. "It's Ros
+Paine! What in the nation are you doin' in here, Ros? Ain't married into
+the family, have ye? Haw, haw!"
+
+I could have kicked him for that pleasantry--if he had not been just
+then too important a personage to kick. As it was, his chance remark
+knocked my errand out of my head, momentarily.
+
+"How's the old man, Ros?" he whispered. "They tell me it's brought on by
+high livin', champagne wine and such. Is it?"
+
+"Phin," said I, ignoring the question, "would you stay up all night for
+twenty dollars?"
+
+He stared at me.
+
+"What kind of conundrum's that?" he demanded. "'Would I set up all night
+for twenty dollars?' That may be a joke, but--"
+
+"Would you? I mean it. Mr. Colton is sick and his daughter needs some
+one to send and receive messages over their private telegraph wire. She
+will pay you twenty dollars--or I will, if she doesn't--if you will stay
+here and do that for her. Will you?"
+
+For a minute he sat there staring at me.
+
+"You mean it, Ros?" he asked, slowly. "You do, hey! I thought
+p'raps--but no, it's long past April Fool day. WILL I do it? Show me the
+telegraph place quick, afore I wake up and come out of the ether. Twenty
+dollars! Consarn it, I send messages all the week for twelve, and hustle
+freight and sell tickets into the bargain. I ain't had no supper, but
+never mind. Make it twenty-five and I'll stay all day to-morrer."
+
+I led him into the library and explained his presence to Miss Colton.
+She was delighted.
+
+"It is SO good of you, Mr. Cahoon," she exclaimed. "And you shan't
+starve, either. I will have some supper sent in to you at once. You can
+eat it while you are at work, can't you?"
+
+She hurried out to order the supper. Phineas, in accordance with my
+request, seated himself in the little room adjoining the library, before
+the telegraph instrument.
+
+"Thunder!" he observed, looking about him. "I never expected to send
+messages for King Solomon in all his glory, but I cal'late I can stand
+it if Sol can. S'pose there'd be any objection to my takin' off my coat?
+Comes more nat'ral to work in my shirt sleeves."
+
+I bade him take it off and he did so.
+
+"This feller's in some hurry," he said, nodding toward the clicking
+instrument. "Shall I tell him we're on deck and ready for business?"
+
+"Yes, tell him."
+
+His long fingers busied themselves with the sender. A sharp series of
+clicks answered the call. Phineas glanced apprehensively out into the
+library.
+
+"Say, he ain't no parson, is he?" he chuckled. "Wants to know what in
+hell has been the trouble all this time. What'll I tell him?"
+
+"Tell him to send particulars concerning L. and T. at once. All the
+particulars."
+
+The message was sent. The receiver rattled a hasty reply.
+
+"He says you know all the particulars already. You must know 'em. Wants
+to know if this is Mr. Colton."
+
+"Tell him Mr. Colton is here, in the house. That will be true enough.
+And say we wish all particulars, figures and all. We want to know just
+where we stand."
+
+The demand for particulars was forwarded. There was more clicking.
+
+"Give me a piece of paper and a pencil, quick," urged Phineas. "This is
+a long feller."
+
+While he was writing the "long feller," as the telegraph ticked it off,
+Miss Colton and the butler appeared, the latter bearing a loaded tray.
+He drew a little table up beside the operator and placed the tray upon
+it. Then he went away. The telegraph clicked and clicked and Cahoon
+wrote. Miss Colton and I watched him anxiously.
+
+"Say," observed Phineas, between intervals of clicks, "this feller's
+in some loony asylum, ain't he. This is pretty nigh as crazy as that
+message I fetched down. . . . Here 'tis. Maybe you folks know what it
+means, I don't. It's forty fathoms long, ain't it."
+
+It was long enough, surely. It was not all in the code jargon--Davis
+trusted the privacy of the wire sufficiently to send a portion of it in
+plain English--but he did not trust even that altogether. Miss Colton
+and I worked it out as we had the first telegram. As the translation
+progressed I could feel my hair tingling at the roots.
+
+Was it to help in such a complication as this that I had been summoned?
+I, of all people! These waters were too deep for me.
+
+Boiled down, the "particulars" for which Davis had been asked, and which
+he had sent, amounted to this: Colton, it seemed, had sold L. and T.
+"short" for a considerable period of time in order, as I had surmised,
+to force down the price and buy in at a reasonable figure. He had sold,
+in this way, about three-eighths of the common stock. Of this amount he
+had in his possession--in his broker's possession, that is--but two
+of the eighths. The "other crowd"--the Consolidated Pacific,
+presumably--had, as Davis now discovered, three-eighths actual
+certificates, in its pocket, had been acquiring them, on the quiet,
+while pretending to have lost interest. The public, unsuspecting
+powers in this, as in most of Wall Street little games, had still
+three-eighths. The "other crowd," knowing "Big Jim's" position, had but
+to force immediate delivery of the missing one-eighth--the amount of
+Colton's over-selling--and he might be obliged to pay Heaven knew what
+for the shares. He MUST acquire them; he must buy them. And the price
+which he would be forced to pay might mean--perhaps not bankruptcy for
+him, the millionaire--but certainly the loss of a tremendous sum and all
+chance of acquiring control of the road. "This has been sprung on us all
+at once," wired Davis. "They have got us cold. What shall I do? You must
+be here yourself before the market opens."
+
+And the man who "must be there himself" was critically ill and
+unconscious!
+
+The long telegram, several hundred words of it, was before us. I read it
+through again, and Miss Colton sat and looked at me.
+
+"Do you understand it--now?" she whispered, anxiously.
+
+"Yes, I think I do. . . . What is it, Phin?"
+
+"I was just wonderin'," drawled Cahoon's voice from the adjoining room,
+"if I couldn't eat a little mite of this supper. I've got to do it or
+have my nose and eyes tied up. Havin' all them good things settin' right
+where I can see and smell 'em is givin' me the fidgets."
+
+"Yes, yes, eat away," I said, laughing. And even Miss Colton smiled. But
+my laugh and her smile were but transient.
+
+"Is it--Does it mean that things are VERY wrong?" she asked, indicating
+the telegram.
+
+"They are very serious; there is no doubt of that."
+
+The instrument clicked.
+
+"Say, Ros," said Phin, his mouth full, "this feller's gettin' as fidgety
+as I was afore I got afoul of this grub. He wants to know what his
+instructions are. What'll he do?"
+
+"What shall you tell him?" asked Miss Colton.
+
+"I don't know," I answered. "I do not know. I am afraid I am of no use
+whatever. This is no countryman's job. No country banker, even a
+real one, should attempt to handle this. This is high finance with a
+vengeance. I don't know. I think he . . . Suppose we tell him to consult
+the people at your father's office."
+
+She shook her head. "No," she said. "The people at the office know
+nothing of it. This was Father's own personal affair. No one knows of it
+but Mr. Davis."
+
+"How about them instructions?" this from Cahoon.
+
+"Tell him--yes, tell him Mr. Colton cannot leave here at present and
+that he must use his own judgment, go ahead on his own responsibility.
+That is the only thing I see to do, Miss Colton. Don't worry; he must be
+a man of experience and judgment or your father never would use him. He
+will pull it through, I am sure."
+
+I was by no means as confident as I pretended to be, however, and the
+next message from Davis proved my forebodings to be well founded. His
+answer was prompt and emphatic:
+
+
+Matter too important. Decline to take responsibility. Must have definite
+instructions or shall not act. Is this Mr. Colton himself?
+
+
+"He would not act without Father's orders in a matter like this. I was
+afraid of it. And he is growing suspicious. Oh, CAN'T you help me, Mr.
+Paine? CAN'T you? I relied on you. I felt sure YOU would know what to
+do. I am--I am SO alone; and with Father so ill--I--I--"
+
+She turned away and leaned her head upon her hand on the table. I felt
+again the desperate impulse I had felt when we were alone on board the
+launch, the impulse to take her in my arms and try to comfort her, to
+tell her that I would do anything--anything for her. And yet what could
+I do?
+
+"Can't you help me?" she pleaded. "You have never failed me before."
+
+There came a knock at the door and Johnson's voice called her name.
+
+"Miss Mabel," he whispered, "Miss Mabel, will you come, please? The
+doctor wants you right away."
+
+She rose quickly, drawing her hand across her eyes as she did so.
+
+"I am coming, Johnson," she said. Then, turning to me, "I will be back
+as soon as I can. Do try--try to think. You MUST, for Father's sake, for
+all our sakes."
+
+She left the room. I rose and, with my hands in my pockets, began to
+pace the floor. This was the tightest place I had ever been in. There
+had been a time, years before, when I prided myself on my knowledge
+of the stock market and its idiosyncrasies. Then, in the confidence of
+youth, I might have risen to a situation like this, might have tackled
+it and had the nerve to pull it through or blame the other fellow if I
+failed. Now I was neither youthful nor confident. Whatever I did would
+be, in all human probability, the wrong thing, and to do the wrong thing
+now meant, perhaps, ruin for the sick man upstairs. And she had trusted
+me! She had sent for me in her trouble! I had "never failed her before"!
+
+I walked the floor, trying hard to think. It was hard to think calmly,
+to be sensible, and yet I realized that common-sense and coolness were
+what I needed now. I tried to remember the outcome of similar situations
+in financial circles, but that did not help me. I remembered a play I
+had seen, "The Henrietta" was its name. In that play, a young man with
+more money than brains had saved the day for his father, a Wall Street
+magnate, by buying a certain stock in large quantities at a critical
+time. He arrived at his decision to buy, rather than sell, by tossing a
+coin. The father had declared that his son had hit upon the real secret
+of success in stock speculation. Possibly the old gentleman was right,
+but I could not make my decision in that way. No, whatever I did must
+have some reason to back it. Was there no situation, outside of Wall
+Street, which offered a parallel? After all, what was the situation?
+Some one wished to buy a certain thing, and some one else wished to
+buy it also. Neither party wanted the other to get it. There had been a
+general game of bluff and then . . . Humph! Why, in a way, it was like
+the original bidding for the Shore Lane land.
+
+It was like it, and yet it was not. I owned the land and Colton wanted
+to buy it; so also did Jed Dean. Each side had made bids and had been
+refused. Then the bidders had, professedly, stood pat, but, in reality,
+they had not. Jed had told me, in his latest interview, that he
+would have paid almost anything for that land, if he had had to. And
+Colton--Colton had invented the Bay Shore Development Company. That
+company had fooled Elnathan Mullet and other property holders. It had
+fooled Captain Jed. It had come very near to fooling me. If Mabel Colton
+had not given me the hint I might have been tricked into selling. Then
+Colton would have won, have won on a "bluff." A good bluff did sometimes
+win. I wondered . . .
+
+I was still pacing the floor when Miss Colton returned to the library.
+She was trying hard to appear calm, but I could see that she was greatly
+agitated.
+
+"What is it?" I asked. "Is he--"
+
+"He is not as well just now. I--I must not leave him--or Mother. But I
+came back for a moment, as I told you I would. Is there anything new?"
+
+"No. Davis has repeated his declaration to do nothing without orders
+from your father."
+
+She nodded. "Very well," she said, "then it is over. We are
+beaten--Father is beaten for the first time. It makes little difference,
+I suppose. If he--if he is taken from us, nothing else matters. But
+I hoped you . . . never mind. I thank you, Mr. Paine. You would have
+helped him if you could, I know."
+
+Somehow this surrender, and the tone in which it was made, stirred me
+more than all else. She had trusted me and I had failed. I would not
+have it so.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, earnestly, "suppose--suppose I should go ahead
+and make this fight, on my own hook. Suppose I should give Davis the
+'instructions' he is begging for. Have I permission to do it?"
+
+She looked at me in surprise. "Of course," she said, simply.
+
+"Do you mean it? It may mean complete smash. I am no railroad man, no
+stock manipulator. I have an idea and if this trouble were mine I should
+act upon it. But it is not mine. It is your father's--and yours. I may
+be crazy to risk such a thing--"
+
+She stepped forward. "Do it," she commanded. "I tell you to do it. If it
+fails I will take the responsibility."
+
+"That you shall not do. But I will take the chance. Phin!"
+
+"Yup; here I be."
+
+"Send this message at once: 'Try your hardest to get hold of any shares
+you can, at almost any figure in reason, before the market opens. When
+it opens begin buying everything offered.' Got that?"
+
+"Yup. I've got it."
+
+"Sign it 'Colton' and send it along. I am using your father's name," I
+added, turning to her. "It seems to me the only way to avoid suspicion
+and get action. No one must know that 'Big Jim' is critically ill; you
+understand that."
+
+"Yes, I understand. But," hesitatingly, "to buy may mean paying
+tremendous prices, may it not? Can we--"
+
+"We must. Here is Davis's reply coming. What is it, Phin?"
+
+Cahoon read off the message as the receiver clicked.
+
+
+"You are insane. Buying at such prices will be suicide."
+
+
+"Tell him no. Tell him to let it leak out that Colton is seizing the
+opportunity to clinch his control of the road. The other crowd will
+think, if he is willing to buy at any price, that he cannot be so short
+as they supposed. Send all that, Phin. It is a bluff, Miss Colton,
+nothing but a bluff, but it may win. God knows I hope it will."
+
+She did not answer. Together we waited for the reply. It came as
+follows:
+
+
+All right if you say so, of course, but still think it suicide. I am
+off on the still hunt for those shares but don't believe one to be had,
+Consolidated bunch too sharp for that. Stay by the wire. Will report
+when I can. Good luck and good-by.
+
+
+"He's gone, I cal'late," observed Phineas. "Need me any more, do you
+think?"
+
+"Yes. You must stay here all night, just as I told you."
+
+"Right you be. Send word to the old woman, that's all, if you can.
+Cal'late she's waitin' at the kitchen door with a rollin' pin, by this
+time."
+
+"I will send the word, Mr. Cahoon," replied Miss Colton. "And--don't you
+think you could go home now, Mr. Paine? I know how exhausted you must
+be, after last night."
+
+"No home for me," I answered, with assumed cheerfulness. "Admirals of
+Finance are expected to stick by the ship. I will lie down here on the
+couch and Phineas can call me if I am needed. Don't worry, Miss Colton.
+Go to your father and forget us altogether, if you can. If--if I should
+be needed for--for any other cause, please speak."
+
+She looked at me in silence for a moment. Then she came toward me and
+held out her hand. "I shall not forget, whatever else I may do," she
+said, brokenly. "And I will speak if I need you, my friend."
+
+She turned hastily and went to the door.
+
+"I will send word to your people as well as Mr. Cahoon's," she added.
+"Try and sleep, if you can. Good night."
+
+The door closed behind her. Sleep! I was not likely to sleep. A man who
+has lighted the fuse of the powder magazine beneath him does not sleep
+much.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+And yet sleep I did, for a little while, just before morning broke. I
+had spent the night pacing the floor and talking to Phineas, who
+was wide awake and full of stories and jokes, to which I paid little
+attention. Miss Colton did not come to the library again. From the rooms
+above I heard occasional sobs and exclamations in Mrs. Colton's voice.
+Once Doctor Quimby peeped in. He looked anxious and weary.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" he hailed, "I heard you were here. This is a high old
+night, isn't it!"
+
+"How is he?" I asked.
+
+"About the same. No worse; in fact, he's better than he was a while ago.
+But he's not out of the woods yet, though I'm pretty hopeful, for the
+old boy has a husky constitution--considering the chances he's taken
+with it all his life. It's his wife that bothers me. She's worse than
+one of the plagues of Egypt. I've given her some sleeping powders now;
+they'll keep her quiet for a spell, I hope."
+
+"And Miss Colton--how is she?"
+
+"She! She's as calm and sensible and helpful as a trained nurse. By the
+Almighty, she is a wonder, that girl! Well, I must get back on my job.
+Don't have a millionaire patient every day in the week."
+
+At three o'clock came a message from Davis. He had not been able
+to secure a single share. Did his instructions to buy still hold? I
+answered that they did and he replied that he was going to get a nap
+for an hour or so. "I shall need the rest, if I am any prophet," he
+concluded.
+
+It was shortly after this that I lay down on the couch. I had determined
+not to close my eyes, but I was utterly worn out, I suppose, and
+exhaustion got the better of me. The next thing I knew the gray light of
+dawn was streaming in at the library windows and Johnson was spreading a
+tempting-looking breakfast on the table.
+
+I sprang up.
+
+"What time is it?" I demanded.
+
+"About half-past five, sir, or thereabouts," was the answer, in a tone
+of mingled weariness and resentment. Plainly Mr. Johnson had been up all
+night and considered himself imposed upon.
+
+I was thankful that my lapse from duty had been of no longer duration.
+It had been much too long as it was.
+
+"How is Mr. Colton?" I asked.
+
+"Better, sir, I believe. He is resting more quiet at present."
+
+"Where is Cahoon?"
+
+"Here I be," this from Phineas in the next room. "Have a good snooze,
+did you, Ros?"
+
+"Too good." I walked in and found him still sitting by the telegraph
+instrument. "Has anything happened?" I asked.
+
+"Nary thing. All quiet as the tomb since that last message, the one you
+heard. Pretty nigh fell asleep myself, I did. Guess I should have, only
+Miss Colton she came in and kept me comp'ny for a spell."
+
+"Miss Colton--has she been here? Why didn't you call me, Ros?"
+
+"I was goin' to, but she wouldn't let me. Said you was all wore out,
+poor feller, and that you wan't to be disturbed unless 'twas necessary.
+She's an awful nice young woman, ain't she. Nothin' stuck up about her,
+at all. Set here and talked with me just as sociable and folksy as if
+she wan't wuth a cent. Asked more questions than a few, she did."
+
+"Did she?" I was not paying much attention to his remarks. My mind was
+busy with more important things. I was wondering what Davis was doing
+just then. Phin went on.
+
+"Yup. I happened to remember that you wan't at the bank to-day and
+I asked her if she knew the reason why. 'How did you know he wasn't
+there?' says she. 'Alvin Baker told me fust,' I says, 'and Sam Wheeler
+told him. Everybody knew it and was wonderin' about it. They cal'lated
+Ros was sick,' I told her, 'but that couldn't be or he wouldn't be round
+here settin' up all night.' What WAS the reason you wan't there, Ros?"
+
+I thought it strange that he, and everyone else in town, did not know
+the reason before this. Was it possible that Captain Dean alone knew
+of my "treason" to Denboro, and that he was keeping the discovery to
+himself? Why should he keep it to himself? He had threatened to drive me
+out of town.
+
+"I had other business to-day, Phin," I answered, shortly.
+
+"Yup. So I gathered from what Cap'n Jed said. He was in the depot this
+noon sendin' a telegram and I asked him about you. 'Is Ros sick?' I
+says. 'Huh!' says he--you know how he grunts, Ros; for all the world
+like a hog--'Huh!' says he, 'sick! No, but I cal'late he'll be pretty
+sick afore long.' What did he mean by that, do you s'pose?"
+
+I knew, but I did not explain. I made no reply.
+
+"Twas a queer sort of talk, seemed to me," continued Phin. "I asked him
+again why you wan't at the bank, and he said you had other business,
+just same as you said now. He was ugly as a cow with a sore horn over
+somethin' and I judged 'twas best to keep still. That telegram he sent
+was a surprisin' thing, too. 'Twas to--but there! he made me promise
+I wouldn't tell and so I mustn't. I ain't told a soul--except one--and
+then it slipped out afore I thought. However, that one won't make no
+difference. She ain't interested in--in the one the telegram was sent
+to, 'tain't likely."
+
+"Where is Miss Colton now?" I asked.
+
+"With her ma and pa, I presume likely. Her and me set and whispered
+together for a long spell. Land sakes! she wouldn't let me speak
+louder'n a whisper for fear of wakin' you up. A body'd think you was a
+young-one in arms, the care she took of you."
+
+Again I did not answer, and again the garrulous station master continued
+without waiting for a reply.
+
+"I says to her, says I, 'It's a pity George Taylor ain't to home,' I
+says. 'I shouldn't wonder if he could help you with this Louisville
+stock you're so worried about. George was consider'ble interested in
+that stock himself a spell ago. I sent much as a dozen telegrams from
+him about that very stock to some broker folks up to Boston, and they
+was mighty anxious telegrams, too. I tell you!' I says."
+
+He had caught my attention at last.
+
+"Did you tell her that?" I demanded.
+
+"Sure I did! I never meant to, nuther. Ain't told another soul. You see,
+George, he asked me not to. But she's got a way with her that would make
+Old Nick confess his sins, if she set out to larn 'em. I was sort of
+ashamed after I told her and I explained to her that I hadn't ought to
+done it. 'But I guess it's all right now, anyway,' I says. 'If there was
+any trouble along of George and that stock I cal'late it's all over.
+He acted dreadful worried for a spell, but for the week afore he was
+married he seemed chipper as ever. Biggest change in him you ever see,'
+says I. 'So my tellin' you is all right, I guess,' I says. 'I'm sure
+it's all right,' says she, and her face kind of lighted up, as you might
+say. When she looked at me that way I'd have given her my house and lot,
+if she'd wanted 'em, though you needn't tell my old woman that I said
+so. He! he! 'Of course it's all right,' she says. 'But you had better
+not tell anyone else. We'll have it for our secret, won't we, Mr.
+Cahoon?' she says, smilin'. 'Sartin we will,' says I. And--well, by
+thunder!" as if the thought occurred to him for the first time. "I said
+that, and now I've been and blatted out the whole business to you! I am
+the DARNDEST fool!"
+
+I did not contradict him. I was too angry and disturbed even to speak to
+him for the moment. And, before I could speak, we were interrupted. The
+young lady herself appeared in the doorway. SHE had not slept, that was
+plain. Her face was pale and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes.
+As I looked at her I was more ashamed of my own unpremeditated nap than
+ever. Yet she was, as the doctor had said, calm and uncomplaining. She
+even smiled as she greeted us.
+
+"Good morning," she said. "Your breakfast is ready, Mr. Cahoon. I know
+you feel that you must be getting back to your work at the station."
+
+Phineas pulled out an enormous nickel watch and glanced at it.
+
+"Land sakes! most six, ain't it," he exclaimed. "I guess you're right.
+I'll have to be trottin' along. But you needn't fuss for no breakfast
+for me. I'm used to missin' a meal's vittles now and again and I et
+enough last night to last me one spell."
+
+He was hurrying from the room, but she would not let him go.
+
+"There has been no 'fuss' whatever, Mr. Cahoon," she said. "Breakfast is
+ready, here in the library. And yours is ready, too, Mr. Paine. I hope
+your few minutes' sleep has rested you. I am sorry you woke so soon. I
+told Johnson to be careful and not disturb you."
+
+"I deserve to be shot for sleeping at all," I declared, in self
+reproach. "I did not mean to. I lay down for a moment and--well, I
+suppose I was rather tired."
+
+"I know. Last night's experience was enough to tire anyone."
+
+"Nonsense! It was no worse for me than for you," I said.
+
+"Yes, it was. You had the care and the responsibility. I, you see, knew
+that I was well guarded. Besides, I slept for hours this morning. Come,
+both of you. Breakfast is ready."
+
+Phineas was already seated at the table, glancing over his shoulder at
+the butler, whose look of dignified disgust at being obliged to wait
+upon a countryman in his shirt sleeves would have been funny, if I had
+been in a mood for fun. I don't know which was the more uncomfortable,
+Cahoon or the butler.
+
+"Won't you join us, Miss Colton?" I asked.
+
+"Why--why, yes, perhaps I will, if you don't mind. I am not hungry but I
+will take a cup of coffee, Johnson."
+
+Phineas did almost all the talking while he remained with us, which was
+not long. He swallowed his breakfast in a tremendous hurry, a proceeding
+which still further discomposed the stately Johnson, and then rose and
+put on his coat.
+
+"I hate to leave you short handed and on a lee shore, Miss," he
+explained, apologetically; "but I know you understand how 'tis with me.
+My job's all I've got and I'll have to hang onto it. The up train's due
+in forty minutes and I've got to be on hand at the deepo. However, I've
+got that Davis feller's address and I'll raise him the first thing to
+send his messages to me and I'll get 'em right down here by the reg'lar
+telephone. He can use that--what-do-you-call-it?--that code thing, if
+he's scart of anybody's findin' out what he says. The boss school-marm
+of all creation couldn't read that gibberish without the book."
+
+I hated to have him go, but there was no alternative. After he had
+gone and she and I were left together at the table a sense of restraint
+seemed to fall upon us both. To see her sitting opposite me at the
+table, pouring my coffee and breakfasting with me in this intimate,
+family fashion, was so wonderful and strange that I could think of
+nothing else. It reminded me, in a way, of our luncheon at Seabury's
+Pond, but that had been out of doors, an impromptu picnic, with all a
+picnic's surroundings. This was different, quite different. It was so
+familiar, so homelike, so conventional, and yet, for her and me, so
+impossible. I looked at her and she, looking up at the moment, caught
+my eyes. The color mounted to her cheeks. I felt my own face flushing.
+Dorinda--practical, unromantic Dorinda--had guessed my feeling for this
+girl; Mother had divined it. It was plain enough for anyone to read.
+I glanced apprehensively at the butler, half expecting to see upon his
+clerical countenance the look of scornful contempt which would prove
+that he, too, was possessed of the knowledge. But he merely bent forward
+with a deferential, "Yes, sir. What is it?" and I meekly requested
+another roll. Then I began, desperately, to talk.
+
+I inquired about Mr. Colton's condition and was told that he was, or
+appeared to be, a trifle better. Mrs. Colton was, at last, thanks to
+the doctor's powders, asleep. Johnson left the room for the moment and
+I switched to the subject which neither of us had mentioned since the
+night before, the Louisville and Transcontinental muddle. I explained
+what had been done and pretended a confidence which I did not feel that
+everything would end well. She listened, but, it seemed to me, she was
+not as interested as I expected. At length she interrupted me.
+
+"Suppose we do not talk about it now," she said. "As I understand it,
+you--we, that is--have made up our minds. We have decided to do certain
+things which seem to us right. Right or wrong, they must be done now.
+I am trying very hard to believe them right and not to worry any more
+about them. Oh, I CAN'T worry! I can't! With all the rest, I--I--Please
+let us change the subject. Mr. Paine, I am afraid you must think me
+selfish. I have said nothing about your own trouble. Father--"
+she choked on the name, but recovered her composure almost
+immediately--"Father told me, after his return from your house this
+morning, that his purchase of the land had become public and that you
+were in danger of losing your position at the bank."
+
+I smiled. "That danger is past," I answered. "I have lost it. Captain
+Dean gave me my walking papers this morning."
+
+"Oh, I am so sorry!"
+
+"I am not. I expected it. The wonder is only that it has not happened
+before. I realized that it was inevitable when I made up my mind to
+sell. It is of no consequence, Miss Colton."
+
+"Yes, it is. But Father offered you the position in his employ. He said
+you refused, but he believed your refusal was not final."
+
+"He was wrong. It is final."
+
+"But--"
+
+"I had rather not discuss that, Miss Colton."
+
+She looked at me oddly, and with a faint smile. "Very well," she said,
+after a moment, "we will not discuss it now. But you cannot suppose that
+either Father or I will permit you to suffer on our account."
+
+"There is no suffering. I sold the land to your father deliberately and
+with complete knowledge of the consequences. As to the bank--well, I am
+no worse off than I was before I entered its employ. I am satisfied."
+
+She toyed with her coffee spoon.
+
+"Captain Dean seems to be the only person in Denboro who knows of the
+sale," she said. "Why has he kept it a secret?"
+
+"I don't know. Has he?"
+
+"You know he has, Mr. Paine. Mr. Cahoon did not know of it, and he would
+be one of the first to hear. It seems odd that the captain should tell
+no one."
+
+"Probably he is waiting for the full particulars. He will tell, you may
+be sure of that. His last remark to me was that he should drive me out
+of Denboro."
+
+I rather expected a burst of indignation. In fact I was somewhat hurt
+and disappointed that it did not come. She merely smiled once more.
+
+"He has not done it yet," she said. "If he knew why you sold that
+land--your real reason for selling it--he would not drive you away, or
+try to."
+
+I was startled and alarmed.
+
+"What do you mean?" I asked quickly.
+
+"If he knew he would not drive you away, would he?"
+
+"He will never know."
+
+"Perhaps he may. Perhaps the person for whose sake you sold it may tell
+him."
+
+"Indeed he will not! I shall see to that."
+
+"Oh, then there is such a person! I was sure of it before. Now you have
+told me."
+
+Before I could recover from the mental disturbance and chagrin which my
+slip and her quick seizure of it caused me, the butler re-entered the
+room.
+
+"Mrs. Colton is awake and asking for you, Miss Mabel," he said. "The
+doctor thinks you had better go to her at once, if you please."
+
+With a word of apology to me, she hurried away. I rose from the table. I
+had had breakfast enough. The interruption had come at a fortunate
+time for me. Her next question might have forced me to decline to
+answer--which would have been equivalent to admitting the truth--or to
+lie. One thing I determined to do without delay. I would write Taylor at
+once warning him to be more close-mouthed than ever. Under no conditions
+would I permit him to speak. If it were necessary I would go to
+Washington, where he and Nellie were spending their honeymoon, and make
+him promise to keep silence. His telling the truth might ruin him, and
+it certainly would not help me. In the one essential thing--the one
+which was clenching my determination to leave Denboro as soon as I could
+and seek forgetfulness and occupation elsewhere--no one could help me.
+I must help myself, or be miserable always. Just now the eternal misery
+seemed inevitable, no matter what I did.
+
+Johnson cleared the table and left me alone in the library. The hours
+passed. Nine o'clock came, then nine-thirty. It was almost time for the
+stock market to open. My thoughts, which had been diverted from my rash
+plunge into the intricacies of high finance, began to return to it. As
+ten o'clock drew near, I began to realize what I had bade Davis do, and
+to think what might happen because of it. I, Roscoe Paine, no longer
+even a country banker, was at the helm of "Big Jim" Colton's bark in the
+maelstrom of the stock market. It would have been funny if it had not
+been so desperate. And desperate it was, sheer reckless desperation and
+nothing else. I must have been crazier than ever, more wildly insane
+than I had been for the past month, to even think of such a thing. It
+was not too late yet, I could telegraph Davis--
+
+The telephone on the desk--not the public, the local, 'phone, but
+the other, Colton's private wire to New York--rang. I picked up the
+receiver.
+
+"Hello-o! Hello-o!" a faint voice was calling. "Is this Colton's house
+at Denboro? . . . Yes, this is Davis. . . . The wire is all right now.
+. . . Is this Mr. Colton speaking?"
+
+"No," I answered, "Mr. Colton is here in the house. You may give the
+message to me."
+
+"I want to know if his orders hold. Am I to buy? Ask him. I will wait.
+Hurry! The market opens in five minutes."
+
+I put down the receiver. Now was my opportunity. I could back out now.
+Five minutes more and it would be too late. But if I did back out--what?
+
+One of the minutes passed. Then another. I seized the telephone.
+
+"Go ahead!" I shouted. "Carry out your orders."
+
+A faint "All right" answered me.
+
+The die was cast. I was in for it. There was nothing to do but wait.
+
+And I waited alone. I walked up and down the floor of the little room,
+looking at the clock and wondering what was happening on that crowded
+floor of the big Broad Street building. The market was open. Davis was
+buying as I had directed. But at what figure was he buying?
+
+No one came near me, not even the butler. It was ten-twenty before the
+bell rang again.
+
+"Hello! This is Mr. Davis's office. Is this Mr. Colton? Tell him Mr.
+Davis says L. and T. is one hundred and fifty now and jumping twenty
+points at a lick. There is the devil to pay. Scarcely any stock in sight
+and next door to a panic. Shall we go on buying?"
+
+I was trying to decide upon an answer when some one touched my elbow.
+Miss Colton was standing beside me. She did not speak, but she looked
+the question.
+
+I told her what I had just heard.
+
+"One hundred and fifty!" she exclaimed. "That is--Why, that is dreadful!
+What will you do?"
+
+I shook my head. "That is for you to say," I answered.
+
+"No, it is for you. You are doing this. I trust you. Do what you think
+is right--you and Mr. Davis. That is what Father would wish if he knew."
+
+"Davis will do nothing on his own responsibility."
+
+"Then you must do it alone. Do it! do it!"
+
+I turned to the 'phone once more. "Buy all you can get," I ordered.
+"Keep on bidding. But be sure and spread the news that it is Colton
+buying to secure control of the road, not to cover his shorts. Be sure
+that leaks out. Everything depends on that."
+
+I hung up the receiver. She and I looked at each other.
+
+"What will happen, do you think?" she asked.
+
+"God knows! . . . Are you going? Don't go!"
+
+"I must," gently. "Father is worse, I fear, and I must not leave
+him. Doctor Quimby says the next few hours may tell us whether he
+is--is--whether he is to be with us or not. I must go. Be brave. I trust
+you. Be brave, for--for I am trying so hard to be."
+
+I seized her hand. She drew it from my grasp and hastened away. Brave!
+Well, for her sake, I must be. Yet it was because of her that I was such
+a coward.
+
+As I recall all this now I wonder at myself. The whole thing seems too
+improbable to be true, yet true it was. I lost my identity that day,
+I think, and, as the telephone messages kept coming, and the situation
+became more and more desperate, became some one else, some one a great
+deal braver and cooler and more clear-sighted than ever I had been or
+shall be again. I seemed to see my course plainer every moment and to
+feel surer of myself and that my method--my bluff, if you like--was the
+only salvation.
+
+At eleven Louisville and Transcontinental was selling--the little that
+was sold--at four hundred and fifty dollars a share, on a par value of
+fifty. At eleven-thirty it had climbed another hundred. The whole
+Street was a Bedlam, so they 'phoned me, and the newspapers were issuing
+"panic" extras.
+
+"Tell Davis to stop buying now," I ordered. "Let it be known that Colton
+has secured control and is satisfied."
+
+At noon the figure was 700 bid and 800 asked. There was no trading at
+all, for the sufficient reason that no shares were to be had. Johnson
+came in to ask if he should bring my luncheon. I bade him clear out and
+let me alone. As he was tip-toeing away I called after him.
+
+"How is Mr. Colton?" I asked.
+
+"Very bad indeed, sir. Miss Mabel wished me to say that she could not
+leave him an instant. It is the crisis, the doctor thinks."
+
+There were two crises then, one on each floor of the big house. At one
+Davis himself 'phoned.
+
+"Still hanging around 700," he announced. "Begins to look as if the top
+had been reached. What shall I do now?"
+
+My plan was ready and I gave my orders as if I had been doing such
+things for years.
+
+"Sell, in small lots, at intervals," I told him. "Then, if the price
+breaks, begin buying through another broker as cautiously as you can."
+
+The answer was in a different tone; there was a new note, almost of
+hope, in it.
+
+"By the Lord, I believe you have got it!" he cried. "It may work. I'll
+report to you, Mr. Colton, right away."
+
+Plainly he had no doubt that "Big Jim" was directing the fight in
+person. Far was it from me to undeceive him!
+
+Another interval. Then he reported a drop of a hundred points.
+
+"The bottom is beginning to fall out, I honestly believe. They think
+you've done 'em again. I am spreading the report that you have the
+control cinched. As soon as the scramble is really on I'll have a half
+dozen brokers buying for us."
+
+It was half-past two when the next message came. It was exultant,
+triumphant.
+
+"Down like an avalanche. Am grabbing every share offered. We've got 'em,
+sure!"
+
+And, as three o'clock struck, came the final crow.
+
+"Hooray for our side! They're dead and buried! You have two hundred
+shares more than fifty per cent, of the common stock. The Louisville
+road is in your pocket, Mr. Colton. I congratulate you. Might have
+known they couldn't lick the old man. You are a wonder. I'll write full
+particulars and then I am going home and to bed. I'm dead. I didn't
+believe you could do it! How did you?"
+
+I sat there, staring at the 'phone. Then, all at once, I began to laugh,
+weakly and hysterically, but to laugh, nevertheless.
+
+"I--I organized a Development Company," I gasped. "Good night."
+
+I rose from the chair and walked out into the library. I was so
+completely fagged out by the strain I had been under that I staggered as
+I walked. The library door opened and Johnson came in. He was beaming,
+actually beaming with joy.
+
+"He's very much better, sir," he cried. "He's conscious and the doctor
+says he considers 'im out of danger now. Miss Mabel sent word she would
+be down in a short while. She can't leave the mistress immediate, but
+she'll be down soon, sir."
+
+I looked at him in a dazed way. "Tell Miss Colton that I am very
+glad, Johnson," I said. "And tell her, too, that everything here is
+satisfactory also. Tell her that Mr. Paine says her father has his
+control."
+
+"'His control!' And what may that be, if you please, sir?"
+
+"She will understand. Say that everything is all right, we have won and
+that Mr. Colton has his control. Don't forget."
+
+"And--and where will you be, sir?"
+
+"I am going home, I think. I am going home and--to bed."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+
+The next thing I remember with any distinctness is Dorinda's knocking
+at my bedroom door. I remember reaching that bedroom, of course, and
+of meeting Lute in the kitchen and telling him that I was not to be
+disturbed, that I should not come down to supper and that I wanted to
+be let alone--to be let ALONE--until I saw fit to show myself. But these
+memories are all foggy and mixed with dreams and nightmares. As I say,
+the next thing that I remember distinctly after staggering from the
+Colton library is Dorinda's knocking at the door of my bedroom.
+
+"Ros! Roscoe!" she was calling. "Can you get up now? There is somebody
+downstairs waitin' to see you."
+
+I turned over in bed and began to collect my senses.
+
+"What time is it, Dorinda?" I asked, drowsily.
+
+"About ten, or a little after."
+
+Ten! Then I had not slept so long, after all. It was nearly four when
+I went to bed and . . . But what made the room so light? There was no
+lamp. And the windows . . . I sat up.
+
+"You don't mean to tell me it is ten o'clock IN THE FORENOON!" I cried.
+
+"Um-hm. I hated to disturb you. You've been sleepin' like the
+everlastin' hills and I knew you must be completely wore out. But I felt
+pretty sartin you'd want to see the--who 'tis that here's to see you, so
+I decided to wake you up."
+
+"It is high time you did, I should think! I'll be down in a minute. Who
+is it that wishes to see me, Dorinda?"
+
+But Dorinda had gone. I dressed hurriedly and descended the stairs to
+the dining-room. There, seated in a chair by the door, his eyes closed,
+his chin resting upon his chest, and his aristocratic nose proclaiming
+the fact that he slumbered, was Johnson, the Colton butler. I was not
+greatly surprised. I had rather suspected that my caller might be he, or
+some other messenger from the big house.
+
+He started at the sound of my entrance and awoke.
+
+"I--I beg your pardon, sir," he stammered. "I--I beg your pardon, sir,
+I'm sure. I've been--I 'aven't closed my eyes for the past two nights,
+sir, and I am tired out. Mr. Colton wishes to see you at once, sir. He
+wishes you to come over immediately."
+
+I was surprised now. "MR. Colton wishes it," I repeated. "You mean Miss
+Colton, don't you, Johnson."
+
+"No, sir. It is Mr. Colton this time, sir. Miss Colton is out in the
+motor, sir."
+
+"But Mr. Colton is too ill to see me, or anyone else."
+
+"No, sir, he isn't. He's very much better. He's quite himself, sir,
+really. And he is very anxious to see you. On a matter of business, he
+says."
+
+I hesitated. I had expected this, though not so soon. He wanted to ask
+questions concerning my crazy dip into his financial affairs, doubtless.
+Well, I should have to see him some time or other, and it might as well
+be now.
+
+I called to Dorinda, who was in the kitchen, and bade her tell Mother,
+if she inquired for me, that I had gone out, but would be back soon.
+Then Johnson and I walked briskly along the bluff path. We entered the
+big house.
+
+"Mr. Colton is in his room, sir," explained the butler. "You are to see
+him there. This way, sir."
+
+But before we reached the foot of the stairs Doctor Quimby came out of
+the library. He and I shook hands. The doctor was a happy man.
+
+"Well!" he exclaimed, "what's the matter with the one-horse, country-jay
+doctor now, hey! If there is any one of the Boston specialists at a
+hundred a visit who can yank a man out of a serious sickness and put him
+on his feet quicker than I can, why trot him along, that's all! I want
+to see him! I've been throwing bouquets at myself for the last ten
+hours. Ho! ho! Say, Ros, you'll think my head is swelled pretty bad,
+won't you! Ho! ho!"
+
+I asked how the patient was getting on.
+
+"Fine! Tip-top! The only trouble is that he ought to keep perfectly
+quiet and not do a thing or think of a thing, except getting his
+strength back, for the next week. But he hadn't been conscious more than
+a couple of hours before he was asking questions about business and so
+on. He and his daughter had a long confab this morning and after that he
+was neither to bind or tie. He must see you, that's all there was to
+it. Say, Ros, what did you and Phin Cahoon and the Colton girl do
+yesterday?"
+
+"Oh, we put through one of Mr. Colton's little trades for him, that's
+all."
+
+"That's all, hey! Well, whatever 'twas, he and I owe you a vote of
+thanks. He began to get better the minute he heard it. He's feeling so
+chipper that, if it wasn't that I swore he shouldn't, he'd have got out
+of bed by this time. You must go up and see him, I suppose, but don't
+stay too long. He's a wonder for strength and recuperative powers, but
+don't tire him too much. If that wife of his was in Europe or somewhere,
+I'd feel easier. She's the most tiring thing in the house."
+
+Johnson led the way upstairs. At the chamber door he knocked and
+announced my presence.
+
+"Bring him in! What is he waiting for?" demanded a voice which,
+considering how recently its owner had been at death's door, was
+surprisingly strong. I entered the room.
+
+He was in bed, propped up with pillows. Beside him sat Mrs. Colton. Of
+the two she looked the more disturbed. Her eyes were wet and she
+was dabbing at them with a lace handkerchief. Her morning gown was a
+wondrous creation. "Big Jim," with his iron-gray hair awry and his eyes
+snapping, looked remarkably wide awake and alive.
+
+"How are you, Paine?" he said. "Glad to see you. Sorry to bring you over
+here, but I had to see you and that doctor says I must stay in this room
+for a while yet. He may be right. My understanding is pretty shaky, I'll
+admit. You've met Mrs. Colton, haven't you?"
+
+I bowed and expressed my pleasure at meeting the lady. Her bow was
+rather curt, but she regarded me with an astonishing amount of agitated
+interest. Also she showed symptoms of more tears.
+
+"I don't remember whether or not Mr. Paine and I have ever been formally
+introduced," she observed. "If we haven't it makes no difference, I
+suppose. The other members of the family seem to know him well enough.
+And--and mothers nowadays are not considered. I--I must say that--"
+
+She had recourse to the lace handkerchief. I could understand what the
+doctor meant by calling her the "most tiring thing in the house." Her
+husband laid a hand on hers.
+
+"There, there, my dear," he said, soothingly, "don't be foolish. Sit
+down, Paine. Henrietta, perhaps you had better leave Mr. Paine and I
+together. We have some--er--business matters to discuss and you are
+tired and nervous. I should go to my room and lie down, if I were you."
+
+Mrs. Colton accepted the suggestion, but her acceptance was not the most
+gracious.
+
+"I am in the way, as usual," she observed, chokingly. "Very well, I
+should be resigned to that by this time, no doubt. I will go. But James,
+for my sake, don't be weak. Remember what--Oh, remember all we had hoped
+and planned! When I think of it, I--I--A nobody! A person without . . .
+What SHALL I do?"
+
+The handkerchief was in active operation. She swept past me to the door.
+There she turned.
+
+"I may forgive you some time, Mr. Paine," she sobbed. "I suppose I shall
+have to. I can't do anything else. But don't ask me to do it now. That
+would be TOO much!"
+
+The door closed and I heard her sobs as she marched down the hall. To
+say that I was amazed and decidedly uncomfortable would be a very mild
+estimate of my feelings. Why should I expect her to forgive me? What had
+I done? I--or luck and I together--had saved one of her husband's stock
+speculations from ending in smash; but that was no injury for which I
+should beg forgiveness. At least I could not see that it was.
+
+Colton looked after her with a troubled expression.
+
+"Nerves are the devil, aren't they," he observed. "And nerves and a
+woman together are worse than that. My wife, Paine, is--well, she hasn't
+been in good health for a long time and Mabel and I have done our best
+to give her her own way. When you've had your own way for years it
+rather hurts to be checkmated. I know that from experience. She'll feel
+better about it by and by."
+
+"Better about what?" I demanded, involuntarily. "I don't understand Mrs.
+Colton's meaning in the least."
+
+He looked at me keenly for a moment without speaking.
+
+"Don't you?" he asked. "You are sure you don't?"
+
+"Certainly I am sure. What I have done that requires forgiveness I don't
+see."
+
+Another pause and more scrutiny.
+
+"So you don't understand what she means, hey?" he said again. "All
+right, all right! We won't discuss that yet a while. If you don't
+understand--never mind. Time enough for us to talk of that when you do.
+But, say, Paine," with one of his dry smiles, "who taught you to buck a
+stock pool?"
+
+This question I could understand. I had expected this.
+
+"No one taught me," I answered. "If I had any knowledge at all in that
+direction I was born with it, I guess. A form of original sin."
+
+"It's a mighty profitable sort of wickedness--for me. Young man, do you
+realize what you did? How do you expect me to thank you for that, hey?"
+
+"I don't expect you to thank me at all. It was bull luck that won for
+you, Mr. Colton. Bull luck and desperation on my part. Miss Colton sent
+for me to help her. Your confidential man, Davis, refused to make a move
+without orders from you. You couldn't give any orders. Someone had to do
+something, or, so it seemed to your daughter and me, your Louisville and
+Transcontinental deal was a gone goose."
+
+"It was more than that. I might have come pretty near being a gone goose
+along with it. Not quite gone, perhaps--I should have had a few cents
+left in the stocking--but I should have lost a lot more than I care to
+lose. So it was bull luck, hey? I don't believe it. Tell me the whole
+story, from beginning to end, will you? Mabel has told me some, but I
+want to hear it all. Go ahead!"
+
+I thought of Quimby's warning. "I'm afraid I should tire you, Mr.
+Colton. It is a long story, if I give particulars."
+
+"Never mind, you give them. That 'tiring' business is some more of that
+doctor's foolishness. HE makes me tired, all right. You tell me what I
+want to know or I'll get out of this bed and shake it out of you."
+
+He looked as if he meant to carry out his threat. I began my tale at the
+beginning and went on to the astonishing end.
+
+"Don't ask me why I did this or that, Mr. Colton," I concluded. "I don't
+know. I think I was off my head part of the time. But something HAD to
+be done. I tried to look at the affair in a common-sense way, and--"
+
+"And, HAVING common-sense, you used it. Paine, you're a brick! Your kind
+of common-sense is so rare that it's worth paying any price for. Ha! ha!
+So it was Keene and his 'Development Company' that gave you the idea.
+That's good! That little failure of mine wasn't altogether a failure,
+after all. You saw it was a case where a bluff might win, and you had
+the sand to bluff it through. That comes of living so long where there
+is more sand than anything else, I imagine, hey! Ha! ha! Well, bull luck
+or insanity or whatever you call it, it did the trick. Of course I'm
+more obliged to you than I can tell. You know that."
+
+"That's all right, Mr. Colton. Now I think I must be going. You've
+talked enough."
+
+"You sit still. I haven't begun to talk yet. Paine, before you did this
+thing for me I had taken a fancy to you. I believed there was good
+stuff in you and that I could use you in my business. Now I know I can't
+afford to do without you. . . . Stop! let me finish. Young man, I told
+you once that when I made up my mind to do a thing, I always did it.
+ALWAYS; do you understand? I am going to get you. You are coming with
+me."
+
+I had foreseen this, of course. But I had hoped to get away from that
+room before he reached the point. He had reached it, however, and
+perhaps it was as well he had. We would end this for all time.
+
+"Mr. Colton," I answered, "you have a monopoly of some things, but of
+others you have not. I am just as determined to have my own way in this
+matter as you are. I shall NOT accept your offer of employment. That is
+final."
+
+"Final be damned! Young man--"
+
+"Mr. Colton, if you persist I shall go away."
+
+"Go away! Before I tell you to? Why, you--"
+
+I rose. "The doctor told me that you must not excite yourself," I said.
+"I am going. Good-by."
+
+He was excited, there was no doubt of that. He sat up in bed.
+
+"You come back!" he ordered. "Come back! If you don't--Well, by the
+Lord, if you don't I'll get up and come after you!"
+
+I believe he would have tried to do it. I was frightened, on his
+account. I turned reluctantly. He sank back on the pillow, grinning
+triumphantly.
+
+"Sit down there," he panted. "Sit down. Now I want you to tell me the
+real reason why you won't work for me. By gad! you're the first one in
+many a day I have had to ask twice. Why? Tell me the truth! Why?"
+
+I hesitated. "Well, for one reason," I said, "I don't care for your
+business."
+
+"Don't CARE for it! After what you just did!"
+
+"I did that because I was driven to it. But I don't care for the stock
+game. Once I used to think I liked that sort of thing; now I know I
+don't. If I am anything I am a bank man, a poor sort of one, perhaps,
+but--"
+
+"Bank man! Why, you idiot! I don't care what you are. I can use you in
+a dozen places. You don't have to buck the market. I'll do that myself.
+But there are plenty of places where your brains and that common-sense
+you talk about will be invaluable to me. I do a banking business, on the
+side, myself. I own a mining property, a good one, out West. It needs a
+financial manager, and needs one badly. You come with me, do you hear!
+I'll place you where you fit, before I get through with you, and I'll
+make you a rich man in ten years. There! now will you say yes?"
+
+I shook my head. "No," I said.
+
+"NO! You are enough to drive a well man crazy, to say nothing of a
+half-sick relic like me. _I_ say yes--yes--YES! Sooner or later I'll
+MAKE you. You've lost your place here. You told me yourself that that
+old crank Dean is going to make this town too hot to hold you. You'll
+HAVE to go away. Now won't you?"
+
+I nodded. "I shall go away," I answered. "I have made up my mind to go,
+now that Mother seems well enough for me to leave her."
+
+"Where will you go?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+He stared at me in silence for what seemed a long time. I thought he
+must be exhausted, and once more I rose to go.
+
+"Stop! Stay where you are," he ordered. "I haven't got the answer to
+you yet, and I know it. There's something back of all this, something
+I don't know about. I'm going to find out what it is, if it takes me a
+year. You can tell me now, if you want to. It will save time. What is
+the real reason why you won't take my offer?"
+
+I don't know why I did it. I had kept the secret all the years and
+certainly, when I entered that room, I had no intention of revealing it.
+Yet, now, when he asked this question I turned on him and blurted out
+what I had sworn no one--least of all he or his--should ever know.
+
+"I'll tell you why," I cried, desperately. "I can't take the place you
+offer because you know nothing about me. You don't know who I am. If you
+did you . . . . Mr. Colton, you don't even know my name."
+
+He looked at me and shook his head, impatiently. "Either you ARE crazy,
+or I am," he muttered. "Don't know your name!"
+
+"No, you don't! You think I am Roscoe Paine. I am not. I am Roscoe
+Bennett, and my father was Carleton Bennett, the embezzler."
+
+I had said it. And the moment afterward I was sorry. I would have given
+anything to take back the words, but repentance came too late. I had
+said it.
+
+I heard him draw a deep breath. I did not look at him. I did not care
+to see his face and read on it the disgust and contempt I was sure it
+expressed.
+
+"Humph!" he exclaimed. "Humph! Do you mean to tell me that your father
+was Carleton Bennett--Bennett of Bennett and Company?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well! well! well! Carleton Bennett! No wonder there was something
+familiar about your mother, something that I seemed to remember. I met
+her years ago. Well! well! So you're Carleton Bennett's son?"
+
+"Yes, I am his son."
+
+"Well, what of it?"
+
+I looked at him now. He was smiling, actually smiling. His illness had
+affected his mind.
+
+"What OF it!" I gasped.
+
+"Ye-es, what of it? What has that got to do with your working for me?"
+
+I could have struck him. If he had not been weak and ill and
+irresponsible for what he was saying I think I should.
+
+"Mr. Colton," I said, striving to speak calmly, "you don't understand.
+My father was Carleton Bennett, the embezzler, the thief, the man whose
+name was and is a disgrace all over the country. Mother and I came here
+to hide from that disgrace, to begin a new, clean life under a clean
+name. Do you think--? Oh, you don't understand!"
+
+"I understand all right. This is the first time I HAVE understood. I see
+now why a clever man like you was willing to spend his days in a place
+like Denboro. Well, you aren't going to spend any more of them there.
+You're going to let me make something worth while out of you."
+
+This sounded, in one way, like sanity. But in another--
+
+"Mr. Colton," I cried, "even if you meant it, which you don't--do you
+suppose I would go back to New York, where so many know me, and enter
+your employ under an assumed name? Run the risk of--"
+
+"Hush! Enter it under your own name. It's a good name. The Bennetts are
+one of our oldest families. Ask my wife; she'll tell you that."
+
+"A good name!"
+
+"Yes. I declare, Paine--Bennett, I mean--I shall begin to believe you
+haven't got the sense I credited you with. I can see what has been
+the matter with you. You came here, you and your sick mother, with the
+scandal of your father's crookedness hanging over you and her sickness
+making her super-sensitive, and you two kept the secret and brooded over
+it so long that you have come to think you are criminals, too. You're
+not. You haven't done anything crooked. What's the matter with you, man?
+Be sensible!"
+
+"Sensible!"
+
+"Yes, sensible, if you can. I don't care who your father was. He was
+a smart banker, before he went wrong, and I can see now where you
+inherited your ability. But never mind that. He's dead; let him stay so.
+I'm not trying to get him. It's you I want."
+
+"You want ME! Do you mean you would take me into your employ, knowing
+who I am?"
+
+"Sure! It is because I know WHAT you are that I want you."
+
+"Mr. Colton, you--I don't know what to say to you."
+
+"Try saying 'yes' and see how it seems. It will be a change, anyhow."
+
+"No, no! I cannot; it is impossible."
+
+"Oh, you make me weary! . . . Humph! What is it now? Any more
+'reasons'?"
+
+"Yes." I faced him squarely. "Yes," I said, "there is another reason,
+one that makes it impossible, utterly impossible, if nothing else did.
+When I tell you what it is you will understand what I mean and agree
+with me. Your daughter and I have been thrown together a great deal
+since she came to Denboro. Our meetings have not been of my seeking, nor
+of hers. Of late I have realized that, for my own sake, for the sake of
+my peace of mind, I must not meet her. I must not be where she is. I--"
+
+"Here! Stop!" he broke in sharply. "What is this? Do you mean to tell me
+that you and Mabel--"
+
+"It is not her fault. It is my own, entirely. Mr. Colton, I--"
+
+"Stop, I tell you! Do you mean to tell me that you are--that you have
+been making love to my daughter?"
+
+"No. Certainly not."
+
+"Then what do you mean? That she has been making love to you?"
+
+"Mr. Colton--"
+
+"There! Don't act like the Wild Man of Borneo. Do you mean that you are
+in love with her?"
+
+"Don't you see now why I cannot accept? I must go away. I am going."
+
+"Humph! That will do. . . . Humph! Well, Paine--Bennett, I should say;
+it is hard to keep track of your names--you are rather--er--reckless,
+it seems to me. Mabel is our only child and her mother and I,
+naturally, had planned for her future . . . Have you told her of
+your--recklessness?"
+
+"Of course not! I shall not see her again. I shall leave Denboro as soon
+as I can. She will never know."
+
+"Humph! I see . . . I see . . . Well, I don't know that there is
+anything for me to say."
+
+"There is not."
+
+"I am sorry for you, of course."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+There was a sharp rap at the door. Doctor Quimby opened it and entered
+the room. He glanced from me to his patient and his face expressed sharp
+disapproval.
+
+"You'd better go, Ros," he snapped. "What is the matter with you? Didn't
+I tell you not to excite him."
+
+"I'M not excited," observed Colton, drily.
+
+"Clear out this minute!" continued the angry doctor. "Ros Paine, I
+thought you had more sense."
+
+"So did I," this from "Big Jim". "However, I am learning a lot these
+days. Good-by, Paine."
+
+I was at the door.
+
+"Oh, by the way," he called after me, "let me make a suggestion. If I
+were you, Roscoe, I wouldn't leave Denboro to-day. Not before to-morrow
+morning, at any rate."
+
+I did not understand him and I asked for no explanation. It was the
+first time he had addressed me by my Christian name, but it was not
+until afterward that I remembered that fact.
+
+
+
+That afternoon I was alone in my haven of refuge, the boathouse. Mother
+and I had had a long talk. I told her everything that had transpired.
+I kept back nothing, either of my acts or my feelings. She said she was
+not sorry for what I had done. She was rather glad, than otherwise, that
+I had disclosed our secret to Mr. Colton.
+
+"He knows now, Roscoe," she said. "And he was right, too. You and I have
+brooded over our sorrow and what we considered our disgrace much more
+than we should. He is right, Boy. We are innocent of any wrong-doing."
+
+"Yes, Mother," I answered, "I suppose we are. But we must keep the
+secret still. No one else in Denboro must know. You know what gossip
+there would be. There is enough now. I presume I am called a traitor and
+a blackguard by every person in the town."
+
+"Why no, you are not. That is the strange thing about it. Luther was up
+at the post-office this morning and no one seems to know of your sale of
+the land. Captain Dean has, apparently, kept the news to himself. Why do
+you suppose he does that?"
+
+"I don't know. I don't know, unless it is because he--no, I can't
+understand it at all. However, they will know soon enough. By the way,
+I have never asked Dorinda where Lute was that noon--it seems ages
+ago--when he was missing at dinner time. And how did he know of Mr.
+Colton's illness?"
+
+She smiled. "Poor Luther!" she said. "He announced his intention of
+running away, you remember. As a matter of fact he met the Coltons'
+chauffeur in the motor car and the chauffeur invited him to go to
+Bayport with him. The chauffeur had an errand there. Lute accepted--as
+he says, automobile rides don't come his way every day in the week--and
+they had trouble with the engine and did not get back until almost
+night. Then Miss Colton told him of her father's seizure and gave him
+the note for you. It was to you she turned in her trouble, Boy. She
+trusts you. Roscoe, I--I think she--"
+
+"Don't say it, Mother. All that is ended. I am going to forget--if I
+can."
+
+The rest of our conversation need not be written here. She said many
+things, such as fond mothers say to their sons and which the sons know
+too well they do not deserve. We discussed my leaving Denboro and she
+was so brave and self-sacrificing that my conscience smote me.
+
+"I'll stay, Mother," I said. "I can't leave you. I'll stay and fight it
+out with you. After all, it will not be much worse than it was before I
+went to the bank."
+
+But she would not hear of my staying. I had a friend in Chicago, a
+distant relative who knew our story. Perhaps he could help me to a start
+somewhere. She kissed me and bade me keep up my courage, and I left
+her. I ate a hurried meal, a combination of breakfast and dinner, and,
+dodging Lute, who was in the back yard waiting to question me concerning
+the Coltons, walked down to the boathouse. There, in my armchair, I
+tried to think, to map out some sort of plan for my future.
+
+It was a hopeless task. I was not interested in it. I did not much care
+what became of me. If it were not for Mother I should not have cared at
+all. Nevertheless, for her sake, I must try to plan, and I did.
+
+I was still trying when I heard footsteps approaching the door, the
+small door at the side, not the big one in front. I did not rise to open
+the door, nor did I turn my head. The visitor was Lute, probably, and if
+I kept still he might think I was not within and go away again.
+
+The door opened. "Here he is," said a voice, a voice that I recognized.
+I turned quickly and sprang to my feet. Standing behind me was Captain
+Jedediah Dean and with him George Taylor--George Taylor, who should have
+been--whom I had supposed to be in Washington with his bride!
+
+"Here he is," said Captain Jed, again. "Well, Ros, we've come to see
+you."
+
+But I paid no attention to him. It was his companion I was staring at.
+What was he doing here?
+
+"George!" I cried. "GEORGE!"
+
+He stepped forward and held out his hand. He was smiling, but there was
+a look in his eye which expressed the exact opposite of smiles.
+
+"Ros," he said, quietly, "Ros Paine, you bull-headed, big-hearted old
+chump, how are you?"
+
+But I could only stare at him. Why had he come to Denboro? What did his
+coming to me mean? Why had he come with Captain Jed, the man who had
+vowed that he was done with me forever? And why was the captain looking
+at me so oddly?
+
+"George!" I cried in alarm, "George, you haven't--you haven't made a
+fool of yourself? You haven't--"
+
+Captain Jed interrupted me. "He ain't the fool, Ros," he said. "That
+is, he ain't now. I'm the fool. I ought to have known better. Ros, I--I
+don't know's you'll give it to me, but anyhow I'm goin' to ask it; I beg
+your pardon."
+
+"Ros," said Taylor, before I could reply, "don't stand staring as if
+you were petrified. Sit down and let me look at you. You pig-headed old
+idiot, you! What do you mean by it? What did you do it for?"
+
+He pushed me into the chair I had just vacated. Captain Dean took
+another. George remained standing.
+
+"He IS petrified, I do believe!" he exclaimed.
+
+But my petrification was only temporary. I was beginning to understand,
+and to be more alarmed than ever.
+
+"What are you doing here in Denboro?" I demanded.
+
+Captain Jed answered for him. "He's here because I telegraphed for him
+yesterday," he said. "I wired him to come straight home and take charge
+of the bank. I had fired you, like the dumb fool I was, and I wanted him
+to take command. He got here on the mornin' train."
+
+I remembered what Phin Cahoon had said about the telegram and the
+captain's making him promise not to mention the name of the person to
+whom it was sent. It was George, of course. If I had been in a normal
+state of mind when Phin told me I should have guessed as much.
+
+Taylor took up the conversation. "Yes, I got here," he said. "And when
+I got here--or a little before--" with a glance at the captain--"I found
+out what had been going on since I left. You old chump, Ros Paine! What
+did you do it for?"
+
+I looked at him and then at his companion. What I saw there confirmed my
+worst suspicions.
+
+"George," I said, "if you have told him you must be crazy."
+
+"I was crazy not to tell him before. I was crazy not to guess what you
+had been up to. But I didn't suppose anybody would be crazy enough to do
+what you did, Ros. I didn't imagine for a minute that you would be crazy
+enough to throw away your job and get yourself into the trouble you knew
+was sure to come, just to help me. To help ME, by the Lord! Ros! Ros!
+what can I say to you!"
+
+"You've said enough, and more than enough," I answered, bitterly. "I did
+what I did so that you might keep your secret. I did it to help you and
+Nellie. And if you had kept still no one need ever have known, no one
+but you and I, George. And now you--"
+
+"Shut up, Ros!" he interrupted. "Shut up, I tell you! Why, confound
+you, what do you think I am? Do you suppose I would let you sacrifice
+yourself like that, while I set still and saw you kicked out of town?
+What do you think I am?"
+
+"But what was the use of it?" I demanded. "It was done. Nothing you
+could say would change it. For Nellie's sake--"
+
+"There! there!" broke in Captain Jed, "Nellie knows. George told her the
+day they was married. He told her before they was married. He was man
+enough to do that and I honor him for it. If he'd only come to me then
+it would have been a mighty sight better. I'd have understood when I
+heard about your sellin' Colton the land, and I wouldn't have made
+a jackass of myself by treatin' you as I done. You! the man that
+sacrificed yourself to keep my girl from breakin' her heart! When I
+think what you saved us all from I--I--By the Almighty, Ros Paine! I'll
+make it up to you somehow. I will! I swear I will!"
+
+He turned away and looked out of the window. George laid a hand on his
+shoulder.
+
+"I am the one to make it up, Cap'n," he said, solemnly. "If I live I'll
+make it up to Ros here, and to you, and to Nellie, God bless her! I
+expected you would never speak to me again when I'd told you. Telling
+you--next to telling Nellie--was the toughest job I ever tackled. But
+I'll make it up to you both, and to Ros. Thank the Lord, it ain't too
+late to make it up to him!"
+
+"We'll both make it up to him, George," replied Captain Jed. "As far
+as we can, we will. If he wants to come back to the bank this minute he
+can. We'll be proud to have him. But I cal'late," with a smile, "he'll
+have bigger fish to fry than we can give him. If what we've just heard
+is true, he will."
+
+"I don't know what you mean," I answered. "And as for the bank--well,
+you forget one thing: I sold the Shore Lane and the town knows it. How
+long would the other directors tolerate me in that bank, after that, do
+you think?"
+
+To my surprise they looked at each other and laughed. Captain Dean shook
+his head.
+
+"No," he said, "you're mistook, Ros. The town don't know you sold it.
+I didn't tell 'em because I wanted George in command of that bank afore
+the row broke loose. I larned of the sale myself, by chance, over to
+Ostable and I never told anybody except Dorindy Rogers and her fool of
+a husband. I'll see that they keep still tongues in their heads. And as
+for the Lane--well, that won't be closed. Colton don't own it no more."
+
+"Don't OWN it," I repeated. "Don't own it! He does. I sold it to him
+myself."
+
+"Yes. And George, here, bought it back not an hour ago. We saw His
+Majesty--sick in bed he was, but just as high and mighty and independent
+as ever--and George bought back the land and the Lane for thirty-five
+hundred dollars. The old man didn't seem to give a durn about it any
+more. He'd had his own way, he said, and that was all he cared about.
+Besides, he ain't goin' to stay in Denboro much longer. The old
+lady--his wife--is sick of the place and he only come here on her
+account. He cal'lates that New York is good enough for him. I cal'late
+'tis. Anyhow, Denboro won't hang onto his coattails to hold him back.
+Tell Ros the whole story, George."
+
+George told it, beginning with his receipt of his father-in-law's
+telegram and his hurried return to the Cape. He had gone directly to
+Captain Dean and confessed the whole thing. The captain had behaved like
+a trump, I learned. Instead of denouncing his daughter's husband he had
+forgiven him freely. Then they had gone to see Colton and George had
+bought the land.
+
+"And I shall give it to the town," he said. "It's the least I can do.
+You wonder where the money came from, Ros? I guess you ain't seen the
+newspapers. There was a high old time in the stock market yesterday and
+Louisville and Transcontinental climbed half-way to the moon. From being
+a pauper I'm pretty well fixed."
+
+"I'm heartily glad of it, George," I said. "But there is one thing I
+don't understand. You say you learned of my selling the land before you
+reached Denboro. Captain Jed says no one but he and my people knew it.
+How did you find it out?"
+
+Again my two callers looked at each other.
+
+"Why, somebody--a friend of yours--come to me at the Ostable station and
+dragged Nellie and me off the train. We rode with that person the rest
+of the way and--the said person told us what had happened and begged
+us to help you. Seemed to have made a middling good guess that I COULD
+help, if I would."
+
+"A person--a friend of mine! Why, I haven't any friend, any friend who
+knew the truth, or could guess."
+
+"Yes, you have."
+
+"Who was it?"
+
+George laughed aloud and Captain Jed laughed with him.
+
+"I guess I shan't tell you," said the former. "I promised I wouldn't."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+
+They left me soon after this. I tried to make them tell who the
+mysterious friend might be, but they refused. The kind things they said
+and the gratitude they both expressed I shall never forget. They did not
+strenuously urge me to return to the bank, and that seemed strange to
+me.
+
+"The job's yours if you want it, Ros," said Captain Jed. "We'd be only
+too happy to have you if you'd come--any time, sooner or later. But I
+don't think you will."
+
+"No," I answered, "I shall not. I have made other plans. I am going to
+leave Denboro."
+
+That did not seem to surprise them and I was still more puzzled. They
+shook hands and went away, promising to call at the house that evening
+and bring Nellie.
+
+"She wants to thank you, too, Ros," said George.
+
+After they had gone I sat by the big door, looking out at the bay,
+smooth and beautiful in the afternoon sunlight, and thinking of what
+they had told me. For Mother's sake I was very glad. It would be easier
+for her, after I had gone; the townspeople would be friendly, instead
+of disagreeable. For her sake, I was glad. For myself nothing seemed to
+make any difference. George Taylor's words--those he had spoken to me
+that fateful evening when I found him with the revolver beside him--came
+back to me over and over. "Wait until your time comes. Wait until the
+girl comes along that you care for more than the whole world. And then
+see what you'd do. See what it would mean to give her up!"
+
+I was seeing. I knew now what it meant.
+
+I rose and went out of the boathouse. I did not care to meet anyone or
+speak with anyone. I strolled along the path by the bluff, my old walk,
+that which I had taken so many times and with such varied feelings,
+never with such miserable ones as now.
+
+The golden-rod, always late blooming on the Cape, bordered the path with
+gorgeous yellow. The leaves of the scrub oaks were beginning to turn,
+though not to fall. I walked on and entered the grove where she and I
+had met after our adventure with Carver and the stranded skiff. I turned
+the bend and saw her coming toward me.
+
+I stood still and she came on, came straight to me and held out her
+hand.
+
+"I was waiting for you," she said. "I was on my way to your house and I
+saw you coming--so I waited."
+
+"You waited," I stammered. "Why?"
+
+"Because I wished to speak to you and I did not want that--that Mr.
+Rogers of yours to interrupt me. Why did you go away yesterday without
+even letting me thank you for what you had done? Why did you do it?"
+
+"Because--because you were very busy and--and I was tired. I went home
+and to bed."
+
+"You were tired. You must have been. But that is no excuse, no good one.
+I came down and found you were gone without a word to me. And you had
+done so much for me--for my father!"
+
+"Your father thanked me this morning, Miss Colton. I saw him in his room
+and he thanked me. I did not deserve thanks. I was lucky, that was all."
+
+"Father does not call it luck. He told me what you said to him."
+
+"He told you! Did he tell you all I told him?"
+
+"I--I think so. He told me who you were; what your real name was."
+
+"He did! And you were still willing to meet me!"
+
+"Yes. Why not? Does it make any difference that you are Mr.
+Bennett--instead of Mr. Paine?"
+
+"But my father was Carleton Bennett--the--the--You must have heard of
+him."
+
+"I never knew your father. I do know his son. And I am very proud to
+know him."
+
+"But--but, Miss Colton."
+
+"Tell me," she interrupted, quickly, "have you seen Mr. Taylor? He is
+here in Denboro."
+
+"Yes. I have seen him."
+
+"And he told you about the Lane? That he has bought it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you will not be," with a smile, "driven from Denboro by that cross
+old Captain Dean?"
+
+"I shall not be driven--no."
+
+"Then Mr. Taylor did help you. He promised me he would."
+
+"He promised you? When? When did you see George Taylor?"
+
+She appeared confused. "I--I--Of course I saw him at the house this
+noon, when he came to see Father."
+
+"But he could not have promised you then. He had helped me already. Did
+you see him before that?"
+
+"Why, how could I? I--"
+
+"Miss Colton, answer me. Was it you that met him at the Ostable station
+this morning? Was it?"
+
+She was as red as the reddest of the autumn leaves. She laughed,
+confusedly.
+
+"I did meet him there," she confessed. "That queer Mr. Cahoon, the
+station agent, told me that Captain Dean had telegraphed him to come.
+I knew he would probably be on that train. And Mr. Cahoon told me about
+his being interested in stocks and very much troubled. You had told me,
+or as much as told me, that you sold the land to get money to help some
+one. I put two and two together and I guessed the rest. I met him and
+Nellie and we rode to Denboro together in our auto. He promised me that
+he would make everything right for you. I am so glad he did!"
+
+I caught my breath with a gasp.
+
+"You did that!" I exclaimed. "You did that, for me!"
+
+"Why not? Surely you had done enough for--us. I could not let you be
+'driven from town', you know."
+
+I did not speak. I knew that I must not attempt a reply. I should say
+too much. She looked up at me, and then down again at the pine-needles
+beneath our feet.
+
+"Father says he intends to do great things for you," she went on. "He
+says you are to come with him. He is enthusiastic about it. He believes
+you are a great man. No one but a great man, he says, could beat the
+Consolidated Pacific gang single-handed. He says you will be the best
+investment he ever made."
+
+"I am afraid not," I answered. "Your father made me a generous offer. I
+wish I might have been able to accept it, but I could not."
+
+"Oh, but you are going to accept."
+
+"No, I am not."
+
+"He says you are. And he always has his way, you know."
+
+"Not in this case, Miss Colton."
+
+"But _I_ want you to accept. Surely you will do it to oblige me."
+
+"I--I can't."
+
+"What are you going to do; go back to the bank?"
+
+"No, I am going to leave Denboro. I don't know where I shall go. This is
+good-by, Miss Colton. It is not likely that we shall meet again."
+
+"But why are you going?"
+
+"I cannot tell you."
+
+She was silent, still looking down at the pine-needles. I could not see
+her face. I was silent also. I knew that I ought to go, that I should
+not remain there, with her, another moment. Yet I remained.
+
+"So you think this is our parting," she said. "I do not."
+
+"Don't you? I fear you are wrong."
+
+"I am not wrong. You will not go away, Mr.--Bennett. At least, you will
+not until you go where my father sends you. You will accept his offer, I
+think."
+
+"You are mistaken."
+
+"No. I think I am not mistaken. I think you will accept it,
+because--because I ask you to."
+
+"I cannot, Miss Colton."
+
+"And your reason?"
+
+"That I cannot tell anyone."
+
+"But you told my father."
+
+I was stricken dumb again.
+
+She went on, speaking hurriedly, and not raising her eyes.
+
+"You told my father," she repeated, "and he told me."
+
+"He told you!" I cried.
+
+"Yes, he told me. I--I am not sure that he was greatly surprised. He
+thought it honorable of you and he was very glad you did tell him, but I
+think he was not surprised."
+
+The oaks and the pines and the huckleberry bushes were dancing great
+giddy-go-rounds, a reflection of the whirlpool in my brain. Out of the
+maelstrom I managed to speak somehow.
+
+"He was not surprised!" I repeated. "He was not--not--What do you mean?"
+
+She did not answer. She drew away from me a step, but I followed her.
+
+"Why wasn't he surprised?" I asked again.
+
+"Because--because--Oh, I don't know! What have I been saying! I--Please
+don't ask me!"
+
+"But why wasn't he surprised?"
+
+"Because--because--" she hesitated. Then suddenly she looked up into my
+face, her wonderful eyes alight. "Because," she said, "I had told him
+myself, sir."
+
+I seized her hands.
+
+"YOU had told him? You had told him that I--I--"
+
+"No," with a swift shake of the head, "not you. I--I did not know
+that--then. I told him that I--"
+
+But I did not wait to hear any more.
+
+
+
+Some time after that--I do not know how long after and it makes no
+difference anyway--I began to remember some resolutions I had made,
+resolves to be self-sacrificing and all that sort of thing.
+
+"But, my dear," I faltered, "I am insane! I am stark crazy! How can I
+think of such a thing! Your mother--what will she say?"
+
+She looked up at me; looking up was not as difficult now, and, besides,
+she did not have to look far. She looked up and smiled.
+
+"I think Mother is more reconciled," she said. "Since she learned who
+you were she seems to feel better about it."
+
+I shook my head, ruefully. "Yet she referred to me as a 'nobody' only
+this morning," I observed.
+
+"Yes, but that was before she knew you were a Bennett. The Bennetts are
+a very good family, so she says. And she informed me that she always
+expected me to throw myself away, so she was not altogether unprepared."
+
+I sighed. "Throwing yourself away is exactly what you have done, I'm
+afraid," I answered.
+
+She put her hand to my lips. "Hush!" she whispered. "At all events, I
+made a lucky throw. I'm very glad you caught me, dear."
+
+There was a rustle of leaves just behind us and a startled exclamation.
+I turned and saw Lute Rogers standing there in the path, an expression
+on his face which I shall not attempt to describe, for no description
+could do justice to it. We looked at Lute and he looked at us.
+
+He was the first to recover.
+
+"My time!" exclaimed Lute. "My TIME!"
+
+He turned and fled.
+
+"Come here!" I shouted after him. "Come back here this minute! Lute,
+come back!"
+
+Lute came, looking shamefaced and awkward.
+
+"Where were you going?" I demanded.
+
+"I--I was cal'latin' to go and tell Dorindy," he faltered.
+
+"You'll tell nobody. Nobody, do you hear! I'll tell Dorinda myself,
+when it is necessary. What were you doing here? spying on me in that
+fashion."
+
+"I--I wan't spyin', Ros. Honest truth, I wan't. I--I didn't know you and
+she was--was--"
+
+"Never mind that. What were you doing here?"
+
+"I was chasin' after you, Ros. I just heard the most astonishing thing.
+Jed Dean was to the house to make Dorindy and me promise to say nothin'
+about that Shore Lane 'cause you never sold it, and he said Mr. Colton
+had offered you a turrible fine job along of him and that you was goin'
+to take it. I wanted to find you and ask it 'twas true. 'Taint true, is
+it, Ros?" wistfully. "By time! I wish 'twas."
+
+Before I could answer Mabel spoke.
+
+"Yes, it is true, Mr. Rogers," she said. "It is quite true and you may
+tell anyone you like. It is true, isn't it, Roscoe?"
+
+What answer could I make? What answer would you have made under the
+circumstances?
+
+"Yes," I answered, with a sigh of resignation. "I guess it is true,
+Lute."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by Joseph C. Lincoln
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+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 Rise of Roscoe Paine
+
+Author: Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+Release Date: June 3, 2006 [EBook #3137]
+Last Updated: March 5, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RISE OF ROSCOE PAINE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Donald Lainson
+
+
+
+
+
+THE RISE OF ROSCOE PAINE
+
+By Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+“I'm going up to the village,” I told Dorinda, taking my cap from the
+hook behind the dining-room door.
+
+“What for?” asked Dorinda, pushing me to one side and reaching for the
+dust-cloth, which also was behind the door.
+
+“Oh, just for the walk,” I answered, carelessly.
+
+“Um-hm,” observed Dorinda.
+
+“Um-hm” is, I believe, good Scotch for “Yes.” I have read that it
+is, somewhere--in one of Barrie's yarns, I think. I had never been in
+Scotland, or much of anywhere else, except the city I was born in, and
+my college town, and Boston--and Cape Cod. “Um-hm” meant yes on the
+Cape, too, except when Dorinda said it; then it might mean almost
+anything. When Mother asked her to lower the window shade in the
+bed-room she said “Um-hm” and lowered it. And, five minutes later, when
+Lute came in, loaded to the guards with explanations as to why he had
+forgotten to clean the fish for dinner, she said it again. And the
+Equator and the North Pole are no nearer alike, so far as temperature
+is concerned, than those two “Um-hms.” And between them she had others,
+expressing all degrees from frigid to semi-torrid.
+
+Her “Um-hm” this time was somewhere along the northern edge of Labrador.
+
+“It's a good morning for a walk,” I said.
+
+“Um-hm,” repeated Dorinda, crossing over to Greenland, so to speak.
+
+I opened the outside door. The warm spring sunshine, pouring in, was a
+pleasant contrast and made me forget, for the moment, the glacier at my
+back. Come to think of it, “glacier” isn't a good word; glaciers move
+slowly and that wasn't Dorinda's way.
+
+“What are you going to do?” I asked.
+
+“Work,” snapped Dorinda, unfurling the dust cloth. “It's a good mornin'
+for that, too.”
+
+I went out, turned the corner of the house and found Lute sound asleep
+on the wash bench behind the kitchen. His full name was Luther Millard
+Filmore Rogers, and he was Dorinda's husband by law, and the burden
+which Providence, or hard luck, had ordered her to carry through this
+vale of tears. She was a good Methodist and there was no doubt in
+her mind that Providence was responsible. When she rose to testify in
+prayer-meeting she always mentioned her “cross” and everybody knew that
+the cross was Luther. She carried him, but it is no more than fair to
+say that she didn't provide him with cushions. She never let him forget
+that he was a steerage passenger. However, Lute was well upholstered
+with philosophy, of a kind, and, so long as he didn't have to work his
+passage, was happy, even if the voyage was a rather rough one.
+
+Just now he was supposed to be raking the back yard, but the rake was
+between his knees, his head was tipped back against the shingled wall
+of the kitchen, and he was sleeping, with the sunshine illuminating his
+open mouth, “for all the world like a lamp in a potato cellar,” as his
+wife had said the last time she caught him in this position. She went on
+to say that it was a pity he wouldn't stand on his head when he slept.
+“Then I could see if your skull was as holler as I believe it is,” she
+told him.
+
+Lute heard me as I passed him and woke up. The “potato cellar” closed
+with a snap and he seized the rake handles with both hands.
+
+“I was takin' a sort of observation,” he explained hurriedly. “Figgerin'
+whether I'd better begin here or over by the barn. Oh, it's you, Roscoe,
+is it! Land sakes! I thought first 'twas Dorindy. Where you bound?”
+
+“Up to the village,” I said.
+
+“Ain't goin' to the post-office, be you?”
+
+“I may; I don't know.”
+
+Lute sighed. “I was kind of cal'latin' to go there myself,” he observed,
+regretfully. “Thoph Newcomb and Cap'n Jed Dean and the rest of us
+was havin' a talk on politics last night up there and 'twas mighty
+interestin'. Old Dean had Thoph pretty well out of the race when I
+hauled alongside, but when I got into the argument 'twas different.
+'What's goin' to become of the laborin' men of this country if you have
+free trade?' I says. Dean had to give in that he didn't know. 'Might
+have to let their wives support 'em,' he says, pompous as ever. 'That
+would be a calamity, wouldn't it, Lute?' That wasn't no answer, of
+course. But you can't expect sense of a Democrat. I left him fumin' and
+come away. I've thought of a lot more questions to ask him since and
+I was hopin' I could get at him this mornin'. But no! Dorindy's sot on
+havin' this yard raked, so I s'pose I've got to do it.”
+
+He had dropped the rake, but now he leaned over, picked it up, and rose
+from the wash bench.
+
+“I s'pose I've got to do it,” he repeated, “unless,” hopefully, “you
+want me to run up to the village and do your errand for you.”
+
+“No; I hadn't any errand.”
+
+“Well, then I s'pose I'd better start in. Unless there was somethin'
+else you'd ruther I'd do to-day. If there was I could do this
+to-morrer.”
+
+“To-morrow would have one advantage: there would be more to rake then.
+However, judging by Dorinda's temper this morning, I think, perhaps, you
+had better do it to-day.”
+
+“What's Dorindy doin'?”
+
+“She is dusting the dining-room.”
+
+“I'll bet you! And she dusted it yesterday and the day afore. Do you
+know--” Lute sat down again on the bench--“sometimes I get real worried
+about her.”
+
+“No! Do you?”
+
+“Yes, I do. I think she works too hard. Seems's if sometimes it had kind
+of struck to her brains--work, I mean. She don't think of nothin' else.
+Now take the dustin', for instance. Dustin's all right; I believe in
+dustin' things. But I don't believe in wearin' 'em out dustin' 'em. That
+ain't sense, is it?”
+
+“It doesn't seem like it, that's a fact.”
+
+“You bet it don't! And it ain't good religion, neither. Now take--well,
+take this yard, for instance. What is it that I'm slavin' myself over
+this fine mornin'? Why, rakin' this yard! And what am I rakin'? Why,
+dead leaves from last fall, and straws and sticks and pieces of seaweed
+and such that have blowed in durin' the winter. And what blowed 'em in?
+Why, the wind, sartin! And whose wind was it? The Almighty's, that's
+whose! Now then! if the Almighty didn't intend to have dead leaves
+around why did he put trees for 'em to fall off of? If he didn't want
+straws and seaweed and truck around why did He send them everlastin'
+no'theasters last November? Did that idea ever strike you?”
+
+“I don't know that it ever did, exactly in that way.”
+
+“No. Well, that's 'cause you ain't reasoned it out, same as I have.
+You've got the same trouble that most folks have, you don't reason
+things out. Now, let's look at it straight in the face.” Lute let go of
+the rake altogether and used both hands to illustrate his point. “That
+finger there, we'll say, is me, rakin' and rakin' hard as ever I can.
+And that fist there is the Almighty, not meanin' anything irreverent.
+I rake, same as I'm doin' this mornin'. The yard's all cleaned up.
+Then--zing!” Lute's clenched fist swept across and knocked the
+offending finger out of the way. “Zing! here comes one of the Almighty's
+no'theasters, same as we're likely to have to-morrer, and the consarned
+yard is just as dirty as ever. Ain't that so?”
+
+I looked at the yard. “It seems to be about as it was,” I agreed, with
+some sarcasm. Lute was an immune, so far as sarcasm was concerned.
+
+“Yup,” he said, triumphantly. “Now, Dorindy, she's a good, pious woman.
+She believes the Powers above order everything. If that's so, then ain't
+it sacrilegious to be all the time flyin' in the face of them Powers by
+rakin' and rakin' and dustin' and dustin'? That's the question.”
+
+“But, according to that reasoning,” I observed, “we should neither rake
+nor dust. Wouldn't that make our surroundings rather uncomfortable,
+after a while?”
+
+“Sartin. But when they got uncomfortable then we could turn to and make
+'em comfortable again. I ain't arguin' against work--needful work, you
+understand. I like it. And I ain't thinkin' of myself, you know, but
+about Dorindy. It worries me to see her wearin' herself out with--with
+dustin' and such. It ain't sense and 'tain't good religion. She's my
+wife and it's my duty to think for her and look out for her.”
+
+He paused and reached into his overalls pocket for a pipe. Finding it,
+he reached into another pocket for the wherewithal to fill it.
+
+“Have you suggested to her that she's flying in the face of Providence?”
+ I asked.
+
+Lute shook his head. “No,” he admitted, “I ain't. Got any tobacco about
+you? Dorindy hove my plug away yesterday. I left it back of the clock
+and she found it and was mad--dustin' again, of course.”
+
+He took the pouch I handed him, filled his pipe and absently put the
+pouch in his pocket.
+
+“Got a match?” he asked. “Thanks. No, I ain't spoke to her about it,
+though it's been on my mind for a long spell. I didn't know but you
+might say somethin' to her along that line, Roscoe. 'Twouldn't sound so
+personal, comin' from you. What do you think?”
+
+I shook my head. “Dorinda wouldn't pay much attention to my ideas on
+such subjects, I'm afraid,” I answered. “She knows I'm not a regular
+church-goer.”
+
+Lute was plainly disappointed. “Well,” he said, with a sigh, “maybe
+you're right. She does cal'late you're kind of heathen, though she hopes
+you'll see the light some day. But, just the same,” he added, “it's a
+good argument. I tried it on the gang up to the post-office last night.
+I says to 'em, says I, 'Work's all right. I believe in it. I'm a workin'
+man, myself. But to work when you don't have to is wrong. Take Ros
+Paine,' I says--”
+
+“Why should you take me?” I interrupted, rather sharply.
+
+“'Cause you're the best example I could think of. Everybody knows you
+don't do no work. Shootin' and sailin' and fishin' ain't work, and
+that's about all you do. 'Take Ros,' says I. 'He might be to work. He
+was in a bank up to the city once and he knows the bankin' trade. He
+might be at it now, but what would be the use?' I says. 'He's got enough
+to live on and he lives on it, 'stead of keepin' some poor feller out of
+a job.' That's right, too, ain't it?”
+
+I didn't answer at once. There was no reason why I should be irritated
+because Luther Rogers had held me up as a shining example of the
+do-nothing class to the crowd of hangers-on in a country post-office.
+What did I care for Denboro opinion? Six years in that gossipy village
+had made me, so I thought, capable of rising above such things.
+
+“Well,” I asked after a moment, “what did they say to that?”
+
+“Oh, nothin' much. They couldn't; I had 'em, you see. Some of 'em
+laughed and old Cap'n Jed he hove out somethin' about birds of a feather
+stickin' up for each other. No sense to it. But, as I said afore, what
+can you expect of a Democrat?”
+
+I turned on my heel and moved toward the back gate. “Ain't goin', be
+you?” asked Lute. “Hadn't you better set down and rest your breakfast a
+spell?”
+
+“No, I'm going. By the way, if you're through with that tobacco pouch of
+mine, I'll take it off your hands. I may want to smoke by and by.”
+
+Lute coolly explained that he had forgotten the pouch; it had “gone
+clean out of his head.” However, he handed it over and I left him seated
+on the wash bench, with his head tipped back against the shingles. I
+opened the gate and strolled slowly along the path by the edge of the
+bluff. I had gone perhaps a hundred yards when I heard a shrill voice
+behind me. Turning, I saw Dorinda standing by the corner of the kitchen,
+dust cloth in hand. Her husband was raking for dear life.
+
+I walked on. The morning was a beautiful one. Beside the path, on the
+landward side, the bayberry and beach-plum bushes were in bud, the green
+of the new grass was showing above the dead brown of the old, a bluebird
+was swaying on the stump of a wild cherry tree, and the pines and scrub
+oaks of the grove by the Shore Lane were bright, vivid splashes of color
+against the blue of the sky. At my right hand the yellow sand of the
+bluff broke sharply down to the white beach and the waters of the
+bay, now beginning to ebb. Across the bay the lighthouse at Crow Point
+glistened with new paint and I could see a moving black speck, which I
+knew was Ben Small, the keeper, busy whitewashing the fence beside
+it. Down on the beach Zeb Kendrick was overhauling his dory. In the
+distance, beyond the grove, I could hear the carpenters' hammers on the
+roof of the big Atwater mansion, which was now the property of James
+Colton, the New York millionaire, whose rumored coming to Denboro to
+live had filled the columns of the country weekly for three months. The
+quahaug boats were anchored just inside the Point; a clam digger was
+wading along the outer edge of the sedge; a lobsterman was hauling his
+pots in the channel; even the bluebird on the wild cherry stump had
+a straw in his beak and was plainly in the midst of nest building.
+Everyone had something to do and was doing it--everyone except Lute
+Rogers and myself, the “birds of a feather.” And even Lute was working
+now, under compulsion.
+
+Ordinarily the sight of all this industry would not have affected me. I
+had seen it all before, or something like it. The six years I had spent
+in Denboro, the six everlasting, idle, monotonous years, had had their
+effect. I had grown hardened and had come to accept my fate, at first
+rebelliously, then with more of Lute's peculiar kind of philosophy.
+Circumstances had doomed me to be a good-for-nothing, a gentleman loafer
+without the usual excuse--money--and, as it was my doom, I forced myself
+to accept it, if not with pleasure, at least with resignation. And I
+determined to get whatever pleasure there might be in it. So, when I saw
+the majority of the human race, each with a purpose in life, struggling
+to attain that purpose, I passed them by with my gun or fishing rod
+on my shoulder, and a smile on my lips. If my remnant of a conscience
+presumed to rise and reprove me, I stamped it down. It had no reasonable
+excuse for rising; I wasn't what I was from choice.
+
+But, somehow, on this particular morning, my unreasonable conscience was
+again alive and kicking. Perhaps it was the quickening influence of the
+spring which resurrected it; perhaps Luther's quotation from the remarks
+of Captain Jedediah Dean had stirred it to rebellion. A man may know, in
+his heart, that he is no good and still resent having others say that he
+is, particularly when they say that he and Luther Rogers are birds of a
+feather. I didn't care for Dean's good opinion; of course I didn't! Nor
+for that of any one else in Denboro, my mother excepted. But Dean and
+the rest should keep their opinions to themselves, confound them!
+
+The path from our house--the latter every Denboro native spoke of as
+the “Paine Place”--wound along the edge of the bluff for perhaps three
+hundred yards, then turned sharply through the grove of scrub oaks and
+pitch pines and emerged on the Shore Lane. The Shore Lane was not a
+public road, in the strictest sense of the term. It was really a part of
+my land and, leading, as it did, from the Lower Road to the beach, was
+used as a public road merely because mother and I permitted it to be. It
+had been so used, by sufferance of the former owner, for years, and when
+we came into possession of the property we did not interfere with the
+custom. Land along the shore was worth precious little at that time and,
+besides, it was pleasant, rather than disagreeable, to hear the fish
+carts going out to the weirs, and the wagons coming to the beach for
+seaweed, or, filled with picnic parties, rattling down the Lane. We
+could not see them from the house until they had passed the grove and
+emerged upon the beach, but even the noise of them was welcome. The
+Paine Place was a good half-mile from the Lower Road and there were few
+neighbors; therefore, especially in the winter months, any sounds of
+society were comforting.
+
+I strode through the grove, kicking the dead branches out of my way, for
+my mind was still busy with Luther and Captain Dean. As I came out into
+the Lane I looked across at the Atwater mansion, now the property of the
+great and only Colton, “Big Jim” Colton, whose deals and corners in Wall
+Street supplied so many and such varied sensations for the financial
+pages of the city papers, just as those of his wife and family supplied
+news for the society columns; I looked across, I say, and then I stopped
+short to take a longer look.
+
+I could see the carpenters, whose hammers I had heard, at work upon the
+roof of the barn, now destined to do double duty as a stable and garage.
+They, and the painters and plumbers, had been busy on the premises for
+months. The establishment had been a big one, even when Major Atwater
+owned it, but the new owners had torn down and added and rebuilt until
+the house loomed up like a palace or a Newport villa. A Newport villa
+in Denboro! Why on earth any one should deliberately choose Denboro as a
+place to live in I couldn't understand; but why a millionaire, with
+all creation to select from, should build a Newport villa on the bluff
+overlooking Denboro Bay was beyond comprehension. The reason given in
+the Cape Cod Item was that Mrs. Colton was “in debilitated health,”
+ whatever that is, and had been commanded by her doctors to seek sea air
+and seclusion and rest. Well, there was sea air and rest, not to mention
+seclusion or sand and mosquitoes, for a square mile about the new villa,
+and no one knew that better than I, condemned to live within the
+square. But if Mrs. Colton had deliberately chosen the spot, with malice
+aforethought, the place for her was a home for the feeble minded. At
+least, that was my opinion on that particular morning.
+
+It was not the carpenters who caused me to pause in my walk and look
+across the lane and over the stone wall at my new neighbor's residence.
+What caught my attention was that the place looked to be inhabited. The
+windows were open--fifty or so of them--smoke was issuing from one of
+the six chimneys; a maid in a white cap and apron was standing by the
+servants' entrance. Yes, and a tall, bulky man with a yachting cap
+on the back of his head and a cigar in his mouth was talking with Asa
+Peters, the boss carpenter, by the big door of the barn.
+
+I had not been up to the village for two days, having been employed at
+our boat-house on the beach below the house, getting my motor dory
+into commission for the summer. But now I remembered that Lute had said
+something about the Coltons being expected, or having arrived, and that
+he seemed much excited over it. He would have said more, but Dorinda had
+pounced on him and sent him out to shut up the chickens, which gave
+him the excuse to play truant and take his evening's trip to the
+post-office. It was plain that the Coltons HAD arrived. Very likely the
+stout man with the yachting cap was the mighty “Big Jim” himself. Well,
+I didn't envy him in his present situation. He had my pity, if anything.
+
+Possibly the fact that I could pity some one other than myself helped
+to raise my spirits. At any rate I managed to shake off a little of my
+gloom and tramped on up the Lane, feeling more like a human being and
+less like a yellow dog. Less as I should imagine a yellow dog ought
+to feel, I mean, for, as a matter of fact, most yellow dogs of my
+acquaintance seem to be as happy as their brown or white or black
+relatives. I walked up the Lane, turned into the Lower Road, and headed
+for the village. The day was a gorgeous one, the air bracing as a tonic,
+and my thirtieth birthday was not yet so far astern as to be lost in
+the fog. After all, there were some consolations in being alive and in a
+state of health not “debilitated.” I began to whistle.
+
+A quarter of a mile from the junction of the Shore Lane, on the Lower
+Road, was a willow-shaded spot, where the brook which irrigated Elnathan
+Mullet's cranberry swamp ran under a small wooden bridge. It was there
+that I first heard the horn and, turning, saw the automobile coming from
+behind me. It was approaching at a speed of, I should say, thirty miles
+an hour, and I jumped to the rail of the bridge to let it pass. Autos
+were not as common on the Cape then as they have become since. Now the
+average pedestrian of common-sense jumps first and looks afterwards.
+
+However, I jumped in time, and stood still to watch the car as it went
+by. But it did not go by--not then. Its speed slackened as it
+approached and it came to a halt on the bridge beside me. A big car;
+an aristocratic car; a machine of pomp and price and polish, such as
+Denboro saw but seldom. It contained three persons--a capped and goggled
+chauffeur on the front seat, and a young fellow and a girl in the
+tonneau. They attracted my attention in just that order--first the
+chauffeur, then the young fellow, and, last of all, the girl.
+
+It was the chauffeur who hailed me. He leaned across the upholstery
+beside him and, still holding the wheel, said:
+
+“Say, Bill, what's the quickest way to get to Bayport?”
+
+Now my name doesn't happen to be Bill and just then I objected to the
+re-christening. At another time I might have appreciated the joke and
+given him the information without comment. But this morning I didn't
+feel like joking. My dissatisfaction with the world in general included
+automobilists who made common folks get out of their way, and I was
+resentful.
+
+“I should say that you had picked about as quick a way as any,” I
+answered.
+
+The chauffeur didn't seem to grasp the true inwardness of this brilliant
+bit.
+
+“Aw, what--” he stammered. “Say, what--look here, I asked you--”
+
+Then the young man in the tonneau took charge of the conversation. He
+was a very young man, with blond hair and a silky mustache, and his
+clothes fitted him as clothes have no right to fit--on Cape Cod.
+
+“That'll do, Oscar,” he ordered. Then, turning to me, he said:
+
+“See here, my man, we want to go to Bayport.”
+
+I was not his man, and wouldn't have been for something. The chauffeur
+had irritated me, but he irritated me more. I didn't like him, his
+looks, his clothes, and, particularly, his manner. Therefore, because
+I didn't feel like answering, I showed my independence by remaining
+silent.
+
+“What's the matter?” he demanded, impatiently. “Are you deaf? I say we
+want to go to Bayport.”
+
+A newspaper joke which I had recently read came to my mind. “Very well,”
+ I said, “you have my permission.”
+
+It was a rude thing to say, and not even original. I don't attempt to
+excuse it. In fact, I was sorry as soon as I had said it. It had its
+effect. The young man turned red. Then he laughed aloud.
+
+“Well, by Jove!” he exclaimed. “What have we here? A humorist, I do
+believe! Mabel, we've discovered a genuine, rural humorist. Another
+David Harum, by Jove! Look at him!”
+
+The girl in the tonneau swept aside her veil and looked, as directed.
+And I looked at her. The face that I saw was sweet and refined and
+delicate, a beautiful young face, the face of a lady, born and bred. All
+this I saw and realized at a glance; but what I was most conscious of at
+the time was the look in the dark eyes as they surveyed me from head
+to foot. Indifference was there, and contemptuous amusement; she
+didn't even condescend to smile, much less speak. Under that look my
+self-importance shrank until the yellow dog with which I had compared
+myself loomed as large as an elephant. She might have looked that way at
+some curious and rather ridiculous bug, just before calling a servant to
+step on it.
+
+The young man laughed again. “Isn't it a wonder, Mabel?” he asked. “The
+native wit on his native heath! Reuben--pardon me, your name is Reuben,
+isn't it?--now that you've had your little joke, would you condescend to
+tell us the road which we should take to reach Bayport in the shortest
+time? Would you oblige us to that extent?”
+
+The young lady smiled at this. “Victor,” she said, “how idiotic you
+are!”
+
+I agreed with her. Idiot was one of the terms, the mildest, which I
+should have applied to that young man. I wanted very much to remove him
+from that car by what Lute would call the scruff of the neck. But most
+of all, just then, I wanted to be alone, to see the last of the auto and
+its occupants.
+
+“First turn to the right, second to the left,” I said, sullenly.
+
+“Thank you, Reuben,” vouchsafed the young man. “Here's hoping that your
+vegetables are fresher than your jokes. Go ahead, Oscar.”
+
+The chauffeur threw in the clutch and the car buzzed up the road,
+turning the corner at full speed. There was a loose board projecting
+from the bridge just under my feet. As a member--though an inactive
+one--of the Village Improvement Society I should have trodden it back
+into place. I didn't; I kicked it into the brook.
+
+Then I walked on. But the remainder of my march was a silent one,
+without music. I did not whistle.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The post-office was at Eldredge's store, and Eldredge's store, situated
+at the corners, where the Main Road and the Depot Road--which is also
+the direct road to South Denboro--join, was the mercantile and social
+center of Denboro. Simeon Eldredge kept the store, and Simeon was also
+postmaster, as well as the town constable, undertaker, and auctioneer.
+If you wanted a spool of thread, a coffin, or the latest bit of gossip,
+you applied at Eldredge's. The gossip you could be morally certain of
+getting at once; the thread or the coffin you might have to wait for.
+
+I scarcely know why I went to Eldredge's that morning. I did not
+expect mail, and I did not require Simeon's services in any one of his
+professional capacities. Possibly Lute's suggestion had some sort of
+psychic effect and I stopped at the post-office involuntarily. At any
+rate, I woke from the trance in which the encounter with the automobile
+had left me to find myself walking in at the door.
+
+The mail was not yet due, to say nothing of having arrived or been
+sorted, but there was a fair-sized crowd on the settees and perched on
+the edge of the counter. Ezra Mullet was there, and Alonzo Black and
+Alvin Baker and Thoph Newcomb. Beriah Doane and Sam Cahoon, who lived
+in South Denboro, were there, too, having driven over behind Beriah's
+horse, on an errand; that is, Beriah had an errand and Sam came along to
+help him remember it. In the rear of the store, by the frame of letter
+boxes, Captain Jedediah Dean was talking with Simeon.
+
+Alvin Baker saw me first and hailed me as I entered.
+
+“Here's Ros Paine,” he exclaimed. “He'll know more about it than anybody
+else. Hey, Ros, how many hired help does he keep, anyhow? Thoph says
+it's eight, but I know I counted more'n that, myself.”
+
+“It's eight, I tell you,” broke in Newcomb, before I could answer.
+“There's the two cooks and the boy that waits on 'em--”
+
+“The idea of having anybody wait on a cook!” interrupted Mullet. “That's
+blame foolishness.”
+
+“I never said he waited on the cooks. I said he waited on them--on the
+family. And there's a coachman--”
+
+“Why do they call them kind of fellers coachmen?” put in Thoph. “There
+ain't any coach. I see the carriages when they come--two freight cars
+full of 'em. There was a open two-seater, and a buckboard, and that
+high-wheeled thing they called a dog-cart.”
+
+Beriah Doane laughed uproariously. “Land of love!” he shouted. “Does the
+dog have a cart all to himself? That's a good one! You and me ain't got
+no dog, Sam, but we might have a couple of cat-carts, hey? Haw! haw!”
+
+Thoph paid no attention to this pleasantry. “There was the dog-cart,” he
+repeated, “and another thing they called the 'trap.' But there wan't any
+coach; I'll swear to it.”
+
+“Don't make no difference,” declared Alvin; “there was a man along that
+SAID he was the coachman, anyhow. And a big minister-lookin' feller
+who was a butler, and two hired girls besides the cooks. That's nine,
+anyhow. One more'n you said, Thoph.”
+
+“And that don't count the chauffeur, the chap that runs the
+automobiles,” said Alonzo Black. “He's the tenth. Say, Ros,” turning to
+me, “how many is there, altogether?”
+
+“How many what?” I asked. It was my first opportunity to speak.
+
+“Why, hired help--servants, you know. How many does Mr. Colton keep?”
+
+“I don't know how many he keeps,” I said. “Why should I?”
+
+The group looked at me in amazement. Thoph Newcomb voiced the general
+astonishment.
+
+“Why should you!” he repeated. “Why shouldn't you, you mean! You're
+livin' right next door to 'em, as you might say! My soul! If I was you I
+cal'late I'd know afore this time.”
+
+“No doubt you would, Thoph. But I don't. I didn't know the Coltons had
+arrived until I came by just now. They have arrived, I take it.”
+
+Arrived! There was no question of the arrival, nor of its being
+witnessed by everyone present, myself and the South Denboro delegates
+excepted. Newcomb and Baker and Mullet and Black began talking all
+together. I learned that the Colton invasion of Denboro was a spectacle
+only equaled by the yearly coming of the circus to Hyannis, or the
+opening of the cattle show at Ostable. The carriages and horses had
+arrived by freight the morning before; the servants and the family on
+the afternoon train.
+
+“I see 'em myself,” affirmed Alonzo. “I was as nigh to 'em as I be to
+you. Mrs. Colton is sort of fleshy, but as handsome a woman as you'd
+want to see. I spoke to her, too. 'It's a nice day,' I says, 'ain't
+it?'”
+
+“What did she say?” asked Newcomb.
+
+“She didn't say nothin'. Engine was makin' such a noise she didn't hear,
+I presume likely.”
+
+“Humph!” sniffed Baker, evidently envious; “I guess she heard you, all
+right. Fellers like you make me tired. Grabbin' every chance to curry
+favor with rich folks! Wonder you didn't tell her you drove a fish-cart
+and wanted her trade! As for me, I'm independent. Don't make no
+difference to me how well-off a person is. They're human, just the same
+as I am, and _I_ don't toady to 'em. If they want to talk they can send
+for me. I'll wait till they do.”
+
+“Hope you've got lots of patience, Alvin,” observed Mullet drily.
+During the hilarity which followed, and while the offended apostle of
+independence was trying to think of a sufficiently cutting reply, I
+walked to the rear of the store.
+
+Our letter box was Number 218, in the center of the rack, and, as I
+approached, I glanced at it involuntarily. To my surprise there was a
+letter in it; I could see it through the glass of the box door. Lute
+had, as I knew, got the mail the previous evening and the morning's mail
+had not yet arrived. Therefore this letter must have been written by
+some one in Denboro and posted late the night before or early that
+morning. It was not the custom for Denboro residents to communicate with
+each other through the medium of the post. They preferred to save the
+two cents stamp money, as a general thing. Bills sometimes came by mail,
+but this was the tenth, not the first, of the month; and, besides, our
+bills were paid.
+
+I reached into my pocket for my keys, unlocked the box and took out the
+letter. The envelope was square, of an expensive quality, and eminently
+aristocratic. It was postmarked Denboro, dated that morning, and
+addressed in a sharp, clear masculine hand unfamiliar to me, to “Roscoe
+Paine, Esq.” The “Esq.” would have settled it, if the handwriting had
+not. No fellow-townsman of my acquaintance would address me, or any
+one else, as Esquire. Misters and Captains were common enough, but
+Esquires--no.
+
+It was a Denboro custom, when one received a mysterious letter, to get
+the fullest enjoyment out of the mystery before solving it. I had known
+Dorinda Rogers to guess, surmise and speculate for ten minutes before
+opening a patent medicine circular. But, though mysteries were uncommon
+enough in my life, I think I should have reached the solution of
+this one in the next second--in fact, I had torn the end from the
+envelope--when I was interrupted.
+
+It was Captain Dean who interrupted me. He had evidently concluded his
+conversation with the postmaster and now was bearing down majestically
+upon me, like a ten thousand ton steamer on a porgie schooner.
+
+“Hey, you--Ros!” he roared. He was at my elbow, but he roared just the
+same. Skipper of a coaster in his early days, he had never outgrown the
+habit of pitching his voice to carry above a fifty-mile gale. “Hey, Ros.
+See here; I want to talk to you.”
+
+I did not want to talk with any one, particularly with him. He was the
+individual who, according to Lute, had bracketed Mr. Rogers and myself
+as birds of a feather, the remark which was primarily responsible for my
+ill humor of the morning. If he had not said that, and if Lute had not
+quoted the saying to me, I might have behaved less like a fool when that
+automobile overtook me, I might not have given that young idiot, whose
+Christian name it seemed was Victor, the opportunity to be smart at my
+expense. That girl with the dark eyes might not have looked at me as if
+I were a worm or a June bug. Confound her! what right had she to look at
+me like that? Victor, or whatever his name was, was a cub and a cad and
+as fresh as the new paint on Ben Small's lighthouse, but he had deigned
+to speak. Whereas that girl--!
+
+No, I did not want to talk with Jedediah Dean. However, he wanted to
+talk to me, and what he wanted he usually got.
+
+Captain Dean was one of Denboro's leading citizens. His parents had been
+as poor as Job's turkey, but Jedediah had determined to get money and
+now he had it. He was reputed to be worth “upwards of thirty thousand,”
+ owned acres and acres of cranberry swamps, and the new house he had just
+built was almost as big as it was ugly, which is saying considerable. He
+had wanted to be a deacon in the church and, though the church was by no
+means so eager, deacon he became. He was an uncompromising Democrat, but
+he had forced himself into the Board of Selectmen, every other member
+a Republican. He was director in the Denboro bank, and it was town talk
+that his most ardent desire at the present time was to see his daughter
+Helen--Nellie, we all called her--married to George Taylor, cashier of
+that bank. As George and Nellie were “keeping company” it seemed likely
+that Captain Jed would be gratified in this, as in all other desires.
+He was a born boss, and did his best to run the town according to his
+ideas. Captain Elisha Warren, who lived over in South Denboro and was
+also a director in the bank, covered the situation when he said: “Jed
+Dean is one of those fellers who ought to have a big family to order
+around. The Almighty gave him only one child and so he adopted Denboro
+and is bossin' that.”
+
+“I want to talk to you, Ros,” repeated Captain Jed. “Come here.”
+
+He led the way to the settee by the calico and dress goods counter. I
+put the unread letter in my pocket and followed him.
+
+“Set down,” he ordered. “Come to anchor alongside.”
+
+I came to anchor.
+
+“How's your mother?” he asked. “Matilda was cal'latin' to go down and
+set with her a spell this afternoon, if she didn't have anything else to
+do--if Matilda didn't, I mean.”
+
+Matilda was his wife. In her husband's company she was as dumb as a
+broken phonograph; when he was not with her she talked continuously,
+as if to get even. A call from Matilda Dean was one of the additional
+trials which made Mother's invalid state harder to bear.
+
+“Course she may not come,” Jedediah hastened to say. “She's pretty busy
+these days. But if she don't have anything else to do she will. I told
+her she'd better.”
+
+“Mother will be charmed,” I said. Captain Jed was no fool and he looked
+at me sharply.
+
+“Um; yes,” he grunted. “I presume likely. You're charmed, too, ain't
+you?”
+
+I was not expecting this. I murmured something to the effect that I was
+delighted, of course.
+
+“Sartin. Well, that's all right. I didn't get you on this settee to
+charm you. I want to talk business with you a minute.”
+
+“Business! With me?”
+
+“Yup. Or it may be business later on. I've been thinkin' about that
+Shore Lane, the one that runs through your land. Us town folks use that
+a whole lot. I cal'late most everybody's come to look at it as a reg'lar
+public road to the beach.”
+
+“Why, yes, I suppose they have,” I said, puzzled to know what he was
+driving at. “It is a public road, practically.”
+
+“No, 'tain't, neither. It's a private way, and if you wanted to you
+could shut it off any day. A good many folks would have shut it off
+afore this.”
+
+“Oh, I guess not.”
+
+“I guess yes. I'd shut it off myself. I wouldn't have Tom, Dick and
+Harry drivin' fish wagons and tip carts full of seaweed through my
+premises free gratis for nothin'.”
+
+“Why?” I asked. “What harm does it do?”
+
+“I don't know as it does any. But because a tramp sleepin' on my front
+piazza might not harm the piazza, that's no reason why I'd let him sleep
+there.”
+
+I laughed. “The two cases aren't exactly alike, are they?” I said. “The
+land is of no value to us at present. Mother and I are glad to have the
+Lane used, if it is a convenience, as I suppose it is.”
+
+“It's that, sartin. Ros, who owns that land the Lane runs through--you
+or your mother?”
+
+“It is in my name,” I said.
+
+“Um-hm. Well, would you sell it?”
+
+“Sell it! Sell that strip of sand and beach grass! Who would buy it?”
+
+“I don't know as anybody would. I just asked if you'd sell it, that's
+all.”
+
+“Perhaps I would. I presume I should, if I had the chance.”
+
+“Ain't had any chance yet, have you?”
+
+“What do you mean by that?”
+
+“Oh, nothin', nothin'! Well, you just think it over. If you decide you
+would sell it and get so fur as fixin' a price on it, let me know, will
+you?”
+
+“Captain, what in the world do you want of that land? See here! you
+don't want to shut off the Shore Lane, do you?”
+
+“What in time would I want to shut it off for? I use it as much as
+anybody, don't I?”
+
+“Then I don't see--”
+
+“Maybe there ain't nothin' TO see. Only, if you decide to sell, let me
+know. Yes, and don't sell WITHOUT lettin' me know. Understand?”
+
+“No, I don't.”
+
+“Well, you understand enough, I cal'late. All I want you to do is to
+promise not to sell that land the Lane's on without speakin' to me fust.
+Will you promise that?”
+
+I considered for a moment. “Yes,” I said, “I'll promise that. Though I
+can't imagine what you're driving at.”
+
+“You don't need to. Maybe I'm just drivin' blind; I hope I am. That's
+all I wanted to talk about,” rising from the settee. “Oh, by the way,”
+ he added, “your neighborhood's honored just now, ain't it? The King of
+New York's arrived, they tell me.”
+
+“King of New York? Oh! I see; you mean the Coltons.”
+
+“Sartin. Who else? Met his Majesty yet?”
+
+“No. Have you?”
+
+“I met him when he was down a month ago. Sim Eldredge introduced me
+right here in the store. 'Mr. Colton,' says Sim, proud but humble, so
+to speak, 'let me make you acquainted with one of our selectmen, Cap'n
+Dean. Cap'n, shake hands with Mr. Colton of New York.' We shook, and I
+cal'late I'd ought to have kept that hand in a glass case ever since.
+But, somehow or other, I ain't.”
+
+“What sort of a chap is Colton?” I asked.
+
+“Oh, all right of his kind, I guess. In amongst a gang of high financers
+like himself he'd size up as a pretty good sport, I shouldn't wonder.
+And he was polite enough to me, I suppose. But, darn him, I didn't like
+the way he looked at me! He looked as if--as if--well, I can't tell you
+how he looked.”
+
+“You don't need to,” I said, brusquely. “I know.”
+
+“You do, hey? He ain't looked at you, has he? No, course he ain't! You
+said you hadn't met him.”
+
+“I've met others of his kind.”
+
+“Yes. Well, I'm a hayseed and I know it. I'm just a countryman and he's
+a millionaire. He'll be the big show in this town from now on. When he
+blows his nose seven-eighths of this community 'll start in workin' up a
+cold in the head.”
+
+He turned on his heel and started to go.
+
+“Will you?” I asked, slily.
+
+He looked back over his shoulder. “I ain't subject to colds--much,” he
+snapped. “But YOU better lay in a supply of handkerchiefs, Ros.”
+
+I smiled. I knew what was troubling him. A little tin god has a pleasant
+time of it, no doubt, until the coming of the eighteen carat gold idol.
+Captain Jed had been boss of Denboro--self-appointed to that eminent
+position, but holding it nevertheless--and to be pushed from his
+perch by a city rival was disagreeable. If I knew him he would not be
+dethroned without a fight. There were likely to be some interesting and
+lively times in our village.
+
+I could understand Dean's dislike of Colton, but his interest in the
+Shore Lane was a mystery. Why should he wish to buy that worthless strip
+of land? And what did he mean by asking if I had chances to sell it?
+Still pondering over this puzzle, I walked toward the front of the
+store, past the group waiting for the mail, where the discussion
+concerning the Coltons was still going on, Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker
+both talking at once.
+
+“You ask Ros,” shouted Alvin, pounding the counter beside him. “Say,
+Ros, Newcomb here seems to think that because a feller comes from the
+city and is rich that that gives him the right to order the rest of us
+around as if we was fo'mast hands. He says--”
+
+“I don't neither!” yelled Thoph. “What I say is that money counts,
+and--”
+
+“You do, too! Ros, do YOU intend to get down on your knees to them
+Coltons?”
+
+I laughed and went on without replying. I left the store and strolled
+across the road to the bank, intending to make a short call on George
+Taylor, the cashier, my most intimate acquaintance and the one person in
+Denboro who came nearest to being my friend.
+
+But George was busy in the directors' room, and, after waiting a few
+moments in conversation with Henry Small, the bookkeeper, I gave it up
+and walked home, across the fields this time; I had no desire to meet
+more automobilists.
+
+Dorinda had finished dusting the dining room and was busy upstairs.
+I could hear the swish-swish of her broom overhead. I opened the door
+leading to Mother's bedroom and entered, closing the door behind me.
+
+The curtains were drawn, as they always were on sunny days, and the room
+was in deep shadow. Mother had been asleep, I think, but she heard my
+step and recognized it.
+
+“Is that you, Boy?” she asked. If I had been fifty, instead of
+thirty-one, Mother would have called me “Boy” just the same.
+
+“Yes, Mother,” I said.
+
+“Where have you been? For a walk? It is a beautiful morning, isn't it.”
+
+Her only way of knowing that the morning was a beautiful one was that
+the shades were drawn. She had not seen the sunlight on the bay, nor the
+blue sky; she had not felt the spring breeze on her face, or the green
+grass beneath her feet. Her only glimpses of the outside world were
+those which she got on cloudy or stormy days when the shades were raised
+a few inches and, turning her head on the pillow, she could see beneath
+them. For six years she had been helpless and bedridden in that little
+room. But she never complained.
+
+I told her that I had been uptown for a walk.
+
+“Did you meet any one?” she asked.
+
+I said that I had met Captain Dean and Newcomb and the rest. I said
+nothing of my encounter with the motor car.
+
+“Captain Jed graciously informed me that his wife might be down to sit
+with you this afternoon,” I said. “Provided she didn't have anything
+else to do; he took pains to add that. You mustn't see her, of course.”
+
+She smiled. “Why not?” she asked. “Matilda is a little tiresome at
+times, but she means well.”
+
+“Humph! Mother, I think you would make excuses for the Old Harry
+himself. That woman will talk you to death.”
+
+“Oh, no! Not as bad as that. And poor Matilda doesn't talk much at home,
+I'm afraid.”
+
+“Her husband sees to that; I don't blame him. By the way, the Captain
+had a queer bee in his bonnet this morning. He seems to be thinking of
+buying some of our property.”
+
+I told her of Jedediah's interest in the Shore Lane and his hint
+concerning its possible purchase. She listened and then said
+thoughtfully:
+
+“What have you decided to do about it, Roscoe?”
+
+“I haven't decided at all. What do you think, Mother?”
+
+“It seems to me that I shouldn't sell, at least until I knew his reason
+for wanting to buy. It would be different if we needed the money, but,
+of course, we don't.”
+
+“Of course,” I said, hastily. “But why not sell? We don't use the land.”
+
+“No. But the Denboro people need that Lane. They use it a great deal.
+If it were closed it would put many of them to a great inconvenience,
+particularly those who get their living alongshore. Every one in Denboro
+has been so kind to us. I feel that we owe them a debt we never can
+repay.”
+
+“No one could help being kind to you, Mother. Oh! I have another
+piece of news. Did you know that our new neighbors, the Coltons, have
+arrived?”
+
+“Yes. Dorinda told me. Have you met any of them?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Dorinda says Mrs. Colton is an invalid. Poor woman! it must be hard
+to be ill when one has so much to enjoy. Dorinda says they have a very
+pretty daughter.”
+
+I made no comment. I was not interested in pretty daughters, just then.
+The memory of the girl in the auto was too fresh in my mind.
+
+“Did you go to the post-office, Roscoe?” asked Mother. “I suppose there
+were no letters. There seldom are.”
+
+Then I remembered the letter in my pocket. I had forgotten it
+altogether.
+
+“Why, yes, there was a letter, a letter for me. I haven't read it yet.”
+
+I took the envelope from my pocket and drew out the enclosure. The
+latter was a note, very brief and very much to the point. I read it.
+
+“Well, by George!” I exclaimed, angrily.
+
+“What is it, Roscoe?”
+
+“It appears to be a summons from what Captain Jed called the King of New
+York. A summons to appear at court.”
+
+“At court?”
+
+“Oh, not the criminal court. Merely the palace of his Majesty. Just
+listen.”
+
+This was the letter:
+
+
+Roscoe Paine, Esq.
+
+Dear Sir:
+
+I should like to see you at my house this--Thursday--forenoon, on a
+matter of business. I shall expect you at any time after ten in the
+morning.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+JAMES W. COLTON.
+
+
+“From Mr. Colton!” exclaimed Mother. “Why! what can he want of you?”
+
+“I don't know,” I answered. “And I don't particularly care.”
+
+“Roscoe!”
+
+“Mother, did you ever hear such a cool, nervy proposition in your life?
+He wants to see me and he orders me to come to him. Why doesn't he come
+to me?”
+
+“I suppose he didn't think of it. He is a big man in New York and he has
+been accustomed to having people come at his convenience. It's his way
+of doing things, I suppose.”
+
+“Then I don't like the way. This is Denboro, not New York. He will
+expect me at any time after ten, will he? Well, as Mullet said to Alvin
+Baker just now at the post-office, I hope he has lots of patience. He'll
+need it.”
+
+“But what can he want of you?”
+
+“I don't know. Wants to look over his nearest jay neighbor, I should
+imagine, and see what sort of a curio he is. He thinks it may be
+necessary to put up barbed wire fences, I suppose.”
+
+“Roscoe, don't be narrow-minded. Mr. Colton's ways aren't ours and we
+must make allowances.”
+
+“Let him make a few, for a change.”
+
+“Aren't you going to see him?”
+
+“No. At least not until I get good and ready.”
+
+Dorinda came in just then to ask Mother some questions concerning
+dinner, for, though Mother had not seen the dining room since that day,
+six years ago, when she was carried from it to her bedroom, she kept
+her interest in household affairs and insisted on being consulted on all
+questions of management and internal economy. I rose from my chair and
+started toward the door.
+
+“Are you going, Roscoe?” asked Mother.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“Oh, just out of doors; perhaps to the boat-house.”
+
+“Boy.”
+
+“Yes, Mother?”
+
+“What is the matter? Something has gone wrong; I knew it as soon as you
+came in. What is it?”
+
+“Nothing. That is, nothing of any consequence. I'm a little out of sorts
+to-day and that man's letter irritates me. I'll get over it. I'll be
+back soon. Good-by, Mother.”
+
+“Good-by, Boy.”
+
+I went out through the dining room and kitchen, to the back yard, where,
+seating myself on Lute's favorite resting place, the wash bench, I lit
+my pipe and sat thinking, gloomily thinking.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+It is a dreadful thing to hate one's own father; to hate him and be
+unable to forgive him even though he is dead, although he paid for his
+sin with his life. Death is said to pay all debts, but there are some
+it cannot pay. To my father I owed my present ambitionless, idle,
+good-for-nothing life, my mother's illness, years of disgrace, the loss
+of a name--everything.
+
+Paine was my mother's maiden name; she was christened Comfort Paine. My
+own Christian name is Roscoe and my middle name is Paine. My other name,
+the name I was born with, the name that Mother took when she married,
+we dropped when the disgrace came upon us. It was honored and respected
+once; now when it was repeated people coupled it with shame and crime
+and dishonor and broken trust.
+
+As a boy I remember myself as a spoiled youngster who took the luxuries
+of this world for granted. I attended an expensive and select private
+school, idled my way through that somehow, and entered college, a
+happy-go-lucky young fellow with money in my pocket. For two-thirds
+of my Freshman year--which was all I experienced of University life--I
+enjoyed myself as much as possible, and studied as little. Then came the
+telegram. I remember the looks of the messenger who brought it, the cap
+he wore, and the grin on his young Irish face when the fellow sitting
+next me at the battered black oak table in the back room of Kelly's
+asked him to have a beer. I remember the song we were singing, the crowd
+of us, how it began again and then stopped short when the others saw the
+look on my face. The telegram contained but four words: “Come home at
+once.” It was signed with the name of my father's lawyer.
+
+I presume I shall never forget even the smallest incident of that night
+journey in the train and the home-coming. The lawyer's meeting me at the
+station in the early morning; his taking care that I should not see the
+newspapers, and his breaking the news to me. Not of the illness or death
+which I had feared and dreaded, but of something worse--disgrace. My
+father was an embezzler, a thief. He had absconded, had run away, like
+the coward he was, taking with him what was left of his stealings. The
+banking house of which he had been the head was insolvent. The police
+were on his track. And, worse and most disgraceful of all, he had not
+fled alone. There was a woman with him, a woman whose escapades had
+furnished the papers with sensations for years.
+
+I had never been well acquainted with my father. We had never been
+friends and companions, like other fathers and sons I knew. I remember
+him as a harsh, red-faced man, whom, as a boy, I avoided as much as
+possible. As I grew older I never went to him for advice; he was to me a
+sort of walking pocket-book, and not much else. Mother has often told
+me that she remembers him as something quite different, and I suppose it
+must be true, otherwise she would not have married him; but to me he was
+a source of supply coupled with a bad temper, that was all. That I was
+not utterly impossible, that, going my own gait as I did, I was not a
+complete young blackguard, I know now was due entirely to Mother. She
+and I were as close friends as I would permit her to be. Father had
+neglected us for years, though how much he had neglected and ill-treated
+her I did not know until she told me, afterward. She was in delicate
+health even then, but, when the blow fell, it was she and not I who bore
+up bravely and it was her pluck and nerve, not mine, which pulled us
+through that dreadful time.
+
+And it was dreadful. The stories and pictures in the papers! The
+rumors, always contradicted, that the embezzler had been caught! The
+misrepresentation and lies and scandal! The loss of those whom we had
+supposed were friends! Mother bore them all, wore a calm, brave face
+in public, and only when alone with me gave way, and then but at rare
+intervals. She clung to me as her only comfort and hope. I was sullen
+and wrathful and resentful, an unlicked cub, I suspect, whose complaints
+were selfish ones concerning the giving up of my college life and its
+pleasures, and the sacrifice of social position and wealth.
+
+Mother had--or so we thought at the time--a sum in her own name which
+would enable us to live; although not as we had lived by a great deal.
+We took an apartment in an unfashionable quarter of the city, and thanks
+to the lawyer--who proved himself a real and true friend--I was given
+a minor position in a small bank. Oddly enough, considering my former
+life, I liked the work, it interested me, and during the next few years
+I was made, by successive promotions, bookkeeper, teller, and, at last,
+assistant cashier. No news came from the absconder. The police had lost
+track of him, and it seemed probable that he would never be heard of
+again. But over Mother and myself hung always the dread that he might
+be found and all the dreadful business revived once more. Mother never
+mentioned it, nor did I, but the dread was there.
+
+Then came the first breakdown in Mother's health which necessitated her
+removal to the country. Luther and Dorinda Rogers were distant relatives
+of our friend, the lawyer. They owned the little house by the shore at
+Denboro and the lawyer had visited them occasionally on shooting and
+fishing trips. They were in need of money, for, as Dorinda said: “We've
+got two mouths in this family and only one pair of hands. One of the
+mouths is so big that the hands can't fill it, let alone the mouth that
+belongs to THEM.” Mother--as Mrs. Paine, a widow--went there first as
+a boarder, intending to remain but a few months. Dorinda took to her at
+once, being attracted in the beginning, I think, by the name. “They call
+you Comfort Paine,” she said, “and you are a comfort to everybody else's
+pain. Yet you ain't out of pain a minute scurcely, yourself. I never see
+anything like it. If 'twan't wicked I'd say that name was give you by
+the Old Scratch himself, as a sort of divilish joke. But anybody can see
+that the Old Scratch never had anything in common with you, even a hand
+in the christenin'.”
+
+Dorinda was very kind, and Lute was a never-ending joy in his peculiar
+way. Mother would have been almost happy in the little Denboro home,
+if I had been with her. But she was never really happy when we were
+separated, a condition of mind which grew more acute as her health
+declined. I came down from the city once every month and those Sundays
+were great occasions. The Denboro people know me as Roscoe Paine.
+
+For a time Mother seemed to be holding her own. In answer to my
+questions she always declared that she was ever so much better. But
+Doctor Quimby, the town physician, looked serious.
+
+“She must be kept absolutely quiet,” he said. “She must not be troubled
+in any way. Worry or mental distress is what I fear most. Any sudden bad
+news or shock might--well, goodness knows what effect it might have. She
+must not be worried. Ros--” after one has visited Denboro five times in
+succession he is generally called by his Christian name--“Ros, if you've
+got any worries you keep 'em to yourself.”
+
+I had worries, plenty of them. Our little fortune, saved, as we thought,
+from the wreck, suffered a severe shrinkage. A considerable portion
+of it, as the lawyers discovered, was involved and belonged to the
+creditors. I said nothing to Mother about this: she supposed that we
+had a sufficient income for our needs, even without my salary. Without
+telling her I gave up our city apartment, stored our furniture, and took
+a room in a boarding-house. I was learning the banking business, was
+trusted with more and more responsibility, and believed my future was
+secure. Then came the final blow.
+
+I saw the news in the paper when I went out to lunch. “Embezzler and His
+Companion Caught in Rio Janeiro. He Commits Suicide When Notified of
+His Arrest.” These headlines stared at me as I opened the paper at the
+restaurant table. My father had shot himself when the police came. I
+read it with scarcely more than a vague feeling of pity for him. It was
+of Mother that I thought. The news must be kept from her. If she should
+hear of it! What should I do? I went first of all to the lawyer's
+office: he was out of town for the day. I wandered up and down the
+streets for an hour. Then I went back to the bank. There I found a
+telegram from Doctor Quimby: “Mrs. Paine very ill. Come on first train.”
+ I knew what it meant. Mother had heard the news; the shock which the
+doctor dreaded had had its effect.
+
+I reached Denboro the next morning. Lute met me at the station. From his
+disjointed and lengthy story I gathered that Mother had been “feelin'
+fust-rate for her” until the noon before. “I come back from the
+post-office,” said Lute, “and I was cal'latin' to read the newspaper,
+but Dorindy had some everlastin' chore or other for me to do--I believe
+she thinks 'em up in her sleep--and I left the paper on the dinin'-room
+table and went out to the barn. Dorindy she come along to boss me, as
+usual. When we went back to the house there was Mrs. Comfort on the
+dinin'-room floor--dead, we was afraid at fust. The paper was alongside
+of her, so we judge she was just a-goin' to read it when she was took.
+The doctor says it's a paralysis or appleplexy or somethin'. We carried
+her into the bedroom, but she ain't spoke sence.”
+
+She did not speak for weeks and when she did it was to ask for me.
+She called my name over and over again and, if I left her, even for a
+moment, she grew so much worse that the doctor forbade my going back to
+the city. I obtained a leave of absence from the bank for three months.
+By that time she was herself, so far as her reason was concerned, but
+very weak and unable to bear the least hint of disturbance or worry. She
+must not be moved, so Doctor Quimby said, and he held out no immediate
+hope of her recovering the use of her limbs. “She will be confined to
+her bed for a long time,” said the doctor, “and she is easy only when
+you are here. If you should go away I am afraid she might die.” I did
+not go away. I gave up my position in the bank and remained in Denboro.
+
+At the end of the year I bought the Rogers house and land, moved a
+portion of our furniture down there, sold the rest, and resigned myself
+to a period of idleness in the country. Dorinda I hired as housekeeper,
+and when Dorinda accepted the engagement she threw in Lute, so to speak,
+for good measure.
+
+And here I have been ever since. At first I looked upon my stay in
+Denboro as a sort of enforced vacation, which was to be, of course, only
+temporary. But time went on and Mother's condition continued unchanged.
+She needed me and I could not leave her. I fished and, shot and sailed
+and loafed, losing ambition and self-respect, aware that the majority of
+the village people considered me too lazy to earn a living, and
+caring little for their opinion. At first I had kept up a hit or miss
+correspondence with one or two of my associates in the bank, but after
+a while I dropped even this connection with the world. I was ashamed
+to have my former acquaintances know what I had become, and they,
+apparently, were quite willing to forget me. I expected to live and die
+in Denboro, and I faced the prospect with indifference.
+
+The summer people, cottagers and boarders, I avoided altogether and my
+only friend, and I did not consider him that, was George Taylor, the
+Denboro bank cashier. He was fond of salt-water and out-door sports and
+we, occasionally enjoyed them together.
+
+Thanks to the lawyer, our names had been scarcely mentioned in the
+papers at the time of my father's death. No one in the village knew our
+identity or our story. And, because I knew that Mother would worry if
+she were told, I kept from her the fact that our little income was but
+half of what it had been. Our wants were few, and if my clothes were no
+longer made by the best tailors, if they were ready-made and out-of-date
+and lacked pressing, they were whole, at all events, because Dorinda was
+a tip-top mender. In fact, I had forgotten they were out-of-date until
+the sight of the immaculately garbed young chap in the automobile
+brought the comparison between us to my mind.
+
+But now, as I sat on the wash-bench, thinking of all this, I looked down
+at my baggy trousers and faded waistcoat with disgust. One of the surest
+signs of the loss of self-respect is a disregard of one's personal
+appearance. I looked like a hayseed--not the independent countryman who
+wears old clothes on week days from choice and is proudly conscious of
+a Sunday suit in the closet--but that other variety, the post-office and
+billiard-room idler who has reached the point of utter indifference, is
+too shiftless to care. Captain Jed was not so far wrong, after all--Lute
+Rogers and I were birds of a feather in more ways than one.
+
+No wonder that girl in the auto had looked at me as if I were something
+too contemptible for notice. Yet I hated her for that look. I had
+behaved like a boor, of course. Because I was a failure, a country
+loafer with no prospect of ever being anything else, because I could
+not ride in automobiles and others could--these were no good reasons
+for insulting strangers more fortunate than I. Yet I did hate that girl.
+Just then I hated all creation, especially that portion of it which
+amounted to anything.
+
+I took the letter from my pocket and read it again. “I should like
+to see you . . . on a matter of business.” What business could “Yours
+truly, James W. Colton” have with me? And Captain Jed also had talked
+business. I supposed that I had given up business long ago and for good;
+now, all at once, it seemed to be hunting me. Well, all the hunting
+should be on its side.
+
+At another time I might have treated the great Colton's “summons to
+court” as a joke. I might, like Mother, have regarded the curtness
+of the command and its general tone of taking my prompt obedience for
+granted as an expression of the Wall Street magnate's habit of mind,
+and nothing more. He was used to having people jump when he snapped his
+fingers. But now it made me angry. I sympathized with Dean and Alvin
+Baker. The possession of money did not necessarily imply omnipotence.
+This was Cape Cod, not New York. His Majesty might, as Captain Jed put
+it, have blown his Imperial nose, but I, for one, wouldn't “lay in a
+supply of handkerchiefs”--not yet.
+
+I heard a rustle in the bushes and, turning my head, saw Lute coming
+along the path. He was walking fast--fast for him, that is--and seemed
+to be excited. His excitement, however, did not cause him to forget
+prudence. He looked carefully about to be sure his wife was not in
+sight, before he spoke.
+
+“Dorindy ain't been here sence I've been gone, has she?” was his first
+question.
+
+“I guess not,” said I. “She has been in the house since I got back. But
+I don't know how long you've been gone.”
+
+“Only a few minutes. I--I just stepped over 'cross the Lane for a jiffy,
+that's all. Say, by time; them Coltons must have money!”
+
+“That's a habit of millionaires, I believe.”
+
+“Hey? What do you mean by that? If they didn't have money they couldn't
+be millionaires, could they? How'd you like to be a millionaire, Ros?”
+
+“I don't know. I never tried.”
+
+“By time! I'D like to try a spell. I've been over lookin' 'round their
+place. You never see such a place! Why, their front doorstep's big as
+this yard, pretty nigh.”
+
+“Does it have to be raked?” I asked.
+
+“Raked! Whoever heard of rakin' a doorstep?”
+
+“Give it up! But it does seem to me that I have heard of raking a yard.
+I think Dorinda mentioned that, didn't she?”
+
+Lute looked at me: then he hurried over and picked up the rake which
+was lying near the barn, a pile--a very small pile--of chips and leaves
+beside it.
+
+“When did she mention it?” he asked.
+
+“A week ago, I think, was the first time. She has referred to it
+occasionally since. She was mentioning it to you when I went up town
+this morning. I heard her.”
+
+Lute looked relieved. “Oh, THEN!” he said. “I thought you meant lately.
+Well, I'm rakin' it, ain't I? Say, Ros,” he added, eagerly, “did you
+go to the post-office when you was uptown? Was there a letter there for
+you?”
+
+“What makes you think there was?”
+
+“Asa Peters' boy, the bow-legged one, told me. The chauffeur, the feller
+that pilots the automobiles, asked him where the post-office was and he
+see the address on the envelope. He said the letter was for you. I told
+him he was lyin'--”
+
+“What in the world did you tell him that for?” I interrupted. I had
+known Lute a long time, but he sometimes surprised me, even yet.
+
+“'Cause he is, nine times out of ten,” replied Lute, promptly. “You
+never see such a young-one for dodgin' the truth. Why, one time he told
+his grandmother, Asa's ma, I mean, that--”
+
+“What did he say about the letter?”
+
+“Said 'twas for you. And the chauffeur said Mr. Colton told him to mail
+it right off. 'Twan't for you, was it, Ros?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“It WAS! Well, by time! What did a man like Mr. Colton write to you
+about?”
+
+Among his other lackings Lute was conspicuously short of tact. This was
+no time for him to ask me such a question, especially to emphasize the
+“you.”
+
+“Why shouldn't he write to me?” I asked, tartly.
+
+“But--but HIM--writin' to YOU!”
+
+“Humph! Even a god stoops once in a while. Read your mythology, Lute.”
+
+“Hey? Say, look here, what are you swearin' about?”
+
+“Swearing? Oh, that's all right. The god I referred to was a heathen
+one.”
+
+“Well, it's a good thing Dorindy didn't hear you; she's down on
+swearin', heathen or any other kind. But what did Mr. Colton write to
+you for?”
+
+“He says he wants to see me.”
+
+“See you? What for?”
+
+“Don't know. Perhaps he wants to borrow money.”
+
+“Borrow--! I believe you're crazy!”
+
+“No, I'm tolerably sane. There! there! don't look at me like that.
+Here's his letter. Read it, if you want to.”
+
+Lute's fingers were so eager to grasp that letter that they were all
+thumbs. He dropped it on the grass, picked it up with as much care as if
+it was a diamond, and holding it a foot from his nose--he had broken
+his spectacles and was afraid to ask Dorinda for the money to have them
+repaired--he spelt it out to the last word.
+
+“Well, by time!” he exclaimed, when he had finished. “He wants to see
+you at his house this forenoon! And--and--why, the forenoon's all but
+gone now! What are you settin' here for?”
+
+“Well, I thought I should enjoy watching you rake the yard. It is a
+pleasure deferred so far.”
+
+“Watchin' me--! Roscoe Paine, you are out of your head! Ain't you goin'
+to see him?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You AIN'T!”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Ros Paine, have you jined in with them darn fools uptown?”
+
+“Who's swearing now? What fools do you mean?”
+
+“Darn ain't swearin'. Dorindy herself says that once in a while. I mean
+Alvin Baker, and Jed Dean and the rest of 'em. They was goin' on about
+Mr. Colton last night; said THEY wan't goin' to run at his beck and
+call. I told 'em, says I, 'You ain't had the chance. You'll run fast
+enough when you do.'”
+
+“Did you say that to Captain Jed?”
+
+“No-o. I said it to Alvin, but old Jed's just as bad. He's down on
+anybody that's got more'n he has. But Ros, you ain't foolish enough to
+side with Jed Dean. Just think! Here's Mr. Colton, richer'n King Solomon
+and all his glory. He's got servants and butlers and bonds and cowpons
+and horses and teams and automobiles and--”
+
+I rose from the wash bench.
+
+“I know what he's got, Lute,” I interrupted. “And I know what he hasn't
+got.”
+
+“What? Is there anything he ain't got?”
+
+“He hasn't got me--not yet. If he wants to see me he may. I expect to be
+at home for the next day or two.”
+
+“You don't mean you expect a millionaire like him to come cruisin' after
+YOU! Well, by time! I think I see him!”
+
+“When you do, let me know,” I said. “I should like to be prepared.”
+
+“Well,--by--time!” said Lute, by way of summing up. I ate dinner with
+Dorinda. Her husband did not join us. Dorinda paid a visit to the back
+yard and, seeing how little raking had been done, announced that until
+the job was finished there would be “no dinner for some folks.” So she
+and I ate and Lute raked, under protest, and vowing that he was so faint
+and holler he cal'lated to collapse 'most any time.
+
+After the meal was finished I went down to the boathouse. The boathouse
+was a little building on the beach at the foot of the bluff below the
+house. It was a favorite resort of mine and I spent many hours there.
+My eighteen foot motor launch, the Comfort, the one expensive luxury I
+allowed myself and which I had bought second-hand two years before,
+was jacked up in the middle of the floor. The engine, which I had taken
+apart to clean, was in pieces beside it. On the walls hung my two shot
+guns and my fishing rod. Outside, on the beach, was my flat-bottomed
+skiff, which I used for rowing about the bay, her oars under the
+thwarts. In the boathouse was a comfortable armchair and a small shelf
+of books, novels for the most part. A cheap clock and a broken-down
+couch, the latter a discard from the original outfit of the cottage,
+made up the list of furniture.
+
+My idea in coming to the boathouse was to continue my work with the
+engine. I tried it for a half hour or so and then gave it up. It did not
+interest me then. I shut the door at the side of the building, that by
+which I had entered--the big double doors in front I had not opened at
+all--and, taking a book from the shelf, stretched myself on the couch to
+read.
+
+The book I had chosen was one belonging to the Denboro Ladies' Library;
+Miss Almena Doane, the librarian, had recommended it highly, as a “real
+interesting story, with lots of uplifting thoughts in it.” The thoughts
+might be uplifting to Almena, but they did not elevate my spirits. As
+for the story--well, the hero was a young gentleman who was poor but
+tremendously clever and handsome, and the heroine had eyes “as dark and
+deep as starlit pools.” The poor but beautiful person met the pool-eyed
+one at a concert, where he sat, “his whole soul transfigured by the
+music,” and she had been “fascinated in spite of herself” by the look on
+his face. I read as far as that and dropped the book in disgust.
+
+After that I must have fallen asleep. What awakened me was a knock
+on the door. It was Lute, of course. Probably mother wanted me for
+something or other, and Dorinda had sent her husband to hunt me up.
+
+The knock was repeated.
+
+“Come in,” I said, sleepily.
+
+The door opened and in came, not Lute, but a tall, portly man, with a
+yachting cap on the back of his gray head, and a cigar in his mouth. He
+looked at me as I lay on the couch and I lay on the couch and looked at
+him.
+
+“Afternoon,” he said, curtly. “Is your name Paine?”
+
+I nodded. I was waking rapidly, but I was too astonished to speak.
+
+“Roscoe Paine?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, mine's Colton. I sent you a letter this morning. Did you get it?”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+I sat up on the couch. Mr. Colton knocked the ashes from his cigar,
+waited an instant, and then repeated his question.
+
+“Did you get my letter?” he asked.
+
+“Yes,” I said.
+
+“Oh, you did. I was afraid that man of mine might have forgotten to mail
+it.”
+
+“No, I got it. Won't you--er--won't you sit down?” He pulled the
+armchair toward him and sat down. I noticed that he had a habit of doing
+things quickly. His sentences were short and to the point and he spoke
+and acted like one accustomed to having his own way. He crossed his
+knees and looked about the little building.
+
+“It is a pleasant day,” I observed, for the sake of saying something.
+He did not seem to hear me, or, if he did, he was not interested in the
+weather. For my part I found the situation embarrassing. I knew what his
+next question would be, and I did not know how to answer. Sure enough,
+he asked it.
+
+“I wrote you to come over to my place this forenoon,” he said. “You
+didn't come.”
+
+“No. I--”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+Here was the issue joined. Here, if ever, was the opportunity to assert
+my independence a la Jed Dean and Alvin Baker. But to assert it now,
+after he had done the unexpected, after the mountain had come to
+Mahomet, seemed caddish and ridiculous. So I temporized, weakly.
+
+“I didn't read your letter until about noon,” I said.
+
+“I see. Well, I waited until two o'clock and then I decided to hunt you
+up. I called at your house. The woman there said you were down here.
+Your mother?”
+
+“No.” My answer was prompt and sharp enough this time. It was natural,
+perhaps, that he should presume Dorinda to be my mother, but I did not
+like it.
+
+He paid absolutely no attention to the tone of my reply or its curtness.
+He did not refer to Dorinda again. She might have been my wife or my
+great-aunt for all he cared.
+
+“This your workshop?” he asked, abruptly. Then, nodding toward the
+dismembered engine, “What are you? a boat builder?”
+
+“No, not exactly.”
+
+“What's the price of a boat like that?” indicating the Comfort with a
+kick in her direction.
+
+“About two hundred and fifty dollars, I believe,” I answered.
+
+“You believe! Don't you know?”
+
+“No. I bought that boat second-hand.”
+
+He did not refer to the boat again; apparently forgot it altogether. His
+next move was to rise and turn toward the door. I watched him, wondering
+what was going to happen next. He had a habit of jumping from one
+subject to another which was bewildering.
+
+“What's that fellow doing off there?” he asked, suddenly.
+
+I looked where he was pointing.
+
+“That is Zeb Kendrick,” I answered. “He's raking for quahaugs.”
+
+“Raking for what hogs?”
+
+“Quahaugs. What you New Yorkers call clams.”
+
+“Oh! Sell 'em, does he?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Tell him to call at my house next time you see him. And for heaven's
+sake tell him to come to the servants' door. Don't you people down here
+have any servants' doors to your houses? There have been no less than
+fifty peddlers on my porch since yesterday and my butler will die of
+apoplexy if it keeps on. He's a good one, for a wonder, and I don't want
+to lose him.”
+
+I made no reply to this observation and he did not seem to expect any.
+He watched Zeb rake for a moment and then he turned back to me.
+
+“Can you come over to my house now?” he asked.
+
+I was not expecting this and again I did not have an answer ready.
+
+“Can you?” he went on. “I've got a business deal to make with you and
+I'd rather make it there. I've got a lot of carpenters and painters
+at work and they ask me ten questions a minute. They are unnecessary
+questions but if I don't answer them the fellows are sure to make some
+fool mistake or other. They need a governess. If you'll come over with
+me I'll be in touch with them and you and I can talk just as well. Can
+come, can't you?”
+
+I did not know what to say. I wanted to say no, that if he had any
+business with me it could be discussed in that boathouse. I did not like
+his manner, yet I had a feeling that it was his usual one and that he
+had not meant to be rude. And I could think of no good reason for not
+going with him.
+
+“You can come, can't you?” he repeated.
+
+“I suppose I can. But--”
+
+“Of course if you're too busy to leave--”
+
+I remembered the position he had found me in and I rather think I had
+turned red. He did not smile, but there was a sort of grim twinkle in
+his eyes.
+
+“I'll come,” I said.
+
+“Much obliged. I won't keep you long. Come on.”
+
+He led the way and I followed, rebellious, and angry, not so much with
+him as with myself. I wished now that I had gone over to the Colton
+place when I first received the summons to court, instead of making
+proclamations of defiance to mother and Lute Rogers. This seemed such
+a complete backdown. As we passed the house I saw Lute peering from the
+barn. I devoutly hoped he might not see me, but he did. His mouth opened
+and he stared. Then, catching my eye, he winked triumphantly. I wanted
+to punch his head.
+
+The King of New York walked briskly on in silence until we were just at
+the edge of the grove by the Shore Lane. Then he stopped and turned to
+me.
+
+“You own all this land, don't you?” he asked.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Humph! Get a good view from here.”
+
+I admitted that the view was good. At that particular point it embraced
+nearly the whole of the bay in front, and a large portion of the village
+at the side.
+
+He waved his hand toward the cluster of houses.
+
+“There are eighteen hundred people in this town, they tell me,” he said.
+“Permanent residents, I mean. What do they all do?”
+
+“Do?”
+
+“Yes. How do they get a living? They must get it somehow. In the regular
+summer resorts they squeeze it out of the city people, I know that. But
+there aren't so many cottagers and boarders here. What do you all do for
+a living?”
+
+I told him that most of masculine Denboro fished or farmed or kept
+store.
+
+“Which do you do?” he asked. “You said you weren't a boat-builder.”
+
+“I'm not doing anything at present,” I replied, shortly.
+
+“Out of a job?”
+
+“You might call it that. Is this a part of the business you wished to
+see me about, Mr. Colton?”
+
+I was boiling inwardly and a little of the heat was expressed in my
+tone. I don't know whether he took the hint or merely lost interest in
+the subject. At any rate his reply was a brief “No,” and we continued
+our walk.
+
+As we reached the Shore Lane he paused again, and I thought he was about
+to speak. He did not, however, and we crossed the boundary line of my
+property and entered the Colton grounds. As we drew nearer to the house
+I was surprised to see how large it was. When the Atwaters owned it
+I was an occasional caller there, for old Major Atwater was fond of
+shooting and sometimes borrowed my decoys. But, since it changed hands,
+I had not been nearer to it than the Lane. With the new wing and the
+other additions it was enormous. It fairly reeked of money, though, so
+far as I was a judge, the taste shown in rebuilding and decorating was
+good. We turned the corner, where Asa Peters, the head carpenter, came
+hurrying up. Asa looked surprised enough to see me in company with his
+employer and regarded me wonderingly. “Mr. Colton,” he said, “I wanted
+to ask you about them skylights.” I stepped back out of hearing, but I
+inferred from Colton's actions that the question was another one of the
+“unnecessary” ones he had so scornfully referred to in the boathouse.
+
+“Jackass!” he exclaimed, as he rejoined me. I judged he was classifying
+Asa, but, if so, he did not trouble to lower his voice. “Come on,
+Paine,” he added, and we passed a long line of windows, hung with costly
+curtains, and stepped up on a handsome Colonial portico before two big
+doors.
+
+The doors were opened by an imposing personage in dark blue and brass
+buttons, who bowed profoundly before Colton and regarded me with
+condescending superiority. This personage, whom I recognized, from
+Alvin's description, as the “minister-lookin'” butler, led us through
+a hall about as large as our sitting-room, dining-room and kitchen
+combined, but bearing no other resemblance to these apartments, and
+opened another door, through which, bowing once more, he ushered us.
+Then he closed the door, leaving himself, to my relief, outside. It had
+been a long time since I was waited upon by a butler and I found this
+specimen rather overpowering.
+
+The room we were in was the library, and, though it was bigger and far
+more sumptuous than the library I remembered so well as a boy, the sight
+of the books in their cases along the walls gave me a feeling almost of
+homesickness. My resentment against my millionaire neighbor increased.
+Why should he and his have everything, and the rest of us be deprived of
+the little we once had?
+
+Colton seated himself in a leather upholstered chair and waved his hand
+toward another.
+
+“Sit down,” he said. He took a cigar from his pocket. “Smoke?” he asked.
+
+I was a confirmed smoker, but I was not going to smoke one of his
+cigars--not then.
+
+“No thank you,” said I. He did not comment on my refusal, but lit the
+cigar himself, from the stump of his former one. Then he crossed his
+legs and proceeded, with characteristic abruptness, to his subject.
+
+“Paine,” he began, “you own this land next to me, you say. Your property
+ends at the fence this side of that road we just crossed, doesn't it?”
+
+“It ends where yours begins,” I announced.
+
+“Yes. Just this side of that road.”
+
+“Of the Shore Lane. It isn't a road exactly.”
+
+“I don't care what you call it. Road or lane or cow-path. It ends
+there?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And it IS your land? It belongs to you, personally, all of it, free and
+clear?”
+
+“Why--yes; it does.” I could not see what business of his my ownership
+of that land might be.
+
+“All right. I asked that because, if it wasn't yours, if it was tied up
+or mortgaged in any way, it might complicate matters. But it isn't.”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Good! Then we can get down to brass tacks and save time. I want a piece
+of that land.”
+
+I looked at him.
+
+“You want--?” I repeated, slowly.
+
+“I want a strip of your land. Want to buy it, of course. I don't expect
+you to give it to me. What's it worth, by the acre, say?”
+
+I did not answer. All at once I was beginning to see a light. Captain
+Jed Dean's mysterious conversation at the post-office was beginning to
+lose some of its mystery.
+
+“Well?” asked Colton, impatiently. Then, without waiting longer, he
+added:
+
+“By the way, before you name a figure, answer me one more question. That
+road--or lane, or whatever it is--that is yours, too? Doesn't belong to
+the town?”
+
+The light was growing more brilliant. I could see breakers ahead.
+
+“No,” I replied, slowly. “It is a private way. It belongs to me.”
+
+“Good! Well, what's that land of yours worth by the acre?”
+
+I shook my head. “I scarcely know,” I said. “I've never figured it that
+way.”
+
+“I don't care how you figure it. Here, let's get down to a business
+proposition. I want to buy a strip of that land from the Lower
+Road--that's what you call the one above here, isn't it?--to the beach.
+The strip I want is about three hundred feet wide, for a guess. It
+extends from my fence to the other side of that grove by the bluff. What
+will you sell it for?”
+
+The breakers were close aboard. However, I dodged them momentarily.
+
+“Why do you want to buy?” I asked.
+
+“For reasons.”
+
+“I should think you had land enough already.”
+
+“I thought I had, but it seems I haven't. Well, what's your price for
+that strip?”
+
+“Mr. Colton, I--I'm afraid--”
+
+“Never mind that. I suppose you're afraid you'll make the price too low.
+Now, see here, I'm a busy man. I haven't time to do any bargaining.
+Name your price and, if it's anywhere within reason, we won't haggle.
+I expect to pay more than anyone else would. That's part of my fine
+for being a city man and not a native. Gad! the privilege is worth the
+money. I'll pay the fine. What's the price?”
+
+“But why do you want to buy?”
+
+“For reasons of my own, I tell you. They haven't anything to do with
+your selling.”
+
+“I'm not so sure.”
+
+“What do you mean by that?”
+
+“That strip takes in the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton.”
+
+“I know it.”
+
+“And, if you buy, I presume the Lane will be closed.”
+
+He looked at me, surprised, and, I thought, a little annoyed.
+
+“Well?” he said; “suppose it is?”
+
+“But it will be, won't it?”
+
+“You bet your life it will! What of it?”
+
+“Then I don't know that I care to sell.”
+
+He leaned back in his chair.
+
+“You don't care to sell!” he repeated, slowly. “What the devil do you
+mean by that?”
+
+“What I said. And, besides, Mr. Colton, I--”
+
+He interrupted me.
+
+“Why don't you care to sell?” he demanded. “The land is no good to you,
+is it?”
+
+“Not much. No.”
+
+“Humph! Are you so rich that you've got all the money you want?”
+
+I was angry all through. I rose from my chair.
+
+“Good day, Mr. Colton,” I said.
+
+“Here!” he shouted. “Hold on! Where are you going?”
+
+“I can't see that there is any use of our talking further.”
+
+“No use? Why--There! there! sit down. It's none of my business how rich
+you are, and I beg your pardon. Sit down. Sit down, man, I tell you!”
+
+I sat down, reluctantly. He threw his cigar, which had gone out, into
+the fireplace and lit another.
+
+“Say,” he said, “you surprise me, Paine. What do you mean by saying you
+won't sell that land? You don't know what I'll pay for it yet.”
+
+“No, I don't.”
+
+“Then how do you know you won't sell it? I never had anything
+yet--except my wife and family--that I wouldn't sell for a price. Look
+here! I haven't got time to do any Down-East horse-jockeying. I'll make
+you an offer. I'll give you five hundred dollars cash for that strip of
+land. What do you say?”
+
+I didn't say anything. Five hundred dollars was a generous offer. I
+couldn't help thinking what Mother and I might do with that five hundred
+dollars.
+
+“What do you say?” he repeated.
+
+I answered, Yankee fashion, with another question. “Mr. Colton,” I
+asked, “why do you want to close that Shore Lane?”
+
+“Because I do. What difference does it make to you why I want to close
+it?”
+
+“That Lane has been used by Denboro people for years. It is almost a
+public necessity.”
+
+He puffed twice on his cigar before he spoke again. When he did it was
+in a different tone.
+
+“I see,” he said. “Humph! I see. Paine, does the town pay you rent for
+the use of that road?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Has it been bidding to buy it?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Is any one else after it?”
+
+“No-o. I think not. But--”
+
+“You THINK not. That means you're not sure. You've had a bite somewhere.
+Somebody has been nibbling at your hook. Well, they've got to bite quick
+and swallow some to get ahead of me. I want that road closed and I'm
+going to have it closed, sooner or later. I'd prefer it sooner.”
+
+“But why do you want to close it?”
+
+Before he could answer there came a knock at the door. The butler
+appeared.
+
+“I beg your pardon, sir--” he began. His master cut him short.
+
+“Tell 'em to wait,” he ordered. “I can't see any one now, Johnson. If it
+is that damned carpenter he can wait.”
+
+“It isn't the carpenter, sir,” explained Johnson. “It's Mrs. Colton,
+sir. She wishes to know if you have bought that road. She says three of
+those 'orrid fishcarts have gone by in the last hour, sir, and they are
+making her very nervous. That's all, sir.”
+
+“Tell her I've bought it,” snapped the head of the house. “Get out.”
+
+The butler obeyed orders. Colton turned to me.
+
+“You heard that, Paine,” he said. “That's my reason, the principal one.
+I bought this place principally on account of Mrs. Colton's health. The
+doctors said she needed quiet and rest. I thought she could have them
+here--God knows the place looked forsaken enough--but it appears she
+can't. Whenever she or I sit on the veranda or at a window we have to
+watch a procession of jays driving smelly fish carts through that lane
+of yours, or be stared at by a gang of countrymen hanging over the
+fence. It's a nuisance. It is bad enough for me or my daughter and our
+guests, but it will be the ruination of my wife's nerves, and I can't
+stand for that. You see the position I'm in. You heard what I told that
+butler. I said I had bought the road. You wouldn't make me a liar, would
+you? I'll give you five hundred for that bunch of sand. You couldn't get
+more for it if you sold it by the pound, like tea. Say yes, and close
+the deal.”
+
+I shook my head.
+
+“I understand your position, Mr. Colton,” I said, “but I can't say yes.
+Not now, at any rate.”
+
+“Why not? Isn't five hundred enough?”
+
+“It's a good offer.”
+
+“Then why not accept it?”
+
+“Because, if I were certain that I wanted to sell, I could not accept
+any offer just now.”
+
+“Why not? See here! are you afraid the town will be sore because the
+road is closed?”
+
+“It would be a great inconvenience to them.”
+
+“It's a greater one to me as it is. Can you afford to be a
+philanthropist? Are you one of those public-spirited citizens we read
+about?”
+
+He was sneering now, and my anger, which had lessened somewhat when he
+spoke of his wife's ill health, was rising again.
+
+“Are you?” he repeated.
+
+“I don't know as to that. But, as I said a while ago, Mr. Colton, I
+couldn't sell that land to you now.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Because, if there were no other reason, I promised not to sell it
+without telling another person first.”
+
+He threw down his cigar and stood up. I rose also.
+
+“I see,” he said, with sarcasm. “I knew there was something beside
+public spirit. You think, by hanging off and playing me against this
+other sucker, you can get a higher price. Well, if that's the game, I'll
+keep him busy.”
+
+He took out his watch, glanced at it, and thrust it back into his
+pocket.
+
+“I've wasted time enough over this fool thing,” he declared. “Now that I
+know what the game is we'll talk to the point. It's highway robbery, but
+I might have expected to be robbed. I'll give you six hundred for that
+land.”
+
+I did not answer. I was holding my temper by main strength and I could
+not trust myself to speak.
+
+“Well?” he sneered. “That shakes your public spirit some, hey? What do
+you say?”
+
+“No,” I answered, and started for the door.
+
+“What!” he could hardly believe his ears. “By the Lord Harry! the fellow
+is crazy. Six hundred and fifty then, you infernal robber.”
+
+“No.”
+
+“NO! Say, what in thunder do you mean?”
+
+“I mean that you may go to the devil,” I retorted, and reached for the
+door knob.
+
+But before my fingers touched it there was the sound of laughter and
+voices in the hall. The knob was turned from without. I stepped back and
+to one side involuntarily, as the door opened and into the library
+came, not the butler, but a young lady, a girl in an automobile coat and
+bonnet. And, following her, a young man.
+
+“Father,” said the young lady, “Johnson says you've bought that horrid
+road. I'm so glad! When did you do it?”
+
+“Congratulations, Mr. Colton,” said the young man. “We just passed a
+cart full of something--seaweed, I believe it was--as we came along with
+the car. Oscar had to slow down to squeeze by, and we certainly were
+swept by ocean breezes. By Jove! I can smell them yet. I--”
+
+The young lady interrupted him.
+
+“Hush, Victor,” she said. “I beg your pardon, Father. I thought you were
+alone. Victor, we're intruding.”
+
+The open door had partially screened me from the newcomers. But Colton,
+red and wrathful, had not ceased to glare in my direction and she,
+following his gaze, saw me. She did not recognize me, I think--probably
+I had not made sufficient impression upon her mind even for casual
+remembrance--but I recognized her. She was the girl with the dark eyes,
+whose look of contemptuous indifference had so withered my self-esteem.
+And her companion was the young chap who, from the tonneau of the
+automobile that morning, had inquired the way to Bayport.
+
+The young man turned lazily. “Are we?” he said. “I--What! Why, Mabel,
+it's the humorist!”
+
+Then she recognized me. I could feel the blood climbing from my toes
+to the roots of my hair. I was too astonished and chagrined to speak or
+even move, though I wanted to move very much indeed. She looked at me
+and I at her. Then she turned coldly away.
+
+“Come, Victor,” she said.
+
+But Victor was his own blase self. It took more than a trifle to shake
+his calm. He laughed.
+
+“It's the humorist,” he repeated. “Reuben, how are you?”
+
+Colton regarded the three of us with amazement.
+
+“What?” he began. “Mabel, do you--”
+
+But I had recovered my powers of locomotion. I was on my way out of that
+library.
+
+“Here!” shouted Colton. “Stop!”
+
+I did not stop. Feeling as I did at that moment it would have been
+distinctly unpleasant for the person who tried to stop me. The girl was
+in my way and, as I approached, she drew her skirts aside. No doubt
+it was my imagination which made her manner of doing it seem like an
+insult, but, imagination or reality, it was the one thing necessary to
+clench my resolution. Now when she looked at me I returned the look with
+interest. I strode through the doorway and across the hall. The butler
+would have opened the outer door for me, but I opened it myself to the
+imminent danger of his dignified nose. As I stepped from the portico I
+heard behind me a roar from Big Jim Colton and a shout of laughter from
+Victor.
+
+I walked home at top speed. Only once did I look back. That was just as
+I was about to enter the grove on the other side of the Shore Lane. Then
+I turned and saw, at the big window at the end of the “Newport villa,”
+ a group of three staring in my direction: Colton, his daughter and that
+cub Victor. The distance was too great to see the expression of their
+faces, but I knew that two of them, at least, were laughing--laughing at
+me.
+
+I did not laugh.
+
+Lute was waiting for me by the gate and ran to meet me. He was wild with
+excitement.
+
+“He came after you, didn't he?” he cried, grabbing at my coat sleeve.
+“You went over to his house with him, didn't you! I see you and at fust
+I couldn't scurcely believe it. What did he want? What did he say?”
+
+I did not answer. He ran along beside me, still clinging to my sleeve.
+
+“What did he want?” he repeated. “What did he say to you? What did you
+say to him? Tell a feller, can't you?”
+
+“I told him to go to the devil,” I answered, savagely.
+
+Lute let go of my sleeve.
+
+“You--you--By time, you're stark loony!” he gasped; and collapsed
+against the gate post.
+
+I went into the house, up the back stairs to my room, and shut the door.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+So she was his daughter. I might have guessed it; would have guessed
+it if I had possessed the commonest of common-sense. I might have known
+that the auto was Colton's. No other machine was likely to be traveling
+on the Lower Road at that season of the year. She was the pretty
+daughter of whom Dorinda had spoken to Mother. Well, she was pretty
+enough; even I had to admit that. But I admitted it grudgingly. I hated
+her for her beauty and fine clothes and haughty arrogance. She was the
+incarnation of snobbishness.
+
+But to be made twice ridiculous even by the incarnation of snobbishness
+was galling. She was to be my next-door neighbor; we were likely to
+meet almost anywhere at any time. When I thought of this and of the two
+meetings which had already taken place I swore at the blue and white
+water-pitcher on my bureau because it did not contain water enough to
+drown me. Not that I would commit suicide on her account. She would not
+care if I did and certainly I did not care whether she would care or
+not; but if I were satisfactorily dead I probably should not remember
+what a fool I had made of myself, or Fate had made of me.
+
+Why had I not got out of that library before she came? Oh, if not, why
+hadn't I stayed and told her father, in her hearing, and with dignity,
+just what I thought of him and his remarks to me? But no; I had run
+away. She--or that Victor--would tell of the meeting at the bridge, and
+all my independence and the rest of it would be regarded as of a piece
+with that, just the big-headed “smartness” of a country boor. In their
+eyes I was a nuisance, that was all. A disagreeable one, perhaps, like
+the Shore Lane, but a nuisance, one to laugh at and forget--if it could
+not be gotten rid of.
+
+Why had I gone with Colton at all? Why hadn't I remained at the
+boathouse and there told the King of New York to go to the mischief? or
+words to that effect. But I had, at all events, told him that. In spite
+of my chagrin I could not help chuckling as I thought of it. To tell Big
+Jim Colton to go to the devil was, in its way, I imagined, a privilege
+enjoyed by few. It must have shaken his self-satisfaction a trifle.
+Well, after all, what did I care? He, and his whole family--including
+Victor--had my permission to migrate in that direction and I wished Old
+Nick joy of their company.
+
+Having derived this much satisfaction from my reflections, I went
+downstairs. Dorinda was setting the table for supper. She looked at me
+as I came in.
+
+“Been visitin', I hear,” she observed, wiping an imaginary speck from
+the corner of a plate with her “afternoon” apron.
+
+“Yes,” said I.
+
+“Um-hm,” said Dorinda. “Have a good time?”
+
+I smiled. “I had an interesting one,” I told her.
+
+“Um-hm, I judged so, from what Lute said.”
+
+“Where is Lute?”
+
+“Out in the barn, beddin' down the horse. That is, I told him to do
+that, but his head was so full of you and what you told him you said to
+Mr. Colton that I shouldn't be surprised if he's bedded down the hens
+and was huntin' in the manger for eggs.”
+
+“Lute thinks I've gone crazy,” I observed.
+
+“Um-hm. He was all for fetchin' the doctor right off, but I told him I
+cal'lated we could bear with your ravin's for a spell. Did you say what
+he said you said?”
+
+“I'm afraid I did.”
+
+“Um-hm. Well, it didn't do any good, did it?”
+
+“Good? What do you mean?”
+
+“I mean he didn't obey orders--Colton, that is.”
+
+“He hadn't when I left.”
+
+“I thought not. I never saw any good come from profane language yet;
+and, besides, judgin' from what I hear about the way that Colton man
+lives, and what he does on Sundays and all, he'll make the port you sent
+him to when his time comes. All you need is patience.”
+
+I laughed, and she began sorting the plated spoons. We had silver ones,
+but Dorinda insisted on keeping those to use when we had company. In
+consequence we used them about twice a year, when the minister came.
+
+“Of course,” she said, “I ain't askin' you what happened over there or
+why he wanted to see you. But I give you fair warnin' that, if I don't,
+Lute will. Lute's so stuffed with curiosity that he's li'ble to bust the
+stitches any minute.”
+
+“I'll tell you both, at supper,” I said.
+
+“Um-hm,” said Dorinda. “Well, I can wait, and Lute'll have to. By
+the way,” she added, seeing me about to enter Mother's room, “if it's
+anything too unpleasant I wouldn't worry Comfort with it. She'll want to
+know, of course, but I'd sort of smooth the edges.”
+
+Mother did want to know, and I told her, “smoothing the edges” all I
+could. I omitted my final order to “Big Jim” and I said nothing whatever
+about his daughter. Mother seemed to think I had done right in refusing
+to sell, though, as usual, she was ready to make allowances for the
+other side.
+
+“Poor woman,” she said, “I suppose the noise of the wagons and all that
+are annoying to any one with weak nerves. It must be dreadful to be in
+that condition. I am so sorry for her.”
+
+She meant it, too. But I, remembering the Colton mansion, what I had
+seen of it, and contrasting its splendor with the bare necessity of
+that darkened bedroom, found it hard to spare pity for the sufferer from
+“nerves.”
+
+“You needn't be,” I said, bitterly. “I imagine she wouldn't think of
+you, if the conditions were reversed. I doubt if she thinks of any one
+but herself.”
+
+“You shouldn't say that, Roscoe. You don't know. You have never met
+her.”
+
+“I have met the rest of the family. No, Mother, I think you needn't be
+sorry for that woman. She has everything under the sun. Whereas you--”
+
+“Hush! hush! There is one thing she hasn't got. She hasn't a son like
+you, Boy.”
+
+“Humph! That must be a terrible deprivation. There! there! Mother, I
+won't be disagreeable. Let's change the subject. Did Matilda Dean come
+to see you this afternoon?”
+
+“No. I presume she was too busy. But, Roscoe, it is plain enough why
+Captain Dean spoke to you about the Lane at the office this morning. He
+must have heard, somehow, that Mr. Colton wished to buy it.”
+
+“Yes. Or, if he didn't hear just that, he heard enough to make him guess
+the rest. He is pretty shrewd.”
+
+“You promised him you wouldn't sell without telling him beforehand.
+Shall you tell him of Mr. Colton's offer?”
+
+“If he asks me, I shall, I suppose.”
+
+“I wonder what he will do then. Do you suppose he will try to persuade
+the Selectmen to buy the Lane for the town?”
+
+“I don't know. I shouldn't wonder.”
+
+“It will be harder to refuse the town's offer.”
+
+“Yes. Although the town can't afford to pay Colton's prices. I believe
+that man would have raised his bid to a thousand, if I had let him. As a
+matter of business and nothing else, I suppose I am foolish not to push
+the price as high as possible and then sell. The land is worthless to
+us.”
+
+“I know. But this isn't just a matter of business, is it? And we DON'T
+need the money. We're not rich, but we aren't poor, are we, Boy.”
+
+“No. No, of course not. But, Mother, just see what I could do--for
+you--with a thousand dollars. Why, there are so many little things,
+little luxuries, that you need.”
+
+“I had rather not get them that way. No, Roscoe, I wouldn't sell to Mr.
+Colton. And I think I wouldn't sell to the town either.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Well, because we don't have to sell, and selling to either party would
+make ill-feeling. I should--of course I'm only a woman; you are a man
+and know much more about such things than I--but why not let matters
+stay just as they are? The townspeople can use the Lane, just as they
+have always done, and, as I told you before, every one has been so kind
+to us that I like to feel we are doing a little in return. Let them use
+the Lane, without cost. Why not?”
+
+“What do you think the Coltons would say to that?”
+
+“Perhaps they don't understand the real situation. The next time you see
+Mr. Colton you could explain more fully; tell him what the Lane means to
+the town, and so on. I'm sure he would understand, if you told him that.
+And then, if the sight of the wagons was too annoying, he could put up
+some kind of a screen, or plant a row of fir trees by the fence. Don't
+you think so?”
+
+I imagined the great man's reply to such a suggestion. However, I
+did not express my thoughts. I told Mother not to worry, I was sure
+everything would be all right, and, as Dorinda called me to supper, I
+went into the dining-room.
+
+Lute was waiting for me at the table, and Dorinda, after taking the
+tray into Mother's room, joined us. Lute was so full of excitement and
+curiosity that he almost forgot to eat, a miracle of itself and made
+greater by the fact that he did not ask a single question until his wife
+asked one first. Then he asked three in succession. Dorinda, who was
+quite as curious as he but would not have shown it for the world,
+stopped him at the beginning of the fourth.
+
+“There! there!” she said, sharply, “this is supposed to be a meal, not a
+parrot shop, and we're humans, not a passel of birds on a telegraph wire
+all hollerin' at once. Drink your tea and stop your cawin', Lute Rogers.
+Ros'll tell us when he gets ready. What DID Mr. Colton want of you,
+Roscoe?”
+
+I told them as much of the interview at the Coltons' as I thought
+necessary they should know. Lute kept remarkably quiet, for him, until
+I named the figure offered by the millionaire. Then he could hold in no
+longer.
+
+“Five hundred!” he repeated “Five hundred DOLLARS for the Shore Lane!
+Five--”
+
+“He raised it to six hundred and fifty before I left,” I said.
+
+“SIX hundred! Six hundred--and FIFTY! For the Shore Lane! Six hun--”
+
+“Sshh! shh!” cut in Dorinda. “You sound like Sim Eldredge sellin'
+somethin' at auction. DO be quiet! And you told him, Roscoe--?”
+
+“I told you what I told him,” I said.
+
+“Um-hm. I ain't forgot it. Be quiet, Lute. Well, Roscoe, I cal'late you
+know your own affairs best, but, judgin' from some hints Matildy Dean
+hove out when she was here this afternoon, I don't believe you've heard
+the last from that Shore Lane.”
+
+“Matilda Dean!” I repeated. “Why, Mother said Matilda wasn't here
+to-day.”
+
+“Um-hm. Well, she was here, though Comfort didn't know it. I took pains
+she shouldn't. Matildy come about three o'clock, in the buggy, along
+with Nellie. Nellie was doin' the drivin', of course, and her mother
+was tellin' her how, as usual. I don't wonder that girl is such a
+meek, soft-spoken kind of thing. Between her pa's bullyin' and her ma's
+tongue, it's a wonder she's got any spirit left. It would be a mercy if
+George Taylor should marry her and take her out of that house. Matildy
+had a new book on Spiritu'lism and she was figgerin' to read some of it
+out loud to Comfort, but I headed her off. I know _I_ wouldn't want to
+be all stirred up about 'tests' and 'materializations' and such, and so
+I told her Comfort was asleep.”
+
+“She wasn't asleep, neither,” declared Lute. “What did you tell such a
+whopper as that for? You're always sailin' into me if I stretch a yarn
+the least mite. Why, last April Fool Day you give me Hail Columby for
+jokin' you about a mouse under the kitchen table. Called me all kinds of
+names, you did--after you got down off the table.”
+
+His wife regarded him scornfully. “It's pretty hard to remember which IS
+that partic'lar day with you around,” she said. “I'd told Comfort she'd
+ought to take a nap and if she wan't takin' it 'twan't my fault. I wan't
+goin' to have her seein' her granddad's ghost in every corner. But,
+anyhow, Matildy made a little call on me, and, amongst the million other
+things she said, was somethin' about Cap'n Jed hearin' that Mr. Colton
+was cal'latin' to shut off that Lane. Matildy hinted that her husband
+and the Selectmen might have a little to say afore 'twas closed. If
+that's so I guess you may hear from him as well as the Colton man,
+Roscoe.”
+
+“Perhaps,” I said. I could see no use in repeating my conversation with
+Captain Jed.
+
+Dorinda nodded.
+
+“Goin' to tell the town to go--where you sent the other one?” she asked,
+dryly.
+
+“I don't know.”
+
+“Humph! Well,” with some sarcasm, “it must be fine to be in a position
+where money's no object. I never tried it, myself, but it sounds good.”
+
+I did not answer.
+
+“Um-hm,” she said. “Well, anyhow it looks to me--Lute, you keep
+still--as if there was goin' to be two parties in Denboro afore this
+Lane business is over. One for the Coltons and one against 'em. You'll
+have to take one side or the other, won't you, Roscoe?”
+
+“Not necessarily.”
+
+“Goin' to set on the fence, hey?”
+
+“That's a good place TO sit, isn't it?”
+
+Dorinda smiled, grimly.
+
+“If it's the right kind of a fence, maybe 'tis,” she observed.
+“Otherwise the pickets are liable to make you uncomf'table after a
+spell, I presume likely.”
+
+I went out soon after this, for my evening smoke and walk by the bluff.
+As I left the dining-room I heard Lute reiterating his belief that I
+had gone crazy. Colton had said the same thing. I wondered what Captain
+Jed's opinion would be.
+
+Whether it was another phase of my insanity or not, I don't know, but
+I woke the next morning in pretty good spirits. Remembrance of the
+previous day's humiliations troubled me surprisingly little. They did
+not seem nearly so great in the retrospect. What difference did it make
+to me what that crowd of snobs did or said or thought?
+
+However, there was just enough bitterness in my morning's review of
+yesterday's happenings to make me a little more careful in my dress. I
+did not expect to meet my aristocratic neighbors--I devoutly wished it
+might be my good luck never to meet any of them again--but in making
+selections from my limited wardrobe I chose with more thought than
+usual. Dorinda noticed the result when I came down to breakfast.
+
+“Got your other suit on, ain't you,” she observed.
+
+“Yes,” said I.
+
+“Goin' anywheres special?”
+
+“No. Down to the boathouse, that's all.”
+
+“Humph! I don't see what you put those blue pants on for. They're awful
+things to show water spots. Did you leave your brown ones upstairs?
+Um-hm. Well, I'll get at 'em some time to-day. I noticed they was
+wearin' a little, sort of, on the bottoms of the legs.”
+
+I had noticed it, too, and this reminder confirmed my suspicions that
+others had made the same observations.
+
+“I'll try and mend 'em this afternoon,” went on Dorinda, “if I can find
+time. But, for mercy's sake, don't spot those all up, for I may not get
+time, and then you'd have to wear your Sunday ones.”
+
+I promised, curtly, to be careful, and, after saying good morning to
+Mother, I went down to the boathouse and set to work on the engine. It
+was the only thing in the nature of work that I had to do, but, somehow
+or other, I did not feel like doing it any more than I had the day
+before. A little of my good spirits were wearing off, like the legs of
+my “other” trousers, and after an hour of intermittent tinkering I
+threw down the wrench and decided to go for a row. The sun was shining
+brightly, but the breeze was fresh, and, as my skiff was low in the
+gunwale and there was likely to be some water flying, I put on an old
+oilskin “slicker” and sou-wester before starting.
+
+I had determined to row across the bay over to the lighthouse, and ask
+Ben Small, the keeper, if there were any signs of fish alongshore. The
+pull was a long one, but I enjoyed every stroke of it. The tide was
+almost full, just beginning to ebb, so there was scarcely any current
+and I could make a straight cut across, instead of following the
+tortuous channel. My skiff was a flat bottomed affair, drawing very
+little, but in Denboro bay, at low tide, even a flat-bottomed skiff has
+to beware of sand and eel-grass.
+
+Small was busy whitewashing, but he was glad to see me. If you keep a
+lighthouse, the average lighthouse, you are glad to see anybody. He put
+his brush into the pail and insisted on my coming to the house, because
+“the old woman,” his wife, would want to hear “all the sewin' circle
+news.” “It's the biggest hardship of her life,” said Ben, “that she has
+to miss sewin' circle when the bay ices in. Soon's it clears she's at me
+to row her acrost to the meetin's. I've took her to two this spring,
+but she missed the last one, on account of this whitewashin', and she's
+crazy to know who's been talked about now. If anything disgraceful has
+happened for the land sakes tell her; then she'll he more reconciled.”
+
+I had nothing disgraceful to tell, but Mrs. Small was glad to see
+me, nevertheless. She brought out doughnuts and beach-plum jelly and
+insisted on my sampling both, the doughnuts because they were just made
+and she “mistrusted” there was too much flour in them, and the jelly
+because it was some she had left over and she wanted to see if I thought
+it was “keepin'” all right. After this, Ben took me out to see his
+hens, and then we walked to the back of the beach and talked fish. The
+forenoon was almost gone when I got back to the skiff. The tide had
+ebbed so far that the lightkeeper and I had to pull the little boat
+twenty feet to launch her.
+
+“There!” said Ben, “now you're afloat, ain't you. Cal'late you'll have
+to go way 'round Robin Hood's barn to keep off the flats. I forgot about
+the tide or I wouldn't have talked so much. Hello! there's another craft
+about your size off yonder. Somebody else out rowin'. Two somebodys. My
+eyes ain't as good for pickin' em out as they used to be, but one of 'em
+IS a female, ain't it?”
+
+I looked over my shoulder, as I sat in the skiff and saw, out in the
+middle of the bay, another rowboat with two people in it.
+
+“That ain't a dory or a skiff,” shouted Ben, raising his voice as
+I pulled away from him. “Way she sets out of water I'd call her a
+lap-streak dingy. If that feller's takin' his girl out rowin' he'll have
+to work his passage home against this tide . . . Well, so long, Ros.
+Come again.”
+
+I nodded a goodby, and settled down for my long row, a good deal longer
+this time on account of the ebb. There was water enough on this side of
+the bay, but on the village side the channel made a wide detour and
+I should be obliged to follow it for nearly a mile up the bay, before
+turning in behind the long sand bar which made out from the point beyond
+my boathouse.
+
+The breeze had gone down, which made rowing easier, but the pull of the
+tide more than offset this advantage. However, I had mastered that tide
+many times before and, except that the delay might make me late for
+dinner, the prospect did not trouble me. I swung into the channel and
+set the skiff's bow against the current. Then from the beach I had just
+left I heard a faint hail. Turning my head, I saw Ben Small waving his
+arms. He was shouting something, too, but I was too far away to catch
+the words.
+
+The lightkeeper continued to shout and wave. I lifted an oar to show
+that he had my attention. He recognized the signal, and began pointing
+out over the water astern of me. I looked where he was pointing. I could
+not see anything out of the ordinary. Except for my own skiff and the
+gulls, and the row boat with the two persons in it there was nothing
+astir on the bay. But Ben kept on waving and pointing. At last I decided
+that it must be the row boat he was pointing at. I stopped rowing and
+looked.
+
+The row boat was a good distance off and its occupants were but specks.
+Now one of the specks stood up and waved its arms. So far as I could
+see, the boat was drifting; there were no flashes of sunlight on wet
+blades to show that the oars were in use. No, it was drifting, and, as I
+looked, it swung broadside on. The standing figure continued to wave its
+arms.
+
+Those people must be in trouble of some sort, I decided, and it was
+evident that Small thought so, too. There could no imminent danger
+threaten for, on a day like this, with no sea running, there was nothing
+to fear in the bay. If, however, they should drift out of the bay it
+might be unpleasant. And they certainly were drifting. I resigned myself
+to the indefinite postponement of my dinner, swung the skiff about, and
+pulled as hard as I could in the direction of the row boat.
+
+With the tide to help me I made good progress, but, even at that, it
+took me some time to overtake the drifting craft. She was, as Ben had
+said, a lap-streaked, keel-bottomed dingy--good enough as a yacht's
+tender or in deep water, but the worst boat in the world to row about
+Denboro bay at low tide. Her high rail caught what breeze there was
+blowing and this helped to push her along. However, I got within easy
+hailing distance after a while and called, over my shoulder, to ask what
+was the matter.
+
+A man's voice answered me.
+
+“We've lost an oar,” he shouted. “We're drifting out to sea. Lend us a
+hand, will you?”
+
+“All right,” I answered. “I'll be there in a minute.”
+
+Within the minute I was almost alongside. Then I turned, intending to
+speak again; but I did not. The two persons in the dingy were Victor--I
+did not know his other name--and Mabel Colton.
+
+I was wearing the oilskin slicker and had pulled down the brim of
+my sou'wester to keep the sun from my eyes; therefore they had not
+recognized me before. And I, busy at the oars and looking over my
+shoulder only occasionally, had not recognized them. Now the recognition
+was mutual. Miss Colton spoke first.
+
+“Why, Victor!” she said, “it is--”
+
+“What?” asked her companion. Then, looking at me, “Oh! it's you, is it?”
+
+I did not answer. Luck was certainly against me. No matter where I went,
+on land or water, I was fated to meet these two.
+
+Victor, apparently, was thinking the same thing. “By Jove!” he observed;
+“Mabel, we seem destined to . . . Humph! Well? Will you give us a hand?”
+
+The most provoking part of it was that, if I had known who was in that
+rowboat, I could have avoided the encounter. Ben Small could have gone
+to their rescue just as well as I. However, here I was, and here they
+were. And I could not very well go away and leave them, under the
+circumstances.
+
+Victor's patience was giving way.
+
+“What are you waiting for?” he demanded. “Aren't you going to help us?
+We'll pay you for it.”
+
+I pulled the skiff a little closer and, drawing in my oars, turned and
+picked up the slack of my anchor rope.
+
+“Here,” I said, brusquely; “catch this line and I'll tow you.”
+
+I tossed him the loop of rope and he caught it.
+
+“What shall I do with it?” he asked.
+
+“Hold it, just as it is, for the present. What became of your other
+oar?”
+
+“Lost it overboard.”
+
+“Why didn't you throw over your anchor and wait where you were?”
+
+I think he had not thought of the anchor, but he did not deign to
+explain. Instead he began pulling on the rope and the two boats drew
+together.
+
+“Don't do that,” I said. “Wait.”
+
+I untied the rope, where it was made fast to the skiff's bow, and with
+it and the anchor in my hands, scrambled aft and wedged the anchor under
+the stern thwart of the little craft.
+
+“Now,” I said, “you can pull in the slack until you get to the end. Then
+make it fast to your bow somewhere.”
+
+I suppose he did his best to follow instructions, but the rope was a
+short one, the end jerked loose suddenly and he went backward in a heap.
+I thought, for an instant, that he was going overboard and that mine
+would be the mixed pleasure of fishing him out.
+
+Miss Colton gave a little scream, which changed to a ripple of laughter.
+I might have laughed, too, under different circumstances, but just now I
+did not feel like it. Besides, the rope, having flown out of his hands,
+was in the water again and the two boats were drifting apart.
+
+“What did you do that for?” demanded the fallen one, scrambling to his
+knees. I heard a sound from the dingy's stern as if the young lady was
+trying to stifle her merriment. Victor, doubtless, heard it, too.
+
+“Where are you going?” he sputtered, angrily. “Give me that rope.”
+
+I gave it to him, literally gave it, for I pulled alongside and put the
+end in his hands.
+
+“Tie it in the bow of your boat,” I said. He did so. I drew in the slack
+until a fair towing length remained and made it fast. While he was busy
+I ventured to glance at Miss Colton. Her eyes were snapping with fun
+and she seemed to be enjoying the situation. But, catching my look, her
+expression changed. She turned away and looked indifferently out to sea.
+
+I swung the skiff's bow around.
+
+“Where do you want to go?” I asked.
+
+Victor answered. “Back to Mr. Colton's landing,” he said. “Get as much
+of a move on as you can, will you? I'll make it worth your while.”
+
+I was as anxious to get there as he was. I did not care for a quarrel,
+and I knew if he continued to use that tone in his remarks to me I
+should answer as I felt. I pulled with all my strength, but against the
+tide towing was hard work.
+
+Victor sat on the amidships thwart of the dingy, with his back to me.
+But Miss Colton, seated in the stern, was facing me and I could not help
+looking at her. She did not look at me, or, if she did, it was as if I
+were merely a part of the view; nothing to be interested in, one way or
+the other.
+
+She was beautiful; there was no doubt of that. Prettier even, in the
+blue and white boating costume and rough-and-ready white felt hat, than
+she had seemed when I saw her in the auto or her father's library. She
+represented the world that I had lost. I had known girls like her. They
+had not as much money as she, perhaps, but they were just as well-bred
+and refined, and almost as pretty. I had associated with them as an
+equal. I wondered what she would say, or think, if she knew that.
+Nothing, probably; she would not care enough to think at all. It did
+not matter to me what she thought; but I did wish I had not put on those
+fool oilskins. I must look more like a country longshoreman than ever.
+
+If I had any doubts about it they were dispelled when I had rowed the
+two boats up the bay until we were abreast the Colton mansion. Then
+Victor, who had been talking in a low tone with his fellow passenger in
+the dingy, looked at the distant shore and, over his shoulder, at me.
+
+“Here!” he shouted. “Where are you going? That's the landing over
+there.”
+
+“I know,” I answered. “But we shall have to go around that flat. We
+can't cross here.”
+
+“Why? What's the reason we can't?”
+
+“Because there isn't water enough. We should get aground.”
+
+He stood up to look.
+
+“Nonsense!” he said. “There's plenty of water. I can't see any flat, or
+whatever you call it.”
+
+“It's there, though you can't see it. It is covered with eelgrass and
+doesn't show. We shall have to go a half mile further before we turn
+in.”
+
+“A half mile! Why, confound it! it's past one o'clock now. We haven't
+any time to waste.”
+
+“I'm sorry, but we can't cross yet. And, if I were you, I shouldn't
+stand up in that boat.”
+
+He paid no attention to this suggestion.
+
+“There are half a dozen boats, bigger than these, by the landing,” he
+declared. “There is water enough for them. What are you afraid of? We
+haven't any time to waste, I tell you.”
+
+I did not answer. Silence, on my part, was the safest thing just then. I
+continued rowing up the bay.
+
+Miss Colton spoke to him and he sat down, a proceeding for which I was
+thankful. They whispered together for a moment. Then he turned to me.
+
+“See here,” he said; “this lady and I have an appointment. We must get
+ashore. Go straight in. If you're afraid I'll take the risk. If there is
+any danger I'll pay for that, too.”
+
+There was no question of risk. It was a certainty. I knew that channel.
+
+“We can't cross here,” I said, shortly.
+
+“Why, confound you--”
+
+“Victor!” cautioned Miss Colton.
+
+“Hush, Mabel! This is ridiculous. You and I saw two boats go straight
+out from the beach this morning. We went out that way ourselves. Here
+you--Paine, or whatever your name is--we've had enough of this. I've
+hired you to take us ashore, and I want to go there and not a half mile
+in another direction. Will you do as I tell you?”
+
+When the dingy and the other boats crossed the flat the tide had been
+hours higher, of course; but I was in no mood to explain--to him.
+
+“No,” I said, shortly.
+
+“You won't? Then you give me an oar and I'll row the rest of the way
+myself.”
+
+There were only two oars in the skiff, but I could get on perfectly well
+with one. And it would serve him beautifully right to let him go. But
+there was the girl. I hesitated.
+
+“Give me that oar,” he repeated, angrily. “You won't? Then, by Jove,
+I'll do without it. Stop! Stop where you are! do you understand. We
+don't require your services any longer.”
+
+He turned and began untying the tow line. I stopped rowing.
+
+Miss Colton looked troubled.
+
+“Victor!” she cried. “What are you doing?”
+
+“I know what I'm doing. Can't you see this fellow's game? The longer the
+row the higher his price, that's all. He can't work me. I've seen his
+kind before. Don't be frightened. If we can't do anything else we can
+anchor and wait until they see us from the house.”
+
+Idiot! At that point the channel was deep and the bottom soft mud. I
+doubted if his anchor would touch and, if it did, I knew it would not
+hold. I backed water and brought the skiff alongside the dingy, the rail
+of which I seized and held.
+
+“Keep off!” ordered Victor, still fumbling with the rope. “We don't want
+your help.”
+
+I wasted no breath on him. I addressed my remarks to the girl.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I said, “will you listen to me, please. You can't anchor
+here because your anchor will not hold. And you can't cross that flat at
+this stage of the tide. I can give you an oar, of course, but it won't
+do any good. My oars are too light and small for your boat. Unless you
+wish to drift back where you were, or beyond, you must let me tow you
+around the head of this flat.”
+
+I don't know what answer she might have made. None, perhaps; although I
+am sure she was listening. But Victor, who had succeeded in untying the
+tow line, cut in ahead of her.
+
+“Mabel,” he warned, “don't pay any attention to him. Didn't your father
+tell us what he was? There!” throwing the end of the rope overboard
+and addressing me; “now, you may clear out. We've done with you.
+Understand?”
+
+I looked at Miss Colton. But I might as well have looked at an iceberg.
+I slid one of my oars over into the dingy.
+
+“There you are,” I said, grimly. “But I warn you that you're in for
+trouble.”
+
+I let go of the rail and the boats fell apart. Victor seized the
+borrowed oar with a triumphant laugh.
+
+“Your bluff wouldn't work, would it, Reuben,” he sneered. “I'll send you
+the oar and your pay later. Now, Mabel, sit tight. I'll have you ashore
+in fifteen minutes.”
+
+He began rowing toward the weed-covered flat. I said nothing. I
+was furiously angry and it was some moments before I recovered
+self-possession sufficiently to get my remaining oar over the skiff's
+stern and, by sculling, hold her against the tide. Then I watched and
+waited.
+
+It was not a long wait. Victor was in difficulties almost from the
+beginning. The oar belonging to the dingy was a foot longer than the one
+I had given him and he zig-zagged wildly. Soon he was in the edge of the
+eelgrass and “catching crabs,” first on one side, then on the other.
+The dingy's bow slid up on the mud. He stood up to push it off, and the
+stern swung around. Getting clear, he took a fresh start and succeeded
+only in fouling again. This time he got further into the tangle before
+he grounded. The bow rose and the stern settled. There was a mighty
+splashing, as Victor pushed and tugged, but the dingy stuck fast. And
+there she would continue to stick for four hours unless I, or some one
+else, helped her off.
+
+I did not want to help. In fact, I looked all up and down the bay before
+I made a move. But it was dinner time and there was not another soul
+afloat. More than that, I noticed, as I had not noticed before, that
+brown clouds--wind clouds--were piling up in the west, and, if I was
+anything of a prophet, we would have squalls and dirty weather long
+before those four hours were over. And the dingy, in that position, was
+not safe to face a blow. No, as the small boys say, it was “up to me.” I
+wished it was not, but it was.
+
+So again I went to the rescue, but this time in an entirely different
+frame of mind. My anger and resentment had settled to a cold
+determination, and this trip was purely business. I was not at a
+disadvantage now, as I had been when I first met that girl and her
+friend, in “Big Jim” Colton's library. I was master of this situation
+and master I intended to be.
+
+I sculled the skiff straight in to the edge of the flat, at a point
+where the bank sloped sharply to deep water. I threw over my anchor,
+shortened the rope and made it fast. Then I stepped out into water above
+my shoe tops and waded toward the dingy. The water was icy cold, but I
+did not know it at the time.
+
+I splashed through the eelgrass. Victor saw me coming and roared an
+angry protest. He was still trying to push the boat off with an oar.
+
+“Here!” he shouted. “You keep away. We don't want you.”
+
+I did not care what he wanted. I splashed alongside the dingy and looked
+at her and the position she was in. My mind was made up instantly.
+
+“You'll never get her off if you both stay aboard,” I said. “Let the
+lady move amidships and you get out and wade.”
+
+He glared at me as if I were as crazy as Colton or Lute had declared me
+to be. Then he laughed contemptuously.
+
+“You go back where you came from,” he ordered. “I'm running this.”
+
+“Yes, I've noticed that. Now I'll state the facts as plainly as I can.
+This boat is fast aground in the mud, the tide is still going out, and
+there are squalls coming. She must be got off or there may be danger.
+You can't get her off until she is lightened. Will you get out and
+wade?”
+
+He did not answer; instead he continued to push with the oar. I turned
+to the girl.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I said, “I must ask you to stand up. Be careful when you
+rise.”
+
+She made no move, nor did she reply. The look she gave me was enough.
+
+“You must stand up,” I repeated, firmly. “Either your--this
+gentleman--must get out, as I tell him to, or I shall have to carry you
+to my skiff. We haven't any time to spare.”
+
+She gazed at me in blank astonishment. Then the color flamed in her
+cheeks and her eyes flashed.
+
+“We don't wish your help,” she said, icily.
+
+“I'm sorry, but that makes no difference. I--”
+
+Victor whirled on me, the oar in his hands. I thought for an instant he
+was going to strike me with it.
+
+“You blackguard!” he shouted. “Will you go away?”
+
+I looked at him and then at her. It had to be done, and my mind was made
+up to do it. I waded in until the water was almost to my knees, and I
+was abreast the stern of the stranded boat.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I said, “I am going to carry you to my skiff. Are you
+ready?”
+
+“You--Why!--” she breathed.
+
+I stooped, lifted her in my arms, and ploughed through the weeds and
+water. The mud was soft and my feet sank into it. She struggled.
+
+“You must keep still,” I said, sharply, “or I shall drop you.”
+
+She gasped, but she stopped struggling. From behind me I heard a roar of
+rage from Victor.
+
+I carried her to the anchored skiff and, plunging in still deeper,
+seated her on the stern thwart.
+
+“Sit there, please, and don't move,” I said. “I shall be back as soon as
+I've got your boat afloat.”
+
+I waded back to the dingy. Victor was frantic, but he did not disturb
+me. The worst of my unpleasant job was over.
+
+“Now sit down,” I ordered. “Do you hear me? Sit down and sit still.”
+
+“You--you--” he stammered.
+
+“Because if you don't sit down,” I continued serenely, “you're likely to
+tumble overboard. I'm going to push this boat off.”
+
+The first push helped to make up his mind. He sat, involuntarily. I
+pushed with all my might and, slowly and jerkily, the dingy slid off
+the shoal. But there were others all about. With one hand on the bow
+I guided her between them and to the edge of the channel. Then, wading
+along the slippery bank, I brought her to the skiff. My passenger had
+been making remarks in transit, but I paid no attention to them.
+
+I made the rope fast for towing, took my oar from the dingy, pulled up
+the skiff's anchor and climbed aboard.
+
+“Sit where you are,” I said to Victor. “Miss Colton, please keep as
+still as possible.”
+
+I ventured to look at her as I said this, but I looked but once. All the
+way home I kept my gaze fixed on the bottom boards of the skiff.
+
+I made the landing just in time. In fact, the squall struck before I was
+abreast the Colton place. The channel beyond the flat, which we had so
+lately left, was whipped to whitecaps in a moment and miniature breakers
+were beating against the mud bank where the dingy had grounded.
+
+Under the high bluff it was calm enough. The tide was too low to make
+use of the little wharf, so I beached the skiff and drew the towed
+boat in by the line. I offered to assist Miss Colton ashore, but she,
+apparently, did not see my proffered hand. Victor scrambled out by
+himself. No one said anything. I untied the rope and pulled it in. Then
+I prepared to push off.
+
+“Here!” growled Victor. “Wait a minute.”
+
+I looked up. He was standing at the edge of the water, with one hand in
+his pocket. Miss Colton was behind him.
+
+“Well?” I asked.
+
+“I haven't paid you yet,” he said, sullenly. “How much?”
+
+“What do you mean?” I asked. I knew, of course, but it pleased me to
+make him say it.
+
+“Why, how much for towing us in? What's your price? Come, hurry up.”
+
+“I haven't any price. I'm not in the salvage business.”
+
+“Not--Say, don't bargain. What's your price, I ask you?”
+
+“Nothing, of course. Very glad to have been of assistance.”
+
+I took up my oars.
+
+“Here!” he shouted. “Stop! hold on! Confound you! do you suppose we
+don't intend to pay you for this?”
+
+I shook my head. “It has been a pleasure,” I said, sweetly. “Good day.”
+
+I rowed off, but all the way down to my boathouse I smiled contentedly.
+I had seen the look on Mabel Colton's face. I rather thought I had
+evened the account between us; at least I had reduced the balance a
+trifle. This time it was not I who appeared ridiculous.
+
+Dorinda saw me when I entered the kitchen. Her hands were upraised.
+
+“My soul and body!” she exclaimed. “LOOK at them pants! LOOK at 'em! And
+I ain't had time to put a needle to your other ones yet!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+The rain, which I expected would follow the squall, did not come until
+late that night, and it was still falling heavily the next morning.
+It was a warm rain, however, and, after breakfast, I walked up to the
+village. I said nothing, even to Mother, about the happenings in the
+bay, and Dorinda, who had asked many sarcastic questions concerning the
+state of my blue trousers--if I had “mistook 'em for a bathin' suit” and
+the like--seemed satisfied with my hurried explanation that I had gotten
+overboard. “Though how you fell in feet fust,” she observed, “I don't
+see.” She had mended my brown pair, sitting up until after two to do so.
+
+Lute informed me that he had been up to the post-office. “Everybody's
+talkin' about them Coltons,” he declared. “I see their automobile last
+night, myself. The Colton girl, she come into the store. My! she's a
+stunner, ain't she! Sim waited on her, himself, and gave her the mail.
+She wanted to buy some cheese--for a rabbit, she said. I never heard of
+feeding a rabbit on cheese, did you, Ros?”
+
+“No,” I replied, laughing. It was not worth while to explain.
+
+“Nor nobody else, but her! I guess,” continued Lute, “likely she was
+just jokin'. Anyhow, Sim was all out of cheese, but he had some nice
+print butter, just in. She didn't want no butter, though.”
+
+“Humph!” sniffed Dorinda. “Did Sim Eldredge cal'late she wanted to feed
+the rabbit butter? Was the Colton girl alone?”
+
+“No. There was a young feller with her; the one that's visitin' 'em.
+Carver his name is--Victor Carver. Did you ever hear such a name in your
+life? Afore I'd name a child of mine Victor!”
+
+“Um-hm. Well, I wouldn't waste time worryin' about that, if I was you.
+Look here, Lute Rogers, you didn't say anything about Roscoe's talk with
+Mr. Colton, did you?”
+
+“No, no! no, no! Course I didn't.”
+
+“You sure?”
+
+“Yes. 'Taint likely I would, would I? Cap'n Jed was on hand, as usual,
+and he was full of questions, but he didn't get anything out of me.
+'What did Colton say to Ros?' he says. 'How do I know what he said?'
+says I. 'I wan't there, was I?' 'Where was you that forenoon?' he says.
+'Forenoon!' says I, 'that shows how much you know about it. 'Twas three
+o'clock in the afternoon.' Oh, I had the laugh on him!”
+
+Dorinda looked at me and shook her head.
+
+“It's too bad, Roscoe,” she said. “But I was afraid of it as soon as I
+found he'd sneaked off to the post-office. I cal'late it's all over town
+by now.”
+
+“What do you mean by that?” Lute's dignity was outraged. “All over town!
+I never told him nothin'.”
+
+“No. Only that Ros and Mr. Colton were together and 'twas three o'clock
+in the afternoon. And goodness knows how much more! DO be quiet! Seems
+sometimes as if I should lose patience with you altogether. Is this
+Carver the Colton girl's young man? Are they engaged?”
+
+“I don't know. I guess he's keepin' company with her, by the looks. I
+got as nigh to 'em as I could, but I didn't hear much they said. Only,
+just as they was goin' out, he said somethin' about goin' for a little
+spin in the car. She said no, her father would want his letters. Carver,
+he said, why not send Oscar home--that's the chauffeur, you know--with
+the letters, and he'd run the car himself. She kind of laughed, and said
+she guessed not, she'd taken one trip with him already that day and she
+didn't believe she cared for another. He seemed kind of put out about
+it, I thought.”
+
+I had been feeling rather provoked at Lute for giving Captain Jed the
+information concerning my interview with Colton; but, somehow, this
+other bit of news restored my good humor. When I started for the village
+I did not take the short cut across the fields, but followed my regular
+route, the path by the bluff and the Shore Lane. I was no longer fearful
+of meeting my new neighbors. The memory of the happenings in the bay was
+a delightful solace to my wounded self-respect. I chuckled over it as
+I walked through the dripping pines of the little grove. No matter how
+contemptuously indifferent that girl might pretend to be she would
+not forget what had taken place; that she had been obliged to obey my
+orders; that I had carried her to that skiff; that I had saved her from
+a danger--not a great danger, and against her will, of course--but saved
+her nevertheless. She was under an obligation to me; she could not help
+herself. How that must gall her. I remembered the look on her face as I
+rowed away. Sweet was revenge. And Victor--Victor was a joke.
+
+When I reached the Lane I looked over at the Colton mansion. The rain
+had given the carpenters and painters an enforced holiday, and, except
+for the chauffeur, whom I could see through the open door of the garage,
+there was no one in sight. I think I was a little disappointed. If “Big
+Jim” had appeared and hailed me with another offer for the land I should
+not have dodged. I was ready for him. But neither he, or any one else,
+appeared and I walked on.
+
+At the Corners, Sim Eldredge shouted to me from the platform of his
+store.
+
+“Hi, Ros!” he shouted. “You! Ros Paine! come here a minute, will you?”
+
+I did not want to see him. I had intended avoiding the post-office
+altogether. But I crossed to the platform.
+
+“Say, Ros,” he asked eagerly, “what's this about you and Mr. Colton?”
+
+I was annoyed.
+
+“What do you mean?” I asked.
+
+“Why, you know, don't you? He come to see you and you went to see him
+over to his house. You had a reg'lar argument, I understand. About the
+Shore Lane, wan't it?”
+
+“Who told you that?” I inquired, sharply.
+
+“Why, nobody told me, exactly. Lute Rogers and Cap'n Jed was here last
+night and they got a-goin' as usual. The Cap'n does love to stir up
+Lute, and he commenced hintin' about somethin' of the kind. I don't know
+as they was hints, either, but Lute thought they was.”
+
+He grinned. I understood.
+
+“I see,” I said. “Well, what did Lute say?”
+
+“I suppose he'd say he never said a word, but after he'd gone there was
+a kind of general sentiment that Colton wanted to buy the Shore Lane
+land off you, and that you and he had some words about it. Anyhow, you
+didn't sell the land, did you?”
+
+“Suppose I did, or didn't; what of it?”
+
+“Why, nothin', nothin'. Only, I tell you, Ros--” he looked carefully
+about to make sure no one was listening; “I tell you; it's just this
+way. I can understand how you feel about it. You know Dean and some of
+the others are sore on Mr. Colton 'cause he's got more money than they
+have, and they want to make all the trouble for him they can. Jed's got
+an idea that he's after that Lane, to close it off, and he's stirrin' up
+sentiment against its bein' closed. He's talkin' about the town buyin'
+it. Now of course I know your position. You want to get just as high a
+price as you can afore you sell.”
+
+“That's my position, is it?”
+
+“It would be the position of any sensible man, wouldn't it? I don't
+blame you. Now, what I wanted to say was this.” He bent forward and
+lowered his voice to a whisper. “Why don't you let me handle this thing
+for you? I can do it better'n you. I see Cap'n Jed every night, you
+might say. And I see consider'ble of Mr. Colton. He knows I'm postmaster
+in this town and sort of prominent. All the smart folks ain't in the
+Board of Selectmen. I'll keep you posted; see? You just set back and
+pretend you don't want to sell at all. Colton, he'll bid and Jed and
+his gang'll bid. I'll tell each what the other bids, and we'll keep her
+jumpin'. When we get to the last jump, we'll sell--and not afore. Of
+course Mr. Colton 'll get it, in the end.”
+
+“Oh, he will! What makes you think so?”
+
+“What makes me think so? Don't be foolish. Ain't he a millionaire? How
+can Denboro stand up against a millionaire? I tell you, Ros, it's money
+counts in this world, and it pays to stand in with them that's got it.
+I'm goin' to stand in with Mr. Colton. But I'll pretend to stand in with
+Dean just as much. I can help a whole lot. Why, I shouldn't wonder if,
+between us, we could get--er--er--I don't know how much, for that land.
+What do you say?”
+
+I smiled. “It's very kind of you, Sim, to be willing to go to so much
+trouble on my account,” I observed. “I didn't know there was such
+disinterested kindness in Denboro.”
+
+Sim seemed a bit put out. “Why,” he stammered, “I--I--of
+course I presumed likely you'd be willin' to pay me a little
+commission--or--or--somethin'. I thought I might be a sort of--er--agent
+for you. I've handled consider'ble real estate in my time--and--you see
+what I mean, don't you?”
+
+“Yes,” I said, drily; “I see. Well, Sim, if I decide to engage an agent
+I'll let you know. Good morning.”
+
+“But, hold on, Ros! I--”
+
+I did not “hold on.” I walked across the road and entered the bank.
+Alvin Baker met me in the vestibule. He seized my hand and shook it
+violently.
+
+“I declare,” he exclaimed, “it does me good to shake hands with a feller
+that's got the grit you have. It does so! We're all proud of you.”
+
+“Much obliged, Alvin, I'm sure. But why?”
+
+He winked and nudged me with his elbow.
+
+“You know why, all right,” he whispered. “Wouldn't sell him the land,
+would you? Tell me: Did he make you a real bid for it? Lute as much as
+said he did.”
+
+For a person who had told nothing, Lute seemed to have “as much as said”
+ a good many things. I shook my head.
+
+“So you think I shouldn't sell the land?” I asked.
+
+“Course you shouldn't--not to him. Ain't there such things as public
+spirit and independence? But I'll tell you somethin' more, Ros,”
+ mysteriously. “You may have a chance to sell it somewhere else.”
+
+“Indeed?”
+
+“Yes, sir-ee! indeed! There's other public-spirited folks in Denboro as
+well as you. I know who they be and I stand in with 'em pretty close,
+too. I'm goin' to help you all I can.”
+
+“That's very kind of you, Alvin.”
+
+“No, no. I'm glad to do it. Shan't charge you nothin', neither.”
+
+“That's kinder still.”
+
+“No, 'tain't. . . Hold on a minute, Ros. Don't go. As I say, I'm goin'
+to work tooth and nail to get the town to buy that Lane property of
+yours. I'll stick out for you're gettin' a good price for it. I'll use
+all my influence.”
+
+“Thank you.”
+
+“You needn't thank me. It's a matter of principle. We'll show these city
+folks they ain't the whole ship, cargo and all. . . . Hold on a second
+more. Ros, I--er--I wonder if you'd do a little favor for me.”
+
+“What is it, Alvin?”
+
+“Why, it's this way. I've got a note here in the bank; put it there when
+I bought the power engine for my cat-boat. Hundred and fifty dollars,
+'tis. You're a pretty good friend of George Taylor, cashier here, and I
+was wonderin' if you'd mind puttin' in a word with him about my gettin'
+it renewed when it comes due. Just tell him you think I'm all right, and
+a good risk, or somethin' like that.”
+
+I could not help smiling. Alvin seemed to find encouragement in the
+smile.
+
+“George thinks consider'ble of you,” he said. “And Captain Jed--he's one
+of the directors--he will, too, now that you've stood up to Colton. Just
+put in a word for me, will you? And don't forget I'm a friend of yours,
+and I'm strong for your gettin' a good, fair price from the town.
+Remember that, won't you?”
+
+“I won't forget, Alvin. Good-by.”
+
+I left him and went into the bank. Henry Small, the bookkeeper, was at
+his desk. I walked over to speak to him, but he, looking up from his
+figures, spoke first. There was, or so it seemed to me, a different note
+in his greeting. It was more hearty, I thought. Certainly he regarded me
+with a new and curious interest.
+
+“Morning, Ros,” he said. “Well, how are you these days?”
+
+I answered that I was well, and was moving on but he detained me.
+
+“Lively times ahead, hey,” he whispered.
+
+“What sort of times?” I asked.
+
+He winked. “I guess you know, if anybody does,” he observed. “All right,
+you'll have good friends on your side. I ain't saying anything, of
+course, but I'm on, all right.”
+
+He winked again. I walked back to the cashier's window. Taylor had,
+evidently, seen me talking with the bookkeeper, for he was standing by
+the little gate, waiting for me.
+
+“Hello, Ros,” he said. “Glad to see you. Come in.”
+
+George Taylor was a type of smart country boy grown to manhood in
+the country. His tone, like his manner, was sharp and quick and
+businesslike, but he spoke with the Down-East twang and used the Cape
+phrases and metaphors. He was younger than I, but he looked older, and,
+of late, it had seemed to me that he was growing more nervous. We shook
+hands.
+
+“Glad to see you,” he said again. “I was hoping you'd drift in. I
+presumed likely you might. Sit down.”
+
+I took the proffered chair. He looked at me with much the same curious
+interest that Small had shown.
+
+“We've been hearing about you,” he said. “You've been getting yourself
+talked about.”
+
+I mentally cussed Lute once more for his loquacity.
+
+“I'll break the fellow's neck,” I declared, with emphasis.
+
+He laughed. “Don't do that yet awhile,” he said. “The market is in bad
+enough shape as it is. If his neck was broke the whole of Wall Street
+would go to pot.”
+
+“Wall Street? What in the world has Lute got to do with Wall Street?”
+
+“Lute! Oh, I see! Yes, Lute's been doing considerable talking, but it
+ain't his neck I mean. Say, Ros, what did you do to him, anyway? You
+stirred him up some, judging by what he said to me.”
+
+“Who said? What?”
+
+“Why, Colton. He was in here yesterday. Opened what he called a
+household account; that was his main business. But he asked about you,
+along with it.”
+
+This explained some things. It was clear now why Small had appeared so
+interested. “Oh!” I said.
+
+“You bet he did. Wanted to know if I knew you, and what you were, and so
+on. I told him I knew you pretty well. 'What sort of a fellow is he?
+A damn fool?' he asked. I strained the truth enough to say you were a
+pretty good fellow and a long ways from that kind of a fool, according
+to my reckoning. 'Umph!' says he. 'Is he rich?' I told him I guessed you
+wan't so rich that you got round-shouldered lugging your money. 'Why?'
+says I, getting curious. 'Have you met him, Mr. Colton? If you have you
+ought to have sized him up yourself. I always heard you were a pretty
+fair judge.' He looked at me kind of funny. 'I thought I was,' says he,
+'but you seem to raise a new variety down here.' Then I guess he thought
+he'd said enough. At any rate, he walked off. What did you and he say to
+each other, Ros?”
+
+I did not answer immediately. When I did the answer was non-committal.
+“Oh, we had a business interview,” I said.
+
+He nodded. “Well,” he observed, “I suppose it's your affair and not
+mine. But, I tell you this, Ros: if it's what I suppose it is, it'll be
+everybody's affair pretty soon.”
+
+“You think so, do you?”
+
+“I know so. Cap'n Jed's a fighter and he is on the war path. The two
+sides are lining up already. Whichever way you decide you'll make
+enemies, of course.”
+
+I shrugged my shoulders. The prospect of enemies, more or less, in
+Denboro, did not trouble me.
+
+“But you'll have to decide,” he went on, “who you'll sell to.”
+
+“Or not sell at all,” I suggested.
+
+“Can you afford to do that? There'll be money--a whole lot of money--in
+this before it's over, if I know the leaders on both sides. You've got
+the whip-hand. There'll be money in it. Can you afford to let it slip?”
+
+I did not answer. Suddenly his expression changed. He looked haggard and
+care-worn.
+
+“By the Almighty,” he said, between his teeth, and without looking at
+me, “I wish I had your chance.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Oh, nothing, nothing. . . . How's your mother nowadays?”
+
+I told him that my mother was much as usual, and we talked of various
+things.
+
+“By the way,” he said, “I've got some news for you. Nothing surprising.
+I guess all hands have seen it coming. I'm engaged to be married.”
+
+“Good!” said I, with as much heartiness as I could answer; marriage did
+not interest me. “Congratulations, George. Nellie Dean, of course.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I'm glad for you. And for her. She'll make you a good wife, I'm sure.”
+
+He drew a long breath. “Yes,” he said slowly, “Nellie's a good girl.”
+
+“When is the--what do they call it? the happy event to take place?”
+
+“In the fall some time, if all goes well. I hope it will.”
+
+“Humph! Yes, I should think you might hope as much as that. Why
+shouldn't it go well?”
+
+“Hey? Oh, of course it will!” He laughed and rose from his chair as
+several men came into the bank. “I'll have to leave you, Ros,” he said.
+“There's a directors' meeting this morning. They're coming now.”
+
+As I passed out of the gate and through the group of directors I noticed
+that they also regarded me with interest. Two, men from neighboring
+towns whom I scarcely knew, whispered to each other. Captain Elisha
+Warren shook hands with me and inquired concerning Mother. The last of
+the group was Captain Jedediah Dean, and he touched me on the shoulder.
+
+“Ros,” he whispered, “you're all right. Understand? I say you're all
+right.”
+
+“Thanks,” I answered, briefly.
+
+“I heard about it,” he whispered. “Ase Peters said the Grand Panjandrum
+was cranky as a shark with the toothache all day yesterday. You must
+tell me the yarn when we get together. I missed you when I called just
+now, but I'll be down again pretty soon. You won't lose nothin' by this.
+So long.”
+
+As I came down the bank steps Sim Eldredge called across the road.
+
+“Good-by, Ros,” he shouted. “Come in again next time you're up street.”
+
+In all my period of residence in Denboro I had never before been treated
+like this. People had never before gone out of their way to shake hands
+with me. No one had considered it worth while to ask favors of me.
+Sim and Alvin were not to be taken seriously, of course, and both were
+looking after their own pocketbooks, but their actions were straws
+proving the wind to be blowing in my direction. I thought, and smiled
+scornfully, that I, all at once, seemed to have become a person of some
+importance.
+
+But my scorn was not entirely sincere. There was a certain gratification
+in the thought. I might pretend--I had pretended--that Denboro opinion,
+good or bad, was a matter of complete indifference to me. I had assumed
+myself a philosopher, to whom, in the consciousness of right, such
+trifles were of no consequence. But, philosophy or not, the fact
+remained that I was pleased. People might dislike me--as that lofty
+Colton girl and her father disliked me, though they could dislike me
+no more than I did them--but I could compel them to respect me. They
+already must think of me as a man. And so on--as I walked home through
+the wet grass. It was all as foolish and childish and ridiculous as it
+well could be. I deserved what was coming to me--and I got it.
+
+For, as I came down the Lane, I met Oscar, the chauffeur, and a
+companion, whom I judged to be a fellow servant--the coachman, I learned
+afterwards--walking in the direction of the village. The rain had
+ceased, but they wore natty raincoats and caps and had the city air of
+smartness which I recognized and envied, even in them. The footpath was
+narrow, but they apparently had no intention of stepping to one side,
+so I made way for them. They whispered together as they approached and
+looked at me curiously as we passed. A few steps further on I heard them
+both burst out laughing. I caught the words, from Oscar, “fool Rube” and
+“the old man'll make him look--” I heard no more, but as I turned into
+the grove I saw them both looking after me with broad grins on their
+faces.
+
+Somebody has said that there is nothing harder to bear than the contempt
+and ridicule of servants. For one thing, you cannot resent it without a
+loss of dignity, and, for another, you may be perfectly sure that theirs
+is but the reflection of their employers' frame of mind. This encounter
+shook my self-satisfaction more than a little. It angered me, but it did
+more than that; it brought back the feeling I had when I left the Colton
+library, that my defiance was not, after all, taken seriously. That I
+was regarded by Colton as just what Oscar had termed me, a “fool Rube.”
+ When George Taylor told me of the great man's questions concerning my
+foolishness, I accepted the question as a tribute to my independence.
+Now I was not so sure.
+
+Dorinda met me at the door.
+
+“You've had two callers,” she said.
+
+“So? Who were they?”
+
+“One of 'em was Cap'n Jed. He drove down just after you left. He come to
+see you about that land, I cal'late.”
+
+“Oh, yes. I remember he told me he missed me this morning. So he came
+here?”
+
+“Um-hm. Him and me had a little talk. He seemed to know consider'ble
+about your rumpus with Mr. Colton.”
+
+“How did he know?”
+
+“He wouldn't say, but I wouldn't wonder if he got a lot from Ase Peters.
+Ase and he are pretty thick; he's got a mortgage on Ase's house, you
+know. And Ase, bein' as he's doin' the carpenterin' over to Colton's,
+hears a lot from the servants, I s'pose likely. Leastways, if they don't
+tell all their bosses' affairs they're a new breed of hired help, that's
+all I've got to say. Cap'n Jed says Mr. Colton cal'lates you're a fool.”
+
+“Yes. So I've heard. What did the Captain say to that?”
+
+“Seemed to think 'twas a pretty good joke. He said he didn't care how
+big a fool you was so long's you was feeble-minded on the right side.”
+
+So there it was again. My imagined importance in the eyes of the
+townspeople simmered down to about that. I was an imbecile, but they
+must pretend to believe me something else because I owned something they
+wanted. Well, I still owned it.
+
+“Of course,” continued Dorinda, “I didn't tell him you was figgerin' not
+to sell the land at all. If I had, I s'pose he'd have thought--”
+
+She stopped short.
+
+“You suppose what?” I asked.
+
+“Oh, nothin'.”
+
+She had said enough. I could guess the rest. I walked to the window and
+stood, looking out. The clouds were breaking and, as I stood there, a
+ray of sunlight streamed through a rift and struck the bay just at the
+spot where the dingy had grounded. The shallow water above the flat
+flashed into fire. I am not superstitious, as a general thing, but the
+sight comforted me. It seemed like an omen. There was the one bright
+spot in the outlook. There, at least, I had not behaved like a “fool
+Rube.” There I had compelled respect and been taken seriously.
+
+Dorinda spoke again.
+
+“You ain't asked who your other caller was,” she observed.
+
+“Was there another?”
+
+“Um-hm. I told you there was two. After Cap'n Jed left that chauffeur
+feller from the big house come here. He fetched a note for you. Here
+'tis.”
+
+I took the note. It was addressed to me in a man's handwriting, not that
+of “Big Jim” Colton. I opened the envelope and read:
+
+
+Roscoe Paine.
+
+Sir: The enclosed is in payment for your work. No receipt is necessary.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+B. VICTOR CARVER.
+
+
+The “enclosed” was a five-dollar bill.
+
+I stood staring at the note. Then I began to laugh.
+
+“What's the joke?” asked Dorinda, who had not taken her eyes from my
+face.
+
+“This,” said I, handing her the money. She looked at it in astonishment.
+
+“Um-hm,” she said, drily. “Well, I--well, a five-dollar bill may be a
+joke to you, but _I_ ain't familiar enough with one to laugh at it. You
+don't laugh as if 'twas awful funny, either. Who's the joke on?”
+
+“It's on me, just now.
+
+“Um-hm. I'd be willin' to be joked ten times a day, at that price. And
+I'd undertake to laugh heartier than you're doin', too. What's it for?
+the money, I mean.”
+
+“It's for some 'work' I did yesterday.”
+
+She was more astonished than ever.
+
+“Work! You?” she exclaimed.
+
+“Yes. But don't worry; I shan't do it again.”
+
+“Land! THAT wouldn't worry me. What sort of work was it?”
+
+“Oh, I--I picked up something adrift in the bay.”
+
+“Um-hm. I see. Somethin' belongin' to the Coltons, I s'pose likely. Why
+won't you do it again? Ain't they paid you enough?”
+
+Again I laughed. “They have paid me too much,” I said, bitterly. “What I
+picked up wasn't worth the money.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+And that, in the end, was the answer I sent to Carver with his five
+dollars. I spent an hour in my room trying to compose and write a
+sarcastic reply to his note, but I finally gave it up. Then I put the
+money in an envelope, addressed the latter, and sent it to the big house
+by Lute. Lute was delighted with the errand.
+
+“You'll explain to Dorindy, will you?” he asked. “She cal'lates I'm
+goin' to clean the henhouse. But I can do that some other time.”
+
+“You can--yes.”
+
+“Do you know--” Lute leaned against the clothes post and prepared to
+philosophize. “Do you know,” he observed, “that I don't take no stock in
+cleanin' henhouses and such?”
+
+“Don't you? I'm surprised.”
+
+“You're surprised 'cause you ain't thought it out. That's my way; I
+always think things out. Most folks are selfish. They want to do what
+they want to do, and they want others to want the same thing. If the
+others don't want it, then they like to make 'em have it; anyhow.
+Dorindy is crazy on cleanin'. She wouldn't live in a dirty house no
+more'n she'd live in a lobster pot. It's the way she's made. But a hen
+ain't made that way. A hen LIKES dirt; she scratches in it and digs
+holes in it to waller in, and heaves it over herself all day long. If
+you left it to the hens would THEY clean their house? I guess not! So, I
+say what's the use of cruelizin' 'em by makin' 'em live clean when they
+don't want to? I--”
+
+“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Lute, you're wasting your breath. It is
+Dorinda you should explain all this to, not to me. And you're wasting my
+time. I want you to take that envelope to Mr. Carver; and I want you to
+go now.”
+
+“Well, I'm goin', ain't I? I was only just sayin'--”
+
+“Say it when you come back. And if Mr. Carver asks you why I sent that
+envelope to him be sure and give him the message I gave you. Do you
+remember it?”
+
+“Sartin. That what you done wan't wuth so much.”
+
+“Not exactly. That what I saved wasn't worth it.”
+
+“All right. I'll remember. But what did you save, Ros? Dorindy says
+'twas somethin' you found afloat in the bay. If it was somethin'
+belongin' to them Coltons I'd have took the money, no matter what the
+thing was wuth. They can afford to pay and, if I was you, I'd take the
+reward.”
+
+“I have my reward. Now go.”
+
+I had my reward and I believed it worth much more than five dollars.
+I had learned my lesson. I knew now exactly how I was regarded by the
+occupants of the big house and by the townspeople as well. I should
+cherish no more illusions as to my importance in their eyes. I meant to
+be really independent from that time on. I did not care--really did not
+care--for anything or anybody outside my immediate household. I was back
+in the position I had occupied for years, but with one difference: I had
+an ambition now. It was to make both sides in the Shore Lane controversy
+realize that George Taylor was right when he said I had the whip-hand.
+By the Almighty, they should dance when I cracked that whip!
+
+My first opportunity to crack it came a day or two later, when Captain
+Dean called upon me. He had a definite proposition to make, although
+his Yankee shrewdness and caution prevented his making it until he had
+discussed the weather and other unimportant trifles. Then he leaned
+against the edge of my work-bench--we were in the boathouse--and began
+to beat up to windward of his proposal.
+
+“Ros,” he said, “you remember I told you you was all right, when I met
+you at the bank t'other day.”
+
+“I remember,” I answered.
+
+“Yes. Well, I cal'late you know what I meant by that.”
+
+I did not pretend ignorance of his meaning.
+
+“I presume,” I replied, “that you meant I was right in not selling that
+strip of land to Mr. Colton.”
+
+“That's what I meant. You kept your promise to me and I shan't forget
+it. Nor the town won't forget it, neither. Would you mind tellin' me
+just what happened between you and His Majesty?”
+
+“Not at all. He said he wanted to buy the Shore Lane strip and I refused
+to sell it to him. He said I was crazy and an infernal robber and I told
+him to go to the devil.”
+
+“WHAT! you didn't!”
+
+“I did.”
+
+Captain Jed slapped his knee and shouted in delight. He insisted on
+shaking hands with me.
+
+“By the great and everlastin'!” he declared, between laughs, “you're
+all right, Ros Paine! I said you was and now I'll swear to it. Told old
+Colton to go to the devil! If that ain't--oh, I wish I'd been there!”
+
+I went on sand-papering a valve plug. He walked up and down the floor,
+chuckling.
+
+“Well,” he said, at last, “you've made yourself solid in Denboro,
+anyhow. And I told you you shouldn't lose nothin' by it. The Selectmen
+held a meetin' last night and they feel, same as me, that that Shore
+Lane shan't be shut off. You understand what that means to you, don't
+you?”
+
+I looked at him, coolly.
+
+“No,” I answered.
+
+“You don't! It means the town's decided to buy that strip of land of
+yours. Definitely decided, practically speakin'. Now what'll you sell it
+to us for?”
+
+I put down the valve plug. “Captain,” said I, “that land is not for
+sale.”
+
+“Not for SALE? What do you mean by that?”
+
+“I mean that I have decided not to sell it, for the present, at least.
+Neither to Colton nor any one else.”
+
+He could not believe it. Of course I would not sell it to Colton. Colton
+was a stuck-up, selfish city aristocrat who thought all creation ought
+to belong to him. But the town was different. Did I realize that it was
+the town I lived in that was asking to buy now? The town of which I was
+a citizen? Think of what the town had done for me.
+
+“Very well,” I answered. “I'm willing to think. What has it done for
+me?”
+
+It had--it had--well, it had done a whole lot. As a citizen of that town
+I owed it a--a--
+
+“Look here, Captain Dean,” I interrupted, “there's no use in our arguing
+the matter. I have decided not to sell.”
+
+“Don't talk so foolish. Course you'll sell if you get money enough.”
+
+“So Colton said, but I shan't.”
+
+“Ros, I ain't got any authority to do it, but I shouldn't wonder if I
+could get you three hundred dollars for that strip.”
+
+“It isn't a question of price.”
+
+“Rubbish! Anything's a question of price.”
+
+“This isn't. If it was I probably should have accepted Mr. Colton's
+offer of six hundred and fifty.”
+
+“Six hun--! Do you mean to say he offered you six hundred and fifty
+dollars for that little mite of land, and you never took him up?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, you must be a . . . Humph! Six hundred and fifty! The town can't
+meet no such bid as that, of course.”
+
+“I don't expect it to.”
+
+He regarded me in silence. He was chagrined and angry; his florid face
+was redder than ever; but, more than all, he was puzzled.
+
+“Well,” he observed, after a moment, “this beats me, this does! Last
+time we talked you was willin' to consider sellin'. What's changed you?
+What's the reason you won't sell? What business reason have you got for
+not doin' it?”
+
+I had no business reason at all. Except for Mother's counsel not to
+sell, which was based upon sentiment and nothing else, and my own
+stubbornness, I had no reason at all. Yet I was, if anything, more firm
+in my resolve.
+
+“How about the Lane?” he demanded. “You know what that Lane means to
+Denboro?”
+
+“I know what you say it means. The townspeople can continue to use the
+Lane, just as they always have, so long as they behave themselves. There
+is no use of our talking further, Captain. I've made up my mind.”
+
+He went away, soon after, but he asked another question.
+
+“Will you do this much for me?” he asked. “Will you promise me not to
+sell the land to Colton?”
+
+“No,” I said, “I will make no promise of any kind, to anybody.”
+
+“Oh,” with a scornful sniff, “I see. I'm on to you. You're just hangin'
+out for a big price. I might have known it. You're on Colton's side,
+after all.”
+
+I rose. I was angry now.
+
+“I told you price had nothing to do with it,” I said, sharply. “I am on
+no one's side. The town is welcome to use the Lane; that I have told you
+already. There is nothing more to be said.”
+
+He shook his head.
+
+“I don't make many mistakes,” he observed, slowly; “but I guess I've
+made one. You're a whole lot deeper'n I thought you was.”
+
+So much for the proletariat. I heard from the plutocrats next day.
+Sim Eldredge dropped in on me. After much wriggling about the bush he
+intimated that he knew of Captain Jedediah's call and what had taken
+place.
+
+“You done just right, Ros,” he whispered. He had a habit of whispering
+as the Captain had of shouting. “You done just right. Keep 'em guessin';
+keep em guessin'. Jed's all upsot. He don't know whether he's keel down
+or on his beam ends. He'll be makin' a higher bid pretty soon. Say,”
+ with a wink, “I see Colton last night.”
+
+“Did you?”
+
+“Yup. Oh, I give him a jolt. I hinted that the town had made you a fine
+offer and you was considerin' it.”
+
+“What did you do that for? Who gave you the right to--”
+
+“Sshh! Don't holler. Somebody might be listenin'. I come through the
+woods and round the beach so's I wouldn't be seen. What do you s'pose
+Colton said?”
+
+“I don't care what he said.”
+
+“You will when I tell you. He as much as offered a thousand dollars for
+that land. My crimps! a thousand! think of that! I presume likely you
+wouldn't take that, would you, Ros?”
+
+“Sim, I'll tell you, as I told Captain Jed, that land is not for sale.”
+
+I tried to make that statement firm and sharp enough to penetrate even
+his wooden head; but he merely winked again.
+
+“All right,” he whispered, hastily, “all right. I guess perhaps you're
+correct in hangin' on. Still, a thousand is a lot of money, even after
+you take out my little commission. But you know best. You put your trust
+in me. I'll keep her jumpin'. I understand. Good-by.”
+
+He went out hurriedly, and, though I shouted after him, he only waved
+and ducked behind a beach-plum bush. He did not believe me serious in
+my refusal to sell; neither did Dean, or Colton, or, apparently, any one
+else. They all thought me merely shrewd, a sharp trader driving a hard
+bargain, as they would have done in my place. They might think so, if
+they wished; I should not explain. As a matter of fact, I could not have
+explained my attitude, even to myself.
+
+Yet this very attitude made a difference, a perceptible difference, in
+my position in Denboro. I noticed it each time I went up to the village.
+I saw the groups at the post-office and at the depot turn to watch me
+as I approached and as I went away. Captain Jedediah did not mention the
+Lane again--at least for some time--but he always hailed me cordially
+when we met and seemed anxious to be seen in my company. Eldredge, of
+course, was effusive; so was Alvin Baker. And other people, citizens of
+consequence in the town, who had heretofore merely bowed, now stopped
+to speak with me on the street. Members of the sewing circle called
+on Mother more frequently, and Matilda Dean, Captain Jed's wife, came
+regularly once a week. Sometimes she saw Mother and sometimes she did
+not, depending upon Dorinda's state of mind at the time.
+
+Lute, always a sort of social barometer, noticed the change in the
+weather.
+
+“Everybody's talkin' about you, Ros,” he declared. “They cal'late you're
+a pretty smart feller. They don't just understand what you're up to, but
+they think you're pretty smart.”
+
+“No?” I commented, ironically. “Lute, you astonish me. Why am I smart?”
+
+“Well, they don't know exactly, but they cal'late you must be. Oh,
+I hear things. Cap'n Jed said t'other night you'd make a pretty good
+Selectman.”
+
+“_I_ would? A Selectman?”
+
+“Yup. He as much as hinted that to me; wondered if you'd take the
+nomination provided he could fix it for you. Sim Eldredge and Alvin and
+some more all said they'd vote for you if they got a chance. ARE you
+figgerin' to charge toll on the Lane?”
+
+“Toll? What put that idea in your head?”
+
+“Nothin', only some of the fellers wondered if you was. You see, you
+won't sell, and so--”
+
+“I see. That's a brilliant suggestion, Lute. When I adopt it I'll
+appoint you toll-keeper.”
+
+“By time! I wish you would. I'd make Thoph Newcomb pay up. He owes me
+ten cents; bet it one time and never settled.”
+
+Yes, my position in Denboro had changed. But I took no pride in the
+change, as I had at first; I knew the reason for this sudden burst of
+popularity. The knowledge made me more cynical than ever--cynical, and
+lonely. For the first time since I came to the Cape I longed for a real
+friend, not a relative or an acquaintance, but a friend to trust and
+confide in. Some one, with no string of his own to pull, who cared for
+me because I was myself.
+
+And all the time I had such a friend and did not realize it. The
+knowledge came to me in this way. Mother had one of her seizures, one
+of the now infrequent “sinking spells,” as the doctor called them, on an
+evening when I was alone with her. Dorinda and Lute had gone, with the
+horse and buggy, to visit a cousin in Bayport. They were to stay over
+night and return before breakfast the next morning.
+
+I was alone in the dining-room when Mother called my name. There was
+something in her tone which alarmed me and I hastened to her bedside.
+One glance at her face was enough.
+
+“Boy,” she said, weakly, “I am afraid I am going to be ill. I have tried
+not to alarm you, but I feel faint and I am--you won't be alarmed, will
+you? I know it is nothing serious.”
+
+I told her not to worry and not to talk. I hurried out to the kitchen,
+got the hot water and the brandy, made her swallow a little of
+the mixture, and bathed her forehead and wrists with vinegar, an
+old-fashioned restorative which Dorinda always used. She said she felt
+better, but I was anxious and, as soon as it was safe to leave her,
+hurried out to bring the doctor. She begged me not to go, because it
+was beginning to rain and I might get wet, but I assured her it was not
+raining hard, and went.
+
+It was not raining hard when I started, but there was every sign of
+a severe storm close at hand. It was pitch dark and I was weary from
+stumbling through the bushes and over the rough path when I reached the
+corner of the Lane and the Lower Road. Then a carriage came down that
+road. It was an open wagon and George Taylor was the driver. He had been
+up to the Deans' and was on his way home.
+
+I hailed the vehicle, intending to ask for a ride, but when Taylor
+discovered who his hailer was he insisted on my going back to the house.
+He would get the doctor, he said, and bring him down at once. I was
+afraid he would be caught in the storm, and hesitated in accepting the
+offer, but he insisted. I did go back to the house, found Mother in much
+the same condition as when I left her, and had scarcely gotten into the
+kitchen again when Taylor once more appeared.
+
+“I brought Nellie along to stay with your mother,” he said. “The Cap'n
+and the old lady”--meaning Matilda--“were up at the meeting-house and we
+just left a note saying where we'd gone. Nellie's all right. Between you
+and me, she don't talk you deaf, dumb and blind like her ma, and she's
+good company for sick folks. Now I'll fetch the doctor and be right
+back.”
+
+“But it's raining pitchforks,” I said. “You'll be wet through.”
+
+“No, I won't. I'll have Doc Quimby here in no time.”
+
+He drove off and Nellie Dean went into Mother's room. I had always
+considered Nellie a milk-and-watery young female, but somehow her quiet
+ways and soft voice seemed just what were needed in a sick room. I left
+the two together and came out to wait for Taylor and the doctor.
+
+But they did not come. The storm was under full headway now, and the
+wind was dashing the rain in sheets against the windows. I waited nearly
+an hour and still no sign of the doctor.
+
+Nellie came out of Mother's room and closed the door softly behind her.
+
+“She's quiet now,” she whispered. “I think she's asleep. Where do you
+suppose George is?”
+
+“Goodness knows!” I answered. “I shouldn't have let him go, a night like
+this.”
+
+“I'm afraid you couldn't stop him if his mind was made up. He's dreadful
+determined when he sets out to be.”
+
+“He's a good fellow,” I said, to please her. She worshipped the cashier,
+a fact of which all Denboro was aware, and which caused gossip to report
+that she did the courting for the two.
+
+She blushed and smiled.
+
+“He thinks a lot of you,” she observed. “He's always talking to me about
+you. It's a good thing you're a man or I should be jealous.”
+
+I smiled. “I seem to be talked about generally, just now,” said I.
+
+“Are you? Oh, you mean about the Shore Lane. Yes, Pa can't make you out
+about that. He says you've got something up your sleeve and he hasn't
+decided what it is. I asked George what Pa meant and he just laughed. He
+said whatever you had in your sleeve was your affair and, if he was any
+judge of character, it would stay there till you got ready to shake it
+out. He always stood up for you, even before the Shore Lane business
+happened. I think he likes you better than any one else in Denboro.”
+
+“Present company excepted, of course.”
+
+“Oh, of course. If that wasn't excepted I should REALLY be jealous.
+Then,” more seriously, “Roscoe, does it seem to you that George is
+worried or troubled about something lately?”
+
+I thought of Taylor's sudden change of expression that day in the bank,
+and of his remark that he wished he had my chance. But I concealed my
+thoughts.
+
+“The prospect of marriage is enough to make any man worried, isn't it?”
+ I asked. “I imagine he realizes that he isn't good enough for you.”
+
+There was sarcasm in this remark, sarcasm of which I should have been
+ashamed. But she took it literally and as a compliment. She looked at me
+reproachfully.
+
+“Good enough for me!” she exclaimed. “He! Sometimes I wonder if it is
+right for me to be so happy. I feel almost as if it was wrong. As if
+something must happen to punish me for it.”
+
+I did not answer. To tell the truth, I was envious. There was real
+happiness in the world. This country girl had found it; that Mabel
+Colton would, no doubt, find it some day--unless she married her Victor,
+in which case I had my doubts. But what happiness was in store for me?
+
+Nellie did most of the talking thereafter; principally about George, and
+why he did not come. At last she went in to see if Mother needed her,
+and, twenty minutes later, when I looked into the bedroom, I saw that
+she had fallen asleep on the couch. Mother, too, seemed to be sleeping,
+and I left them thus.
+
+It was almost eleven o'clock when the sound of carriage wheels in the
+yard brought me to the window and then to the door. Doctor Quimby had
+come at last and Taylor was with him. The doctor, in his mackintosh and
+overshoes, was dry enough, but his companion was wet to the skin.
+
+“Sorry I'm so late, Ros,” said the doctor. “I was way up to Ebenezer
+Cahoon's in West Denboro. There's a new edition of Ebenezer, made port
+this morning, and I was a little bit concerned about the missus. She's
+all right, though. How's your mother?”
+
+“Better, I think. She's asleep now. So is Nellie. I suppose George told
+you she was with her.”
+
+“Yes. George had a rough passage over that West Denboro road. It's bad
+enough in daylight, but on a night like this--whew! I carried away a
+wheel turning into Ebenezer's yard, and if George hadn't had his team
+along I don't know how I'd have got here. I'll go right in and see Mrs.
+Paine.”
+
+He left us and I turned to Taylor.
+
+“You're soaked through,” I declared. “Come out to the kitchen stove.
+What in the world made you drive way up to that forsaken place? It's a
+good seven miles. Come out to the kitchen. Quick!”
+
+He sat down by the stove and put his wet boots on the hearth. I mixed
+him a glass of the brandy and hot water and handed him a cigar.
+
+“Why did you do it, George?” I said. “I never would have thought of
+asking such a thing.”
+
+“I know it,” he said. “Course you wouldn't ask it. There's plenty in
+this town that would, but you wouldn't. Maybe that's one reason I was so
+glad to do it for you.”
+
+“I am almost sorry you did. It is too great a kindness altogether. I'm
+afraid I shouldn't have done as much for you.”
+
+“Go on! Yes, you would. I know you.”
+
+I shook my head.
+
+“No, you don't,” I answered. “Captain Jed--your prospective
+father-in-law--said the other day that he had been mistaken; he thought
+he knew me, but he was beginning to find he did not.”
+
+“Did he say that? What did he mean?”
+
+“I imagine he meant he wasn't sure whether I was the fool he had
+believed me to be, or just a sharp rascal.”
+
+Taylor looked at me over the edge of his glass.
+
+“You think that's what he meant, do you?”
+
+“I know it.”
+
+He put the glass on the floor beside him and laid a hand on my knee.
+
+“Ros,” he said, “I don't know for sure what the Cap'n meant, though
+if he thinks you're either one of the two he's the fool. But _I_ know
+you--better, maybe, than you know yourself. At least I believe I know
+you better than any one else in the town.”
+
+“That wouldn't be saying much.”
+
+“Wouldn't it? Well, maybe not. But whose fault is it? It's yours, the
+way I look at it. Ros, I've been meaning to have a talk with you some
+day; perhaps this is as good a time as any. You make a big mistake in
+the way you treat Denboro and the folks in it.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“I mean just that. Your whole attitude is wrong, has been wrong ever
+since you first came here to live. You never gave any of us a chance to
+know you and like you--anybody but me, I mean, and even I never had
+but half a chance. You make a mistake, I tell you. There's lots of good
+folks in this town, lots of 'em. Cap'n Elisha Warren's one of 'em and
+there's plenty more. They're countrymen, same as I am, but they're good,
+plain, sensible folks, and they'd like to like you if they had a chance.
+You belong to the Town Improvement Society, but you never go to a
+meeting. You ought to get out and mix more.”
+
+I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess my mixing wouldn't be very welcome,” I
+said. “And, besides, I don't care to mix.”
+
+“I know you don't, but you ought to, just the same.”
+
+“Nonsense! George, I'm not blind, or deaf. Don't you suppose I know what
+Warren and Dean and the rest think of me? They consider me a loafer and
+no good. I've heard what they say. I've noticed how they treat me.”
+
+“How you treat them, you mean. You are as cold and freezing as a cake
+of ice. They was willing to be friends but you wouldn't have it. And,
+as for their calling you a loafer--well, that's your own fault, too.
+You OUGHT to do something; not work, perhaps, but you'd be a whole lot
+better off if you got really interested in something. Get into politics;
+get into town affairs; get out and know the people you're living with.”
+
+“I don't care to know them; and I'm sure they don't care to know me.”
+
+“Yes, they do. I understand how you feel. In this Shore Lane matter now:
+you think Cap'n Jed and Colton, because they pretend to call you a fool,
+don't respect you for taking the stand you have. They do. They don't
+understand you, maybe, but they can't help respecting you and, if they
+knew you even as well as I do, they'd like you. Come! I ain't throwin'
+any bouquets, but why do you suppose I'd be willing to drive to West
+Denboro forty times over, on forty times worse nights than this, for
+you? Why?”
+
+“Heaven knows! Would you?”
+
+“I would. I like you, Ros. I took a shine to you the first time I met
+you. I don't know why exactly. Why does anybody like anybody else? But I
+think a whole lot of you. I know this sounds foolish, and you don't feel
+that way towards me, but it's the truth.”
+
+I was amazed. I had always liked George Taylor, but I never felt any
+strong affection for him. I was a little less indifferent to him than to
+others in Denboro, that was all. And I had taken it for granted that
+his liking for me was of the same casual, lukewarm variety. To hear him
+declare himself in this way was astonishing--he, the dry, keen, Yankee
+banker.
+
+“But why, George?” I repeated.
+
+“I don't know why; I told you that. It's because I can't help it, I
+suppose. Or because, as I said, I know you better than any one else.”
+
+I sighed. “Nobody knows me here,” I said.
+
+“One knows you, Ros. I know you.”
+
+“You may think you do, but you don't. You can thank God for your
+ignorance.”
+
+“Maybe I ain't so ignorant.”
+
+I looked at him. He was looking me straight in the eye.
+
+“What do you know?” I asked, slowly.
+
+“I know, for one thing, that your name ain't Paine.”
+
+I could not answer. I am not certain whether I attempted to speak or
+move. I do remember that the pressure of his hand on my knee tightened.
+
+“It's all right, Ros,” he said, earnestly. “Nobody knows but me, and
+nobody ever shall know if I can help it.”
+
+“How--how much do you know?” I stammered.
+
+“Why, pretty much all, I guess. I've known ever since your mother was
+taken sick. Some things I read in the paper, and the pictures of--of
+your father, put me on, and afterwards I got more certain of it. But
+it's all right. Nobody but me knows or shall know.”
+
+I leaned my head on my hand. He patted my knee, gently.
+
+“Are--are you sure no one else knows?” I asked.
+
+“Certain sure. There was one time when it might have all come out. A
+reporter fellow from one of the Boston papers got on the track somehow
+and came down here to investigate. Luckily I was the first man he
+tackled, and I steered him away. I presume likely I lied some, but my
+conscience is easy so far as that goes.”
+
+“And you have told no one? Not even Nellie?”
+
+“No. I tell Nellie most things, but not all--not all.”
+
+I remembered afterwards that he sighed as he said this and took his
+hand from my knee; but then my agitation was too great to do more than
+casually notice it. I rose to my feet.
+
+“George! George!” I cried. “I--I can't say to you what I should like.
+But why--WHY did you shield me? And lie for me? Why did you do it? I was
+hardly more than a stranger.”
+
+He sighed. “Don't know,” he answered. “I never could quite see why
+a man's sins should be visited on the widows and fatherless. And, of
+course, I realized that you and your mother changed your name and came
+down here to get away from gossip and talk. But I guess the real reason
+was that I liked you, Ros. Love at first sight, same as we read about;
+hey?”
+
+He looked up and smiled. I seized his hand.
+
+“George,” I said, chokingly, “I did not believe I had a real friend in
+the world, except Mother and Dorinda and Lute, of course. I can't
+thank you enough for shielding us all these years; there's no use in my
+trying. But if ever I can do anything to help YOU--anything--I'll do it.
+I'll swear to that.”
+
+He shook my hand.
+
+“I know you will, Ros,” he said. “I told you I knew you.”
+
+“If ever I can do anything--”
+
+He interrupted me.
+
+“There's one thing you can do right now,” he said. “That's get out and
+mix. That'll please me as much as anything. And begin right off. Why,
+see here, the Methodist society is going to give a strawberry festival
+on the meeting-house lawn next Thursday night. About everybody's going,
+Nellie and I included. You come, will you?”
+
+I hesitated. I had heard about the festival, but I certainly had not
+contemplated attending.
+
+“Come!” he urged. “You won't say no to the first favor I ask you.
+Promise me you'll be on hand.”
+
+Before I could answer, we heard the door of Mother's room open. George
+and I hastened into the dining-room. Doctor Quimby and Nellie Dean were
+there. Nellie rushed over to her lover's side.
+
+“You bad boy,” she cried. “You're wet through.”
+
+Doctor Quimby turned to me.
+
+“Your ma's getting on all right,” he declared. “About all that ails her
+now is that she wants to see you.”
+
+George was assisting Nellie to put on her wraps.
+
+“Got to leave you now, Ros,” he said. “Cap'n Jed and Matildy'll think
+we've eloped ahead of time. Good-night. Oh, say, will you promise me to
+take in the strawberry festival?”
+
+“Why” I answered, “I suppose--Yes, Mother, I'm coming--Why, yes, George,
+I'll promise, to please you.”
+
+I have often wondered since what my life story would have been if I had
+not made that promise.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+The Methodist church stood on the slope of a little hill, back from the
+Main Road, and the parsonage was next door. Between the church and
+the parsonage was a stretch of lawn, dotted with shrubs and cedars
+and shaded by two big silver-leaf poplars. It was on this lawn that,
+provided the night was fair, the strawberry festival was to be held. If
+the weather should be unpropitious the festival was to be in the church
+vestry.
+
+All that day Dorinda was busy baking and icing cake. She was not going
+to the festival--partly because I was going and she could not leave
+Mother--but principally because such affairs were altogether too
+frivolous to fit in her scheme of orthodoxy. “I don't recollect,” she
+said, “that the apostles did much strawberry festivalin'; they had
+other things to attend to.” Lute, however, was going and if he had been
+invited to a Presidential reception he could not have been much more
+excited. He was dressed and ready at supper time, although the festival
+did not begin until seven-thirty.
+
+“Think I'm all right, Dorindy, do you?” he queried, anxiously turning
+himself about for his wife's inspection. “How about these new pants? Fur
+enough down on my boots, be they?”
+
+Dorinda looked him over with a critical eye. “Um-hm,” she observed,
+“that end of 'em seems to be all right. But I cal'late the upper end
+ain't been introduced to your vest yet. Anyhow, the two don't seem to be
+well enough acquainted to associate close.”
+
+Lute bent forward to inspect the hiatus between trousers and waistcoat.
+“By time!” he exclaimed, “I told Sim Eldredge they was too short in the
+waist. He said if they was any longer they'd wrinkle under the arms. I
+don't know what to do. If I hist 'em up they'll be what the fellers call
+high-water, won't them?”
+
+“Humph! I'd ruther have 'em high-water than shoal in the middle of the
+channel. You'll have to average up somehow. I ought to have known better
+than to trust you to buy anything all by yourself.”
+
+She condescended to approve of my appearance when, an hour later, I came
+downstairs, garbed in my best.
+
+“Humph!” she vouchsafed, after a long look. “I declare! I'd hardly know
+you, Roscoe. You look more as you used to when you fust come here to
+live.”
+
+“Thanks,” I answered, drily. “I'm glad to see that you respect old age.
+This suit is venerable enough to command that kind of respect.”
+
+“'Tain't the suit, though that's all right enough. It's the way you wear
+it, I guess. You look BETTER than you used to. You're browned up
+and broadened out and it's real becomin'. But,” she added, with
+characteristic caution, “you must remember that good looks don't count
+for much. My father used to say to me that handsome is that handsome
+does. Not that I was so homely I'd scare the crows, but he didn't want
+me to be vain. Now don't fall overboard in THAT suit, will you?”
+
+Mother noticed my unwonted grandeur when I went in to say good-night to
+her.
+
+“Why, Roscoe!” she exclaimed. “You must consider this strawberry
+festival very important.”
+
+“Why, Mother?”
+
+“Because you've taken such pains to dress for it.”
+
+“It did not require a great deal of pains. I merely put on what Dorinda
+calls my Sunday clothes. I don't know why I did, either. I certainly
+don't consider the festival important.”
+
+“I am glad you did. I have been a little troubled about you of late,
+Boy. It has seemed to me that you were growing--well, not careless,
+exactly, but indifferent. As if you were losing interest in life. I
+don't blame you. Compelled to waste your time here in the country, a
+companion to a bedridden old woman like me.”
+
+“Hush, Mother. You're not old; and as to wasting my time--why, Mother,
+you know--”
+
+“Yes, yes, Boy, I know what you would say. But it does trouble me,
+nevertheless. I ought to bid you go back into the world, and take your
+place among men. A hundred times I have been upon the point of telling
+you to leave me, but--but--I am SO selfish.”
+
+“Hush, Mother, please.”
+
+“Yes, I AM selfish and I know it. I am growing stronger every day; I
+am sure of it. Just a little longer, Roscoe, just a little longer, and
+then--”
+
+“Mother, I--”
+
+“There, there!” she stroked my hand. “We won't be sad, will we. It
+pleases me to see you taking an interest in affairs. I think this Shore
+Lane matter may be a good thing, after all. Dorinda says that Luther
+tells her you are becoming very popular in town because of your
+independent stand. Everyone recognizes your public spirit.”
+
+“Did she tell you that?”
+
+“Not in those words. You know Dorinda. But what amounts to that. I am
+sure the Denboro people are very proud of you.”
+
+I thought of my “popularity” and the admiration of my “public spirit”
+ as manifested in the attentions of Captain Jed and Eldredge and their
+followers, and I turned my head away so that she might not see my face.
+
+“And I am glad you are going to the strawberry festival. I can't
+remember when you attended such a function before. Boy--”
+
+“Yes, Mother.”
+
+“There isn't any reason, any special reason, for your going, is there?”
+
+“Why, what do you mean?”
+
+“I mean--well, you are young and I did not know but, perhaps, some one
+else was going, some one you were interested in, and--and--”
+
+I laughed aloud. “Mother!” I said, reproachfully.
+
+“Why not? I am very proud of my handsome boy, and I know that--”
+
+“There! there! I haven't noticed that my beauty is so fascinating as
+to be dangerous. No, Mother, there is no 'special reason' for my going
+to-night. I promised George Taylor, that was all.”
+
+“Well, I am sure you will have a good time. Kiss me, Boy. Good-night.”
+
+I was by no means so sure of the good time. In fact, I loitered on my
+way to the village and it was well past eight o'clock when I paid my
+fifteen cents admission fee to Elnathan Mullet at the gate of the church
+grounds and sauntered up the slope toward the lights and gaiety of the
+strawberry festival.
+
+The ladies of the Methodist society, under whose management the affair
+was given, were fortunate in their choice of an evening. The early risen
+moon shone from a cloudless sky and there was so little breeze that the
+Japanese lanterns, hung above the tables, went out only occasionally.
+The “beauty and elite of Denboro”--see next week's Cape Cod Item--were
+present in force and, mingling with them, or, if not mingling, at least
+inspecting them with interest, were some of the early arrivals among the
+cottagers from South Denboro and Bayport. I saw Lute, proudly conscious
+of his new lavender trousers, in conversation with Matilda Dean, and
+I wondered who was the winner in that wordy race. Captain Jedediah
+strutted arm in arm with the minister. Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker
+were there with their wives. Simeon Eldredge had not yet put in an
+appearance but I knew that he would as soon as the evening mail was
+sorted.
+
+I found Nellie Dean in charge of a table, and George Taylor seated at
+that table. I walked over and joined them.
+
+“Good evening, Nellie,” said I. “Well, George, here I am, you see.”
+
+He shook my hand heartily. “I see you are,” he said. “Good boy! How does
+it seem to splash into society?”
+
+“I haven't splashed yet. I have only just arrived.”
+
+“Oh, trying the feel of the water, hey? Guess you won't find it very
+chilly. As a preparatory tonic I'd recommend strawberries and cream.
+Nellie, get Ros a saucer of those genuine home-raised berries, why don't
+you?”
+
+Nellie laughed. “Roscoe,” she said, “isn't he dreadful! He knows we
+bought these berries in Boston. It's much too early for the native ones.
+But they really are very nice, though he does make such fun of them.”
+
+She went into the vestry to get the berries and I sat down at the table
+beside Taylor and looked about me.
+
+“Most everybody's here,” he observed. “And they'll be glad to see you,
+Ros. Get out and shake hands and be sociable, after you've done your
+duty by the fruit. How are things at home?”
+
+“Mother is herself again, I am glad to say. George, I have scarcely
+thought of anything except what you told me the other night.”
+
+“Then it's time you did. That's one reason why I wanted you to come
+here. You've been thinking too much about yourself.”
+
+“It isn't of myself, but of Mother. If you had dropped a hint when that
+Boston reporter came--”
+
+“Now, look here, Ros, would YOU have dropped hints if things had been
+the other way around?”
+
+“I don't know.”
+
+“I know you wouldn't. What's the use of giving the Denboro gossip mill
+a chance to run over time? Great heavens! it works twelve hours a day as
+'tis.”
+
+“It was mighty good of you, just the same.”
+
+“No, it wasn't. The whole affair was your business and nobody else's.”
+
+“Well, as I said before, if ever I have an opportunity to do as much for
+you--not that I ever will.”
+
+“How do you know you won't? Anybody's liable to be gossiped about some
+time or other.”
+
+“Not you. You are Denboro's shining light. The mothers and fathers here
+point you out as an example of what industry and ambition and honest
+effort may rise to. I--”
+
+“Shut up!” He said it almost savagely. “There!” he added, quickly,
+“let's change the subject. Talk about something worth while. Humph! I
+guess they must be opening another crate of those Boston 'homegrowns,'
+judgin' by the time it takes Nellie to get your sample.”
+
+“I am in no hurry. How are affairs at the bank?”
+
+“Oh, so, so. Don't know a good man who wants a job, do you? Henry
+Small's going to leave the middle of next month.”
+
+“Small, the bookkeeper? Why?”
+
+“Got a better chance up to the city. I don't blame him. Don't tell
+anybody yet; it's a secret. Say, Ros, DO you know of a good, sharp,
+experienced fellow?”
+
+I smiled. “Is it likely?” I asked. “How large is my acquaintance among
+sharp, experienced fellows down here?”
+
+“Not so large as it ought to be, I'll give in to that. But you know
+one.”
+
+“Do I, indeed? Who is he?”
+
+“Yourself. You wouldn't take Small's job, would you?”
+
+“I?” I laughed aloud.
+
+“It's no joke. You've had a lot of banking experience. I've heard about
+it among my city friends, who don't know I know you. Course I realize
+the place is way beneath what you ought to have, but--”
+
+“Oh, don't be sarcastic. No, thank you, George.”
+
+“All right, if you say so. But I meant it. You don't need the salary, I
+know. But--Ros, do you mind if I talk plain for a moment?”
+
+I wondered what was coming now. “No,” I answered. “Go ahead and talk.”
+
+“Well then, I tell you, as a friend, that 'twould be a good thing for
+you if you did take that job, or some other one. Don't make much matter
+what it is, but you ought to do something. You're too clever a fellow to
+be hanging around, shooting and fishing. You're wasting your life.”
+
+“That was wasted long ago.”
+
+“No, it wasn't. But it will be if you don't change pretty soon. I tell
+you you ought to get interested in something that counts. You might make
+a big name for yourself yet.”
+
+“That's enough of that. I have a name already. You know it, and you know
+what was made of it.”
+
+“YOU didn't make it that kind of a name, did you? And you're young
+enough to make it something altogether different. You ought to. You owe
+it to your mother and you owe it to yourself. As it is, if you keep on,
+you'll--”
+
+“George, you've said enough. No one but you would have been permitted to
+say as much. You don't understand.”
+
+“Maybe not, but, Ros, I don't like to have people around here call
+you--”
+
+“I don't care a continental what they call me. I don't want them to know
+who I am, but for public opinion generally I care nothing.”
+
+He leaned back in his chair. His face was in shadow and I could not see
+it, but his tone was grave enough.
+
+“You think you don't,” he said, slowly, “but there may come a time when
+you will. There may come a time when you get so interested in something,
+or some person, that the thought of what folks would say if--if anything
+went wrong would keep you awake night after night. Oh, I tell you,
+Ros--Hello, Nellie! thought you'd gone South to pick those berries
+yourself. Two saucers full! Well, I suppose I must eat the other to save
+it--unless Ros here wants both.”
+
+I said one would be quite sufficient for the present, and we three
+chatted until Mrs. Dean came over and monopolized the chat.
+
+“Don't go, Roscoe,” protested the matron. “The Cap'n's here and he'll
+want to talk to you. He's dreadful interested in you just now. Don't
+talk about nobody else, scurcely. You set still and I'll go fetch him.”
+
+But I refused to “set.” I knew the cause of Captain Jedediah's interest,
+and what he wished to talk about. I rose and announced that I would
+stroll about a bit. Taylor spoke to me as I was leaving.
+
+“Ros,” he said, earnestly, “you think of what I told you, will you?”
+
+I saw a group of people hurrying toward the entrance of the grounds
+and I followed them, curious as to the cause of the excitement. An
+automobile had stopped by the gate. Sim Eldredge came hastening up and
+seized me by the arm.
+
+“Gosh! it's Ros,” he exclaimed, in his mysterious whisper. “I hadn't
+seen you afore; just got here myself. But I'm glad you ARE here. I'll
+see that you and him get a chance to talk private.”
+
+“Who?” I asked, trying to pull my arm free.
+
+“Why, Mr. Colton. Didn't you know? Yes, sir, that's his car. He's come
+and so's his daughter and that young Carver feller. I believe they've
+come to take in the sociable. There they be! See 'em! See 'em!”
+
+I saw them. Colton and Victor had already alighted and Miss Colton was
+descending from the tonneau. There were two other men in the car, beside
+Oscar, the chauffeur.
+
+“Who are those other people?” I asked.
+
+“I don't know,” whispered Sim, excitedly. “Stay where you be and I'll
+find out. I'll be right back, now. Don't you move.”
+
+I did not move, not because he had ordered me to stay where I was, but
+because I was curious. The spot where I stood was in shadow and I knew
+they could not see me.
+
+Colton and his daughter were talking with Victor, who remained by the
+step of the auto.
+
+“Well, Mabel,” observed “Big Jim,” “here we are, though why I don't
+know. I hope you enjoy this thing more than I am likely to.”
+
+“Of course I shall enjoy it, Father. Look at the decorations. Aren't
+they perfectly WONDERFUL!”
+
+“Especially the color scheme,” drawled Victor. “Mabel, I call your
+attention to the red, blue and purple lanterns. Some class? Yes? Well,
+I must go. I'll be back in a very short time. If Parker wasn't starting
+for Europe to-morrow I shouldn't think of leaving, but I'm sure you'll
+forgive me, under the circumstances.”
+
+“I forgive you, Victor,” replied the girl, carelessly. “But don't be too
+long.”
+
+“No, don't,” added her father. “I promised Mrs. Colton that I should not
+be away more than an hour. She's very nervous to-night and I may be sent
+for any time. So don't keep us waiting.”
+
+“No fear of that. I'll be back long before you are ready to go. I
+wouldn't miss this--er--affair myself for something. Ah, our combination
+friend, the undertaking postmaster.”
+
+Sim's hat was in his hand and he was greeting Mr. Colton.
+
+“Proud to see you amongst us, sir,” said Sim, with unction. “The
+Methodist folks are havin' quite a time to-night, ain't they?”
+
+“How d'ye do, Eldredge,” was the great man's salutation, not at all
+effusive. “Where does all this crowd come from? Didn't know there were
+so many people in the neighborhood.”
+
+“'Most everybody's out to-night. Church'll make consider'ble money. Good
+evenin', Miss Colton. Mr. Carver, pleased to meet you again, sir.”
+
+The young lady merely nodded. Victor, whose foot was on the step of the
+car, did not deign to turn.
+
+“Thanks,” he drawled. “I am--er--embalmed, I'm sure. All ready, Phil.
+Let her go, Oscar.”
+
+The auto moved off. Mr. Colton gave his arm to his daughter and they
+moved through the crowd, Eldredge acting as master of ceremonies.
+
+“It's all right, Elnathan,” ordered Sim, addressing the gate-keeper.
+“Don't bother Mr. Colton about the admission now. I'll settle with you,
+myself, later. Now, Mr. Colton, you and the lady come right along with
+me. Ain't met the minister yet, have you? He said you wan't to home when
+he called. And you let me get you some strawberries. They're fust-rate,
+if I do say it.”
+
+He led the way toward the tables. I watched the progress from where I
+stood. It was interesting to see how the visitors were treated by the
+different groups. Some, like Sim, were gushing and obsequious. A few,
+Captain Jed among them, walked stubbornly by, either nodding coldly or
+paying no attention. Others, like George Taylor and Doctor Quimby, were
+neither obsequious nor cold, merely bowing pleasantly and saying, “Good
+evening,” as though greeting acquaintances and equals. Yes, there WERE
+good people in Denboro, quiet, unassuming, self-respecting citizens.
+
+One of them came up to me and spoke.
+
+“Hello, Ros,” said Captain Elisha Warren, “Sim's havin' the time of his
+life, isn't he?”
+
+“He seems to be,” I replied.
+
+“Yes. Well, there's some satisfaction in havin' a thick shell; then
+you don't mind bein' stepped on. Yet, I don't know; sometimes I think
+fellers of Sim's kind enjoy bein' stepped on, provided the boot that
+does it is patent leather.”
+
+“I wonder why they came here,” I mused.
+
+“Who? the Coltons? Why, for the same reason children go to the circus,
+I shouldn't wonder--to laugh at the clowns. I laugh myself
+sometimes--though 'tain't always at their kind of clowns. Speakin' of
+that, young Carver's in good company this evenin', ain't he?”
+
+“Who were those fellows in the auto?” I asked.
+
+“Didn't you recognize them? One was Phil Somers--son of the rich widow
+who owns the big cottage at Harniss. 'Tother is a bird of the same flock
+down visitin' em. Carver's takin' 'em over to Ostable to say good-by to
+another specimen, a college mate, who is migratin' to Europe tomorrow.
+The chauffeur told Dan, my man, about it this afternoon. The chauffeur
+figgered that, knowin' the crowd, 'twas likely to be a lively farewell.
+Hello! there's Abbie hailin' me. See you later, Ros.”
+
+I knew young Somers by reputation. He and his friends were a wild set,
+if report was true.
+
+Eldredge had hinted that he intended arranging an interview between
+Colton and myself. The prospect did not appeal to me. At first I decided
+to go home at once, but something akin to Captain Dean's resentful
+stubbornness came over me. I would not be driven home by those people.
+I found an unoccupied camp chair--one of Sim's, which he rented for
+funerals--and carried it to a dark spot in the shrubbery near the border
+of the parsonage lawn and not far from the gate. There I seated myself,
+lit a cigar and smoked in solitude.
+
+Elnathan Mullet, evidently considering his labors as door-keeper over,
+was counting his takings by lantern light. The moon was low in the west
+and a little breeze was now stirring the shrubbery. It was very warm for
+the season and I mentally prophesied thunder showers before morning.
+
+I had smoked my cigar perhaps half through when a carriage came down the
+road and stopped before the gate. The driver leaned forward and called
+to Mullet.
+
+“Hi, Uncle!” he shouted. “You, by the gate! Is Mr. Colton here?”
+
+Elnathan, who was, apparently, half asleep, looked up.
+
+“Hey?” he queried. “Mr. Colton? Yes, he's here. Want him, do you?”
+
+“Yes. Where is he?”
+
+“Up yonder somewheres. There he is, by Sarah Burgess's table. Mr.
+Colton! Mr. Col--ton! Somebody wants ye!”
+
+“What in blazes did you yell like that for?” protested the coachman,
+springing from the carriage. “Stop it, d'ye hear?”
+
+“You said you wanted him, didn't you? Mr. Colton! Hi! Come here!”
+
+Colton came hurrying down to the gate, his daughter following more
+slowly.
+
+“What's the matter?” he asked.
+
+The coachman touched his hat.
+
+“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said; “this man started yelling before I
+could stop him. I was coming to tell you. Mrs. Colton says she's very
+nervous, sir, and please come home at once.”
+
+Colton turned with a shrug to his daughter. “We might have expected it,
+Mabel,” he said. “Come.”
+
+But the young lady seemed to hesitate. “I believe I won't go yet,
+Father,” she said. “Mother doesn't need both of us. Victor will be here
+very soon, and we promised to wait for him, you know.”
+
+“We can leave word. You'd better come, Mabel. Heavens and earth! you
+don't want any MORE of this, do you?”
+
+It was evident that he had had quite enough of the festival. She laughed
+lightly.
+
+“I'm finding it very entertaining,” she said. “I never saw so many
+quaint people. There is one girl, a Miss Dean, whom I am really
+getting acquainted with. She's as country as can be, but she's very
+interesting.”
+
+“Humph! she must be. Dean, hey? Daughter of my particular friend, the
+ancient mariner, I suppose. I don't like to leave you here. What shall I
+tell your mother?”
+
+“Tell her I am quite safe and in perfectly respectable company.”
+
+“Humph! I can imagine how respectable she'll think it is. Well, I know
+it's useless to urge if you have made up your mind. I don't see where
+you get your stubbornness from.”
+
+“Don't you? I can guess.”
+
+“It isn't from your dad. Now do be careful, won't you? If Victor doesn't
+come soon I shall send the carriage.”
+
+“Oh, he will come. It's all right, Father, dear. I am quite able to take
+care of myself.”
+
+Her father shook his head. “Yes,” he observed, “I guess you are. All
+right, Jenkins.”
+
+He got into the carriage and was driven off. Miss Colton turned and
+walked back to the tables. I relit my cigar.
+
+Another half-hour passed.
+
+Mullet finished his counting, took up his money box and lantern and left
+the gate unguarded. Groups of home-going people began to come down the
+hill. Horses, which had been standing under the church sheds or hitched
+in neighboring yards, appeared and the various buggies and two-seaters
+to which they were attached were filled and driven away. Captain Warren
+and Miss Abbie Baker, his housekeeper, were among the first to leave.
+Abijah Hammond, the sexton, began taking down the lanterns. The
+strawberry festival was almost over.
+
+I rose from my camp chair and prepared to start for home. As I stepped
+from behind the shrubbery the moonlight suddenly went out, as if it had
+been turned off like a gas jet. Except for the few remaining lanterns
+and the gleams from the church windows and door the darkness was
+complete. I looked at the western sky. It was black, and low down along
+the horizon flashes of lightning were playing. My prophecy of showers
+was to be fulfilled.
+
+The ladies of the Methodist Society, assisted by their husbands and male
+friends, were hurrying the tables and chairs indoors. I picked up and
+folded the chair I had been occupying and joined the busy group. It was
+so dark that faces were almost invisible, but I recognized Sim Eldredge
+by his voice, and George Taylor and I bumped into each other as we
+seized the same table.
+
+“Hello, Ros!” exclaimed the cashier. “Thought you'd gone. Going to have
+a tempest, ain't we.”
+
+“Tempest” is Cape Cod for thunderstorm. I agreed that one was imminent.
+
+“Hold on till I get this stuff into the vestry,” continued Taylor, “and
+I'll drive you home. I'll be ready pretty soon.”
+
+I declined the invitation. “I'll walk,” I answered. “You have Nellie
+to look after. If you have a spare umbrella I'll borrow that. Where is
+Nellie?”
+
+“Oh, she's over yonder with Miss Colton. They have been making each
+other's acquaintance. Say, Ros, she's a good deal of a girl, that Colton
+one, did you know it?”
+
+I did not answer.
+
+“Oh, I know you're down on the whole lot of 'em,” he added, laughing;
+“but she is, just the same. Kind of top-lofty and condescending, but
+that's the fault of her bringing-up. She's all right underneath. Too
+good for that Carver cub. By the way, if he doesn't come pretty soon
+I'll phone her pa to send the carriage for her. If I was Colton I
+wouldn't put much confidence in Carver's showing up in a hurry. You saw
+the gang he was with, didn't you? They don't get home till morning, till
+daylight doth appear, as a usual thing. Hello! that's the carriage now,
+ain't it? Guess papa wasn't taking any chances.”
+
+Sure enough, there were the lights of a carriage at the gate, and I
+heard the voice of Jenkins, the coachman, shouting. Nellie Dean called
+Taylor's name and he hurried away. A few moments later he returned.
+
+“She's off, safe and sound,” he said. “I judged she wasn't any too well
+pleased with her Victor for not showing up to look out for her.”
+
+A sharp flash of lightning cut the sky and a rattling peal of thunder
+followed.
+
+“Right on top of us, ain't it!” exclaimed George. “Sure you don't want
+me to drive you home? All right; just as you say. Hold on till I get you
+that umbrella.”
+
+He borrowed an umbrella from the parsonage. I took it, thanked him, and
+hastened out of the church grounds. I looked up the road as I passed
+through the gate. I could have seen an auto's lamps for a long distance,
+but there were none in sight. With a malicious chuckle I thought that my
+particular friend Victor was not taking the surest way of making himself
+popular with his fiancee, if that was what she was.
+
+The storm overtook me before I was half-way down the Lower Road. A few
+drops of rain splashed the leaves. A lightning stroke so near and
+sharp that I fancied I could hear the hiss was accompanied by a savage
+thunder-clap. Then came the roar of wind in the trees by the roadside
+and down came the rain. I put up my umbrella and began to run. We have
+few “tempests” in Denboro, those we do have are almost worthy of the
+name.
+
+I had reached the grove of birches perhaps two hundred yards from the
+Shore Lane when out of the wet darkness before me came plunging a horse
+drawing a covered carriage. I had sprung to one side to let it go by
+when I heard a man's voice shouting, “Whoa!” The voice did not come from
+the carriage but from the road behind it.
+
+“Whoa! Stop him!” it shouted.
+
+I jumped back into the road. The horse saw me appear directly in front
+of him, shied and reared. The carriage lamps were lighted and by their
+light I saw the reins dragging. I seized them and held on. It was all
+involuntary. I was used to horses and this one was frightened, that was
+all.
+
+“Whoa, boy!” I ordered. “Whoa! Stand still!”
+
+The horse had no intention of standing still.
+
+He continued to rear and plunge. I, clinging to the reins, found myself
+running alongside. I had to run to avoid the wheels. But I ran as slowly
+as I could, and my one hundred and ninety pounds made running, on the
+animal's part, a much less easy exercise.
+
+The voice from the rear continued to shout and, in another moment, a man
+seized the reins beside me. Together we managed to pull the horse into a
+walk. Then the man, whom I recognized as the Colton coachman, vented
+his feelings in a comprehensive burst of profanity. I interrupted the
+service.
+
+“What is the matter?” I asked.
+
+“Oh, this blessed”--or words to that effect--“horse is scared of
+thunder; that's all. He's a new one; we just bought him before we came
+down here and I hadn't learned his little tricks. Whoa! stand still, or
+I'll break your dumb neck! Say,” turning to me, “go back, will you, and
+see if she's all right.”
+
+“Who?”
+
+“Miss Colton--the old man's daughter. She got out when he began to dance
+and I was holding him by the bridle. Then came that big flash and
+he broke loose. Go back and see to her, will you? I can't leave this
+horse.”
+
+For just a moment I hesitated. I am ashamed of my hesitation now, but
+this is supposed to be a truthful chronicle. Then I went back down the
+road. By another flash of lightning I saw the minister's umbrella upside
+down in the bushes where I had dropped it, and I took it with me. I was
+about as wet as I well could be but I am glad to say I remembered that
+the umbrella was a borrowed one.
+
+After I had walked, or stumbled, or waded a little way I stopped and
+called.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I called. “Where are you?”
+
+“Here,” came the answer from just ahead. “Is that you, Jenkins?”
+
+I did not reply until I reached her side.
+
+“You are not hurt?” I asked.
+
+“No, not at all. But who is it?”
+
+“I am--er--your neighbor. Paine is my name.”
+
+“Oh!” the tone was not enthusiastic. “Where is Jenkins?”
+
+“He is attending to the horse. Pardon me, Miss Colton, but won't you
+take this umbrella?”
+
+This seemed to strike her as a trifle absurd. “Why, thank you,” she
+said, “but I am afraid an umbrella would be useless in this storm. Is
+the horse all right?”
+
+“Yes, though he is very much frightened. I--”
+
+I was interrupted by another flash and terrific report from directly
+overhead. The young lady came closer to me.
+
+“Oh!” she exclaimed.
+
+I had an idea. The flash had made our surroundings as light as day
+for an instant and across the road I saw Sylvanus Snow's old house,
+untenanted, abandoned and falling to decay. I took Miss Colton's arm.
+
+“Come!” I said.
+
+She hung back. “Where are you going?” she asked.
+
+“Just across the road to that old house. On the porch we shall be out of
+the rain.”
+
+She made no further objections and together we stumbled through the
+wet grass and over Sylvanus's weed-grown flower beds. I presume I shall
+never again smell the spicy fragrance of “old maids' pinks” without
+thinking of that night.
+
+I found the edge of the piazza by the direct process of barking my shins
+against it, and helped her up on to the creaking boards. My sanguine
+statement that we should be out of the rain proved not quite true. There
+was a roof above us, but it leaked. I unfurled the wet umbrella and held
+it over her head.
+
+For some moments after we reached the piazza neither of us spoke. The
+roar of the rain on the shingles of the porch and the splash and gurgle
+all about us would have made conversation difficult, even if we had
+wished to talk. I, for one, did not. At last she said:
+
+“Do you see or hear anything of Jenkins?”
+
+I listened, or tried to. I was wondering myself what had become of the
+coachman.
+
+“No,” I answered, “I don't hear him.”
+
+“Where do you suppose he is? He could not have been far away when you
+met him.”
+
+“He was not. And I know he intended to come back at once.”
+
+“You don't suppose Caesar--the horse--ran away again? When that second
+crack came?”
+
+I was wondering that very thing. That particular thunder clap was louder
+and more terrifying than those preceding it. However, there was no use
+in alarming her.
+
+“I guess not,” I answered. “He'll be here soon, I am sure.”
+
+But he did not come. The storm seemed to be passing over. The flashes
+were just as frequent, but there was a longer interval between each
+flash and its thunder peal. The rain was still a steady downpour.
+
+Miss Colton was plainly growing more anxious.
+
+“Where can he be?” she murmured.
+
+“Don't be frightened,” I urged. “He is all right. I'll go and look him
+up, if you don't mind being left alone.”
+
+“Can't--can't we go together?”
+
+“We could, of course, but there is no use in your getting wetter than
+you are. If you are willing to stay here I will run up the road and see
+if I can find him.”
+
+“Thank you. But you will get wet yourself.”
+
+“Oh, I am wet already. Take the umbrella. I'll be back in a minute.”
+
+I pressed the handle of the umbrella into her hand--it was as steady as
+mine--and darted out into the flood. I think she called me to come back,
+but I did not obey. I ran up the road until I was some distance beyond
+the point where I had stopped the runaway, but there were no signs of
+horse, carriage or coachman. I called repeatedly, but got no reply.
+Then, reluctantly, I gave it up and returned to the porch.
+
+She gave a little gasp of relief when I reached her side.
+
+“Oh!” she exclaimed, “did you find him?”
+
+“No,” I answered. “He seems to have gone on. He cannot have gone far. It
+is only a little way to the Corners.”
+
+“Is--isn't there a house, a house with people living in it, near this
+place?”
+
+“No nearer than your house, Miss Colton. We seem to have chosen the most
+forsaken spot in Denboro to be cast away in. I am very sorry.”
+
+“I am not frightened for myself. But I know my father and mother will be
+alarmed if I don't come soon. I am sure Caesar must have run away again,
+and I am afraid Jenkins must be hurt.”
+
+I had thought of that, too. Only an accident could explain the
+coachman's non-appearance or, at least, his not sending help to his
+mistress.
+
+“If you are really not afraid to remain here, Miss Colton,” I said, “I
+will go to your house myself.”
+
+“Oh no! Some one will come soon. I can't understand where Victor--Mr.
+Carver--can be. He was to have joined me at the church.”
+
+I did not answer. Knowing Mr. Carver's associates and the errand upon
+which he had gone, I imagined I could guess the cause of his delay. But
+I did not speak my guess.
+
+“The storm is not as severe just now,” I said. “I can get to your house
+in a little while, if you are willing I should leave you.”
+
+She put her hand on my arm. “Come,” she said. “Shall we start now?”
+
+“But you must not go. You couldn't get there on foot, such a night as
+this.”
+
+“Yes, I can. I mean to. Please come.”
+
+I still hesitated. She took her hand from my arm and stepped out into
+the rain. “Are you coming?” she said.
+
+I joined her, still protesting. We splashed on through the mud and
+water, she clinging lightly to my arm and I holding the perfectly
+useless umbrella over her head. The rain was descending steadily and the
+sky overhead was just black, but along the western horizon, as I caught
+a glimpse of it between the trees, I fancied the blackness was a little
+less opaque. The storm was passing over, sure enough.
+
+But before it passed it gave us one goodby salute. We had about reached
+the point on the Shore Lane where I first met her and Carver in the
+auto. The shaky bridge over Mullet's cranberry brook was just ahead.
+Then, without warning, the black night split wide open, a jagged streak
+of fire shot from heaven to earth and seemed to explode almost in our
+faces. I was almost knocked off my feet and my fingers tingled as if I
+had been holding the handles of an electric battery. The umbrella flew
+out of my hands and, so far as I was concerned, vanished utterly. I
+believe Elnathan picked up the ruin next day, but just then I neither
+knew nor cared what had become of it. I had other things to think of.
+
+But for a moment I could not think at all. I was conscious of a great
+crashing and rustling and splintering directly in front of me and then I
+realized that the young lady was no longer clinging to my arm. I looked
+about and up through the darkness. Then down. She was lying at my feet.
+
+I bent over her.
+
+“Miss Colton!” I cried. “Miss Colton! Are you hurt?”
+
+She neither answered nor moved. My brain was still numb from the
+electric shock and I had a dazed fear that she might be dead. I shook
+her gently and she moaned. I spoke again and again, but she did not
+answer, nor try to rise. The rain was pouring down upon us and I knew
+she must not lie there. So once more, just as I had done in the dingy,
+but now under quite different circumstances and with entirely different
+feelings, I stooped and lifted her in my arms.
+
+My years of outdoor life in Denboro had had one good effect at least;
+they had made me strong. I carried her with little effort to the bridge.
+And there I stopped. The bridge was blocked, covered with a mass of wet
+leafy branches and splintered wood. The lightning bolt had missed us by
+just that much. It had overthrown and demolished the big willow tree by
+the brook and to get through or over the tangle was impossible.
+
+So again history repeated itself. I descended the bank at the side of
+the bridge and waded through the waters with Mabel Colton in my arms. I
+staggered up the opposite bank and hurried on. She lay quiet, her head
+against my shoulder. Her hat had fallen off and a wet, fragrant strand
+of her hair brushed my cheek. Once I stopped and bent my head to listen,
+to make sure that she was breathing. She was, I felt her breath upon my
+face. Afterwards I remembered all this; just then I was merely thankful
+that she was alive.
+
+I had gone but a little way further when she stirred in my arms and
+spoke.
+
+“What is it?” she asked. “What is the matter?”
+
+“Nothing,” I answered, with a sigh of relief. “It is all right. We shall
+be there soon.”
+
+“But what is the matter? Why are you--let me walk, please.”
+
+“You had better stay as you are. You are almost home.”
+
+“But why are you carrying me? What is the matter?”
+
+“You--you fainted, I think. The lightning--”
+
+“Oh yes, I remember. Did I faint? How ridiculous! Please let me walk
+now. I am all right. Really I am.”
+
+“But I think--”
+
+“Please. I insist.”
+
+I set her gently on her feet. She staggered a little, but she was plucky
+and, after a moment, was able to stand and walk, though slowly.
+
+“You are sure you can manage it?” I asked.
+
+“Of course! But why did I faint? I never did such a thing before in my
+life.”
+
+“That flash was close to us. It struck the big willow by the brook.”
+
+“Did it! As near as that?”
+
+“Yes. Don't try to talk.”
+
+“But I am all right . . . I am not hurt at all. Are we almost home?”
+
+“Yes. Those are the lights of your house ahead there.”
+
+We moved on more rapidly. As we turned in at the Colton walk she said,
+“Why; it has stopped raining.”
+
+It had, though I had not noticed it. The flash which smashed the willow
+had been the accompaniment of what Lute would call the “clearing-up
+shower.” The storm was really over.
+
+We stepped up on the portico of the big house and I rang the bell.
+The butler opened the door. His face, as he saw the pair of dripping,
+bedraggled outcasts before him, was worth looking at. He was shocked out
+of his dignity.
+
+“Why! Why, Miss Mabel!” he stammered, with almost human agitation.
+“What--”
+
+A voice, a petulant female voice, called from the head of the stairs.
+
+“Johnson,” it quavered, “who is it? Mabel, is that you?”
+
+The library door flew open and Mr. Colton himself appeared.
+
+“Eh? What?” he exclaimed. “By George! Mabel, where have you been? I have
+been raising heaven and earth to locate you. The 'phone seems to be out
+of order and--Great Scott, girl! you're wet through. Jenkins, what--?
+Hey? Why, it isn't Jenkins!”
+
+The fact that his daughter's escort was not the coachman had just dawned
+upon him. He stared at me in irate bewilderment. Before he could ask
+a question or his daughter could speak or explain there came a little
+shriek from the stairs, a rustle of silken skirts, and a plump,
+white-faced woman in an elaborate house gown rushed across the hall with
+both white arms outstretched.
+
+“Mabel!” she cried, “where HAVE you been. You poor child! I have been
+almost beside myself, and--”
+
+Miss Colton laughingly avoided the rush. “Take care, Mother,” she
+warned. “I am very wet.”
+
+“Wet? Why! you're absolutely drenched! Jenkins--Mabel, where is Jenkins?
+And who is this--er--person?”
+
+I thought it quite time for me to withdraw.
+
+“Good night, Miss Colton,” I said, and stepped toward the door. But “Big
+Jim” roared my name.
+
+“It's that--it's Paine!” he exclaimed. “Here! what does this mean,
+anyway?”
+
+I think his daughter was about to explain, when there came another
+interruption. From the driveway sounded the blare of an auto horn.
+Johnson threw open the door just as the big car whirled up to the porch.
+
+“Here we are!” laughed Carver, emerging from behind the drawn curtains
+of the machine. “Home again from a foreign shore. Come in, fellows, and
+have a drink. We've had water enough for one night. Come in.”
+
+He stumbled as he crossed the sill, recovered his balance, laughed, and
+then all at once seemed to become aware of the group in the hall. He
+looked about him, swaying a little as he did so.
+
+“Ah, Mabel!” he exclaimed, genially. “Got here first, didn't you? Sorry
+I was late, but it was all old Parker's fault. Wouldn't let us say
+goodby. But we came some when we did come. The bridge is down and we
+made Oscar run her right through the water. Great ex-experience. Hello!
+Why, what's matter? Who's this? What? it's Reuben, isn't it! Mabel, what
+on earth--”
+
+She paid no attention to him. I was at the door when she overtook me.
+
+“Mr. Paine,” she said, “I am very grateful for your kindness. Both for
+what you have done tonight and for your help the other afternoon. Thank
+you.”
+
+She held out her hand. I took it, scarcely knowing that I did so.
+
+“Thank you,” she said, again. I murmured something or other and went
+out. As I stepped from the porch I heard Victor's voice.
+
+“Well, by Jove!” he exclaimed. “Mabel!”
+
+I looked back. He was standing by the door. She went past him without
+replying or even looking at him. From the automobile I heard smothered
+chuckles and exclamations. The butler closed the door.
+
+I walked home as fast as I could. Dorinda was waiting up for me. What
+she said when she saw the ruin of my Sunday suit had better not be
+repeated. She was still saying it when I took my lamp and went up to
+bed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+The strawberry festival and the “tempest” were, of course, the subjects
+most discussed at the breakfast table next morning. Lute monopolized
+the conversation, a fact for which I was thankful, for it enabled me
+to dodge Dorinda's questions as to my own adventures. I did not care to
+talk about the latter. My feelings concerning them were curiously mixed.
+Was I glad or sorry that Fate had chosen me to play once more the role
+of rescuer of a young female in distress? That my playing of the role
+had altered my standing in Mabel Colton's mind I felt reasonably sure.
+Her words at parting with me rang true. She was grateful, and she had
+shaken hands with me. Doubtless she would tell her father the whole
+story and he, too, in common decency, would be grateful to me for
+helping his daughter. But, after all, did I care for gratitude from
+that family? And what form would that gratitude take? Would Colton,
+like Victor Carver, offer to pay me for my services? No, hardly that, I
+thought. He was a man of wide experience and, if he did offer payment,
+it would be in some less crude form than a five dollar bill.
+
+But I did not want payment in any form. I did not want condescension and
+patronizing thanks. I did not want anything--that was it. Up to now, the
+occupants of the big house and I had been enemies, open and confessed. I
+had, so far as possible, kept out of their way and hoped they would keep
+out of mine. But now the situation was more complicated. I did not know
+what to expect. Of course there was no chance of our becoming friends.
+The difference in social position, as they reckoned it, made that too
+ridiculous to consider as a possibility, even if I wished it, which
+I distinctly did not. But something, an interview, awkward and
+disagreeable for both sides, or a patronizing note of thanks, was, at
+the very least, certain to follow the happenings of the previous night.
+I wished I had gone home when the Coltons first came to the festival.
+I wished I had not promised Taylor that I would attend that festival.
+I wished--I wished a great many things. The thought of young Carver's
+public snubbing before his friends was my one unmixed satisfaction. I
+rather imagined that he was more uncomfortable than I was or could be.
+
+Lute crowed vaingloriously over his own good judgment in leaving for
+home early.
+
+“I don't know how 'twas,” he declared. “Somethin' seemed to tell me we
+was in for a turrible tempest. I was settin' talkin' with Alvin Baker
+and eatin' my second sasser of berries, when--”
+
+“SECOND sasser?” interrupted Dorinda, sharply. “Where'd you get money
+for two sassers? I gave you thirty cents when you started for that
+festival. It cost you fifteen to get inside the gate, and Matildy Dean
+told me the church folks was cal'latin' to charge fifteen for a helpin'
+of berries and cream. And you had two sassers, you say. Who paid for the
+second one?”
+
+Her husband swallowed half a cup of coffee before replying. Then his
+reply had nothing to do with the question.
+
+“I don't know how 'twas,” he went on. “I just had the feelin', that's
+all. Sort of a present--presentuary, I guess, come over me. I looked up
+at the sky and 'twas gettin' black, and then I looked to the west-ard
+and I see a flash of lightnin'. 'Nothin' but heat lightnin',' says
+Alvin. 'Heat lightnin' nothin'!' says I, 'I tell you--”
+
+“Who paid for that second sasser of berries?” repeated his wife,
+relentlessly.
+
+“Why now, Dorindy--”
+
+“Who paid for 'em? If 'twas Alvin Baker you ought to be ashamed of
+yourself, spongin' on him for your vittles.”
+
+“Alvin! Good land! did you ever know him to pay for anything he didn't
+have to?”
+
+“Never mind what I know. Did you get trusted for 'em? How many times
+have I told you--”
+
+“I never got trusted. I ain't that kind. And I didn't sponge 'em,
+neither. I paid cash, right out of my own pocket, like a man.”
+
+“You did! Um-hm. I want to know! Well then--MAN, where did the cash in
+that pocket come from?”
+
+Lute squirmed. “I--I--” he stammered.
+
+“Where did it come from? Answer me.”
+
+“Well--well, Dorindy, you see--when you sent me up to the store t'other
+day after the brown sugar and--and number 50 spool cotton you give me
+seventy-five cents. You remember you did, yourself.”
+
+“Yes, and I remember you said there was a hole in your pocket and you
+lost the change. I ain't likely to forget it, and I shouldn't think
+you'd be.”
+
+“I didn't forget. By time! my ears ain't done singin' yet. But that
+shows how reckless you talk to me. I never lost that change at all. I
+found it afterwards in my vest, so all your jawin' was just for nothin'.
+Ros, she ought to beg my pardon, hadn't she? Hadn't she now?”
+
+Dorinda saved me the trouble of answering.
+
+“Um-hm!” she observed, dryly. “Well, I'll beg my own pardon instead, for
+bein' so dumb as not to go through your vest myself. So THAT'S where
+the other fifteen cents come from! I see. Well, you march out to the
+woodpile and chop till I tell you to quit.”
+
+“But, Dorindy, I've got one of my dyspepsy spells. I don't feel real
+good this mornin'. I told you I didn't.”
+
+“Folks that make pigs of themselves on stolen berries hadn't ought to
+feel good. Exercise is fine for dyspepsy. You march.”
+
+Lute marched, and I marched with him as far as the back yard. There I
+left him, groaning before the woodpile, and went down to the boat house.
+
+The Comfort's overhauling was complete and I had launched her the week
+before. Now she lay anchored at the edge of the channel. For the want
+of something more important to do I took down my shot gun and began to
+polish its already glittering barrels.
+
+Try as I might I could not get the memory of my adventure in the
+“tempest” out of my head. I reviewed it from end to end, thinking of
+many things I might have done which, in the light of what followed,
+would have been better and more sensible. If, instead of leaving the
+coachman, I had remained to help him with the frightened horse, I should
+have been better employed. Between us we could have subdued the animal
+and Miss Colton might have ridden home. I wondered what had become of
+Jenkins and the horse. I wondered if the girl knew I carried her
+through the brook. Victor had said the bridge was down; she must know.
+I wondered what she thought of the proceeding; probably that splashing
+about with young ladies in my arms was a habit of mine.
+
+I told myself that I did not care what she thought. I resolved to forget
+the whole affair and to focus my attention upon cleaning the gun. But
+I could not forget. I waded that brook a dozen times as I sat there.
+I remembered every detail; how still she lay in my arms; how white her
+face looked as the distant lightning flashes revealed it to me; how her
+hair brushed my cheek as I bent over her. I was using a wad of cotton
+waste to polish the gun barrel, and I threw it into a corner, having the
+insane notion that, in some way, the association of ideas came from that
+bunch of waste. It--the waste--was grimy and anything but fragrant, as
+different from the dark lock which the wind had blown against my face as
+anything well could be, but the hurry with which I discarded it proves
+my imbecility at that time. Confound the girl! she was a nuisance. I
+wanted to forget her and her family, and the sulphurous personage to
+whose care I had once consigned the head of the family apparently took a
+characteristic delight in arranging matters so that I could not.
+
+The shot gun was, at last, so spotless that even a pretense of further
+cleaning was ridiculous. I held it level with my eye and squinted
+through the barrels.
+
+“Don't shoot,” said a voice from the doorway; “I'll come down.”
+
+I lowered the gun, turned and looked. “Big Jim” Colton was standing
+there, cigar in mouth, cap on the back of his head and both hands in his
+pockets, exactly as he had appeared in that same doorway when he and I
+first met. The expected had happened, part of it at least. He had come
+to see me; the disagreeable interview I had foreseen was at hand.
+
+He nodded and entered without waiting for an invitation.
+
+“Morning,” he said.
+
+“Good morning,” said I, guardedly. I wondered how he would begin the
+conversation. Our previous meeting had ended almost in a fight. We had
+been fighting by proxy ever since. I was prepared for more trouble,
+for haughty condescension, for perfunctory apology, for almost anything
+except what happened. His next remark might have been addressed to an
+acquaintance upon whom he had casually dropped in for a friendly call.
+
+“That's a good looking gun you've got there,” he observed. “Let's see
+it.”
+
+I was too astonished to answer. “Let's look at it,” he repeated, holding
+out his hand.
+
+Mechanically I passed him the gun. He examined it as if he was used to
+such things, broke it, snapped it shut, tried the locks with his thumb
+and handed it back to me.
+
+“Anything worth shooting around here?” he asked, pulling the armchair
+toward him and sitting.
+
+I think I did not let him see how astonished I was at his attitude. I
+tried not to.
+
+“Why yes,” I answered, “in the season. Plenty of coots, some black duck,
+and quail and partridge in the woods.”
+
+“That so! Peters, that carpenter of mine, said something of the sort, I
+remember, but I wouldn't believe him under oath. I could shoot HIM with
+more or less pleasure, but there seems to be no open session for his
+species. Where's your launch?”
+
+“Out yonder.” I pointed to the Comfort at her moorings. He looked, but
+made no comment. I rose and put the gun in the rack. Then I returned to
+my chair. He swung around in his seat and looked at me.
+
+“Well,” he said, grimly, but with a twinkle in his eye, “the last time
+you and I chatted together you told me to go to the devil.”
+
+This was quite true and I might have added that I was glad of it. But
+what would be the use? I did not answer at all.
+
+“I haven't gone there yet,” he continued. “Came over here instead. Got
+dry yet?”
+
+“Dry?”
+
+“Yes. You were anything but dry when I saw you last night. Have many
+such cloudbursts as that in these parts?”
+
+“Not many. No.”
+
+“I hope not. I don't want another until I sell that horse of mine. The
+chap who stuck me with him is a friend of mine. He warranted the beast
+perfectly safe for an infant in arms to drive and not afraid of anything
+short of an earthquake. He is a lovely liar. I admire his qualifications
+in that respect, and hope to trade with him again. He bucks the stock
+market occasionally.”
+
+He smiled as he said it. There was not the slightest malice in his tone,
+but, if I had been the “friend,” I should have kept clear of stocks for
+awhile.
+
+“What became of the horse?” I asked.
+
+“Ran away again. Jenkins had just got back into the carriage when
+another one of those thunder claps started more trouble. The horse ran
+four miles, more or less, and stopped only when the wheels got jammed
+between two trees. I paid nine hundred dollars for that carriage.”
+
+“And the coachman?”
+
+“Oh, he lit on his head, fortunately, and wasn't hurt. Spent half the
+night trying to find a phone not out of commission but failed. Got home
+about four o'clock, leading the horse. Paine--”
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“Of course you know what I've come here for. I'm much obliged to you.”
+
+“That's all right. You're welcome.”
+
+“Maybe I am, but I am obliged, just the same. Not only for the help you
+gave Mabel--my daughter--last night, but for that business in the bay
+the other afternoon.”
+
+So she had told him the whole story. Remembering her last words, as I
+left her in the hall, I had rather imagined she would.
+
+“That didn't amount to anything,” I said, shortly.
+
+“Why, yes, it did. It might have amounted to a whole lot. I asked Peters
+some questions about the tides out here and, from what he said, I judge
+that being stuck on the shoals in a squall might not be altogether a
+joke. Mabel says you handled the affair mighty well.”
+
+I did not answer. He chuckled.
+
+“How did young Carver enjoy playing second fiddle?” he asked. “From what
+I've seen of him he generally expects to lead the band. Happy, was he?”
+
+I remained silent. He smiled broadly.
+
+“He isn't any too happy this morning,” he went on. “That young man won't
+do. I never quoted him within twenty points of par, but Mabel seemed to
+like him and her mother thought he was the real thing. Mrs. C. couldn't
+forget that his family is one of the oldest on the list. Personally
+I don't gamble much on families; know a little about my own and that
+little is enough. But women are different. However, family or not, he
+won't do. I should tell him so myself, but I guess Mabel will save me
+the trouble. She's got a surprising amount of common-sense, considering
+that she's an only child--and who her parents are. By the way, Paine,
+what did Carver say when you put him ashore?”
+
+“He--he said--oh, nothing of importance.”
+
+“Yes, I know that. I listened to his explanations last night. But did he
+say anything?”
+
+“Why, he offered to pay me for my work.”
+
+“Did he? How much?”
+
+“I did not wait to find out.”
+
+“And you haven't heard from him since?”
+
+I hesitated.
+
+“Have you?” he repeated.
+
+“Well, I--I received a note from him next day.”
+
+“Humph! Offering apologies?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Sent you money, didn't he?”
+
+I looked at him in surprise. “Did he tell you?” I asked.
+
+“No, nobody told me. I'm only trying to find out whether or not I have
+lost all my judgment of human nature since I struck this sand heap. He
+did send you money then. How much?”
+
+“Mr. Colton, I--”
+
+“Come now! How much?”
+
+“Well--he sent me five dollars.”
+
+“No! he didn't!”
+
+“I am telling you the truth.”
+
+“Yes,” slowly, “I know you are. I've got that much judgment left. Sent
+you five dollars, did he. And you sent it back.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Any message with it?”
+
+I was tired of being catechized. I had not meant to tell him anything.
+Now I decided to tell him all. If it angered him, so much the better.
+
+“I sent him word that what I saved wasn't worth the money.”
+
+To my amazement he was not angry. Instead he slapped his knee and
+laughed aloud.
+
+“Ho! ho!” he shouted. “Humph! Well, that was. . . . I'd like to have
+seen his face when he got that message. No, that young man won't do. He
+won't do at all.”
+
+It was not for me to dispute this conclusion, even if I had disagreed
+with him, which I did not. I said nothing. He rubbed his knee for a
+moment and then changed the subject.
+
+“How did you happen to be on the Lower Road at that time of the night?”
+ he asked. “I'm mighty glad you were there, of course, but where did you
+come from?”
+
+“I left the festival rather late and--”
+
+“Festival? Oh, that thing up at the church. I didn't see you there.”
+
+I had taken pains that he should not see me.
+
+“Do you mean to tell me,” he continued, “that you enjoy a thing like
+that? What in blazes made Mabel want to go I don't see! She and Carver
+were set on going; and it would be the treat of a lifetime, or words to
+that effect. I can't see it myself. Of all the wooden headed jays I ever
+laid eyes on this town holds the finest collection. Narrow and stubborn
+and blind to their own interests!”
+
+This was more like what I expected from him and I resented it. It may
+seem odd that I, of all persons, should have taken upon myself the
+defense of Denboro and its inhabitants, but that is what I did.
+
+“They are no more narrow and stubborn in their way than city people are
+in theirs,” I declared. “They resent being ordered about as if their
+opinions and wishes counted for nothing, and I honor them for it.”
+
+“Do, hey?”
+
+“Yes, I do. Mr. Colton, I tell you that you are all wrong. Simply
+because a man lives in the country it does not follow that he is a
+blockhead. No one in Denboro is rich, as you would count riches, but
+plenty of them are independent and ask no help from any one. You can't
+drive them.”
+
+“Can't I?”
+
+“No, you can't. And if you want favors from men here you must ask for
+them, not try to bully.”
+
+“I don't want favors. I want to be treated decently, that's all. When
+I came here I intended doing things to help the town. I should have
+enjoyed doing it. I told some of them so. Look at the money I've spent.
+Look at the taxes I'll pay. Why, they ought to be glad to have me here.
+They ought to welcome me.”
+
+“So they would if you had not behaved as if you were what some of them
+call you--'Emperor of New York'. I tell you, Mr. Colton, you're all
+wrong. I know the people here.”
+
+“So? Well, from what I've been able to learn about you, you haven't
+associated with many of them. You've been playing a little at the high
+and mighty yourself.”
+
+Chickens do come home to roost. My attitude of indifference and coldness
+toward my fellow citizens had been misinterpreted, as it deserved to be.
+George Taylor was right when he said I had made a mistake.
+
+“I have been foolish,” I said, hotly, “but not for the reason you
+suppose. I don't consider myself any better than the people here--no,
+nor even the equal of some of them. And, from what I have seen of you,
+Mr. Colton, I don't consider you that, either.”
+
+Even this did not make him angry. He looked at me as if I puzzled him.
+
+“Say, Paine,” he said, “what in the world are you doing down in a place
+like this?”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“Just that. You upset my calculations. I thought I spotted you and put
+you in the class where you belonged when you and I first met. I can
+usually size up a man. You've got me guessing. What are you doing down
+here? You're no Rube.”
+
+If he intended this as a compliment I was not in the mood to accept
+it as such. I should have told him that what I was or was not was no
+business of his. But he went on without giving me the opportunity.
+
+“You've got me guessing,” he repeated. “You talk like a man. The way
+you looked out for my daughter last night and the way, according to her
+story, you handled her and Victor the other afternoon was a man's job.
+Why are you wasting your life down here?”
+
+“Mr. Colton, I don't consider--”
+
+“Never mind. You're right; that's your affair, of course. But I hate to
+quit till I have the answer, and nobody around here seems to have the
+answer to you. Ready to sell me that land yet?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Going to sell to the public-spirited bunch? Dean and the rest?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You mean that? All right--all right. Say, Paine, I admire your nerve
+a good deal more than I do your judgment. You must understand that I am
+going to close that fool Lane of yours some time or other.”
+
+“Your understanding and mine differ on that point.”
+
+“Possibly, but they'll agree before I'm through. I am going to close
+that Lane.”
+
+“I think not.”
+
+“I'm going to close it for two reasons. First, because it's a condemned
+nuisance and ought to be closed. Second, because I make it a point to
+get what I go after. I can't afford not to. It is doing that very thing
+that has put me where I am.”
+
+There was nothing to be said in answer to a statement like that. I did
+not try to answer it.
+
+“Where you're holding down a job like mine,” he continued, crossing
+his knees and looking out across the bay, “you have to get what you go
+after. I'm down here and I mean to stay here as long as I want to, but
+I haven't let go of my job by a good deal. I've got private
+wires--telegraph and telephone--in my house and I keep in touch with
+things in the Street as much as I ever did. If anybody tries to get
+ahead of the old man because they think he's turned farmer they'll find
+out their mistake in a hurry.”
+
+This seemed to be a soliloquy. I could not see how it applied to me. He
+went on talking.
+
+“Sounds like bragging, doesn't it?” he said, reading my thoughts as if
+I had spoken them. “It isn't. I'm just trying to show you why I can't
+afford not to have my own way. If I miss a trick, big or little,
+somebody else wins. When I was younger, just butting into the game,
+there was another fellow trying to get hold of a lead mine out West that
+I was after. He beat me to it at first. He was a big toad in the puddle
+and I was a little one. But I didn't quit. I waited round the corner.
+By and by I saw my chance. He was in a hole and I had the cover to the
+hole. Before I let him out I owned that mine. It cost me more than it
+was worth; I lost money on it. But I had my way and he and the rest had
+found out that I intended to have it. That was worth a lot more than I
+lost in the mine. Now this Lane proposition is a little bit of a thing;
+it's picayune; I should live right along if I didn't get it. But because
+I want it, because I've made up my mind to have it, I'm going to have
+it, one way or another. See?”
+
+I shrugged my shoulders. “This seems to me like wasting time, Mr.
+Colton,” I said.
+
+“Then your seeing is away off. Look here, Paine, I'm through fiddling
+with the deal. I'm through with that undertaker postmaster or any other
+go-between. I just wanted you to understand my position; that's why I've
+told you all this. Now we'll talk figures. I might go on bidding, and
+you'd go on saying no, of course. But I shan't bid. I'll just say this:
+When you are ready to sell--and I'll put you where you will be some
+day--”
+
+I rose. “Mr. Colton,” I said, sharply, “you had better not say any more.
+I'm not afraid of you, and--”
+
+“There! there! there! who said anything about your being afraid? Don't
+get mad. I'm not--not now. This is a business matter between friends
+and--”
+
+“Friends!”
+
+“Sure. Business friends. I'm talking to you as I would to any other chap
+I intended to beat in a deal; there's nothing personal about it. When I
+get you so you're ready to sell I'll give you five thousand dollars for
+that strip of land.”
+
+I actually staggered. I said what Lute had said to me.
+
+“You're crazy!” I cried. “Five thousand dollars for that land!”
+
+“Yes. Oh, I know what it's worth. Five hundred is for the land itself.
+The other forty-five hundred is payment for the privilege of having my
+own way. Want to close with me now?”
+
+It took me some time to answer. “No,” is a short and simple word, but I
+found it tremendously difficult to pronounce. Yet I did pronounce it,
+I am glad to say. After all that I had said before I would have been
+ashamed to do anything else.
+
+He did not appear surprised at my refusal.
+
+“All right,” he said. “I'm not going to coax you. Just remember that the
+offer holds good and when you get ready to accept it, sing out. Well!”
+ looking at his watch, “I must be going. My wife will think I've fallen
+into the bay, or been murdered by the hostile natives. Nerves are mean
+things to have in the house; you can take my word for that. Good-by,
+Paine. Thank you again for last night and the rest of it. Mabel will
+thank you herself when she sees you, I presume.”
+
+He was on his way to the door when I recovered presence of mind
+sufficient to remember ordinary politeness.
+
+“Your daughter--er--Miss Colton is well?” I stammered. “No ill effects
+from her wetting--and the shock?”
+
+“Not a bit. She's one of the kind of girls they turn out nowadays.
+Athletics and all that. Her grandmother would have died probably, after
+such an upset, but she's as right as I am. Oh . . . er--Paine, next time
+you go shooting let me know. Maybe I'd like to go along. I used to be
+able to hit a barn door occasionally.”
+
+He stopped long enough to bite the end from a cigar and strolled away,
+smoking. I sat down in the armchair. “Five thousand dollars!” . . .
+“Carver won't do.” . . . “I will have the Lane some time or other.”
+ . . . “Five thousand dollars!” . . . “Next time you go shooting.” . . .
+“Friends!” . . . “Five thousand dollars!”
+
+Oh, this was a nightmare! I must wake up before it got any worse.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Mother was the only one to whom I told the whole story of my experience
+in the “tempest” and of Colton's call. She and I had a long talk. She
+was as surprised to hear of the five thousand dollar offer as I had
+been, but that I had refused it did not surprise her. She seemed to take
+my refusal as a matter of course, whereas I was more and more doubtful
+of my sanity at the time. I knew well enough what the opinion of others
+would be concerning that sanity and I wondered whether or not they might
+be right. In fact, I rather resented her calm certainty.
+
+“Mother,” said I, “you speak as if the offer had been five cents instead
+of five thousand dollars.”
+
+“What difference does it make, Boy?” she asked. “If it had been only a
+matter of price you would have sold for six hundred and fifty. That is a
+good deal more than the land is worth, isn't it.”
+
+“I suppose so. But five thousand is a small fortune to us. I am not sure
+that we have the right to refuse it.”
+
+“Roscoe, if you were alone in this matter--if I were not here to be
+considered at all--would you have sold the land, no matter what he
+offered?”
+
+“I don't know, Mother. I think, perhaps, I should.”
+
+“I know you would not. And I know the only reason you feel the refusal
+may be wrong is because you are thinking what the money might do for me.
+Do you suppose I will permit you to sacrifice a principle you know is
+right simply that I may have a few more luxuries which I don't need?”
+
+“But you do need them. Why, there are so many things you need.”
+
+“No, I don't need one. So long as I have you I am perfectly happy. And
+it would not make me more happy to know that you accepted a bribe--that
+is what it is, a bribe--because of me. No, Boy, you did exactly right
+and I am proud of you.”
+
+“I am not particularly proud of myself.”
+
+“You should be. Can't you see how differently Mr. Colton regards you
+already? He does not condescend or patronize now.”
+
+“Humph! he is grateful because I helped his daughter out of a scrape,
+that's all.”
+
+“It is more than that. He respects you because you are what he called
+you, a man. I fancy it is a new experience to him to find some one, down
+here at any rate, to whom his millions make absolutely no difference.”
+
+“I am glad of it. It may do him good.”
+
+“Yes, I think it will. And what you told him about the townspeople may
+do him good, too. He will find, as you and I have found, that there are
+no kinder, better people anywhere. You remember I warned you against
+misjudging the Coltons, Roscoe. They, too, I am sure, are good people at
+heart, in spite of their wealth.”
+
+“Mother, you are too charitable for this earth--too unworldly
+altogether.”
+
+“Haven't you and I reason to be charitable? There! there! let us forget
+the land and the money. Roscoe, I should like to meet this Miss Colton.
+She must be a brave girl.”
+
+“She is brave enough.”
+
+“I suppose poor Mr. Carver is in disgrace. Perhaps it was not his fault
+altogether.”
+
+This was a trifle too much. I refused to be charitable to Victor.
+
+I heard from him, or of him, next day. I met Captain Jed Dean at the
+bank, where I had called to see Taylor and inquire concerning how he
+and Nellie got home from the festival. They had had a damp, though safe,
+journey, I learned, and the Methodist ladies had cleared seventy-four
+dollars and eighty-five cents from the entertainment.
+
+Captain Jed entered the door as I left the cashier's gate.
+
+“Ship ahoy, Ros!” hailed the captain, genially. “Make port safe and
+sound after the flood? I'd have swapped my horse and buggy for Noah's
+Ark that night and wouldn't have asked any boot neither. Did you see
+Mullet's bridge? Elnathan says he cal'lates he's got willow kindlin'
+enough to last him all summer. Ready split too--the lightnin' attended
+to that. Lute Rogers don't talk about nothin' else. I cal'late he wishes
+lightnin' would strike your woodpile; then he'd be saved consider'ble
+labor, hey?”
+
+He laughed and I laughed with him.
+
+“I understood Princess Colton was out in the wust of it,” went on
+Captain Jed. “Did you hear how her horse ran away?”
+
+“Yes,” I answered, shortly; “I heard about it.”
+
+“Never stopped till it got half way to West Bayport. The coachman
+hangin' onto the reins and swearin' at the top of his lungs all the
+time. 'Bije Ellis, who lives up that way, says the road smells like a
+match factory even yet--so much brimstone in the air. The girl got
+home somehow or other, they tell me. I cal'late her fine duds got their
+never-get-over. Nellie says the hat she was wearin' come from Paris, or
+some such foreign place. Well, the rain falls on the just and unjust,
+so scriptur tells us, and it's true enough. Only the unjust in this case
+can afford new hats better'n the just, a consider'ble sight. Denboro's
+lost a promisin' new citizen; did you know it?”
+
+“Whom do you mean?”
+
+“Hadn't you heard? That young Carver feller shook the dust--the mud, I
+mean--of our roads off his shoes this mornin'. He went away on the up
+train.”
+
+Here was news. “The up train?” I repeated. “You mean he has gone for
+good?”
+
+“I should call it for good, for our good, anyhow. Yes, he's gone. Went
+to the depot in Colton's automobile. His majesty went with him fur's
+the platform. The gang that saw the proceedin's said the good-bys wan't
+affectin'. Colton didn't shed any tears and young Carver seemed to be
+pretty down at the mouth.”
+
+“But what makes you think he has gone for good?” I asked.
+
+“Why, Alvin Baker was there, same as he usually is, and he managed to be
+nigh enough to hear the last words--if there had been any.”
+
+“And there were not?”
+
+“Nothin' to amount to much. Nothin' about comin' back, anyhow. Colton
+said somethin' about bein' remembered to the young feller's ma, and
+Carver said, 'Thanks,' and that was all. Alvin said 'twas pretty chilly.
+They've got it all figgered out at the post-office; you see, Carver was
+to come back to the meetin' house and pick up his princess, and he never
+come. She started without him and got run away with. Some of the folks
+paddlin' home from the festival saw the auto go by and heard the crowd
+inside singin' and laughin' and hollerin'. Nobody's goin' to sing a
+night like that unless they've got cargo enough below decks to make 'em
+forget the wet outside. And Beriah Doane was over to Ostable yesterday
+and he says it's town talk there that young Parker--the boy the auto
+crowd was sayin' good-by to at the hotel--had to be helped up to his
+room. No, I guess likely the Colton girl objected to her feller's
+gettin' tight and forgettin' her, so he and she had a row and her dad,
+the emperor, give him his discharge papers. Sounds reasonable; don't you
+think so, yourself?”
+
+I imagined that the surmise was close to the truth. I nodded and turned
+away. I did not like Carver, I detested him, but somehow I no longer
+felt triumph at his discomfiture. I wondered if he really cared for the
+girl he had lost. It was difficult to think of him as really caring for
+any one except himself, but if I had been in his place and had, through
+my own foolishness, thrown away the respect and friendship of such a
+girl. . . . Yes, I was beginning to feel a little of Mother's charity
+for the young idiot, now that he could no longer insult and patronize
+me.
+
+Captain Jed followed me to the bank door.
+
+“Say, Ros,” he said, “changed your mind about sellin' that Lane land
+yet?”
+
+“No,” I answered, impatiently. “There's no use talking about that,
+Captain Dean.”
+
+“All right, all right. Humph! the fellers are gettin' consider'ble fun
+out of that Lane.”
+
+“In what way?”
+
+He laughed. “Oh, nothin',” he observed, with a wink, “only. . . . Heard
+any extry hurrahin' over to your place lately?”
+
+“No. Captain, what do you mean?”
+
+“I don't mean nothin'. But I shouldn't wonder if the Great Panjandrum
+and his folks was reminded that that Lane was still open, that's all.
+Ho! ho! So long, Ros.”
+
+I did not catch his meaning at the time. A few days later I discovered
+it by accident. I had been up to the village and was on my way home by
+the short cut. As I crossed the field behind Sylvanus Snow's abandoned
+house, the spot where Miss Colton and I had waited on the porch the
+night of the thunder shower, I heard the rattle of a cart going down the
+Lane. There was nothing unusual in this, of itself, but with it I heard
+the sound of loud voices. One of these voices was so loud that I caught
+the words:
+
+“Now, boys, start her up! Three cheers for the Star Spangled Banner and
+make 'em loud. Let her go!”
+
+The cheers followed, uproarious ones.
+
+“Try it again,” commanded the voice. “And keep her up all the way along.
+We'll shake up the 'nerves' I guess. Hooray!”
+
+This was enough. I understood now what Dean had meant by the Coltons
+realizing that the Lane was still open. I ran at full speed through the
+scrub and bushes, through the grove, and emerged upon the Lane directly
+opposite the Colton estate. The wagon--Zeb Kendrick's weir cart--was
+approaching. Zeb was driving and behind him in the body of the cart
+were four or five young fellows whom I recognized as belonging to the
+“billiard room gang,” an unorganized society whose members worked only
+occasionally but were responsible for most of the mischief and disorder
+in our village. Tim Hallet, a sort of leader in that society, with the
+reputation of having been expelled from school three times and never
+keeping a job longer than a fortnight, was on the seat beside Kendrick,
+his back to the horse. Zeb was grinning broadly.
+
+The wagon came nearer, the horse barely moving. Tim Hallet waved his
+arm.
+
+“Now, boys,” he shouted, “let's have some music.”
+
+     “'Everybody works but father,
+       And he sets around all day.'--
+
+Whoop her up!”
+
+They whooped her up. I stepped out into the road.
+
+“Here!” I shouted. “Stop that! Stop it, do you hear! Kendrick, what is
+all this?”
+
+The song stopped in the middle of the verse. Zeb jerked the reins and
+shouted “Whoa!” Hallet and his chorus turned. They had been gazing at
+the big house, but now they turned and looked at me.
+
+“Hello, Ros!” said Kendrick, still grinning, but rather sheepishly. “How
+be you? Got quite a band aboard, ain't I.”
+
+“Hello!” cried Hallet. “It's Ros himself! Ros, you're all RIGHT!
+Hi, boys! let's give three cheers for the feller that don't toady to
+nobody--millionaires nor nobody else--hooray for Ros Paine!”
+
+The cheering that followed was not quite as loud as the previous
+outburst--some of the “gang” may have noticed my attitude and
+expression--but it was loud enough. Involuntarily I glanced toward the
+Colton mansion. I saw no one at the windows or on the veranda, and I was
+thankful for that. The blood rushed to my face. I was so angry that, for
+the moment, I could not speak.
+
+Tim Hallet appeared to consider my silence and my crimson cheeks as
+acknowledgments of the compliment just paid me.
+
+“Cal'late they heard that over yonder,” he crowed. “Don't you think so,
+Ros. We've showed 'em what we think of you; now let's give our opinion
+of them. Three groans for old Colton! Come on!”
+
+Even Zeb seemed to consider this as going too far, for he protested.
+
+“Hold on, Tim!” he cautioned. “A joke's a joke, but that's a little too
+much; ain't it, Ros.”
+
+“Too much be darned!” scoffed Hallet. “We'll show 'em! Now, boys!”
+
+The groans were not given. I sprang into the road, seized the horse by
+the bridle and backed the wagon into the bank. Tim, insecurely balanced,
+fell off the seat and joined his comrades on the cart floor.
+
+“Hi!” shouted the startled driver. “What you doin', Ros? What's that
+for?”
+
+“You go back where you come from,” I ordered. “Turn around. Get out of
+here!”
+
+I saved him the trouble by completing the turn. When I dropped the
+bridle the horse's head was pointing toward the Lower Road.
+
+“Now get out of here!” I repeated. “Go back where you come from.”
+
+“But--but, Ros,” protested Zeb, “I don't want to go back. I'm goin' to
+the shore.”
+
+“Then you'll have to go some other way. You can't cross my property.”
+
+Hallet, on his knees, looked out over the seat.
+
+“What's the matter with you?” he asked, angrily. “Didn't you say the
+town could use this Lane?”
+
+“Yes. Any one may use it as long as he behaves himself. When he doesn't
+behave he forfeits the privilege. Kendrick, you hear me! Go back.”
+
+“But I don't want to go back, Ros. If I do I'll have to go clear round
+by Myrick's, two mile out of my way.”
+
+“You should have thought of that before you brought that crowd with
+you. I won't have this Lane made a public nuisance by any one. Zeb, I'm
+ashamed of you.”
+
+Zeb turned to his passengers. “There!” he whined, “I told you so, Tim. I
+said you hadn't ought to act that way.”
+
+“Aw, what are you givin' us!” sneered Hallet. “You thought 'twas as
+funny as anybody, Zeb Kendrick. Look here, Ros Paine! I thought you was
+down on them Coltons. We fellers are only havin' a little fun with 'em
+for bein' so stuck-up and hoggish. Can't you take a joke?”
+
+“Not your kind. Go back, Zeb.”
+
+“But--but can't I use the Lane NO more?” pleaded the driver. “I won't
+fetch 'em here agin.”
+
+“We'll see about that. You can't use it this time. Now go.”
+
+Zeb reluctantly spoke to his horse and the wagon began to move. Hallet
+swore a string of oaths.
+
+“I'm on to you, Paine!” he yelled. “You're standin' in with 'em, after
+all. You wait till I see Captain Jed.”
+
+In three strides I was abreast the cart-tail.
+
+“See him then,” said I. “And tell him that if any one uses this Lane
+for the purpose of wilfully annoying those living near it I'll not only
+forbid his using it, but I'll prosecute him for trespass. I mean that.
+Stop! I advise you not to say another word.”
+
+I did not intend to prosecute Jim, he was not worth it, but I should
+have thoroughly enjoyed dragging him out of that wagon and silencing him
+by primitive methods. My anger had not cooled to any extent. He did not
+speak to me again, though I heard him muttering as the cart moved off.
+I remained where I was until I saw it turn into the Lower Road. Then I
+once more started for home.
+
+I was very much annoyed and disturbed. Evidently this sort of thing had
+been going on for some time and I had just discovered it. It placed me
+in a miserable light. When Colton had declared, as he had in both
+our interviews, that the Lane was a nuisance I had loftily denied the
+assertion. Now those idiots in the village were doing their best to
+prove me a liar. I should have expected such behavior from Hallet and
+his friends, but for Captain Dean to tacitly approve their conduct was
+unexpected and provoking. Well, I had made my position plain, at all
+events. But I knew that Tim would distort my words and that the idea of
+my “standing in” with the Coltons, while professing independence, would
+be revived. I was destined to be detested and misunderstood by both
+sides. Yes, Dorinda was right in saying that I might find sitting on the
+fence uncomfortable. It was all of that.
+
+I entered the grove and was striding on, head down, busy with these and
+similar reflections, when some one said: “Good morning, Mr. Paine.”
+
+I stopped short, came out of the day dream in which I had been giving
+Captain Jed my opinion of his followers' behavior, looked up, and saw
+Miss Colton in the path before me.
+
+She was dressed in white, a light, simple summer gown. Her straw hat was
+simple also, expensive simplicity doubtless, but without a trace of the
+horticultural exhibits with which Olinda Cahoon, our Denboro milliner,
+was wont to deck the creations she prepared for customers. Matilda
+Dean would have sniffed at the hat and gown; they were not nearly as
+elaborate as those Nellie, her daughter, wore on Sundays. But Matilda or
+Nellie at their grandest could not have appeared as well dressed as this
+girl, no matter what she wore. Just now she looked, as Lute or Dorinda
+might have said, “as if she came out of a band box.”
+
+“Good morning,” she said, again. She was perfectly self-possessed.
+Remembrance of our transit of Mullet's cranberry brook did not seem to
+embarrass her in the least. Nellie Dean would have giggled and blushed,
+but she did not.
+
+_I_ was embarrassed, I admit it, but I had sufficient presence of mind
+to remove my hat.
+
+“Good morning,” said I. There flashed through my mind the thought that
+if she had been in that grove for any length of time she must have
+overheard my lively interview with Kendrick and Tim Hallet. I wondered
+if she had.
+
+Her next remark settled that question.
+
+“I suppose,” she said, soberly, but with the same twinkle in her eye
+which I had observed once or twice in her father's, “that I should
+apologize for being here, on your property, Mr. Paine. I judge that you
+don't like trespassers.”
+
+I was more nettled at Zeb and his crowd than ever. “So you saw that
+performance,” I said. “I'm sorry.”
+
+“I saw a little of it, and I'm afraid I heard the rest. I was walking
+here by the bluff and I could not help seeing and hearing.”
+
+“Humph! Well, I hope you understand, Miss Colton, that I did not know,
+until just now, this sort of thing was going on.”
+
+She smiled. “Oh, I understand that,” she said. “You made that quite
+plain. Even those people in the wagon understood it, I should imagine.”
+
+“I hope they did.”
+
+“I did not know you could be so fierce, Mr. Paine. I had not expected
+it. You almost frightened me. You were so very--well, mild and
+long-suffering on the other occasions when we met.”
+
+“I am not always so mild, Miss Colton. However, if I had known you were
+within hearing I might not have been quite so emphatic.”
+
+“Then I am glad you didn't know. I think those ruffians were treated as
+they deserved.”
+
+“Not half as they deserved. I shall watch from now on and if there are
+any more attempts at annoying you or your people I shall do more than
+talk.”
+
+“Thank you. They have been troublesome--of late. I am sure we are very
+much obliged to you, all of us.”
+
+“Not at all.”
+
+“Oh yes, we are. Not only for this, but for--all the rest. For your help
+the other night especially; I want to thank you for that.”
+
+“It was nothing,” I answered, awkwardly.
+
+“Nothing! You are not very complimentary, Mr. Paine.”
+
+“I mean--that is, I--”
+
+“You may consider rescuing shipwrecked young ladies, afloat and ashore,
+nothing--perhaps you do it so often that it is of little consequence to
+you; but I am not so modest. I estimate my safety as worth something,
+even if you do not.”
+
+“I did not mean that, of course, Miss Colton. You know I did not. I
+meant that--that what I did was no more than any one else would have
+done under the same circumstances. You were in no danger; you would
+have been safe enough even if I had not happened along. Please don't say
+anything more about it.”
+
+“Very well. But I am very glad you happened along, nevertheless. You
+seem to have the faculty of happening along just at the right time.”
+
+This sounded like a reference to the episode in the bay, and I did not
+care to discuss that.
+
+“You--I believe your father said you were not ill after your
+experience,” I observed hastily.
+
+“Not in the least, thank you. And you?”
+
+“Oh, I was all right. Rather wet, but I did not mind that. I sail and
+fish a good deal, and water, fresh or salt, doesn't trouble me.”
+
+This was an unlucky remark, for it led directly to the subject I was
+trying to avoid.
+
+“So I should imagine,” she answered. “And that reminds me that I owe you
+another debt of thanks for helping me--helping us out of our difficulty
+in the boat. I am obliged to you for that also. Even though what you
+saved was NOT worth five dollars.”
+
+I looked up at her quickly. She was biting her lips and there was a
+smile at the corners of her mouth. I could not answer immediately for
+the life of me. I would have given something if I had not told Colton of
+Victor's message and my reply.
+
+“Your father misrepresented my meaning, I'm afraid,” I stammered. “I was
+angry when I sent that message. It was not intended to include you.”
+
+“Thank you. Father seemed inclined to agree with your estimate--part of
+it, at least. He is very much interested in you, Mr. Paine.”
+
+“Yes,” I answered, dryly. “I can understand that.”
+
+Her smile broke into a ripple of laughter.
+
+“You are quite distinctive, in your way,” she said. “You may not be
+aware of it, but I have never known father to be so disturbed and
+puzzled about any one as he is about you.”
+
+“Indeed?”
+
+“Yes, he is, indeed.”
+
+“I am sorry that I am the cause of so much mental strain.”
+
+“No, you are not. From what I have learned about you, from him, I think
+you enjoy it. You must. It is great fun.”
+
+“Fun! Well, perhaps. Does your--does Mrs. Colton find it funny?”
+
+She hesitated. “Well,” she answered, more slowly, “to be perfectly
+frank--I presume that is what you want me to be--I think Mother blames
+you somewhat. She is not well, Mr. Paine, and this Lane of yours is her
+pet bugbear just now. She--like the rest of us--cannot understand why
+you will not sell, and, because you will not, she is rather--rather--”
+
+“I see. I'm not sure that I blame her. I presume she has blamed me
+for these outrageous disturbances in the Lane such as you have just
+witnessed.”
+
+She hesitated again. “Why yes,” she said, more slowly still; “a little,
+I think. She is not well, as I said, and she may have thought you were,
+if not instigating them, at least aware of what was going on. But I am
+sure father does not think so.”
+
+“But you, Miss Colton; did you believe me responsible for them?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Because, from what I have seen of you, you did not seem to me like that
+kind of a man. You kept your temper that day in the boat, though you had
+a good reason for losing it. All this,” with a gesture toward the Lane,
+“the shouting and noise and petty insults, was so little and mean and
+common. I did not believe you would permit it, if you knew. And, from
+what I have learned about you, I was sure you would not.”
+
+“From what you learned about me? From your father?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Then from whom, pray?”
+
+“From your friends. From that Mr. Taylor and Miss Dean and the others.
+They spoke of you so highly, and of your mother and your care of her.
+They described you as a gentleman, and no gentleman would countenance
+THAT.”
+
+I was so astonished that I blurted out my next question without
+thinking.
+
+“You were speaking to them about ME?” I cried.
+
+Her manner changed. Possibly she thought I was presuming on our chance
+acquaintance, or that she made a mistake in admitting even a casual
+interest; I might consider that interest to be real, instead of merely
+perfunctory. At any rate, I noticed a difference in her tone. It was as
+if she had suddenly withdrawn behind the fence which marked the border
+of our social line.
+
+“Oh,” she said, carelessly, “I did not cross-question, of course.
+Puzzles are always interesting, more or less. And a puzzle which
+perplexed my father was certainly unique. So I was a trifle curious,
+that's all.”
+
+I came to earth with a thud.
+
+“I see,” I said, curtly. “Well, I presume I should thank my friends for
+the testimonials to my character. And I promise you that you shall not
+be annoyed again. Good morning, Miss Colton.”
+
+I was turning away when she spoke my name.
+
+“Mr. Paine,” she said.
+
+“Yes, Miss Colton.”
+
+“I have not explained why I was here, on your land, this morning.”
+
+“That is all right. You are quite welcome to be here at any time.”
+
+“Thank you. I told you I was walking by the bluff; that is true, but it
+isn't the whole truth. I was trying to muster courage to call on your
+mother.”
+
+I looked at her in amazement.
+
+“Call on Mother!” I repeated.
+
+“Yes, I have heard a great deal about your mother, and nothing except
+the very best. I think I should like to know her. Do you think she would
+consider me presuming and intrusive if I did call?”
+
+“Why, Miss Colton, I--”
+
+“Please be frank about it, Mr. Paine. And please believe that my call
+would not be from idle curiosity. I should like to know her. Of course,
+if this disagreement about the land makes a difference, if she feels
+resentful toward us, I will not think of such a thing. Does she? Why do
+you smile? I am in earnest.”
+
+“I did not mean to smile, Miss Colton. The idea of Mother's feeling
+resentment toward any one seemed absurd to me, that was all.”
+
+“Then may I call on her?”
+
+“Certainly. That is, if--if you think it wise. If your mother--”
+
+“Oh, Mother has long ago given up trying to solve me. I am a greater
+puzzle to her than you seem to be to everyone, Mr. Paine. I have spoken
+to my father about it and he is quite willing. His difference with you
+is purely a business one, as you know.”
+
+Some of the “business” had been oddly conducted, but I did not raise
+the point. I could not reason just then. That this spoiled, city-bred
+daughter of “Big Jim” Colton should wish to know my mother was beyond
+reasoning.
+
+She said good morning and we parted. I walked home, racking my brains
+to find the answer to this new conundrum. It was a whim on her part, of
+course, inspired by something George or Nellie had told her. I did
+not know whether to resent the whim or not, whether to be angry or
+indifferent. If she intended to inspect Mother as a possible object of
+future charity I should be angry and the first call would be the last.
+But Mother herself would settle all questions of charity; I knew that.
+And the girl had not spoken in a patronizing way. She had declared that
+idle curiosity had no part in her wish. She seemed in earnest. What
+would Mother say when I told her?
+
+Lute was just coming through the gate as I approached it. He was in high
+good humor.
+
+“I'm goin' up street,” he declared. “Anything you want me to fetch you
+from the store, Ros?”
+
+I looked at my watch. It was only eleven o'clock.
+
+“Up street?” I repeated. “I thought you were slated to wash windows
+this forenoon. I heard Dorinda give you your orders to that effect. You
+haven't finished washing them already?”
+
+“No,” with a broad grin, “I ain't finished 'em. Fact is, I ain't begun
+'em yet.”
+
+“So! Does Dorinda know that you are going up street?”
+
+“Um-hm. She knows. Anyhow, she knows I'm goin' somewheres. She told me
+to go herself.”
+
+“She did! Why?”
+
+“Don't ask ME. I was all ready to wash the windows; had the bucket
+pumped full and everything. But when I come into the dinin'-room she
+sung out to know what I was doin' with all that water on her clean
+floor. 'Why, Dorindy!' I says, 'I'm a-goin' to wash them windows same's
+you told me to.' 'No, you ain't,' says she. 'But what will I do?' says
+I. 'I don't care,' says she. 'Clear out of here, that's all.' 'But
+where'll I clear out to?' I wanted to know. 'I don't care!' she snaps
+again, savage as a settin' hen, 'so long's you clear out of my sight.'
+So here I be. Don't ask me why she changed her mind: _I_ don't know.
+Nothin' you want to the store?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Say, Ros, you know what I think?”
+
+“Far be it from me to presume to guess your thoughts, Lute.”
+
+“Well, I think this is a strange world and the strangest thing in it is
+a woman. You never can tell what they'll do ten minutes at a stretch.
+I--”
+
+“All right, Lute. I'll hear the rest of the philosophy later.”
+
+“Philosophy or not, it's the livin' truth. And when you're as old as I
+be you'll know it.”
+
+I went in through the dining-room, steering clear of Dorinda, who
+scarcely looked up from her floor scrubbing.
+
+“Mother,” said I, entering the darkened bedroom, “I just met the Colton
+girl and what do you suppose she told me?”
+
+“That she was very grateful to you for coming to her rescue the other
+night.”
+
+“That, of course. But she told me something else. She said she was
+coming to call on you. On YOU, Mother!”
+
+I don't know what answer I expected. I flung the announcement like a
+bombshell and was ready for almost any sort of explosion at all.
+
+“Did she?” observed Mother, placidly. “I am very glad. I have no doubt I
+shall like her.”
+
+My next remark had nothing to do with Miss Colton.
+
+“Well, by George!” I exclaimed, with emphasis. “Lute IS a philosopher,
+after all. I take off my hat to him.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+I met Mabel Colton several times during the following week. Once, at the
+place where I had met her before, in the grove by the edge of the bluff,
+and again walking up the Lane in company with her father. Once also on
+the Lower Road, though that could scarcely be called a meeting, for I
+was afoot and she and her father and mother were in the automobile.
+
+Only at the meeting in the grove were words exchanged between us. She
+bowed pleasantly and commented on the wonderful view.
+
+“I am trespassing again, you see,” she said. “Taking advantage of your
+good-nature, Mr. Paine. This spot is the most attractive I have found in
+Denboro.”
+
+I observed that the view from her verandas must be almost the same.
+
+“Almost, but not quite,” she said. “These pines shut off the inlet
+below, and all the little fishing boats. One of them is yours, I
+suppose. Which?”
+
+“That is my launch there,” I replied, pointing.
+
+“The little white one? You built it yourself, I think Father said.”
+
+“He was mistaken, if he said that. I am not clever enough to build a
+boat, Miss Colton. I bought the Comfort, second-hand.”
+
+I don't know why I added the “second-hand.” Probably because I had not
+yet freed my mind from the bitterness--yes, and envy--which the sight
+of this girl and her people always brought with it. It is comparatively
+easy to be free from envy if one is what George Taylor termed a
+“never-was”; for a “has been” it is harder.
+
+The boat's name was the only portion of my remark which attracted her
+attention.
+
+“The Comfort?” she repeated. “That is a jolly name for a pleasure boat.”
+
+“It is my mother's name,” I answered.
+
+“Is it? Why, I remember now. Miss Dean told me. I beg your pardon, Mr.
+Paine. It is a pretty name, at all events.”
+
+“Thank you.”
+
+“I must have misunderstood Father. I was sure he said that boat building
+was your business.”
+
+“No. He saw me overhauling the engine, and perhaps that gave him the
+impression that I was a builder. I told him I was not, but no doubt he
+forgot. I have no business, Miss Colton.”
+
+I think she was surprised. She glanced at me curiously and her lips
+opened as if to ask another question. She did not ask it however, and,
+except for a casual remark or two about the view and the blueness of
+the water in the bay, she said nothing more. I rather expected she would
+refer to her intention of calling on Mother, but she did not mention the
+subject. I inferred that she had thought better of her whim.
+
+On the other occasions when we met she merely bowed. “Big Jim” nodded
+carelessly. Mrs. Colton, from her seat in the auto, nodded also, though
+her majestic bow could scarcely be termed a nod. It was more like the
+acknowledgment, by a queen in her chariot, of the applauding citizen
+on the sidewalk. She saw me, and she deigned to let me know that I was
+seen, that was all.
+
+But when I inferred that her daughter had forgotten, or had decided not
+to make the call at our house, I misjudged the young lady. I returned,
+one afternoon, from a cruise up and down the bay in the Comfort, to find
+our small establishment--the Rogers portion of it, at least--in a high
+state of excitement. Lute and Dorinda were in the kitchen and before I
+reached the back door, which was open, I heard their voices in animated
+discussion.
+
+“Why wouldn't I say it, Dorinda?” pleaded Lute. “You can't blame me
+none. There I was, with my sleeves rolled up and just settin' in the
+chair, restin' my arms a jiffy and thinkin' which window I'd wash next,
+when there come that knock at the door. Thinks I, 'It's Asa Peters'
+daughter's young-one peddlin' clams.' That's what come to my mind fust.
+That idee popped right into my head, it did.”
+
+“Found plenty of room when it got there, I cal'late,” snapped Dorinda.
+“Must have felt lonesome.”
+
+“That's it! keep on pitchin' into me. I swan to man! sometimes I get so
+discouraged and wore out and reckless--hello! here's Ros. You ask him
+now! Ros, she's layin' into me because I didn't understand what--”
+
+“Roscoe,” broke in his wife, “I never was more mortified in all my born
+days. He--”
+
+“Let me tell you all about it, Ros. I went to the door--thinkin' 'twas
+a peddler, you know; had this old suit on, all sloshed up with soapsuds
+and water, and a wet rag in my hand; and there she stood, styled up like
+the Queen of Sheby. Well, sir! I'll leave it to you if 'tain't enough to
+surprise anybody. HER! comin' HERE!”
+
+“That wan't any reason why you should behave like a natural born--”
+
+“Hold on! you let me finish tellin' Roscoe. 'Good afternoon,' says she.
+'Is Mrs. Paine in?' Said it just like that, she did. I was so flustered
+up from the sight of her that I didn't sense it right off and I says,
+'What ma'am?' 'Is Mrs. Paine in?' says she. 'In?' says I--”
+
+“Just like a poll parrot,” interjected Dorinda.
+
+“Are you goin' to let me tell this or ain't you? 'In?' says I; hadn't
+sensed it yet, you see. 'Is Mrs. Paine to home?' she says. Now your ma,
+Ros, ain't never been nowheres else BUT home sence land knows when, so
+I supposed she must mean somebody else. 'Who?' says I, again. 'Mrs.
+Comfort Paine,' says she. She raised her voice a little; guessed I was
+deef, probably.”
+
+“If she'd guessed you was dumb she wouldn't have been fur off,”
+ commented Dorinda. I had not seen her so disturbed for many a day.
+
+Her husband disdained to notice this interruption.
+
+“'Mrs. Comfort Paine,' says she,” he continued. “'She is in? And I says
+'In?'”
+
+“No, you didn't. You said, 'In where?' And she had all she could do
+to keep from laughin'. I see her face as I got to the door, and it's a
+mercy I got there when I did. Land knows what you'd have said next!”
+
+“But, Dorindy, I tell you I thought--”
+
+“YOU thought! I know what SHE must have thought. That she'd made a
+mistake and run afoul of an asylum for the feeble-minded.”
+
+“Umph! I should have GOT feeble-minded if I'd had any more of that kind
+of talk. What made her ask if a sick woman like Comfort was 'in' and 'to
+home'? Couldn't be nowheres else, could she?”
+
+“Rubbish! she meant could Mrs. Paine see folks, that's all.”
+
+“See 'em! How you talk! She ain't blind.”
+
+“Oh, my soul and body! She was tryin' to ask if she might make a call on
+Comfort.”
+
+“Well then, why didn't she ask it; 'stead of wantin' to know if she was
+in?”
+
+“That's the high-toned way TO ask, and you'd ought to have known it.”
+
+“Humph! Do tell! Well, I ain't tony, myself. Don't have no chance to be
+in this house. Nothin' but work, work, work! tongue, tongue, tongue! for
+me around here. I'm disgusted, that's what I am.”
+
+“YOU'RE disgusted! What about, me?”
+
+I had listened to as much of this little domestic disagreement as I
+cared to hear.
+
+“Wait a minute,” I said. “What is all this? Who has been here to see
+Mother?”
+
+Both answered at once.
+
+“That Colton girl,” cried Lute.
+
+“That Mabel Colton,” said Dorinda.
+
+“Miss Colton? She has been here? this afternoon.”
+
+“Um-hm,” Dorinda nodded emphatically. “She stayed in your ma's room
+'most an hour.”
+
+“'Twas fifty-three minutes,” declared Lute. “I timed her by the clock.
+And she fetched a great, big bouquet. Comfort says she--”
+
+I waited to hear no more, but went into Mother's room. The little bed
+chamber was fragrant with the perfume of flowers. A cluster of big
+Jacqueminot roses drooped their velvety petaled heads over the sides
+of the blue and white pitcher on the bureau. Mother loved flowers and
+I frequently brought her the old fashioned posies from Dorinda's little
+garden or wild blossoms from the woods and fields. But roses such as
+these were beyond my reach now-a-days. They grew in greenhouses, not in
+the gardens of country people.
+
+Mother did not move as I entered and I thought she was asleep. But as I
+bent over the roses she turned on the pillow and spoke.
+
+“Aren't they beautiful, Roscoe?” she said.
+
+“Yes,” I answered. “They are beautiful.”
+
+“Do you know who brought them to me?”
+
+“Yes, Mother. Lute told me.”
+
+“She did call, you see. She kept her word. It was kind of her, wasn't
+it?”
+
+I sat down in the rocking chair by the window.
+
+“Well,” I asked, after a moment, “what did she say? Did she condescend
+to pity her pauper neighbors?”
+
+“Roscoe!”
+
+“Did she express horrified sympathy and offer to call your case to the
+attention of her cousin in charge of the Poor Ward in the City General
+Hospital, like that woman from the Harniss hotel last summer?”
+
+“Boy! How can you!”
+
+“Oh, well; I am a jealous beast, Mother; I admit it. But I have not been
+able to bring you flowers like that and it galls me to think that others
+can. They don't deserve to have all the beautiful things in life, while
+the rest of us have none.”
+
+“But it isn't her fault that she has them, is it? And it was kind to
+share them with us.”
+
+“I suppose so. Well, what did she say to you? Dorinda says she was with
+you nearly an hour. What did you and she talk about? She did not offer
+charity, did she?”
+
+“Do you think I should have accepted it, if she had? Roscoe, I have
+never seen you so prejudiced as you are against our new neighbors. It
+doesn't seem like you, at all. And if her father and mother are like
+Miss Mabel, you are very wrong. I like her very much.”
+
+“You would try to like any one, Mother.”
+
+“I did not have to try to like her. And I was a little prejudiced, too,
+at first. She was so wealthy, and an only child; I feared she might be
+conceited and spoiled. But she isn't.”
+
+“Not conceited! Humph!”
+
+“No, not really. At first she seemed a trifle distant, and I thought her
+haughty; but, afterward, when her strangeness and constraint had worn
+away, she was simple and unaffected and delightful. And she is very
+pretty, isn't she.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“She told me a great deal about herself. She has been through Vassar and
+has traveled a great deal. This is the first summer since her graduation
+which she has not spent abroad. She and I talked of Rome and Florence.
+I--I told her of the month I spent in Italy when you were a baby,
+Roscoe.”
+
+“You did not tell her anything more, Mother? Anything she should not
+know?”
+
+“Boy!” reproachfully.
+
+“Pardon me, Mother. Of course you didn't. Did she tell you why she
+called on us--on you, I mean?”
+
+“Yes, in a way. I imagine--though she did not say so--that you are
+responsible for that. She and Nellie Dean seem to be well acquainted,
+almost friendly, which is odd, for I can scarcely think of two girls
+more different. But she likes Nellie, that is evident, and Nellie and
+George have told her about you and me.”
+
+“I see. And so she was curious concerning the interesting invalid.
+Probably anything even mildly interesting is a godsend to her, down
+here. Did she mention the Shore Lane rumpus?”
+
+“Yes. Although I mentioned it first. It was plain that she could not
+understand your position in the matter, Roscoe, and I explained it as
+well as I could. I told her that you felt the Lane was a necessity to
+the townspeople, and that, under the circumstances, you could not sell.
+I told her how deeply you sympathized with her mother--”
+
+“Did you tell her that?”
+
+“Why, yes. It is true, isn't it?”
+
+“Humph! Mildly so, maybe. What more did she say?”
+
+“She said she thought she understood better now. I told her about you,
+Boy, and what a good son you had been to me. How you had sacrificed
+your future and your career for my sake. Of course I could not go into
+particulars, at all, but we talked a great deal about you, Roscoe.”
+
+“That must have been deliriously interesting--to her.”
+
+“I think it was. She told me of your helping her home through the storm,
+and of something else you had not told me, Boy: of your bringing her and
+Mr. Carver off the flat in the boat that day. Why did you keep that a
+secret?”
+
+“It was not worth telling.”
+
+“She thought it was. She laughed about it; said you handled the affair
+in a most businesslike and unsentimental way; she never felt more like
+a bundle of dry-goods in her life, but that that appeared to be your
+manner of handling people. It was a somewhat startling manner, but very
+effective, she said. I don't know what she meant by that.”
+
+I knew, but I did not explain.
+
+“You don't mean to say, Mother, that you glorified me to her for an
+hour?” I demanded.
+
+“No, indeed. We talked of ever so many things. Of books, and pictures,
+and music. I'm afraid I was rather wearisome. It seemed so good to have
+some one--except you, of course, dear--to discuss such subjects with.
+Most of my callers are not interested in them.”
+
+I was silent.
+
+“She is coming again, she says,” continued Mother. “She has some new
+books she is going to lend me. You must read them to me. And aren't
+those roses wonderful? She picked them, herself, in their conservatory.
+I told her how fond you were of flowers.”
+
+I judged that the young lady must have gone away with the idea that I
+was a combination of longshore lout and effeminate dilettante, with the
+financial resources of the former. She might as well have that idea as
+any other, I supposed, but, in her eyes, I must be more of a freak than
+ever. I should take care to keep out of the sight of those eyes as much
+as possible. But that the millionaire's daughter had made a hit on the
+occasion of her first call was plain. Not only had Mother been favorably
+impressed, but even the practical and unromantic Dorinda's shell was
+dented. She deigned to observe that the young lady seemed to have
+“consider'ble common-sense, considerin' her bringin' up.” This, from
+Dorinda, was high praise, and I wondered what the caller had said or
+done to win such a triumph. Lute made the matter clear.
+
+“By time!” he said, when he and I were together, “that girl's a smart
+one. I'd give somethin' to have her kind of smartness. Dorindy was
+terrible cranky all the time she was in your ma's room and I didn't know
+what would happen when she come out. But the fust thing she done when
+she come out was to look around the dinin' room and say, 'Oh! what a
+pleasant, homey place! And so clean! Why, it is perfectly spotless!'
+Land sakes! the old lady thawed out like a cranberry bog in April. After
+that they talked about housekeepin' and cookin' and such, sociable as
+could be. Dorindy's goin' to give her her receipt for doughnuts next
+time she comes. And I bet that girl never cooked a doughnut in her life
+or ever will. If I could think of the right thing to say, like that,
+'twould save me more'n one ear-ache. But I never do think of it till the
+next day, and then it's too late.”
+
+He borrowed my tobacco, filled his pipe, and continued:
+
+“Say, Ros,” he asked, “what's your idea of what made her come here?”
+
+“To see Mother, of course,” I answered.
+
+“That's your notion, is it?”
+
+“Certainly. What else?”
+
+“Humph! There's other sick folks in town. Why don't she go to see them?”
+
+“Perhaps she does. I don't know.”
+
+“I bet you ten cents she don't. No, I've been reasonin' of it out,
+same as I gen'rally do, and I've got some notions of my own. You don't
+cal'late her pa sent her so's to sort of soft soap around toward his
+gettin' the Shore Lane? You don't cal'late 'twas part of that game, do
+you?”
+
+That supposition had crossed my mind more than once. I was ashamed of it
+and now I denied it, indignantly.
+
+“Of course not,” I answered.
+
+“Well, I don't think so, myself. But if 'tain't that it's another
+reason. She may be interested in Comfort; I don't say she ain't; but
+that ain't all she's interested in.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“Never mind. I ain't said nothin'. I'm just waitin' to see, that's all.
+I have had some experience in this world, I have. There's different
+times comin' for this family, you set that down in your log-book, Ros
+Paine.”
+
+“Look here, Lute; if you are hinting that Miss Colton or her people
+intend offering us charity--”
+
+“Who said anything about charity? No; if she had that idee in her head,
+her talk with your ma would drive it out. 'Tain't charity, I ain't
+sayin' what 'tis. . . . I wonder how 'twould seem to be rich.”
+
+“Lute, you're growing more foolish every day.”
+
+“So Dorindy says; but she nor you ain't offered no proof yet. All right,
+you wait and see. And say, Ros, don't mention our talk to Dorindy. She's
+more'n extry down on me just now, and if I breathe that Mabel Colton's
+name she hops right up in the air. How'd I know that askin' if a woman
+who's been sick in bed six year or more was 'in' meant could she have
+folks come to see her?”
+
+Mother would have discussed the Coltons with me frequently, but
+I avoided the subject as much as possible. The promised books
+arrived--brought over by Johnson, the butler, who viewed our humble
+quarters with lofty disdain--and I read one of them aloud to Mother, a
+chapter each evening. More flowers came also and the darkened bedroom
+became a bower of beauty and perfume. If I had yielded to my own wishes
+I should have returned both roses and books. It was better, as I saw
+it, that we and our wealthy neighbors had nothing to do with each other.
+Real friendship was out of the question; the memory of Mrs. Colton's
+frigid bow and her reference to me as a “person” proved that. Her
+daughter might think otherwise, or might think that she thought so,
+but I knew better. However, I did not like to pain Mother by refusing
+offerings which, to her, were expressions of sympathy and regard, so I
+had no protest and tried to enthuse over the gifts and loans. After
+all, what did they amount to? One tea-rose bred from Dorinda's carefully
+tended bush, or one gushful story book selected by Almena Doane from
+the new additions to the town library and sent because she thought “Mrs.
+Comfort might find it sort of soothin' and distractin',” meant more real
+unselfish thought and kindly feeling than all the conservatory exotics
+and new novels which the rich girl's whim supplied from her overflowing
+store. I was surprised only that the whim lasted so long.
+
+Behind all this, I think, and confirming my feeling, was the fact that
+Miss Colton did not repeat her call. A week or more passed and she did
+not come. I caught glimpses of her occasionally in the auto, or at the
+post-office, but I took care that she should not see me. I did not wish
+to be seen, though precisely why I could not have explained even to
+myself. The memory of that night in the rain, and of our meetings in the
+grove, troubled me because I could not keep them from my mind. They kept
+recurring, no matter what I did or where I went. No, I did not want
+to meet her again. Somehow, the sight and memory of her made me more
+dissatisfied and discontented than ever. I found myself moodily
+wishing for things beyond my reach, longing to be something more than I
+was--more than the nobody which I knew I must always be. I remembered my
+feelings on the morning of the day when I first saw her. Now they seemed
+almost like premonitions.
+
+I kept away; not only from her, but from George Taylor and Captain
+Dean and the townspeople. I went to the village scarcely at all. Sim
+Eldredge, who had evidently received orders from headquarters to drop
+the Lane “agency,” troubled me no more, merely glowering reproachfully
+when we met; and Alvin Baker, whose note had been renewed, although he
+hailed me with effusive cordiality, did not press his society upon
+me, having no axe to grind at present. Zeb Kendrick was using the
+Lane again, but he took care to bring no more “billiard roomers” as
+passengers. I had as yet heard nothing from my quarrel with Tim Hallet.
+
+I spent a good deal of my time in the Comfort, or wandering about the
+shore and in the woods. One warm, cloudy morning the notion seized me to
+go up to the ponds and try for black bass. There are bass in some of the
+larger ponds--lakes they would be called anywhere else except on Cape
+Cod--and, if one is lucky, and the weather is right, and the bait
+tempting, they may be caught. This particular morning promised to
+furnish the proper brand of weather, and a short excursion on the flats
+provided a supply of shrimps and minnows for bait. Dorinda, who happened
+to be in good humor, put up a lunch for me and, at seven o'clock, with
+my rod and landing net in their cases, strapped, with my fishing boots
+and coffee pot, to my back, and my bait pail in one hand and lunch
+basket in the other, I started on my tramp. It was a long four miles
+to Seabury's Pond, my destination, and Lute, to whom, like most
+country people, the idea of a four-mile walk was sheer lunacy, urged my
+harnessing the horse and driving there. But I knew the overgrown wood
+roads and the difficulty of piloting a vehicle through them, and,
+moreover, I really preferred to go afoot. So I marched off and left him
+protesting.
+
+Very few summer people--and only summer people or irresponsible persons
+like myself waste time in freshwater fishing on the Cape--knew where
+Seabury's Pond was. It lay far from macadam roads and automobile
+thoroughfares and its sandy shores were bordered with verdure-clad hills
+shutting it in like the sides of a bowl. To reach it from Denboro one
+left the Bayport road at “Beriah Holt's place,” followed Beriah's
+cow path to the pasture, plunged into the oak and birch grove at
+the southern edge of that pasture, emerged on a grass-grown and
+bush-encumbered track which had once been the way to some early
+settler's home, and had been forsaken for years, and followed that
+track, in all its windings, until he saw the gleam of water between the
+upper fringe of brush and the lower limbs of the trees. Then he left the
+track and clambered down the steep slope to the pond.
+
+I am a good walker, but I was tired long before I reached the slope.
+The bait pail, which I refilled with fresh water at Beriah's pump, grew
+heavier as I went on, and I began to think Lute knew what he was talking
+about when he declared me to be “plumb crazy, hoofin' it four mile
+loaded down with all that dunnage.” However, when the long “hoof” was
+over, and I sat down in a patch of “hog-cranberry” vines for a smoke,
+with the pond before me, I was measurably happy. This was the sort of
+thing I liked. Here there were no Shore Lane controversies, but real
+independence and peace.
+
+After my smoke was finished and I had rested, I carried my “dunnage”
+ around to the point where I intended to begin my fishing, put the lunch
+basket in a shady place beneath the bushes, and the bait pail in the
+water nearby, changed my shoes for the fishing boots, rigged my rod and
+was ready.
+
+At first the fishing was rather poor. The pond was full of perch
+and they were troublesome. By and by, however, I hooked a four-pound
+pickerel and he stirred my lagging ambition. I waded on, casting and
+playing beyond the lily pads and sedge. At last I got my first bass, a
+small one, and had scarcely landed him than a big fellow struck, fought,
+rose and broke away. That was spur sufficient. All the forenoon I waded
+about the shores of that pond. When at half-past eleven the sun came
+out and I knew my sport was over, for the time at least, I had four
+bass--two of them fine ones--and two, pickerel. Then I remembered my
+appetite and Dorinda's luncheon.
+
+I went back to the point and inspected the contents of the basket.
+Sandwiches, cold chicken, eggs, doughnuts and apple puffs. They looked
+good to me. Also there were pepper and salt in one paper, sugar in
+another, coffee in a third, and milk in a bottle. I collected some dry
+chips and branches and prepared to kindle a fire. As I bent over the
+heap of sticks and chips I heard the sound of horses' hoofs in the woods
+near by.
+
+I was surprised and annoyed. The principal charm of Seabury Pond was
+that so few people visited it. Also fewer still knew how good the
+fishing was there. I was not more than ordinarily selfish, but I did not
+care to have the place overrun with excursionists from the city, who
+had no scruples as to number and size of fish caught and would ruin
+the sport as they had ruined it at other and better known ponds. The
+passerby, whoever he was--a native probably--would, if he saw me, ask
+questions concerning my luck, and be almost sure to tell every one he
+met. I left my fire unkindled, stepped back to the shade of the bushes
+and waited in silence, hoping the driver would go on without stopping.
+There was no real road on this side of the pond, but there was an
+abandoned wood track, like that by which I had come. The horse was
+approaching along the track; the sounds of hoofs and crackling branches
+grew plainer.
+
+The odd part of it was that I heard no rattle of wheels. It was almost
+as if the person was on horseback. This seemed impossible, because no
+one in Denboro or Bayport--no one I could think of, at least--owned or
+rode a saddle horse. Yet the hoof beats grew louder and there was no
+squeak, or jolt, or rattle to bear them company. They came to a point in
+the woods directly opposite where I sat in the shade of the bushes and
+there they stopped. Then they recommenced and the crackle of branches
+was louder than ever. The rider, whoever he was, was coming down the
+bank to the pond.
+
+A moment more and the tall swamp-huckleberry bushes at the edge of
+the sandy beach parted and between them stepped gingerly a clean-cut,
+handsome brown horse, which threw up its head at the sight of the water
+and then trotted lightly toward it. The rider, who sat so easily in the
+saddle, was a girl. And the girl was Mabel Colton!
+
+She did not notice me at first, but gave her attention to the horse. The
+animal waded into the water to its knees and, in obedience to a pull on
+the reins, stopped, bent its head, and began to drink. Then the rider
+turned in her seat, looked about her, saw the heap of wood for the fire,
+the open lunch basket, the rods and landing-net, and--me.
+
+I had stepped from the bushes when she first appeared and was standing
+motionless, staring, I imagine, like what Dorinda sometimes called her
+husband--a “born gump.” There was Fate in this! no doubt about it. The
+further I went to avoid this girl, and the more outlandish and forsaken
+the spot to which I fled, the greater the certainty of our meeting.
+A feeling of helplessness came over me, as if I were in the clutch of
+destiny and no effort of mine could break that clutch.
+
+For a moment she looked as if she might be thinking the same thing. She
+started when she saw me and her lips parted.
+
+“Oh!” she exclaimed, softly. Then we gazed at each other without
+speaking.
+
+She was the first to recover from the surprise. Her expression changed.
+The look of alarm caused by my sudden appearance left her face, but the
+wonder remained.
+
+“Why! Why, Mr. Paine!” she cried. “Is it you?”
+
+I stepped forward.
+
+“Why, Miss Colton!” said I.
+
+She drew a breath of relief. “It IS you!” she declared. “I was beginning
+to believe in hallucinations. How you startled me! What are you doing
+here?”
+
+“That is exactly what I was going to ask you,” I replied. “I am here for
+a fishing excursion. But what brought you to this out-of-the-way place?”
+
+She smiled and patted the horse's shoulder. “Don here brought me,”
+ she answered. “He saw the water and I knew he was thirsty, so I came
+straight down the bank. But I didn't expect to find any one here. I
+haven't seen a horse or a human being for an hour. What a pretty little
+lake this is. What is its name?”
+
+“It is called Seabury's Pond. How did you find it?”
+
+“I didn't. Don found it. He and I came for a gallop in the woods and I
+let him choose his own paths. I have been in his charge all the morning.
+I haven't the least idea where we are. There, Don! you have had enough
+and you are splashing us dreadfully. Come back!”
+
+She backed the horse out of the water and turned his head toward the
+woods.
+
+“It is great fun to be lost,” she observed. “I didn't suppose any one
+could be lost in Denboro.”
+
+“But this isn't Denboro. Seabury's Pond is in Bayport township.”
+
+“Is it, really? In Bayport? Then I must be a long way from home.”
+
+“You are; four miles and a half, at least. More than that over the
+road.”
+
+She looked at her watch and frowned slightly.
+
+“Dear me!” she said. “And it is after twelve already. I am perfectly
+sure I can't find the way back in time for luncheon.”
+
+“I shall be glad to go with you and show you the way.”
+
+“No, indeed! Don and I will get home safely. This isn't the first
+time we have been lost together, though not on Cape Cod. Of course
+I shouldn't think of taking you from your fishing. Have you had good
+luck?”
+
+“Pretty fair. Some bass and two good-sized pickerel.”
+
+“Really! Bass? I didn't know there were any about here. May I see them?”
+
+“Certainly. They are over there in the bushes.”
+
+She swung lightly down from the saddle and, taking her horse by the
+bridle, led him toward the spot where my catch lay, covered with leaves
+and wet grass. I removed the covering and she bent over the fish.
+
+“Oh, splendid!” she exclaimed, with enthusiasm. “That big one must be
+a three-pounder. I envy you. Bass fishing is great sport. Did you get
+these on a fly--the bass, I mean?”
+
+“No. I use a fly in the spring and fall, but seldom in June or July,
+here. Those were taken with live bait-shrimp. The pickerel with minnows.
+Are you fond of fishing, Miss Colton?”
+
+“Yes, indeed. Whoa, Don! steady! Yes, I fish a good deal in September,
+when we are at our lodge in the Adirondacks. Trout there, principally.
+But I have caught bass in Maine. I thought I must give it up this year.
+I did not know there were fish, in fresh water, on the Cape.”
+
+“There are, a few. The people about here pay no attention to them. They
+scorn such small fry. Cod and pollock are more in their line.”
+
+“I suppose so. But that is all the better for you, isn't it? Were you
+fishing when I interrupted you?”
+
+“No, I was just getting ready for lunch. My fire was ready to kindle.”
+
+“Fire? Why did you need a fire?”
+
+“For my coffee.”
+
+“Coffee! You are a luxurious picnicer, Mr. Paine. Hot coffee on a
+fishing trip! and without a guide. And you are unfeeling, besides, for
+you remind me that I am very hungry. I must go at once. How far am I
+from home? Four miles, did you say?”
+
+“Four and a half, or more, by road. And the roads are like those you
+have been traveling this morning. I doubt if you could find the way,
+even with your horse's help. I must insist upon going with you as far as
+the main road between Denboro and Bayport.”
+
+“I shall not permit it.”
+
+“But I insist.”
+
+Her answer was a little laugh. She put her foot in the stirrup and
+vaulted to the saddle.
+
+“Your insisting is useless, you see,” she said. “You are on foot and I
+have the advantage. No, Don and I will go alone, thank you. Now, will
+you please tell me the way?”
+
+I shrugged my shoulders. “Go back along the road you came,” I said,
+“until you reach the second, no, the third, path to the right. Follow
+that to the second on the left. Then follow that for two hundred yards
+or so until--well, until you reach a clump of bushes, high bushes.
+Behind these is another path, a blind one, and you must take care to
+pick the right clump, because there is another one with a path behind it
+and that path joins the road to Harniss. If you should take the Harniss
+road you would go miles out of your way. Take the blind path I speak of
+and--”
+
+She interrupted me. “Stop! stop!” she exclaimed; “please don't. I am
+absolutely bewildered already. I had no idea I was in such a maze. Let
+me see! Second to the right; third to the left--”
+
+“No, third to the right and second to the left.”
+
+“And then the bushes and the choice of blind paths. Don, I see plainly
+that you and I must trust to Providence. Well, it is fortunate that the
+family are accustomed to my ways. They won't be alarmed, no matter how
+late I may be.”
+
+“Miss Colton, I am not going to allow you to go alone. Of course I am
+not. I can set you on the right road and get back here in plenty of time
+for fishing. The fish are not hungry in the middle of the day.”
+
+“No, but you are. I know you must be, because--no, good day, Mr. Paine.”
+
+She spoke to the horse and he began to move. I took my courage between
+my teeth, ran after the animal and seized the bridle.
+
+“You are not going alone,” I said, decidedly. I was smiling, but
+determined.
+
+She looked at me in surprised indignation.
+
+“What do you mean?” she said.
+
+I merely smiled. Her chin lifted and her brows drew together. I
+recognized that look; I had seen it before, on that afternoon when I
+announced my intention of carrying her from the dingy to the skiff.
+
+“Will you be good enough to let go of my rein?” she asked. Every word
+was a sort of verbal icicle. I felt the chill and my smile was rather
+forced; but I held the bridle.
+
+“No,” I said, serenely as I could. For a minute--I suppose it was not
+longer than that, it seemed an hour to me--we remained as we were. Then
+her lips began to curl upward at the corners, and, to my surprise, she
+burst out laughing.
+
+“Really, Mr. Paine,” she said, “you are the most impossible person I
+ever met. Do you always order people about this way? I feel as if I were
+about five years old and you were my nurse. Are we to stand here the
+rest of the afternoon?”
+
+“Yes; unless you permit me to go with you and show you the way.”
+
+“But I can't. I'm not going to spoil your picnic. I know you want your
+lunch. You must. Or, if you don't, I want mine.”
+
+“If you go alone, there are nine chances in ten that you will not get
+home in time for dinner, to say nothing of lunch.”
+
+She looked at me oddly, I thought, and started to speak. Whatever it
+was she was going to say she evidently thought better of it, for she
+remained silent.
+
+Then I had a new idea. Whether or not it was her look which inspired it
+I do not know. I think it must have been; I never would have dared such
+a thing without inspiration.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I said, hesitatingly, “if you really are not--if you are
+sure your people will not worry about you--I--I should be glad to share
+my lunch with you. Then we could go home together afterward.”
+
+She did not look at me now. Instead she turned her head.
+
+“Are--are you sure there is enough for two?” she asked, in a curiously
+choked tone.
+
+By way of answer I led the horse to the bushes, drew the lunch basket
+from the shade, and threw back the cover. Dorinda's picnic lunches were
+triumphs and she had never put up a more tempting one.
+
+Miss Colton looked down into the basket.
+
+“Oh!” she exclaimed.
+
+“There appears to be enough, doesn't there?” I observed, drily.
+
+“But--but I couldn't think of . . . Are you sure I won't be . . . Thank
+you. Yes, I'll stay.”
+
+Before I could offer my hand to help her from the saddle she sprang to
+the ground. Her eyes were sparkling.
+
+“Mr. Paine,” she said, in a burst of confidence, “it is shameless to
+tell you so, I know, but I was dreadfully afraid you weren't going to
+ask me. I am absolutely STARVED.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+“And now,” continued Miss Colton, after an interval during which, I
+presume, she had been waiting for some reply to her frank declaration
+concerning mind and appetite, “what must I do to help? Shall I unpack
+the basket?”
+
+I was struggling, as we say in Denboro, to get the ship under control. I
+had been taken aback so suddenly that I had lost steerage way. My slight
+experience with the vagaries of the feminine mind had not prepared me
+for the lightning changes of this kind. Not two minutes before she had,
+if one might judge by her look and tone, been deeply offended, almost
+insulted, because I refused to permit her wandering off alone into the
+woods. My invitation to lunch had been given on the spur of the moment
+and with no idea that it would be accepted. And she not only accepted,
+but had expected me to invite her, had been fearful that I might not do
+so. She told me so, herself.
+
+“Shall I unpack the basket?” she repeated. She was looking at me
+intently and the toe of her riding boot was patting the leaves. “What is
+the matter? Are you sorry I am going to stay?”
+
+It was high time for me to get under way. There were squalls on the
+horizon.
+
+“Oh, no, no!” I exclaimed, hastily. “Of course not. I am delighted. But
+you need not trouble to help. Just let me attend to your horse and I
+will have lunch ready in a jiffy.”
+
+I led Don over to the little green belt of meadow between the trees and
+the sand of the beach, unbuckled the reins and made him fast to a stout
+birch. He bent his head and began to pull big mouthfuls of the rich
+grass. He, too, was evidently glad to accept my invitation.
+
+When I returned to my camping ground I found the basket unpacked and the
+young lady arranging the eatables.
+
+“You shouldn't have done that,” I said. “I am the host here.”
+
+She did not look up. “Don't bother the table maid,” she observed,
+briskly. “That fire is not kindled yet.”
+
+I lit the fire and, going over to the bushes, selected two of the fish,
+a bass and a pickerel. I carried them down to the shore of the pond and
+began cleaning them, using my jacknife and a flat stone. I was nearing
+the end of the operation when she came over to watch.
+
+“Why are you doing that?” she asked. “You are not going to cook
+them--now--are you?”
+
+“I am going to try,” I replied.
+
+“But how? You haven't anything to cook them in.”
+
+“I don't need it. You don't appreciate the conveniences of this hotel,
+Miss Colton. There! now we're ready.”
+
+I rose, washed my hands in the pond, and picked up two other flat
+stones, large ones, which I had previously put aside. These I carried
+to the fire and, raking aside the burning logs with a stick, laid the
+stones in a bed of hot coals.
+
+“Those are our frying pans,” I informed her. “When they are hot enough
+they will cook the fish. At least, I hope they will. Now for the
+coffee.”
+
+But she waved me aside. “The coffee is my affair,” she said. “I insist
+upon making the coffee. Oh, you need not look at me like that. I am not
+altogether useless. I studied Domestic Science--a little--in my prep
+school course. As much as I studied anything else,” laughingly.
+
+“But--”
+
+“Mr. Paine, I am not on horseback now and you can't hold my bridle as
+you did Don's. If you will fill the coffee pot and put it on to boil.
+Thank you. I am glad to see that even you obey orders, sometimes.”
+
+I had cooked fish in out-of-door fashion often before, but I am quite
+sure I never took such pains as I did with these. They were not culinary
+triumphs, even at that, but my guest was kind enough to pronounce them
+delicious. The lunch basket contained two plates, but only one knife
+and fork. These I insisted upon her using and I got on very well
+with sharpened sticks and a spoon. The coffee was--well, it had one
+qualification, strength.
+
+We conversed but little during the meal. The young lady said she was too
+hungry to talk and I was so confounded with the strangeness of the
+whole affair that I was glad to be silent. Sitting opposite me, eating
+Dorinda's doughnuts and apple puffs and the fish that I--_I_ had cooked,
+was “Big Jim” Colton's daughter, the automobile girl, the heiress, the
+“incarnation of snobbery,” the young lady whose father I had bidden go
+to the devil and to whom, in company with the rest of the family, I
+had many times mentally extended the same invitation. And now we were
+picnicing together as if we were friends of long standing. Why, Nellie
+Dean could not appear more unpretentious and unconscious of social
+differences than this girl to-day! What would her parents say if they
+saw us like this? What would Captain Jed, and the rest of those in
+rebellion against the Emperor of New York, say? That I was a traitor,
+hand and glove with the enemy. Well, I was not; and I did not intend to
+be. But for her to--
+
+She interrupted my meditations.
+
+“Mr. Paine,” she observed, suddenly, “you will excuse my mentioning it,
+but you are distinctly not entertaining. You have not spoken a word for
+five minutes. And you are not attending to my needs. The apple puffs are
+on your side of the--table.”
+
+I hastened to pass the paper containing the puffs.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” I said, hurriedly. “I--I was daydreaming, I guess.”
+
+“So I imagined. I forgive you; this lunch would tempt me to forgive
+greater sins than yours. Did that delightful old housekeeper of yours
+cook all these nice things?”
+
+“She did. So you think Dorinda delightful, do you?”
+
+“Yes. She is so sincere and good-hearted. And so odd and bright and
+funny. I could listen to her for hours.”
+
+“Humph! Well, if you were a member of her household you would have that
+privilege often. I doubt if her husband considers it such a privilege.”
+
+“Her husband? Oh, yes! I met him. He is a character, too, isn't he?”
+
+“Yes; a weak one.”
+
+She put down her coffee cup and sighed, contentedly.
+
+“I think I never tasted anything so good as this lunch,” she observed.
+“And I'm quite sure I never ate so much at one sitting. I am going to
+help you clear away, but please don't ask me to do it just now. Have you
+finished? You may smoke, if you like.”
+
+I had been longing for a smoke and now I filled my pipe and lighted it.
+
+“Now we can talk, can't we?” she said. “I want you to tell me about your
+mother. How is she?”
+
+“Just as she was when you saw her,” I answered. “Mother is always the
+same.”
+
+“She is a dear. I had heard so many nice things about her and I was
+not disappointed. I intended to make only a short call and I stayed and
+stayed. I hope I did not tire her.”
+
+“Not at all. Mother enjoyed your call exceedingly.”
+
+“Did she? I am so glad. I really am. I went to your house with a
+good deal of misgiving, Mr. Paine. I feared that my coming might be
+considered an intrusion.”
+
+“I told you that it would not.”
+
+“I know. But, under the circumstances--Father's disagreement
+with--considering all the--the--Oh, what shall I call it?”
+
+“The late unpleasantness,” I suggested.
+
+Again came the twinkle in her eye. She nodded.
+
+“Thank you,” she said. “That is a quotation, but it was clever of you to
+think of it. Yes, considering the late unpleasantness, I was afraid
+my visit might be misunderstood. I was fearful that your mother
+or--someone--might think I came there with an ulterior motive, something
+connected with that troublesome Lane dispute. Of course no one did think
+such a thing?”
+
+She asked the question quickly and with intense seriousness. I
+remembered Lute's hint and my own secret suspicions, but I answered
+promptly.
+
+“Of course not,” I said.
+
+“You did not think that, did you?”
+
+“No,” unblushingly.
+
+“I came because from what I had heard of your mother I was sure she must
+be a wonderful woman. I wanted to meet her. And she IS wonderful; and so
+patient and sweet and good. I fell in love with her. Everyone must love
+her. You should be proud of your mother, Mr. Paine.”
+
+“I am,” I answered, simply.
+
+“You have reason. And she is very proud of you.”
+
+“Without the reason, I'm afraid.”
+
+She did not speak. Her silence hurt. I felt that I knew what she was
+thinking and I determined to make her say it.
+
+“Without the reason,” I repeated.
+
+“I did not say that.”
+
+“But you thought it.”
+
+My stubborn persistence was a mistake. Again, as at our meeting in the
+grove, I had gone too far. Her answer was as completely indifferent as
+speech and tone could be.
+
+“Indeed?” she said, coldly. “It is barely possible that I did not think
+about it at all. . . . Now, Mr. Paine, if you are ready shall we clear
+away?”
+
+The clearing, most of it, was done silently. I washed the plates, the
+coffee pot and other things, in the pond and she packed them in the
+basket. As I returned with the knife and forks I found her looking at
+the coffee pot and smiling.
+
+“What is the matter?” I asked, sulkily. I was provoked with myself for
+forgetting who and what I was, and with her for making me forget. “Isn't
+it clean?”
+
+“Why, yes,” she answered, “surprisingly so. Did they teach Domestic
+Science at your college, too?”
+
+I started. “MY college!” I repeated. “How did you know I had been at
+college? Did Mother tell you?”
+
+She laughed gleefully.
+
+“Did Mother tell you?” I demanded. “If she did--”
+
+“Well, what if she did? However, she did not. But you have told me now.
+Harvard, was it? or Yale?”
+
+I tossed the knife and fork into the basket and turned away.
+
+“Princeton, perhaps,” suggested Miss Colton.
+
+I walked over and began to unjoint my rod. I was a fool to be trapped
+like this. No one in Denboro except Mother and George Taylor knew of my
+brief college career, and now I had, practically, told this girl of it.
+She might--if she were sufficiently interested to remember, which
+was fortunately not probable--tell her father and he might ask other
+questions concerning my history. Where would those questions lead?
+
+I was angrily tugging at the rod when I heard her step behind me. I did
+not turn.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” she said.
+
+I pretended not to hear.
+
+“I beg your pardon, Mr. Paine,” she said again.
+
+“It's all right,” I muttered. “No apologies are necessary.”
+
+I said it like a sullen schoolboy. There was another moment of silence.
+Then I heard her move away. I looked over my shoulder. She was walking
+toward the meadow where Don, the horse, was picketed. There was offended
+dignity in every line of her figure.
+
+For a moment I fought with my pride and injured self-respect. Then I
+hurried after her.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I said.
+
+“Well?” she neither turned nor stopped.
+
+“Miss Colton, I should not have answered like that. I was rude.”
+
+She stopped. “You were,” she said.
+
+“I know it. I am sorry. I apologize.”
+
+“No apologies are necessary.”
+
+Here was tit for tat. I did not know what more to say, so I said
+nothing.
+
+“Do I understand that you ask my pardon?” she inquired, still without
+turning.
+
+“I do. If you will permit me, I will explain. I--”
+
+She whirled about and faced me. To my astonishment she was smiling once
+more.
+
+“Of course you won't explain,” she declared. “I had no right to ask
+you about your college. But I couldn't help guessing. I told you that
+I liked puzzles. We'll say no more about it. I have enjoyed this picnic
+and I won't have it spoiled. Now why are you taking your rod apart?”
+
+“Because I know you want to go home and I am going with you to show you
+the way.”
+
+“But I don't have to go yet, do I? It is not late. And I thought perhaps
+you would let me see you catch another bass. Won't you? Please.”
+
+Once more she had me at a disadvantage. I had no desire for more
+fishing, and I was fearful of further questions, but what could I do?
+And it was not late--but a little past two o'clock.
+
+So I rigged the rod again and led the way down the shore to the spot
+where the sedge extended out into the pond, with the lily pads beyond
+it. She walked beside me. Then she seated herself on a fallen tree and
+I baited the hook with a lively minnow and cast. For some time I got
+not even a nibble. As I waited she and I talked. But now it was I who
+questioned.
+
+“Do you like Denboro?” I asked.
+
+“I am beginning to like it very much. At first I thought it very dull,
+but now I am getting acquainted.”
+
+“There are few cottagers and summer people here. But in Harniss there is
+a large colony. Very nice people, I believe.”
+
+“Yes, I have met some of them. But it was not the summer people I meant.
+I am beginning to know the townspeople and to like some of them. I met
+that delightful old Captain Warren the other day.”
+
+“He is as good as they make.”
+
+“Indeed he is. And I had an interview with another captain, Miss Dean's
+father, yesterday. We had an interesting encounter.”
+
+“So I should imagine. Captain Jed! Whew! It MUST have been interesting.”
+
+“It was. Oh, we were very fierce at first--at least he was, and I fought
+for my side as hard as I could. He said Father was a selfish pig for
+wanting to close the Lane, and I said it was because of its use by the
+pigs that he wished to close it.”
+
+“Ha! ha! How did it end?”
+
+“Oh, we agreed to disagree. I respect Captain Dean for his fight; but
+Father will win, of course. He always does.”
+
+“He won't win this time, Miss Colton.”
+
+“Why not? Oh, I actually forgot I was talking to the head and front of
+the opposition. So you think he will not win, Mr. Paine?”
+
+“I am sure of it. He cannot close that Lane until I sell it, and I shall
+not sell.”
+
+She regarded me thoughtfully, her chin upon her hand.
+
+“It would be odd if he should not, after all,” she said. “He prides
+himself on having his own way. It would be strange if he should be
+beaten down here, after winning so often in New York. Your mother
+told me something of your feeling in the matter, Mr. Paine. Father has
+offered you a good price for the land, hasn't he?”
+
+“He has offered me a dozen times what it is worth.”
+
+“Yes. He does not count money when he has set his heart upon anything.
+And you refused?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“But Nellie Dean says the town also wished to buy and you refused its
+offer, too.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You don't seem to care for money, either, Mr. Paine. Are all Cape Cod
+people so unmercenary? Or is it that you all have money enough--. . .
+Pardon me. That was impolite. I spoke without thinking.”
+
+“Oh, never mind. I am not sensitive--on that point, at least.”
+
+“But I do mind. And I am sorry I said it. And I should like to
+understand. I see why the townspeople do not want the Lane closed. But
+you have not lived here always. Only a few years, so Miss Dean says.
+She said, too, that that Mr. Taylor, the cashier, was almost the only
+intimate friend you have made since you came. Others would like to be
+friendly, but you will not permit them to be. And, yet for these
+people, mere acquaintances, you are sacrificing what Father would call a
+profitable deal.”
+
+“Not altogether for them. I can't explain my feeling exactly. I know
+only that to sell them out and make money--and heaven knows I need
+money--at their expense seems to me dead wrong.”
+
+“Then why don't you sell to THEM?”
+
+“I don't know. Unless it was because to refuse your father's offer and
+accept a lower one seemed a mean trick, too. And I won't be bullied into
+selling to anyone. I guess that is it, as much as anything.”
+
+“My! how stubborn you must be.”
+
+“I don't know why I have preached this sermon to you, Miss Colton, your
+sympathies in the fight are with your father, naturally.”
+
+“Oh, no, they are not.”
+
+I almost dropped the rod.
+
+“Not--with--” I repeated.
+
+“Not altogether. They are with you, just at present. If you had sold--if
+you had given in to Father, feeling as you do, I should not have any
+sympathy with you at all. As it is--”
+
+“As it is?” I asked eagerly--too eagerly. I should have done better to
+pretend indifference.
+
+“As it is,” she answered, lightly, “I respect you as I would any sincere
+fighter for a losing cause. And I shall probably feel some sympathy
+for you after the cause is lost. Excuse my breaking in on your sermon,
+provided it is not finished, but--I think you have a bite, Mr. Paine.”
+
+I had, very much of a bite. The minnow on my hook had been forgotten and
+allowed to sink to the bottom, and a big pout had swallowed it, along
+with the hook and a section of line. I dragged the creature out of the
+water and performed a surgical operation, resulting in the recovery of
+my tackle.
+
+“There!” I exclaimed, in disgust. “I think I have had enough fishing
+for one day. Suppose we call it off. Unless you would like to try, Miss
+Colton.”
+
+I made the offer by way of a joke. She accepted it instantly.
+
+“May I?” she cried, eagerly. “I have been dying to ever since I came.
+
+“But--but you will get wet.”
+
+“No matter. This is an old suit.”
+
+It did not look old to my countrified eyes, but I protested no more.
+There was a rock a little below where we then were, one of the typical
+glacial boulders of the Cape--lying just at the edge of the water and
+projecting out into it. I helped her up on to this rock and baited her
+hook with shrimp.
+
+“Shall I cast for you?” I asked.
+
+“No indeed. I can do it, thank you.”
+
+She did, and did it well. Moreover, the line had scarcely straightened
+out in the water when it was savagely jerked, the pole bent into a
+half-circle, and out of the foaming eddy beneath its tip leaped the
+biggest bass I had seen that day, or in that pond on any day.
+
+“By George!” I exclaimed. “Can you handle him? Shall I--”
+
+She did not look at me, but I received my orders, nevertheless.
+
+“Please don't! Keep away!” she said sharply.
+
+For nearly fifteen minutes she fought that fish, in and out among the
+pads, keeping the line tight, handling him at least as well as I could
+have done. I ran for the landing net and, as she brought her captive up
+beside the rock, reached forward to use it. But she stopped me.
+
+“No,” she said, breathlessly, “I want to do this all myself.”
+
+It took her several more minutes to do it, and she was pretty well
+splashed, when at last, with the heavy net dragging from one hand and
+the rod in the other, she sprang down from the rock. Together we bent
+over the fish.
+
+“A four-pounder, if he is an ounce,” said I. “I congratulate you, Miss
+Colton.”
+
+“Poor thing,” she mused. “I am almost sorry he did not get away. He IS a
+beauty, isn't he! Now I am ready to go home.”
+
+That journey home was a strange experience to me. She rode Don and
+bore the lunch basket and the net before her on the saddle. I walked
+alongside, carrying the rod, boots, and the fish in the otherwise empty
+bait pail. The sunshine, streaming through the leaves of the arching
+boughs overhead, dappled the narrow, overgrown paths with shifting
+blotches of light and shadow. Around us was the deep, living green of
+the woods, the songs of birds, the chatter of red squirrels, and the
+scent of wild honeysuckle. And as we moved onward we talked--that is,
+she did most of the talking and I listened. Yet I must have talked more
+than I knew, because I remember expressing opinions concerning books
+and operas and pictures, subjects I had not discussed for years except
+occasionally with Mother, and then only because she was still interested
+in them. I seemed, somehow, to have become a different, a younger man,
+under the influence of these few hours with the girl I had professed to
+hate so cordially. Our companionship--perfectly meaningless as it was,
+the mere caprice of an idle day on her part--had rejuvenated me. During
+that homeward walk I forgot myself entirely, forgot that I was Ros
+Paine, the country loafer; forgot, too, that she was the only child of
+the city millionaire, that we had, or could have, nothing in common.
+She, also, seemed to forget, and we chatted together as unconsciously
+and easily as if we had known each other all our lives.
+
+Yet it may be that her part in the conversation was not altogether
+without a purpose. She led me to speak of Denboro and its people, of how
+they lived, and of the old days of sailing ships and deep sea skippers.
+George Taylor's name was mentioned and I praised him highly, telling of
+his rise from poor boy to successful man, as we rated success locally.
+
+“He manages that bank well,” I declared. “Everyone says so. And, from
+what I have seen of his management, I know it to be true.”
+
+“How do you know?” she asked.
+
+“Because I have had some experience in banking myself. I--”
+
+I stopped short. My tongue was running away with me. She did not ask the
+question which I dreaded and expected. Instead she said, looking down at
+me:
+
+“You are a loyal friend, aren't you, Mr. Paine.”
+
+“I have reason to be loyal to George,” I answered, with feeling.
+
+“Are you as loyal to yourself?”
+
+I looked up at her in surprise.
+
+“What do you mean?” I asked.
+
+“I have been trying to understand you, Mr. Paine. Trying to get the
+answer to the puzzle. In one way I think I have it. I understand your
+attitude in the Lane affair and I think I know why you came to Denboro
+and are staying here.”
+
+I stopped short. “You--you know THAT?” I cried.
+
+“I think I do. You believe that your mother needs you and you will not
+leave her. That is your reason for living here, I think. But, in another
+way, I cannot understand you at all.”
+
+She spoke to the horse and we moved on again. I waited for her to
+continue, but she was silent.
+
+“How? What is the other way! The way in which you cannot understand me?”
+ I asked.
+
+“Shall I tell you? Do you wish me to be perfectly frank?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I cannot understand how a man such as you seem to be, young, educated,
+and with life before him, can be content to do as you do, spend your
+time in fishing, or sailing, or shooting. To have no ambition at all.
+My father was a poor country boy, like your friend, Mr. Taylor, but he
+worked night and day until he became what he is now. And even now he
+works, and works hard. Oh, I am proud of him! Not because he is what he
+is, but because he has done it all himself. If I were a man I would have
+some purpose in life; I would do SOMETHING worth while if it were only
+to sell fish from a cart, like that old fellow with the queer name--what
+is it?--Oh, yes! Theophilus Newcomb.”
+
+I did not answer. She had said all that was necessary, and more. It was
+quite enough for me.
+
+“There!” she observed, after a moment. “You asked me to tell you and I
+did. If you never speak to me again it will be exactly what I deserve.
+But I thought it and so I said it. Expressing my thoughts is one of my
+bad habits. . . . Oh, why, we are almost home, aren't we!”
+
+We had come to the edge of the grove bordering Beriah Holt's pasture.
+The grove was on the west side of a little hill. Before us the pasture
+sloped away to Beriah's house and barn, with the road beyond it. And
+beyond that, in the distance, were the steeples and roofs of Denboro.
+Among them the gables and tower of the Colton mansion rose, conspicuous
+and costly.
+
+She turned in the saddle. “I presume I may leave you now, Mr. Paine,”
+ she said. “Even you must admit that the rest of the way is plain
+sailing. Thank you for your hospitality and for your services as guide.
+I will send the basket and net over by one of the servants.”
+
+“I will take them now,” I said, shortly.
+
+“Very well, if you prefer. Here they are.”
+
+I took them from her.
+
+“Good afternoon,” she said. “And thanks once more for a very pleasant
+picnic.”
+
+“You are quite welcome, I'm sure. Thank you for your frank opinion of
+my--worthlessness. It was kind of you to express it.”
+
+The sarcasm was not lost upon her.
+
+“I meant it as a kindness,” she replied.
+
+“Yes. And it was true enough, probably. Doubtless I shall derive great
+benefit from your--words of wisdom.”
+
+Her patience, evidently, was exhausted. She turned away. “Oh, that,” she
+said, indifferently, “is your affair. I told you what I believed to
+be the truth, that was all. What you do is not likely to be of vast
+importance to me, one way or the other. Come, Don!”
+
+Don cantered down the slope. I watched him and his rider disappear
+beyond the trees in the distance. Then I picked up my pail and other
+burdens and followed in their wake. The sun was behind a cloud. It had
+been a strange day with a miserable ending. I was furiously angry with
+her, but I was more angry with myself. For what she had told me WAS the
+truth, and I knew it.
+
+I strode on, head down, through the village. People spoke to me, asking
+what luck I had had and where I had been, but I scarcely noticed them.
+As I reached the Corners and was passing the bank someone called my
+name. I glanced up and saw George Taylor descending the steps.
+
+“Hold on, Ros,” he hailed. “Wait a minute. What's your rush? Hold on!”
+
+I halted reluctantly.
+
+“Fishing again, I see,” he observed, as he reached my side. “Any luck?”
+
+“Fair,” I told him.
+
+“What pond?”
+
+“Seabury's.”
+
+“Go alone?”
+
+“Yes.” That I had not been alone since was no business of his.
+
+“Humph! You ain't exactly what a fellow'd call talkative this afternoon,
+seems to me. Anything wrong?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Tuckered out?”
+
+“I guess so.”
+
+“Well, so am I, but I ain't had your fun getting that way. Small and I
+have been at it night and day getting things in shape so he could leave.
+He's gone. Went this noon. And that ain't the worst of it; I haven't got
+anybody yet to take his place. I'll have to be cashier and bookkeeper
+too for a spell. There's applicants enough; but they don't suit. Guess
+likely you'll have to help me out, after all, Ros. The job is yours if
+you say the word.”
+
+He laughed as he said it. Even to him the idea of my working was a joke.
+
+But the joke did not seem funny to me, just then. I walked on for some
+distance without a word. Then I asked a question.
+
+“What is expected of a man in that position?” I asked.
+
+“Expected? Why, plain bank bookkeeping--not much else at first. Yet
+there's a good chance for a likely fellow to be considerable more, in
+time. I need help in my part of the work. That's why I haven't hired
+any of the dozen or so who are after the place. What makes you ask? You
+don't know of a good man for me, do you, Ros?”
+
+“When do you want him to begin?”
+
+“To-morrow morning, if he satisfies me.”
+
+“Would I satisfy you?”
+
+“You! Humph! Try me and see, that's all I'd ask.”
+
+“All right. I'll be on hand in the morning.”
+
+He stopped, looked at me, and then seized me by the arm.
+
+“See here!” he cried, “I'm lost in the fog, I guess likely. What do you
+mean by that? Is it time to laugh--or what?”
+
+“It may be; I don't know. But I take the bookkeeper's position in your
+bank. Now, good-by. Don't talk to me. I don't feel like talking.”
+
+“But--but, Ros.”
+
+“Good-by.”
+
+I walked on. I had taken but a few steps when he overtook me.
+
+“Ros,” he said, “I ain't going to say but just one thing. If you meant
+what you said I'm the most tickled man on the Cape. But you ain't asked
+a word about the salary.”
+
+“I know it. I haven't asked because I don't care. I'll be on hand in the
+morning.”
+
+I left him standing there, and hurried down the Lower Road. As I had
+said to him, I did not feel like talking. I did not want even to see any
+one. I wanted to be let alone. But it was fated that I should not be,
+not yet. Sim Eldredge was waiting for me around the corner. He stepped
+out from behind the fence where he had been hidden.
+
+“Ros!” he whispered. “Ros Paine! Wait. It's me, Sim. I want to ask you
+somethin'. Wan't that George Taylor you was speakin' to just now?”
+
+“Yes,” I answered, impatiently. “What of it?”
+
+“Say, Ros, you and me ain't pulled that Colton trade off, but it ain't
+my fault. You ain't got no hard feelin's against me, I know. And I want
+you to do a little mite of favor for me. Will you?”
+
+“What is it? If it has anything to do with the Lane, I tell you now
+that--”
+
+“It ain't--it ain't. It's about that bookkeepin' job in the bank, Henry
+Small's place, the one he's just quit. I've got a third cousin, name of
+Josiah Badger, over to South Harniss. He's a smart young chap, and an
+A-1 accountant at figgers. He's been keepin' books down at the fish
+wharf--see? Now, he'd like that job and, bein' as you and George are
+so thick, I cal'lated maybe you'd sort of use your influence along of
+George, and--and get it for him. There ain't nothin' in it for me--that
+is, nothin' much. But I feel friendly toward Josiah and you know I like
+to do little kindnesses for folks. So--”
+
+“There! there!” I interrupted. “It's no use, Sim. I can't help you.”
+
+“Why! yes you can.”
+
+“No, I can't. I don't know your cousin, and besides--well, you are too
+late. The place is filled.”
+
+Sim's expression changed. He looked surprised and crestfallen.
+
+“Filled?” he exclaimed. “Why, no, 'tain't! If 'twas I'd have known it,
+wouldn't I? Who'd you hear had got it? Whoever you heard, 'tain't so.”
+
+“Yes, it is.”
+
+“How do you know? Who is it, then?”
+
+I hesitated. Before noon of the next day every soul in Denboro would
+have heard the news. Eldredge might as well hear it now.
+
+“I've taken the place myself,” I said.
+
+“You?” Sim actually forgot to whisper; he shouted the word. “YOU! Ha!
+ha! ha! Ros, quit your foolin'.”
+
+“I'm not fooling. I go to work in the bank to-morrow morning.”
+
+“But--Oh, my soul! You! Aw, I know better! Say, Ros, don't let's waste
+time like this. Fun's all right, but . . . My heavens to Betsy! YOU work
+for a livin'! If I believed that I'd believe anything. Tell me, now. Who
+has got that job? . . . Why don't you answer me?”
+
+I answered him. “Shut up!” I said, fiercely. Then I vaulted the fence
+and set out for home across lots.
+
+I heard the next day that Sim went back to the post-office and informed
+the gathering there that Ros Paine had taken to drinking.
+
+“He was tight as a biled owl,” declared Sim; “and ugly--don't talk!
+Wanted to fight me because I wouldn't believe he was goin' to work. Him!
+What in the everlastin' would HE want to work for? My heavens to Betsy!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+I think Taylor was almost as surprised as Eldredge had been, when, at
+half-past eight the following morning, I appeared at the bank. He was
+already at his desk and, when he looked up and saw me, he whistled.
+
+“Whew!” he exclaimed. “So. I didn't dream it, after all. You're here,
+ain't you.”
+
+“I am here,” I answered, opening the gate and stepping in behind the
+rail.
+
+“Going to take it back and say you never said it?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Come to go to work? Really?”
+
+“That is my intention, unless you have changed your mind.”
+
+“Not me. It ain't likely. But, Ros, I--sit down a minute and let's talk.
+What are you doing this for?”
+
+It was a question I had been asking myself at intervals during a
+restless night. Now I gave the only truthful answer.
+
+“I don't know,” I said.
+
+“You don't know!”
+
+“No. And I don't seem to care. Suppose we don't talk about it. I am
+here, and I am ready to begin work. That's enough, isn't it?”
+
+“Why, no; not quite. You're not doing it just to help me out?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You don't need to work. You've got money enough.”
+
+“No, I haven't. But money isn't my reason. I haven't any reason. Now
+show me the books, will you?”
+
+“Don't be in a hurry. What does your mother think about it?”
+
+“I haven't told her yet. Time enough for that when I know that I really
+mean it and you know that I am competent to fill the position. George,
+if you keep on cross-examining me I am likely to quit before I begin. I
+don't know why I am doing this, but just now I think I am going to do it
+if I can. However, I am not sure. So you had better be careful.”
+
+“Humph! What did you catch up at that pond yesterday? I never saw a
+day's fishing make such a difference in a man in my life. . . . All
+right, Ros. All right. I won't pester you. Too glad to have you here for
+that. Now about the salary.”
+
+“Before we speak of that there is one more point. How about your
+directors? Dean and the rest? Do they know you offered me the position?”
+
+“Sure thing! They put the whole affair in my hands. They'll be
+satisfied. And as for Cap'n Jed--why, he was the one that suggested
+hiring you in the first place.”
+
+“Captain Jed! Captain Jed Dean! HE suggested it?”
+
+“Yup. In a way, he did. You may not know it, Ros, but you've made a good
+deal of a hit with the old man. He ain't been used to having anybody
+stand up to him as you have. As a general thing Denboro jumps when he
+snaps the whip. You didn't, and he couldn't understand why. He is the
+kind that respects anything they can't understand. Then, too, Nellie
+likes you, and she's his idol, you know. Ah hum!”
+
+He sighed and, for a moment, seemed to forget me altogether. I reminded
+him by another question.
+
+“But why should the captain think of me for this place?” I asked. “Why
+should he dream that I would take it? I gave you no encouragement.”
+
+“I don't know as he did dream it. But he and I were speaking of you and
+he said he'd like to do something to show you what the town thought of
+your holding out against Colton. That tickled him down to the keel. I
+said you'd be a first-class helper to me in this bank, that I heard you
+knew something about banking--”
+
+“George!”
+
+“It's all right. I only mentioned that I heard rumors that you were in a
+city bank somewhere at one time. He didn't ask any more and I shouldn't
+have told him if he had. But the idea pleased him, I could see that.
+'Why don't you try to get him?' says he. 'Maybe the days of miracles
+ain't past. Perhaps even he'd condescend to work, if the right job came
+his way.'”
+
+“So that's what you call his suggesting me, do you? Humph!”
+
+“Well, I told him about it last night, when I was up to see Nellie,
+and he was pleased as Punch. Surprised, of course, but pleased. He's
+practically the whole board, as far as settling things is concerned, so
+it is all right. He ain't the worst friend you've got, by a long shot.”
+
+I imagined that I understood what Captain Jed's “friendship” meant. My
+accepting the bank position was one more bond binding me to his side in
+the Shore Lane battle. And, so long as I was under Taylor's eye and his
+own, I could not be subject to the Colton influence.
+
+George and I discussed the question of salary, if his offer and my
+prompt acceptance might be called a discussion. The pay was not large
+to begin with, but it was more than I had a right to expect. And I was
+perfectly honest when I said that money was not the consideration which
+led me to make the sudden change in my habit of life. I was sick of
+idleness; I had longed for something to occupy my life and time; I might
+as well be doing this as anything; Taylor's offer had appealed to me
+when he first made it; these were the excuses I evolved for my own
+satisfaction and I tried to believe them real. But one reason I would
+not admit, even in my thoughts, as a possibility. It was not that
+girl, or anything she had said, which influenced me. No! over and over
+again--no.
+
+Sam Wheeler, the young fellow who acted as assistant bookkeeper and
+messenger, came in, and Taylor, after showing me the books and giving
+me a few hints as to what my duties would be, turned me over to him for
+further instruction. I found I needed but little. The pages, with their
+rows of figures, seemed like old friends. I almost enjoyed poring over
+them. Was it possible that I was going to like this new venture of mine?
+
+Before noon I was fairly certain of it. The work in a country bank is
+different from that in the large city institutions, in that it is by no
+means as specialized. I found that, later on, I should be expected
+to combine the work of teller with that of bookkeeper. And this,
+too, seemed natural. I worked as steadily as I could, considering
+interruptions, and the forenoon was over almost before I knew it.
+
+The interruptions, however, were numerous and annoying; some of them,
+too, were amusing. Depositors came, saw me behind the bars of the
+window, and, after expressing their astonishment, demanded to know what
+I was doing there. If I had answered all the questions put to me by the
+curious Denboroites I should have found time for little else. But Taylor
+helped me by shooing the curious ones away. “Don't bother the new hand,”
+ he said. “If you want to know particulars ask me. Anything I don't tell
+you you can read in next week's Item. This is a bank, not a question
+box.”
+
+Captain Elisha Warren came in and was as surprised as the rest. After an
+interview with the cashier he returned to my window and requested me to
+open up. When I did so he reached in a big hand and seized mine.
+
+“Shake, Ros,” he said, heartily. “I'm glad for the bank and I'm gladder
+still for you. Come hard at fust, does it?”
+
+“A little,” I confessed. “Not as hard as I expected, though.”
+
+“Fust day or two out of port is always the toughest. You'll get your sea
+legs on pretty soon. Then you'll be glad you shipped, I cal'late.”
+
+“I hope so,” I answered, rather dubiously.
+
+“I know you will. There's nothin' so tiresome as doin' nothin'. I know,
+because that's been my job for quite a spell. Seems sometimes as if I'd
+have a fit, I get so sick of loafin'.”
+
+His idea of a “loaf” was rising at six and weeding his garden,
+superintending the labor on his cranberry swamps or about his barns and
+grounds, attending bank and Selectmen's meetings, and generally keeping
+busy until sunset.
+
+“I tell Abbie, my housekeeper,” he continued, “that if 'twan't for my
+age I believe I'd go to sea again just to keep from fallin' apart with
+dry rot. I asked her if she'd noticed how my timbers creaked, and she
+said I didn't keep still long enough for her to notice anything. Ho! ho!
+Nothin' makes her more provoked than for me to mention gettin' old or
+goin' to sea. All the same, I envy you your youth, Ros. You've got your
+life afore you, and I'm glad to see that you're goin' to make somethin'
+of it. I always said you'd wake up if somebody give you a punch. Who
+punched you, Ros?”
+
+My reply was non-committal.
+
+“Better mind my own business, hadn't I,” he observed. “All right,
+I will. No offense meant, you understand. But, you see, I've never
+believed that work was the cuss of mankind, like some folks, and no
+matter how much money a young feller's got I think he's better off doin'
+somethin'. That's the gospel accordin' to Elisha. Well, good luck and a
+pleasant v'yage. See you again soon. Say,” turning back, “keep an eye on
+George, will you? Folks in love are l'ble to be absent-minded, they tell
+me, and I should not want him to be absent with any of my money. Hear
+that, do you, George?”
+
+Taylor, who was standing near, laughed and walked away. A moment later
+I saw him looking out of the window with the same strange expression on
+his face which I had noticed several times before when his approaching
+marriage was hinted at. Something was troubling him, that was plain. He
+loved Nellie devotedly, I knew; yet he obviously did not like to hear
+the marriage mentioned.
+
+Sim Eldredge was one of the first visitors to the bank, but his visit
+was a short one. He entered the door, walked straight to the teller's
+window and peered through the bars. I heard him catch his breath.
+
+“Good morning, Sim,” said I. “What can I do for you?”
+
+“Do?” he repeated. “Do for me? Nothin'--nothin', 'special. You--you
+meant it, then?”
+
+“I told you I did.”
+
+“My soul!” was all the answer he made. Then he turned and walked out.
+
+At about eleven o'clock I was half-way through the addition of a
+column of figures when I heard some one say, “Well, by time!” with such
+anguished fervor that it was almost like a prayer for help. I looked up.
+Lute Rogers was staring in at me, open-mouthed and horror-stricken.
+
+“Hello, Lute!” I said.
+
+Lute swallowed hard.
+
+“They told me 'twas so,” he stammered. “They said so and--and I laughed
+at 'em. Ros, you ain't, be you?”
+
+“What?”
+
+“Goin' to stay in there and--and take Henry's job?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You be! And you never said nothin' to nobody? To Dorinda? Or even
+Comfort?”
+
+“No; not yet.”
+
+“Nor to me. To ME, by time! You let them fellers at the store make a
+fool of me--”
+
+“No one could do that, Lute. I have told you so often.”
+
+“And you let them know it afore I did. And me livin' right in the house
+with you! By time! I--I--”
+
+“There, there, Lute! don't cry. I'll tell you all about it when I come
+home for dinner.”
+
+“Yes, I should think you might do that much. Treatin' your own family
+like--why did you tell Sim Eldredge?”
+
+“Sim asked me and so I told him, that was all. Don't stand there
+fidgeting. Run along home, there's a good fellow. Mr. Taylor has his eye
+on you already.”
+
+Lute glanced apprehensively toward the cashier's desk and turned to go.
+
+“Well!” he exclaimed, “I've said you was crazy more'n once, that's some
+satisfaction. Say! can I tell 'em to home?”
+
+I hesitated. “You may tell Dorinda if you like,” I answered. “But I
+prefer to tell Mother, myself.”
+
+George rose from his desk just then and Lute hurried to the door. I
+smiled. I imagined his arrival in our kitchen and how he would explode
+the sensational news upon his unsuspecting wife.
+
+But I was not altogether calm, though I did my best to appear so, when
+I entered that kitchen at a quarter past twelve. Lute was seated in a
+chair by the window, evidently watching and waiting. He sprang up as I
+entered.
+
+“Set down,” ordered Dorinda, who was taking a clam pie from the oven.
+She merely nodded when I came in. Dorinda often spoke in meeting against
+“sinful pride”; yet she had her share of pride, sinful or not. She would
+not ask questions or deign to appear excited, not she.
+
+“But Dorinda,” cried her husband, “it's Ros. Don't you see?”
+
+“You set down, Lute Rogers. Well,” turning to me, “dinner's ready, if
+you are.”
+
+“I shall be in a few minutes,” I answered. “I want to see Mother first.”
+
+Breaking the news to Mother was a duty which I dreaded. But it turned
+out to be not dreadful at all. Mother was surprised, of course, but she
+did not offer a single objection. Her principal feeling seemed to be
+curiosity as to my reasons for the sudden change.
+
+“Of course, Roscoe, if you are happier I shall be, too,” she said.
+“I know it must have been very dull for you here. My conscience has
+troubled me not a little all these years. I realize that a man, a young
+man like you, needs an interest in life; he wants something more than
+the care and companionship of a useless creature like me.”
+
+“Mother, how often have I told you not to speak like that.”
+
+“But he does. Many times, when you and I have been here together, I have
+been on the point of urging you to leave me and go back to the world and
+take your place in it. More than once, you remember, dear, I have hinted
+at such a thing, but you have always chosen not to understand the hints,
+and I have been so weak and selfish that I have not pressed them. I am
+glad you have done this, if it seems right to you. But does it? Are you
+sure?”
+
+“I think so, Mother. I confess I am not sure.”
+
+“This country bank is a pretty small place, isn't it? Not big enough for
+my boy to prove his worth in.”
+
+“It is quite big enough for that. That doesn't require a Rothschild's
+establishment.”
+
+“But your decision must have been a very sudden one. You did not mention
+that you thought of such a thing. Not even to me.”
+
+“It was sudden,” I answered. “I took the position on the spur of the
+moment.”
+
+“But why? What led you to do it?”
+
+“I don't know, Mother.”
+
+“What influenced you? Has any one urged you?”
+
+“George Taylor offered me the place some time ago. He urged me.”
+
+“No one else?”
+
+I avoided the issue. “You don't mind, then, Mother,” I said. “You are
+willing that I should try the experiment?”
+
+“I am glad, if it pleases you. And you must let me say this now, Roscoe,
+because it is true and I mean it. If another and better opportunity
+comes to you, one that might take you away from Denboro--and from
+me--for a time, of course, I want you to promise me that you will not
+refuse it on my account. Will you promise?”
+
+“No. Of course I shan't promise any such thing. Is it likely that I
+would leave you, Mother?”
+
+“I know that you would not leave me unless I were willing for you to
+go. I know that, Roscoe. But I am much better and stronger than I was. I
+shall never be well--”
+
+“Don't say that,” I interrupted, hastily.
+
+“But I must say it, because it is true. I shall never be well, but I am
+strong enough now to bear the thought of your leaving me and when the
+time comes I shall insist upon your doing so. I am glad we have had this
+talk, dear. I am glad, too, that you are going to be busy once more in
+the way you like and ought to be. You must tell me about your work every
+day. Now go, because your dinner is ready and, of course, you must be
+getting back to the bank. Kiss me, Boy.”
+
+And as I bent over her she put her arms about my neck.
+
+“Boy,” she whispered, “I know there is some reason for your doing this,
+a reason which you have not told me. You will tell me some day, won't
+you?”
+
+I straightened hurriedly and tried to laugh. “Of course I'll tell you,
+Mother,” I replied. “If there is anything to tell.”
+
+The clam pie was on the table in the dining-room and Dorinda was seated
+majestically before it. Lute was fidgeting in his chair.
+
+“Here he is,” he exclaimed, as I joined the pair at the table. “Ros, how
+did you ever come to do it?”
+
+His wife squelched him, as usual. “If Roscoe's got anything to tell,”
+ she observed, with dignity, “he'll tell it without your help or anybody
+else's. If he ain't, he won't. This pie's colder than it ought to be,
+but that isn't my fault.”
+
+As I ate I told them of my sudden determination to become a laboring
+man. I gave the reasons that I had given Mother.
+
+“Um-hm,” said Dorinda.
+
+“But I can't understand,” pleaded Lute. “You don't need to work, and
+I've sort of took a pride in your not doin' it. If I was well-off, same
+as you be, I bet George Taylor'd have to whistle afore I wore out MY
+brains in his old bank.”
+
+“He wouldn't have time to whistle more'n once,” was Dorinda's comment.
+
+“Now, Dorinda, what kind of talk is that? Wouldn't have time to whistle?
+You do say more things without any sense to 'em! Just talk to hear
+yourself, I cal'late. What are you grinnin' at, Roscoe?”
+
+“I can't imagine, Lute. This clam pie is a triumph. May I have another
+helping, Dorinda?”
+
+Dorinda did not answer, but the second helping was a liberal one. She
+was so quiet and the glances she gave me from time to time were so odd
+that I began to feel uneasy. I was fairly sure that she approved of my
+new venture, but why did she look at me like that?
+
+“Well,” said I, looking at my watch and rising, “what do you think of
+it? Am I doing right?”
+
+Lute leaned back in his chair. “There's consider'ble to be said on that
+subject,” he announced. “Work, as a general thing, I consider all right;
+I've told you that afore. But when it comes to--”
+
+“What do you think, Dorinda?” I interrupted.
+
+Dorinda stirred her tea.
+
+“Think?” she repeated. “I think . . . When's that Colton girl comin' to
+call on Comfort again?”
+
+I had taken my hat from the hook. Now, with it in my hand, I turned and
+faced her.
+
+“How should I know that?” I demanded. “That's a trifle off the subject,
+isn't it?”
+
+“Um-hm,” said Dorinda. “Maybe 'tis.”
+
+I went out hurriedly.
+
+Within the week I was at home in my new position. The strangeness of
+regular hours and regular employment wore away with surprising rapidity.
+There were, of course, mornings when sea and sky and the freshness of
+outdoors tempted me and I wondered whether or not I had been foolish
+to give up my fine and easy life. But these periods of temptation were
+shorter and less frequent as I became more and more familiar with my
+duties and with the routine of the bank. I found myself taking a greater
+interest in the institution and, to my astonishment, I was actually
+sorry when Saturday came. It seemed odd enough to once more have money
+in my pocket which I had earned. It was not a great amount, of course,
+but I felt it to be mine. Yes, there was no doubt about it, I had done
+the right thing, and was glad. I was grateful to Taylor for having given
+me the opportunity. Perhaps I should have been grateful to the person
+whose brutal and impertinent frankness had piqued me into grasping that
+opportunity, but I was not.
+
+She made her second call upon Mother two days after our impromptu picnic
+at Seabury's Pond. I heard all about it when I came home that afternoon.
+It appeared that she had brought more flowers and a fresh supply of
+books. She had remained even longer than on her first visit and she
+and Mother had talked about almost everything under the sun. One topic,
+however, had not been discussed, a fact which my guarded questions made
+certain. She, like myself, had said nothing concerning the day in the
+woods.
+
+“I told her of your consenting to help Mr. Taylor in his dilemma,” said
+Mother.
+
+“Did you?” said I. “It was kind of you to put it in that way.”
+
+“That was the truthful way of putting it, wasn't it? She seemed very
+much interested.”
+
+“Indeed. And surprised, I presume.”
+
+“Why, yes, I think so. She seemed surprised at first; then she laughed;
+I could not understand why. She has a very pleasant laugh, hasn't she?”
+
+“I have never noticed.” This was untrue.
+
+“She has. She is a charming girl. I am sorry you were not here when she
+called. I told her you would be home soon and asked her to wait, but she
+would not.”
+
+“I am glad she didn't.”
+
+“Roscoe!”
+
+“I am, Mother. That young lady comes here to see you merely because she
+has nothing else to do just now. I shouldn't accept too many favors from
+her.”
+
+Mother said I was unreasonable and prejudiced and I did not argue the
+point. Lute and Dorinda discussed the caller at the supper table until I
+was constrained to leave the room. Mabel Colton might amuse herself with
+Mother and the two members of our household whom she had described as
+“characters,” she might delude them into believing her thoughtful and
+sympathetic and without false pride, but I knew better. She had insulted
+me. She had, in so many words, told me that I was lazy and worthless,
+just as she might have told her chauffeur or one of the servants. That
+it was true made no difference. Would she have spoken in that way to--to
+Victor Carver, for instance? Hardly. She was just what I had thought
+her at first, a feminine edition of Victor, with more brains than he
+possessed.
+
+Captain Jed Dean came into the bank the third day after my installation
+as bookkeeper and teller. I was alone in the director's room, going
+over some papers, and he entered and shook hands with me. The old fellow
+professed delight at my presence there.
+
+“George tells me you're takin' hold fust-rate,” he said. “That's good.
+I'm glad to hear it.”
+
+“Why?” I asked. There was a trace of his old pomposity in the speech--or
+I imagined there was--and I chose to resent it. These were the days when
+I was in the mood to resent almost anything.
+
+“Why?” he repeated, in surprise. “What do you mean?”
+
+“Why are you glad?” I said. “I can't see what difference it makes to you
+whether I succeed or not.”
+
+He regarded me with a puzzled expression, but, instead of taking
+offense, he laughed.
+
+“You've got a chip on your shoulder, ain't you, Ros?” he observed.
+“Workin' you too hard at the start, are we?”
+
+“No,” I answered, curtly.
+
+“Then what is the matter?”
+
+“Why, nothing, unless it is that everyone I meet seems to take such
+a great interest in my being here. I believe all of Denboro talks of
+nothing else.”
+
+“Not much else, I shouldn't wonder. But that's to be expected, ain't it?
+Everybody's glad you're makin' good.”
+
+“Humph! They all seem to regard that as the eighth wonder of the world.
+The position doesn't require a marvel of intelligence; almost any one
+with a teaspoonful of brains could fill it.”
+
+“Why no, they couldn't. But that's nothin' to do with it. I see what's
+the matter with you, Ros. You think all hands are knocked on their beam
+ends because you've gone to work. Some of 'em are, that's a fact, and
+you can't blame 'em much, considerin' how long you've lived here without
+doin' anything. But all of 'em that amount to a three-cent piece are
+glad, and the rest don't count anyway. You've made a good many friends
+in this town lately, son.”
+
+I smiled bitterly. “Friends,” I said.
+
+“Why, yes, friends. And friends are worth havin', especially if you
+make 'em without beggin' for their friendship. I give in that you've
+surprised some of us. We didn't know that you had it in you. But your
+standin' up to old Colton was a fine thing, and we appreciated it.”
+
+“That is because you were against his grabbing the Lane.”
+
+“What of it? And 'twan't that altogether. I, for one, ain't complainin'
+because you stood up to me and wouldn't sell to the town. By the way,
+Tim Hallet's gang haven't bothered you lately, have they?”
+
+“No. And I advise them not to.”
+
+He chuckled. “I heard you advised 'em to that effect,” he said. “I ain't
+complainin' at that, either, even though I knew what they was up to and
+thought 'twas more or less of a joke. But I liked the way you fired 'em
+out of there, not carin' a tinker's darn who was behind 'em. So long as
+a man stands square in his boots and don't knuckle to anybody he won't
+lose anything with Jed Dean. That's me!”
+
+“You ought to like Colton, then,” I said. “He hasn't knuckled, much.”
+
+Captain Jed grinned. “Well,” he said, slowly, “I don't object to that in
+him. He seems to be a fighter and that's all right. Maybe if I was one
+of his tribe in New York I should like him. But I ain't. And you ain't,
+Ros. We're both of us country folks, livin' here, and he's a city shark
+buttin' into the feedin' grounds. He wants to hog the whole place and
+you and I say he shan't. I'm thankful to him for one thing: his comin'
+here has waked you up, and it's goin' to make a man of you, or I miss my
+guess.”
+
+I did not answer.
+
+“You mustn't get mad because I talk this way,” he went on. “I'm old
+enough to be your dad, Ros Paine, and I know what I'm talkin' about. I
+never took much of a shine to you in the old days. You was too much of
+what the story books call a 'gentleman' to suit me. I've had to scratch
+all my life for what I've got, but I've got it. When a young, able
+feller like you was contented to loaf around as you did and take no
+interest in nothin', I, naturally, figgered he was no-account. I see
+now I was wrong. All you needed was somethin' to stir you up and set you
+goin'. KEEP goin', that's my advice to you. And so long as you do, and
+don't bend when the pressure gets hard, you'll be somebody afore you
+die. And the friends you've made'll stand back of you.”
+
+“How about the enemies I have made?”
+
+“Enemies? I suppose likely you have made some enemies, but what of it?
+I've made enemies all my life. It ain't because I'm popular here in
+Denboro that I'm what I am. Now is it?”
+
+The truthful answer would have been no. Captain Dean was not popular,
+but he was respected even by the many who disliked and disagreed with
+him. I hesitated, trying to think what to say.
+
+“You know 'tain't that,” he said. “Popularity I never had, though it's
+a pleasant enough thing and sometimes I wish--But there, this ain't
+experience meetin'. I'm glad you're here in this bank. You're smart, and
+George says you are worth more than Henry Small ever was, even so early.
+If you really are what it begins to look as if you are I'm glad for
+Denboro. Maybe there'll be somebody besides George fit to run this town
+after I'm gone.”
+
+I smiled. The last remark was so characteristic that it was funny. He
+was turning away, but he noticed the smile and turned back.
+
+“That's a joke, hey?” he asked.
+
+“Captain,” I said, “you are not consistent. When you and I first talked
+about the Lane you said that you would not blame me if I closed it. If
+it was yours you wouldn't have Tom, Dick, and Harry driving fish carts
+through it.”
+
+“Did I say that?”
+
+“Yes. And you said, on another occasion, that anyone would sell anything
+if they were offered money enough.”
+
+“Humph! Well, sometimes I say 'most anything but my prayers. Matildy
+says I forget them pretty often, but I tell her her Friday night
+speeches are long enough to make up. Maybe I meant what I said to you at
+those times, Ros. I shouldn't wonder if I did. But 'twas a lie just the
+same. There are things I wouldn't sell, of course. Nellie, my daughter's
+one of 'em. She's goin' to get a good husband in George here, but
+her happiness means more to me than money. She's one of the things I
+wouldn't sell. And my Selectman's job is another. I fought for that,
+not so much for the honor, or whatever you call it, but because--well,
+because I wanted to show 'em that I could get it if I set out to. I
+don't presume likely you can understand that feelin'.”
+
+“I think I can,” I answered. “Mr. Colton gave about the same reason for
+his determination to close the Lane. You and he seem to be a good deal
+alike, after all.”
+
+He looked at me from beneath his bushy brows. His mouth twisted in a
+grim smile.
+
+“Say, son,” he said, “if I hadn't been so free with my proclamations
+about bein' your friend you and me would have a settlement for that
+little bit of talk. The Emperor and me alike! Ugh!”
+
+The next afternoon he came in again and asked me to step outside the
+railing. He had something to say to me, he declared.
+
+We sat down together on the settee by the wall.
+
+“Ros,” he said, in a low tone, “have you had any new offer for your
+property? Not from Colton or the town, but from anybody else?”
+
+“No,” I answered. “What do you mean?”
+
+“You ain't heard anything from a Boston firm claimin' to represent the
+Bay Shore Development Company, or some such?”
+
+“No. What sort of a company is that?”
+
+“I don't know; that is, I don't know much about it. But there's talk
+driftin' 'round that a Boston syndicate is cal'latin' to buy up all the
+shore front land from South Ostable to the Bayport line and open it up
+for summer house lots. The name is the Bay Shore Development Company, or
+somethin' like that. You ain't heard from 'em, then?”
+
+“Not a word. Where did your information come from?”
+
+“From nobody in particular. It just seems to be in the air. Alvin Baker
+heard it over to Ostable. The feller that told him got it from somebody
+else, who got it from another somebody, and so on. There's talk about
+good prices bein' offered and, accordin' to Alvin, Ostable folks are
+pretty excited. Elnathan Mullet, who owns that strip below your house,
+knows somethin' about it, I think. I shouldn't wonder if he'd had an
+offer, or a hint, or somethin'. But Elnathan's mouth shuts tighter than
+a muskrat trap and I couldn't get nothin' out of him. He just looked
+knowin' and that was all. But, if it's so, it may mean a heap to
+Denboro.”
+
+I was considering the news when he spoke again.
+
+“It might mean a lot to you, Ros,” he whispered.
+
+“How so?”
+
+“Why, this way: If this concern offered you enough money you might sell
+out to them, mightn't you? Sell all your place, I mean; you could
+get another one easy enough. You ain't particular about livin' by the
+shore.”
+
+“But--you urge me to SELL!” I exclaimed. “Sell the Shore Lane with the
+rest?”
+
+“Why not? You wouldn't be sellin' to Colton. And, if this development
+scheme is what they say it is, there'll be roads cut through all along
+shore. The town could use any of 'em; at least that arrangement might be
+made. Think it over, Ros. If they do offer and offer enough, I'd sell,
+if I was you. Say! that would be a reef under His Majesty's bows, hey?
+Jolt him some, I cal'late.”
+
+I did not answer. This was a new possibility. Of course his reason for
+advising my selling was plain enough, but, leaving the Coltons entirely
+aside, the idea was not without allurement. The town's convenience
+in the matter of a road might be considered, just as he said. And my
+scruples against selling at a profit were, after all, based upon that
+feature.
+
+“You think it over,” he counseled. “Don't say nothin' to nobody, but
+just think--and wait. I'll keep my eye to wind'ard and see what I
+can find out. I tell you honest, Ros, I'll feel safer when I know old
+Imperial's game's blocked for good and all.”
+
+Old Imperial himself made his appearance before closing hours. I looked
+up from my work to see him standing by the window. He had not expected
+to see me there--evidently his daughter had not considered Mother's news
+of sufficient importance to repeat--and, at first, he did not recognize
+me.
+
+“Good afternoon, Mr. Colton,” said I.
+
+He nodded. “Cash this for me, will you,” he said, pushing a check
+through the opening. “What? Hello! What in blazes are you doing in
+there?”
+
+“I am employed here now,” I answered.
+
+“Humph! how long since?”
+
+“Ten days, or such matter.”
+
+“What are you doing in a bank?”
+
+“Banking was my business, at one time.”
+
+“Thought you hadn't any business.”
+
+“I haven't had any, for some years. Now I have. How do you wish this
+money? In tens and fives?”
+
+“Yes. Nothing bigger. Down here it restricts the circulation if you
+spring a twenty dollar bill on them. So you've taken to banking? I was
+thinking of corraling you for a gunning trip one of these days. Now it's
+all off, I suppose.”
+
+“It looks that way. Sorry I am to be deprived of the pleasure.”
+
+“Humph!” Then, with one of his sudden changes, “How big a business does
+this concern do? What do your deposits amount to?”
+
+I gave him the figures, as printed in the yearly statement. He made no
+comment. Instead he observed, “You haven't been around to accept that
+offer of mine yet, Paine.”
+
+“Not yet,” I answered.
+
+“Suppose I ought to raise it, now that you're a financier yourself.
+However, I shan't.”
+
+“I haven't asked you to.”
+
+He smiled. “No, you haven't,” he said. “Well, it is open--for a while.
+If I were you I'd accept it pretty soon.”
+
+“Possibly.”
+
+“Meaning that I am not you, hey? I'm not. I haven't your high
+principles, Paine. Can't afford 'em. You're what they call a
+'Progressive' in politics, too, aren't you?”
+
+“Here is your money,” I said, ignoring the question.
+
+“I'll bet you are!” he declared, taking the bills. “I never saw one of
+you high-principled chaps yet that wasn't--until he got rich enough to
+be something else. Progress is all right, maybe, but I notice that you
+fellows pay for it and the rest of us get it. Just as I am going to get
+that land of yours.”
+
+“You haven't got it yet,” I said, serenely. I had made up my mind that
+this time he should not provoke me into losing my temper.
+
+He seemed to divine my determination. His eye twinkled. “You're
+improving, Paine,” he observed. “I'll give you a piece of advice; it has
+cost me a good deal to learn, but I'll give it to you: Don't ever let
+the other fellow make you mad.”
+
+I remembered our first interview and I could not resist the temptation
+to retort.
+
+“If my recollection is correct,” I said, “you forgot that the first time
+we met.”
+
+He laughed aloud. “So I did,” he admitted. “Maybe if I hadn't it would
+not cost me so much to get my own way in your case.”
+
+He walked out of the building. I heard one exclamation from behind and,
+turning, saw Sam Wheeler, my youthful assistant, staring at me.
+
+“My--gosh!” exclaimed Sam, his tone a mixture of wonder and admiration,
+“I don't see how you dast to talk back to him like that, Ros. He'll sic
+the--the 'System' onto you, won't he?”
+
+It was evident that Sam had been reading the magazines.
+
+I heard no more from Captain Jed and nothing from the mysterious
+“Development Company” for the remainder of that week. But on Sunday, as
+I sat in the boat house, smoking my after dinner pipe and reading, Lute
+excitedly entered, followed by a well-dressed, smooth-shaven man of
+middle age, whom he introduced as Mr. Keene of Boston, “who's driven all
+the way from Ostable a-purpose to see you, Ros.”
+
+Mr. Keene shook hands with me cordially and apologized for intruding
+upon my day of rest. He intended returning to the city in the morning,
+he said, and, as he had a little matter to discuss with me, had taken
+the liberty of calling. “I shan't take more than half an hour of your
+time, Mr. Paine,” he explained. “At least I feel certain that you and I
+can reach an agreement in that period. If I might be alone with you--”
+
+This hint, evidently intended for Lute's benefit, was quite lost upon
+the last named individual, who had seated himself on the edge of the
+work bench and was listening with both ears. I was obliged to tell
+him that his presence was superfluous and request his returning to the
+house, which he reluctantly did, moving slowly and looking back with
+an expression of grieved disappointment. After he had gone I asked Mr.
+Keene what his “little matter” might be.
+
+His reply was prompt and to the point. He gave me his card. He was, it
+seemed, junior partner in the firm of Barclay and Keene, real estate
+brokers and promoters, Milk Street, Boston. And, just now, he was acting
+as representative of the Bay Shore Development Company. “A concern of
+which, in spite of all our precautions and attempts at secrecy, you may,
+perhaps, have heard, Mr. Paine,” he added, smiling.
+
+I admitted that I had heard rumors concerning the company's existence.
+But, except for these very vague rumors, I knew nothing about it.
+
+He expected that, he said, and was glad to give me further and complete
+information. In fact, that was his reason for coming so many miles to
+see me. If I would be good enough to listen he would tell me just what
+the Bay Shore Company was and what it contemplated doing.
+
+I listened and he talked. According to him the Bay Shore syndicate--that
+is what it was, a syndicate of capitalists--represented one of the
+biggest real estate propositions ever conceived. Those behind it were
+awake to the possibilities of the Cape as a summer resort. Shore land,
+water front property in the vicinity, was destined to increase in value,
+provided it was properly exploited and developed. The company's idea was
+to do just that--exploit and develop.
+
+“We've been quietly looking about,” he continued, “and are all ready for
+the preliminaries. And naturally, the first preliminary is to secure the
+land to develop. You have some of that land, Mr. Paine. We know just how
+much, as we do the holdings of every other party we have approached
+or intend to approach. I am here to get your figures and, if possible,
+conclude the purchase of your property this afternoon. It is Sunday,
+of course,” he added, with a good-humored laugh, “and contracts signed
+to-day are not legal; but we can make a verbal contract and the papers
+may be signed later. I will defer my departure until the afternoon train
+to-morrow for that purpose. Now name your figure, Mr. Paine.”
+
+Of course I had guessed what was coming. If I intended to sell at all
+here was my opportunity to do so--to, as Captain Jed expressed it,
+“block Colton's game” without sacrificing the principle for which I had
+fought, and make a good bit of money for myself. Another home near by
+could be secured, I had no doubt, and to it Mother might be safely and
+easily moved. Yet I hesitated to express even a qualified willingness.
+
+“You appear to be certain that I will sell,” I observed. “Isn't that
+taking a good deal for granted, Mr. Keene?”
+
+He smiled--in fact he smiled almost too often to please me. There is
+such a thing as being too cordial and good-natured; and he was so very
+friendly on short acquaintance.
+
+“I understand,” he said. “I have heard about you, Mr. Paine. This,
+however, is a different matter. We are not hogs, Mr. Paine, but business
+men. If our plans go through, Denboro will be grateful to us and to
+you.”
+
+“IF they go through? I thought you were certain of their going through.”
+
+“Certainly, certainly. There is, of course, an 'if' in all human plans,
+but our particular 'if' is a small one. I hope you will name your figure
+now, at once. Don't be afraid. We are disposed to be liberal. And,
+understand, this is entirely a cash transaction. You shall have the
+money in one hand as you sign the contract with the other. Ha! ha! What
+is the price to be?”
+
+But I would not name a price. I seemed to feel as unreasonably reluctant
+to close with the Bay Shore Development Company as I had been with
+Captain Jed or Colton.
+
+“Shall I make a bid?” asked Keene.
+
+“No, not yet at any rate. Tell me, this: Whose land have you already
+bought?”
+
+He shook his head. “That, of course,” he said, with the same gracious
+smile, “I can hardly tell even to you. Some of the deals are not yet
+closed, and, as a business man yourself, Mr. Paine, you--”
+
+“I am not a business man,” I interrupted, impatiently. “At least, not
+much of a one. You say there are capitalists behind your scheme. Who are
+they?”
+
+He laid his hand on my knee. “Why, that,” he said, “is a secret no
+one is supposed to know. Men--financiers such as we are proud to
+serve--permit their names to be known only when the corporation is ready
+to begin actual operations. That is natural enough. If I were to
+mention names--well, some of your Yankee neighbors would want to become
+millionaires before selling.”
+
+There was truth in this. I imagine that he guessed he had made an
+impression, for he went on to shout his praises of the company and the
+greatness of its plan. He talked and talked; in fact he talked too much.
+I did not like to hear him. I did not like HIM, that was the trouble. He
+was too smooth and voluble altogether. And he made a mistake in patting
+my knee.
+
+“Very well,” said I, rising from my chair; “I'll think it over.”
+
+He was plainly disappointed. “I don't wish to hurry you, of course,” he
+said, not moving from his chair, “but we are anxious to close. This is
+to be cash, remember, and I stand ready to make an offer. I am sure we
+can reach an agreement, satisfactory to both sides, Mr. Paine.”
+
+“Perhaps, but I prefer to think the matter over before naming a price or
+hearing your offer.”
+
+As a matter of fact I did not intend to sell, or consider selling, until
+I had discussed the whole affair with Mother. But there was no need to
+tell him that.
+
+“I am sorry, I confess,” he said. “I hoped this particular deal might be
+closed. We have so many of these little details, Mr. Paine, and time
+is money. However, if you insist upon it, I presume the company will be
+willing to wait a few days.”
+
+“I am afraid it will have to.”
+
+“Very well, very well. I shall be down again in a day or two. Of course,
+waiting may have some effect upon the price. To-day I was empowered to
+. . . You don't care to hear? Very well. So glad to have met you, Mr.
+Paine. Of course you will not mention the subject of our interview to
+anyone. Business secrets, you know. Thank you, thank you. And I will see
+you again--Thursday, shall we say?”
+
+I refused to say Thursday, principally because he had said it first. I
+suggested Saturday instead. He agreed, shook hands as if I were an old
+friend from whom he parted with regret, and left me.
+
+No, I did not like Mr. Keene. He was too polite and too familiar. And,
+as I thought over his words, the whole prospectus of the Bay Shore
+Development Company seemed singularly vague. The proposal to buy my land
+was definite enough, but the rest of it was, apparently, very much in
+the air. There was too much secrecy about it. No one was to tell anyone
+anything. I was glad I had insisted upon time for consideration. I
+intended to consider thoroughly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+When I left the boat house I did not go directly home, but wandered
+along the beach. I had puzzled my brain with Mr. Keene and his
+errand until I determined not to puzzle it any longer that day. If my
+suspicions were unfounded and existed merely because of my dislike of
+the Bay Shore Company's representative, then they were not worth worry.
+If they were well founded I had almost a week in which to discover the
+fact. I would dismiss the whole matter from my thoughts. The question
+as to whether or not I would sell the land at all to anybody, which was,
+after all, the real question, I resolved to put off answering until I
+had had my talk with Mother.
+
+I walked on by the water's edge until I reached the Lane; turning into
+that much coveted strip of territory I continued until I came opposite
+the Colton mansion, where, turning again, I strolled homeward by the
+path through the grove. Unconsciously my wandering thoughts strayed to
+Mabel Colton. It was here that I had met her on two occasions. I had an
+odd feeling that I should meet her here again, that she was here now.
+I had no reason for thinking such a thing, certainly the wish was not
+father to the thought, but at every bend in the path, as the undergrowth
+hid the way, I expected, as I turned the corner, to see her coming
+toward me.
+
+But the path was, save for myself, untenanted. I was almost at its end,
+where the pines and bushes were scattering and the field of daisies, now
+in full bloom, began, when I heard a slight sound at my left. I looked
+in the direction of the sound and saw her. She was standing beneath a
+gnarled, moss-draped old pine by the bluff edge, looking out over the
+bay.
+
+I stopped, involuntarily. Then I moved on again, as noiselessly as I
+could. But at my first step she turned and saw me. I raised my hat.
+She bowed, coldly, so it seemed to my supersensitive imagination, and
+I replaced the hat and continued my walk. I thought I heard the bushes
+near which she stood rustle as if she had moved, but I did not look
+back.
+
+Then, close behind me, I heard her voice.
+
+“Mr. Paine,” she said.
+
+I turned. She had followed me and was standing in the path, a bit out
+of breath, as if she had hurried. I waited for her to speak, but she did
+not.
+
+“Good afternoon, Miss Colton,” I said, awkwardly. Some one had to speak,
+we could not stand staring at each other like that.
+
+She said “Good afternoon,” also. Then there was another interval of
+silence.
+
+“You--you wished to speak to me?” I stammered.
+
+“I DID speak to you,” with significant emphasis on the “did.” “I thought
+you might, possibly, be interested to know that Don and I reached home
+safely the other day.”
+
+Considering that she had called upon Mother since, it seemed to me
+that my knowledge of her reaching home safely might have been taken for
+granted; but I said:
+
+“I am very glad to hear it, Miss Colton.”
+
+“We had no difficulty in finding the way after you left us.”
+
+The way being almost straight, and over the main traveled roads, this,
+too, was fairly obvious.
+
+“I felt sure you would have no trouble--after I left you,” I answered,
+with a significant emphasis of my own.
+
+She did not reply and, as I had nothing further to say, I waited for her
+to continue, or to break off the interview. She did neither, but stood,
+as if irresolute, looking down and stirring with her foot the leaves at
+the edge of the path. Suddenly she looked up.
+
+“Mr. Paine,” she said, “you are making it hard for me to say what I
+intended. But I think I should say it, and so I will. I beg your pardon
+for speaking as I did when I last saw you. I had no right to judge or
+criticize you, none whatever.”
+
+“You do not need to apologize, Miss Colton. What you told me was
+probably true enough.”
+
+The conventional answer to this would have been a half-hearted denial of
+my statement. I presume I expected something of the sort. But this girl
+was not conventional.
+
+“Yes,” she said, thoughtfully, “I think it was. If I had not thought so
+I should not have said it. But that makes no difference. You and I are
+strangers, almost, and I had no right to speak as I did. I am impulsive,
+I know it, and I often do and say things on impulse which I am sorry for
+afterward. I offended you.”
+
+“Oh no, no,” I put in, hurriedly. She had offended me, but this frank
+confession touched me more than the offense had hurt. She was doing a
+hard thing and doing it handsomely.
+
+“Yes, I offended you,” she repeated, firmly. “I have considered the
+matter a good deal since then, and it seems to me that you were right to
+feel offended. You had been very kind to me on several occasions and I
+had been your”--with a half smile--“your guest that day. I should not
+have hurt your feelings. Will you accept my apology?”
+
+“Why, yes, of course, since you insist, Miss Colton.”
+
+“Thank you.”
+
+She was turning to go; and I could not let her go thus. Although she had
+apologized for speaking her thought she had not retracted the thought
+itself. I was seized with a desire for justification in her eyes. I
+wanted to explain; forgetting for the moment that explanations were
+impossible.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I said, impulsively.
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“May I--may I say a word?”
+
+“Certainly, if you wish.”
+
+She turned again and faced me.
+
+“Miss Colton, I--I--” I began, and paused.
+
+“Well?” she said, patiently, “What is it?”
+
+“Miss Colton,” I blundered on, “you should not have apologized. You were
+right. Your estimate of me was pretty nearly correct. I realized that
+when you gave it and I have been realizing it ever since. I deserved
+what I got--perhaps. But I should not wish you to think--that is,
+I--well, I had reasons, they seemed to me reasons, for being what I
+was--what I am. I doubt if they were altogether good reasons; I am
+inclined now to think they were not. But I had come to think them good.
+You see, I--I--”
+
+I stopped, face to face with the fact that I could not give those
+reasons to her or any one else. She was looking at me expectantly, and
+with, so it seemed to me, an expression of real, almost eager interest.
+I faltered, tried to go on, and then surrendered, absolutely, to the
+hopelessness of the situation.
+
+“It is no use,” I said, “I can't tell you what those reasons were.”
+
+I turned as I said it. I did not care to see her expression change. I
+knew what she must be thinking and I had no desire to read the thought
+in her eyes. I stood there, waiting for her to leave in disgust.
+
+“I can't tell you,” I repeated, stubbornly.
+
+“Very well.” Her tone was as coldly indifferent as I had anticipated.
+“Was that all you wished to say to me, Mr. Paine?”
+
+“Miss Colton, I should like to explain if I could. But I cannot.”
+
+“Pray don't trouble yourself. I assure you I had no intentions of asking
+for your--reasons. Good afternoon.”
+
+I heard her skirts brush the leaves at the border of the path. She was
+going; and the contemptuous slur at my “reasons” proved that she did not
+believe them existent. She believed me to be a liar.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I said, sharply; “wait.”
+
+She kept on.
+
+“Wait,” I said again. “Listen to me.”
+
+She seemed to hesitate and then turned her head.
+
+“I am listening,” she said. “What is it?”
+
+“You have no right to disbelieve me.”
+
+“I disbelieve you? Why should you think I disbelieve you? I am not
+sufficiently interested to believe or disbelieve, I assure you.”
+
+“But you do. You judge me--”
+
+“_I_ judge you! You flatter yourself, Mr. Paine.”
+
+“But you do. You apologized just now for judging me without a hearing
+the other day. You acknowledged that you should not have done it. You
+are doing the same thing now.”
+
+“I apologized for presuming to offer advice to a stranger. I did not
+apologize for the advice itself. I think it good. I do not care to argue
+the matter further.”
+
+“You are not asked to argue. But your sneer at my reasons proves that
+you believe that I have none and am merely trying to justify myself with
+trumped up and lying excuses. You are wrong, and since you presumed to
+judge me then you must listen to me now. I have--or had--reasons for
+living as I have done, for being the idler and good-for-nothing you
+believe me to be. I can't tell you what they are; I can tell no one. But
+I do ask you to believe that I have them, that they are real, and that
+my being what you termed ambitionless and a country loafer is not my
+condition from choice. It is my right to insist upon your believing
+that. Do you believe it?”
+
+At last I had made an impression. My earnestness seemed to have shaken
+her contemptuous indifference. She looked at me steadily, frowning a
+little, but regarding me less as if I were a clod and more and more as
+if I were the puzzle she had once declared me to be. I did not shun her
+look now, but met it eye to eye.
+
+“Do you believe me?” I demanded.
+
+Slowly her frown was disappearing.
+
+“Do you believe me?” I said, again. “You must.”
+
+“Must?”
+
+“Yes, you must. I shall make you. If not now, at some other time. You
+must believe me, Miss Colton.”
+
+The frown disappeared altogether and she smiled.
+
+“If you order me to I suppose I must,” she said, with a shrug of mock
+resignation. “I should have learned by this time that it is useless to
+say no when you say yes, Mr. Paine.”
+
+“But do you?”
+
+She turned altogether and faced me.
+
+“I am very glad to believe you,” she said, with simple directness.
+
+I stammered a “Thank you” and was silent. I dared not trust myself to
+speak at the moment. Somehow the sincerity of her words moved me far
+more than their trifling import warranted. She had declared her belief
+that I was not a liar, that was all; and yet I stood there fighting down
+all sorts of ridiculous emotions. The situation was decidedly strained,
+but, as usual, she saved it.
+
+“It seems to me,” she said, with the twinkle which I had learned
+to recognize as a forerunner of mischief on her part, “that you are
+inclined to make mountains out of mole-hills, Mr. Paine. Was there any
+need to be quite so fiercely tragic? And, besides, I think that even now
+you have not told the whole truth.”
+
+“The whole truth? Why, Miss Colton, I have just explained that--”
+
+“Oh, not that truth! Your mysterious 'reasons' are not my affair. And
+I have told you that I was willing to take those on trust. But you have
+not been quite truthful in another particular. You intimated that you
+were an idler. I have been given to understand that you are far from
+being an idler just now.”
+
+I was relieved. “Oh, I see!” I exclaimed. “You mean--some one has told
+you of my employment at the bank.”
+
+“A number of persons have told me. Surely you did not expect to keep
+THAT a secret--in Denboro?”
+
+“Well, scarcely,” I admitted, with a laugh. “That was known almost
+before I was sure of it myself. You should have seen Eldredge's face
+when I announced my intention. And Lute--Mrs. Rogers' husband--hasn't
+completely recovered yet. The sight of me, actually trying to earn a
+living, was too much for him. You see what a miracle worker you are,
+Miss Colton.”
+
+“Did you really accept the position simply because of what I said to
+you?”
+
+“Yes. The chance had been offered me before, but it was your frankness
+that shocked me into taking it.”
+
+“Not really? You are joking.”
+
+“No, I'm not. You are responsible. Are you sorry?”
+
+Her answer was a question.
+
+“Are you?” she asked.
+
+“No. At first it seemed ridiculous and strange, even to myself; but now
+I like the work. It is like old times.”
+
+“Old times?”
+
+I was forgetting myself again; talking too much was a dangerous
+train--for me. I laughed, with pretended carelessness.
+
+“Why, yes; I was employed in a bank at one time. I think I told you
+that. Have you been motoring much of late, Miss Colton?”
+
+“Yes. Tell me, please: You really like your work?”
+
+“Yes, I do.”
+
+“Then I will answer your question. I am not a bit sorry. I am glad I was
+impertinent and intrusive, especially now that I have apologized and
+you have accepted the apology. I am very glad I told you you should do
+something worth while.”
+
+“Even if it were nothing more than to follow Thoph Newcomb's example and
+sell fish.”
+
+“Yes,” laughingly, “even that. I WAS impertinent, wasn't I! I don't
+wonder you were offended.”
+
+“I needed the impertinence, I guess. But frankly, Miss Colton, I can't
+see why you should be glad because I have gone to work. I can't see what
+difference my working or idling can possibly make to you.”
+
+“Oh, it doesn't, of course--except on general principles. I am a
+dreadful idler myself; but then, I am a woman, and idleness is a woman's
+right.”
+
+I thought of Dorinda and of the other housewives of Denboro and how
+little of that particular “right” they enjoyed; which thought brought
+again and forcibly to my mind the difference between this girl's life
+and theirs--and Mother's--and my own.
+
+“A man,” continued Miss Colton, sagely, “should not idle. He should work
+and work hard--so that the rest of us may be as good for nothing as we
+please. That is philosophy, isn't it?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You were good enough not to say what sort of philosophy. Thank you. But
+seriously, Mr. Paine, I am fond of your mother--very fond, considering
+our short acquaintance--and when I saw her lying there, so patient, and
+deprived of the little luxuries and conveniences which she needs, and
+which a little more money might bring to her, it seemed to me . . .
+Gracious! what a lot of nonsense I am talking! What is the matter with
+me this afternoon? Do let's change the subject. Have you sold your land
+yet, Mr. Paine? Of course you haven't! That is more nonsense, isn't it.”
+
+I think she had again spoken merely on the impulse of the moment;
+doubtless there was no deliberate intention on her part to bring me to a
+realization of my position, the position I occupied in her thoughts;
+but if she had had such an intent she could not have done it more
+effectively. She believed me to have been neglecting Mother, and her
+interest in my “doing something worth while” was inspired merely because
+she wished Mother to be supplied with those “luxuries and conveniences”
+ she had mentioned. Well, my question was answered; this was the
+difference my working or idling made to her. And, for a minute or two,
+I had been foolish enough to fancy her interested, as a friend, in my
+success or failure in life. I might have known better. And yet, because
+of the novelty of the thing, because I had so few friends, I felt a pang
+of disappointment.
+
+But I resolved she should not know she had disappointed me. I might have
+been a fool, but I would keep my foolishness a secret.
+
+“No, Miss Colton,” I said, with a smile, “I haven't sold yet.”
+
+“Father said he saw you at the bank. Did he say anything about the
+land?”
+
+“He said his offer was still open, that was all.”
+
+“You are resolved not to sell.”
+
+“To him? Yes, I am resolved. I think he knows it. I tried to make it
+plain.”
+
+“You say to him. Are you thinking of selling to any one else? To the
+town?”
+
+“No. Probably not to any one. Certainly not to your father or the town.”
+
+She looked at me, with an odd expression, and seemed to hesitate.
+
+“Mr. Paine,” she said, slowly, “would you resent my giving you another
+bit of--advice?”
+
+“Not at all. What is it this time?”
+
+“Why, nothing. I must not give you any advice at all. I won't. Instead
+I'll give you one of Father's pet proverbs. It isn't an elegant one, but
+he is very fond of repeating it. 'There are more ways of killing a cat
+than choking it to death with butter.' There! you will admit it is not
+elegant.”
+
+“But Miss Colton! Killing a cat! What in the world?”
+
+“You mustn't ask me. I shouldn't have said even that. But remember, it
+is father's pet proverb. I must go. Please give my love to your mother
+and tell her I shall call again soon. Good-by.”
+
+She walked briskly away and did not look back. I went home. I thought a
+great deal during the evening and until late that night. When, at last,
+I did go to bed I had not made much progress in the problem of the cat,
+but I did believe that there was a rat in the vicinity. I was beginning
+to scent one. If I was not mistaken it called itself the Bay Shore
+Development Company.
+
+I said nothing to Mother of the new proposal to buy our land, but next
+morning at the bank I wrote a letter to the cashier of a bank in Boston,
+one of our correspondents, and with which our little institution was on
+very friendly terms. I asked the cashier to make some guarded inquiries
+concerning the Bay Shore Company, to find out, if possible, who was
+behind it and also to inquire concerning Barclay and Keene, the real
+estate brokers of Milk Street.
+
+The reply to my letter reached me on Friday. It was satisfactory,
+eminently so. And when, on Saturday afternoon, Mr. Keene, bland and
+smiling as ever, made his appearance at the house, I was ready for him.
+I stood on the step and made no move to invite him within. “Well, Mr.
+Paine,” he said, cordially, “are you ready to talk business?”
+
+“Quite ready,” I answered.
+
+He beamed with satisfaction.
+
+“Good!” he exclaimed. “Then what is your figure?”
+
+“My figure is a naught,” I replied, with emphasis. “You may tell your
+employer that I do not care to sell the land to him, no matter whether
+he calls himself James Colton or the Bay Shore Development Company. Oh
+yes; and, if you like, you may add that this particular cat declines to
+be choked.”
+
+Mr. Keene showed signs of choking, himself, and I shut the door and left
+him outside. Lute, who had been listening at the dining-room window and
+had heard only fragments of the brief interview, was in a state of added
+incoherence.
+
+“Well, by time!” he gasped. “What--what sort of talk was that? Chokin' a
+cat! A cat!! We ain't got no cat.”
+
+“Haven't we?” I observed. “Why, no, so we haven't! Perhaps you had
+better explain that to Mr. Keene, Lute. It may help him to understand
+the situation. And add that I suggest his telling the person who sent
+him here that soft-soap is no improvement on butter.”
+
+I think Lute did tell him just that, doubtless with all sorts of excuses
+for my insanity, for the next day, Sunday, as I walked along the beach,
+a big body came ploughing down the sandy slope and joined me.
+
+“Hello!” said Colton.
+
+“Good morning,” said I.
+
+“How are independence and public spirit these days?”
+
+“Very well, thank you. How are Development Companies developing?”
+
+He put back his head and laughed. He did not seem a bit chagrined or
+discomfited. The joke was on him, but he could enjoy it, nevertheless.
+In spite of my antagonism toward this man I could not help admiring
+certain traits of his character. He was big, in every way. Little
+repulses or setbacks did not trouble him.
+
+“Say,” he said, “how did you know about that cat?”
+
+“Saw his footprints,” I replied. “They were all over the scheme. And
+your friend Keene purred too loud.”
+
+“I don't mean that. Keene was a fool; that was plain enough for anyone
+to see. I had to use him; if Barclay hadn't been sick it might have
+been different. But how did you come to send me that message about the
+butter? Man, that is one of my favorite sayings--the choking the cat
+thing! How did you know that? I never said it to you.”
+
+“Oh, it is an old saying. I have heard it often; and it did seem to fit
+in this case. I imagined you would understand and appreciate.”
+
+“Um--yes,” dryly. “I appreciated all right. As to understanding--well,
+I'll understand later on. That's another little conundrum for me to
+work out. Somebody's been talking, of course. Here! hold on!” as I was
+walking away: “Don't go. I want to talk to you.”
+
+He characteristically did not ask whether or not I wanted to talk to
+him, but, as I happened to be in no hurry, I stopped and waited for him
+to continue. He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked me over,
+very much as he might have looked over a horse he was thinking of
+buying.
+
+“Paine,” he said, suddenly, “do you want to go to work?”
+
+“Work?” I repeated. “I am at work already.”
+
+“You've got a job, such as it is. It might be work for the average jay,
+but it isn't for you. I'll give you something to work at--yes, and work
+for.”
+
+I stared at him in wondering suspicion.
+
+“What is this; another Development Company?” I demanded.
+
+“Ha! ha! not this time. No, this is straight. If you'll say that you'll
+work for me I'll make an opening for you in my New York office.”
+
+I did not answer. I was trying to fathom the motive behind this new
+move.
+
+“I'll put you to work in my office,” he went on. “It may not be much to
+begin with, but you can make it anything you like; that'll be up to you.
+As to salary--well, I don't know what you're getting in that one-horse
+bank, but I'll double it, whatever it is. That will be the start, of
+course. After that it is up to you, as I said.”
+
+“Mr. Colton this may be a good joke, but I don't see it--yet.”
+
+“I don't joke often in business; can't afford to.”
+
+“You are really serious? You mean what you say?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“But why? You don't know anything about me.”
+
+“I know all that is necessary. And I have found out that you are all
+right, so far as bank work goes. That fellow Taylor and some others told
+me that. But I didn't need their telling. Why, man, it is part of my
+trade to know men when I see them. I have to know 'em. I said a while
+ago that you didn't belong in this forsaken hole of a town. God knows
+it IS forsaken! Even my wife is beginning to admit that, and she was the
+keenest to come here. Some day I shall get sick of it and sell out, I
+suppose.”
+
+“Sell out?”
+
+“Oh, not yet. Mabel--my daughter--seems to like it here, for some
+unknown reason, and wants to stay. And I don't intend to sell until I've
+bought--what I set out to buy. But I'm not the subject we're talking
+about just now. You are. Come! here's your chance to be somebody. More
+chance than I had, I'll tell you that. You can go to work in my office
+next week, if you want to. Will you?”
+
+I laughed at the idea. I believed I had found the motive I was seeking.
+“Of course not,” I said. “You can't close the Lane by that kind of
+bribery, Mr. Colton.”
+
+“Bribery be hanged! Come, come, Paine! Wake up, or I shall think your
+brains aren't up to standard, after all. When I bribe I bribe. When I
+ask a man to work for me there are no strings tied to the offer. Forget
+your picayune land for a minute. Time enough to remember that when I've
+got it, which will be some day or other, of course. I'm making you this
+offer because I want you. You're sharp; you saw through that Development
+game. You're clever--your sending me that 'cat' message proves it. And
+your not telling me where the idea for the message came from proves that
+you can keep your mouth shut. I could use a dozen fellows like you, if
+I could get them. You interested me right at the start. A chap with sand
+enough to tell Jim Colton to go to the devil is always interesting. I'm
+offering you this chance because I think it is a good chance for both
+of us. Yes, and because I like you, I suppose, in spite of your
+pig-headedness. Will you take it?”
+
+“No, thank you,” I answered.
+
+“Why? Because you can't leave your sick mother? She'll be all right.
+I was talking with the doctor--Quimby, his name is, isn't it--and he
+happened to mention that he was encouraged about her. Said she had been
+distinctly better for the last month.”
+
+I could not believe it. Doctor Quimby had said nothing of the sort to
+me. It was impossible. Mother BETTER!
+
+“That doesn't mean she is going to be well and strong again, of course,”
+ he added, not unkindly. “But I think Quimby believes she may be well
+enough to--perhaps--sit up one of these days. Be wheeled about in a
+chair, or something of that sort . . . Why! what is the matter? You
+looked as if I had knocked you out. Hasn't the doctor said anything to
+you?”
+
+“No,” I stammered. I WAS knocked out. I could not believe it. Mother,
+the bed-ridden invalid of six long years, to be well enough to sit up!
+to use a wheeled chair! It could not be true. It was too good to be
+true.
+
+“So, you see, you could leave her all right,” went on Colton. “If it was
+necessary you could get a nurse down here to look after her while you
+were away. And you might get home every fortnight or so. Better take my
+offer, Paine. Come!” with a grunt of impatient amusement, “don't keep me
+waiting too long. I am not used to coaxing people to work for me; it is
+usually the other way around. This offer of mine happens to be pretty
+nearly a disinterested one, and,” with one of his dry smiles, “all my
+offers are not that kind, as you ought to know. Will you say yes now? Or
+do you want till to-morrow to think it over?”
+
+The news concerning Mother had upset me greatly, but my common-sense was
+not all gone. That there was something behind his offer I believed, but,
+even if there were not--if it was disinterested and made simply because
+my unearthing of the Bay Shore “cat” had caught his fancy--I did not
+consider for a moment accepting it. Not if Mother was like other women,
+well and strong, would I have accepted it. In Denboro I was Roscoe
+Paine, and my life story was my own secret. In New York how long would
+it be before that secret and my real name were known, and all the old
+disgrace and scandal resurrected?
+
+“What do you say?” asked Colton, again. “Want more time to think about
+it, do you?”
+
+I shook my head. “No,” I answered. “I have had time enough. I am obliged
+for the offer and I appreciate your kindness, but I cannot accept.”
+
+I expected him to express impatience or, perhaps, anger; at least to ask
+my reasons for declining. But his only utterance was a “Humph!” For a
+moment he regarded me keenly. Then he said:
+
+“Haven't got the answer yet, have I? All right. Well,” briskly, “when
+are you and I going on that shooting trip?”
+
+“There is no shooting at present,” I answered, as soon as I could adjust
+my mind to this new switch in the conversation.
+
+“That so? Any fishing?”
+
+“I believe the squiteague are running outside. I heard they were.”
+
+“What? Squit--which?”
+
+“Squiteague. Weakfish some people call them.”
+
+“They are pretty fair sport, aren't they?”
+
+“Yes, fair. Nothing like bluefish, however.”
+
+“All right. What is the matter with our going squint--squint--something
+or othering one of these days? Will you go? Or are you as pig-headed
+about that as you are about other things?”
+
+I laughed. “Not quite,” I said. “I should be glad of your company, Mr.
+Colton.”
+
+“Next Saturday suit you?”
+
+“Yes. After bank hours.”
+
+“All right. I'll look after the boat. You provide the bait and tackle.
+That's fair, isn't it? Right. Be on hand at my dock at one o'clock.
+Morning.”
+
+He walked off. Neither of us had thought of the tide--he, probably, not
+realizing that high water was an important factor, and I being too much
+agitated by what he had said about Mother, and the suddenness with which
+the fishing trip was planned, to think calmly of anything.
+
+That week was a strange one to me, and the first of many strange ones.
+My manner of life was changing, although I did not realize it and
+although the change came through no effort of my own. Our house, which
+had been so long almost a hermitage, if a home containing four persons
+might be called that, was gradually becoming a social center. Matilda
+Dean had called once a week regularly for some time and this particular
+week Captain Jed came with her. Captain Elisha Warren and his cousin and
+housekeeper, Miss Abbie Baker, drove down for a half-hour's stay. George
+Taylor and Nellie spent an evening with us. I feared the unaccustomed
+rush of company might have a bad effect upon Mother, but she seemed
+actually the better for it. She professed to believe that Denboro was
+awakening to the fact of my merits as a man and a citizen. “They are
+finding you out at last, Boy,” she said. I laughed at her. I knew
+better. It was because of my position in the bank that these people
+came. I was making good there, apparently, and the surprise at
+this caused Captain Warren and the rest to take a new, and no doubt
+transitory interest in me.
+
+And I thought I knew Captain Jed's reason for coming. An interview
+between us gave me the inkling. Matilda was in Mother's room and Dean
+and I were together in the dining-room.
+
+“Ros,” said the captain, suddenly, “you ain't backin' water, are you?”
+
+“Backing water? What do you mean by that?”
+
+“In this Lane business. You ain't cal'latin' to sell out to Colton,
+after all?”
+
+“Well, hardly. Why do you say that?”
+
+“Nothin', maybe. But they tell me you're kind of thick with the R'yal
+family lately. Beriah Holt says he see you and the Colton girl come out
+of the woods back of his place one afternoon a spell ago. She was on
+horseback and you was walkin', but Beriah says you and she was mighty
+friendly.”
+
+I might have expected this. In Denboro one does few things unnoticed.
+
+“She had lost her way in the woods and I helped her to find the road
+home,” I said, “that was all.”
+
+“Hum! You helped her to find the road the night of the strawberry
+festival, too, didn't you?”
+
+“How in the world did you find that out?”
+
+“Oh, it just sort of drifted around. I've got pretty big ears--maybe
+you've noticed 'em--and they gen'rally catch some of what's blowin'
+past. There was a coachman mixed up in that night's work and he talked
+some, I shouldn't wonder; most of his kind do.”
+
+“Well, what of it?” I asked, sharply. “I helped her as I would your
+daughter if she had been caught alone in a storm like that. I should
+have been ashamed not to.”
+
+“Sartin! Needn't get mad about it. What's this about your takin' his
+Majesty off fishin' next Saturday?”
+
+All of my personal affairs seemed to be common property. I was losing my
+temper in spite of my recent good resolutions.
+
+“Look here, Captain Dean,” I said, “I have a right to take any one
+fishing, if I choose. Mr. Colton asked me to do it and I saw no reason
+for saying no.”
+
+“Funny he should ask you. He ain't asked anybody else in town.”
+
+“I don't know that and I don't care. I shall do as I please. I have
+no grievance against the Coltons. I shall not sell them my land, but I
+reserve the right to meet them--yes, and to associate with them--if I
+choose. You and your friends may as well understand that, Captain.”
+
+“There! there! don't get huffy. I ain't got the right to say what your
+rights are, Ros. And I don't think for a minute you'd back water on the
+Lane business a-purpose. But I do think you're takin' chances. I tell
+you, honest, I'm scart of old Colton, in a way, and I ain't scart
+of many folks. He's a fighter and he's smart. He and I have had some
+talks--”
+
+“You have?” I interrupted.
+
+“Yup. Lively squabbles they was, too. Each of us expressin' our opinion
+of t'other and not holdin' back anything to speak of. I don't know how
+he felt when we quit, but I know I respected him--for his out and open
+cussedness and grit, if nothin' else. And I think he felt the same way
+about me. But he's smart--consarn him, he is! And HE never backs water.
+That's why I think you're takin' chances in bein' too friendly with him.
+He's layin' low and, if you get off your guard just once he'll grab.”
+
+I hesitated; then I made up my mind.
+
+“Captain Dean,” I said, “his smartness hasn't caught me yet. I'm going
+to tell you something, but first you must promise not to tell anyone
+else.”
+
+He promised and I told him of Mr. Keene and the Bay Shore Company.
+He listened, interrupting with chuckles and exclamations. When I had
+finished he seized my hand and wrung it.
+
+“By the everlastin'!” he exclaimed, “that was great! I say again, you're
+all right, Ros Paine. Even _I_ swallered that Development Company, hook,
+line, and sinker. But YOU saw through it!”
+
+“I tell you this,” I said, “so that you will understand I have no
+intention of backing water.”
+
+“I know you ain't. Knew it afore and now I know it better. But I can't
+understand what the Colton game is--and there is a game, sure. That
+daughter of his, now--she may be in it or she may not. She's pretty
+and I will give in that she's folksy and sociable with us natives; it's
+surprisin', considerin' her bringin' up. Nellie and Matildy like her,
+Nellie especial. They're real chummy, as you might say. Talk and talk,
+just as easy and common as you and I this minute. I've heard 'em two or
+three times at my house when they thought I wasn't listenin' and twice
+out of the three they was talkin' about you.”
+
+“About ME?” I repeated.
+
+“Yes. I don't wonder you're surprised. I was myself. Asked Nellie about
+it and she just laughed. Said you was the principal object of
+interest in town just now, which is more or less true. But it makes me
+suspicious, all the same. Why should a girl like that Colton one talk
+about a feller like you? You're as fur apart, fur's anything in common
+is concerned, as molasses is from vinegar. Ain't that so?”
+
+It was so, of course, but he need not have been so brutally frank in
+telling me. However, I nodded and admitted that he was right.
+
+“Yes,” he said. “A blind horse could see there was no sensible, open and
+above-board reason for HER bein' interested in YOU. So there's another
+reason, the way I look at it, and that's why I'd be mighty careful,
+mighty careful, Ros. Her pa's got a new trick up his sleeve and she's
+helpin' him play it, that's my notion. So be careful, won't you.”
+
+“I'll be careful,” said I. I knew, as well as I knew my real name--which
+he did not--that Mabel Colton was not helping her father play any
+tricks. I had seen enough of her to be certain she was not tricky. And,
+besides, if she were in sympathy with her parent, why had she given me
+the hint which put me on the trail of the Development Company? Why had
+she given me the hint at all? That was the real riddle, and I had
+not, as yet, hit upon a plausible answer. Those I had hit upon were
+ridiculous and impossible, and I put them from my mind. But she was not
+tricky, that I knew.
+
+Captain Jed changed the subject and we talked of Nellie's wedding, which
+was to take place in a month. The captain was full of various emotions,
+regret at losing his daughter and joy because of her getting such a good
+husband. His last words were these:
+
+“Ros,” he said, “be careful, for my sake full as much as yours. This
+Lane business and Nellie's gettin' married have sort of possessed me,
+same as the evil spirits did the swine, in scriptur'. I lay awake nights
+fussin' for fear the marriage won't turn out happy or for fear
+you'll sell the Lane after all. And one's just as likely to happen as
+t'other--which means they're both impossible, I cal'late. But look out
+for that Colton girl, whatever else you do. She's a good deal better
+lookin' than her dad, but she's just as dangerous. You mark my words,
+son, the feller that plays with fire takes chances. So don't be TOO
+sociable with any of the tribe.”
+
+And the very next afternoon the dangerous person herself called and she
+and I spent an hour in Mother's room, where the three of us chatted
+like old friends. She had the rare power of making one forget self and
+personal worries and I could readily understand why Mother had been so
+completely won by her. She was bright and cheery and sympathetic. Here
+there was no trace of the pride of class and the arrogance which had
+caused me to hate her so heartily at first. It seemed almost as if
+she had set herself the task of making me like her in spite of my
+prejudices. My reason told me that this could not be; it was merely her
+fancy for Mother which caused her to notice me at all; she had as much
+as said so more than once. But I did like her; I acknowledged it in
+my thoughts; and, after she had gone, the room, with its drawn shades,
+seemed doubly dark and gloomy. Mother was silent for a few minutes and
+I, too, said nothing. Then:
+
+“She is a wonderful girl, isn't she, Roscoe,” said Mother.
+
+She was altogether too wonderful, that was the trouble. A girl like
+her had no place in our lives. I went out for a walk and a smoke by the
+bluff edge; and, almost before I knew it, I found myself standing at
+the border of the grove, looking at the great house and trying to guess
+which was her room and if she was there and of what or whom she might be
+thinking just then. “Mark my words, son,” Captain Jed had declared, “the
+feller that plays with fire takes chances.”
+
+I turned on my heel and set out for home. I would take no chances. I
+must not play with fire, even though the flames had, for the moment,
+dazzled me. I had called myself a fool many times in the past few years,
+but I would not be so great a fool as that.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+So I resolved, more resolutely than ever, to keep out of her way, to
+see as little of her as possible! and, as had happened before to similar
+resolutions of mine with which she was concerned, this one was rendered
+non-effective, through no fault of my own, almost as soon as it was
+made. For on Saturday afternoon, as I approached the Colton wharf, laden
+with bait and rods for the fishing excursion in the Colton boat, I saw
+her standing there beside her father, waiting for me.
+
+“We've got a passenger, Paine,” said “Big Jim.” “You've met her before,
+I believe--on the water and in it. No objections to my daughter's going
+along, have you?”
+
+What could I say; except to announce delight at the addition to our
+party? Perhaps I did not say it as heartily as I might, for, Miss
+Colton, who was regarding me with a mischievous smile, observed
+demurely:
+
+“I am sure he must be delighted, Father. Mr. Paine knows I am very fond
+of fishing; don't you, Mr. Paine?”
+
+“Yes; oh, yes, of course,” I stammered.
+
+“He does, eh!” Her father seemed surprised. “How did he find that out?”
+
+I thought the question was addressed to her, so I did not answer. She
+seemed to think otherwise, for she said:
+
+“Did you hear, Mr. Paine? Father asks how you knew I was fond of
+fishing.”
+
+“Why--er--you told me so, Miss Colton,” I replied. If she had not
+related her Seabury Pond experience to her parents I did not propose to
+be trapped into doing so. She laughed merrily.
+
+“Did I?” she asked. “Yes, I believe I did.”
+
+Mr. Colton looked at us, each in turn.
+
+“Humph!” he observed; “I don't seem to be aboard this train. What's the
+joke?”
+
+She saved me the problem of inventing a satisfactory answer.
+
+“Oh, it's a little joke of Mr. Paine's and my own,” she explained. “I'll
+tell you about it by and by, Father. It would take too long to tell now.
+He saved my life once more, that's all.”
+
+“Oh! that's all! Humph! And you did not think a trifle like that worth
+mentioning to me, I suppose. Would you mind telling me what it was he
+saved you from this time?”
+
+“From starvation. I was a famished wayfarer and he took me in. There,
+Daddy, don't puzzle your poor brain any longer. It is all right and
+I'll tell you all about it when we get home. Now I am sure we should
+be starting if we are to have any fishing at all. Shall we cast off,
+Mr.--that is, Captain Paine?”
+
+That fishing trip was not a huge success if judged solely by the size
+of the catch. The weakfish were not hungry or we did not tempt them with
+bait to their taste that day. We got a half dozen, of which I caught
+three, Miss Colton two, and her father but one. His, however, was a big
+one, much the biggest of the six, and he had a glorious time landing it.
+He fished as he appeared to do everything else, with intense earnestness
+and determination. He evidently considered the struggle a sort of
+personal disagreement between the fish and himself and, as usual,
+intended to have his way. He succeeded after a while, and announced that
+he had not enjoyed anything as much since arriving in Denboro.
+
+His daughter also seemed to be enjoying herself. She was quite as good a
+fisher as her father, and, when the sport was over, and we reeled in
+our lines preparatory to starting for home, rallied him not a little
+at having been the least successful of the party. He took her teasing
+good-naturedly.
+
+“You think it is quite a feat to get the better of your old dad, don't
+you, my lady,” he observed.
+
+“Of course I do. It is, isn't it?”
+
+He chuckled. “Well, maybe you're right,” he admitted. “You do it oftener
+than any one else, that is certain. Paine, you might take lessons from
+her, if you are still hoping to keep up your end in the little fight you
+and I have on hand.”
+
+She turned to me and smiled. Her graceful head was silhouetted against
+the red glow of the sunset and a loosened strand of her hair waved in
+the light breeze.
+
+“I think Mr. Paine does not need lessons from any one,” she said. “He
+seems to be holding his own very well.”
+
+“But he's frightened, all the same. Come, Paine, own up now. You know
+you are frightened, don't you?”
+
+“Not very,” I answered, truthfully.
+
+“So? Then you aren't as sensible as you ought to be. A wise man knows
+when to be scared. Let's make a little bet on it. I'll bet you two to
+one that I'll own that land of yours inside of six months.”
+
+I shook my head. “I never bet on certainties,” I declared. “I should be
+ashamed to collect my winnings.”
+
+This seemed to amuse them both, for they both laughed.
+
+“Father,” said Miss Colton, “I am afraid you don't learn by experience.
+You have lost one bet already, you know.”
+
+“That's so. And I haven't paid it yet, either. I must, or you'll be
+telling every one that I am a poor sport. Paine, this young lady bet me
+a new pipe against a box of gloves that you wouldn't--”
+
+“Father,” broke in the young lady, herself, “stop.”
+
+“Oh, all right, all right. Just as you say. But I tell you this, Paine;
+SHE hasn't any scruples against betting on certainties.”
+
+She was leaning against the cockpit rail, looking forward, and I could
+not see her face. She spoke without turning.
+
+“You thought yours was the certainty,” she said. “You warned me that I
+was sure to lose.”
+
+“Did I? Well, you may, even yet. On the whole, I think I'll wait a while
+before buying those gloves. Remember, there was no time limit. When you
+said that--”
+
+“Father,” more firmly, “please be quiet. You have said quite enough. Mr.
+Paine is not likely to be interested in the family gambling.”
+
+I was interested in this particular “gamble.” The wager had, obviously,
+something to do with me. I suppose I should have felt flattered at being
+made the subject of a bet in such select circles, but I did not. I had
+not been informed as to the details of that bet.
+
+There was nothing more said about it at the time and my passengers
+talked of other things as we sailed home before the fast dying breeze.
+It died almost altogether as we passed the lighthouse at Crow Point and
+entered the bay and, for an hour, we barely held our own against the
+tide. The sun set, twilight came, and the stars appeared one by one.
+Colton, lying at full length on the deck forward of the cockpit, smoked
+in lazy enjoyment. His only remark in ten minutes was to the effect that
+his wife had probably drowned us all, in her mind, a dozen times over by
+now.
+
+His daughter, sitting by the rail and looking out over the smooth,
+darkly glimmering water, bade him be quiet.
+
+“You must not talk,” she said. “This is the most wonderful night I ever
+experienced. How still it is! You can hear every sound. Hark!”
+
+From the dusk, to port, came the clear strokes of a church bell striking
+eight.
+
+“That is the clock at the Methodist Church, isn't it?” asked Miss
+Colton.
+
+“Yes,” said I.
+
+“The church where the strawberry festival was held?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Colton struck a match to relight his cigar.
+
+“Shouldn't think that would be a pleasant reminder to either of you,” he
+observed. “I am mighty sure it wasn't to me.”
+
+Miss Colton did not answer, nor did I.
+
+The breeze sprang up again soon after, from a different quarter this
+time, but the tide had ebbed so far that I was obliged to make the
+detour around the end of the flat upon which Victor had grounded the
+dingy. “Big Jim” raised himself on his elbow.
+
+“Hello!” he exclaimed, “here's another joyful spot. Mabel, it was along
+here somewhere that Paine acquired the habit of carrying you about like
+a bundle. It must have been a picturesque performance. Wish I might have
+seen it.”
+
+He laughed heartily.
+
+“Father,” said the young lady, coldly, “don't be silly--please.”
+
+He chuckled and lay down again, and no one spoke during the rest of the
+voyage. It was after nine when I brought the boat up to the wharf, made
+her fast, and lowered and furled the sail.
+
+“Better come up to the house with us and have a bit to eat, Paine,”
+ urged Colton. “You must be hungry; I know I am.”
+
+“Oh, no, thank you,” said I. “Supper will be waiting for me at home.”
+
+“Glad to have you, if you'll come. Tell him to come, Mabel.”
+
+Miss Colton's invitation was not over-cordial.
+
+“I presume Mr. Paine knows what is best for him to do,” she said. “Of
+course we shall be glad to have him, if he will come.”
+
+I declined, and, after thanking me for the sail and the pleasure of the
+fishing trip, they left me, Colton carrying his big squiteague by the
+gills, its tail slapping his leg as he climbed the bluff. A moment later
+I followed.
+
+The night was, as my feminine passenger had said, wonderfully quiet, and
+sounds carried a long way. As I reached the juncture of the path and
+the Lane I heard a voice which I recognized as Mrs. Colton's. She was
+evidently standing on the veranda of the big house and I heard every
+word distinctly.
+
+“You are so unthinking, James! You and Mabel have no regard for my
+feelings at all. I have been worried almost to death. Do you realize the
+time? I warned you against trusting yourself to the care of that common
+FELLOW--”
+
+The “fellow” heard no more. He did not wish to. He was tramping heavily
+through the dew-soaked undergrowth. He needed now no counsel against
+“playing with fire.” The cutting contempt of Mrs. James W. Colton's
+remark was fire-extinguisher sufficient for that night.
+
+Miss Colton and I met again at the door of the bank a day or two later,
+just at closing time. Sam Wheeler had already gone and I left George at
+his desk, poring over papers and busily figuring. He was working
+over time much of late and explained his industry by the fact of his
+approaching marriage and his desire to make things easy for me to handle
+while he was on his brief wedding trip. I was not much alarmed by the
+prospect. He was to be gone but a week and I had become sufficiently
+familiar with the routine to feel confident in assuming the
+responsibility. Small, my predecessor, had a brother who had formerly
+been employed in the bank and was now out of work, and he was coming in
+to help during the cashier's absence. I was not worried by the prospect
+of being left in charge, but I was worried about George. He, so it
+seemed to me, had grown pale and thin. Also he was nervously irritable
+and not at all like his usual good-natured self. I tried to joke him
+into better humor, but he did not respond to my jokes. He seemed, too,
+to realize that his odd behavior was noticeable, for he said:
+
+“Don't mind my crankiness, Ros. I've got so much on my mind that I'd be
+mean to my old grandmother, if I had one, I guess likely. Don't let my
+meanness trouble you; it isn't worth trouble.”
+
+I laughed. “George,” I said, “if I ever dreamed of such a thing as
+getting married myself, you would scare me out of it. You ought to be a
+happy man, and act like one; instead you act as if you were about to be
+jailed.”
+
+He caught his breath with a sort of gasp. Then, after a pause and
+without looking up, he asked slowly:
+
+“Jailed? What in the world made you say that, Ros?”
+
+“I said it because you act as if you were bound for state's prison
+instead of the matrimonial altar. George, what IS troubling you?”
+
+“Troubling me? Why--why, nothing special, of course. Catching up with my
+work here makes me nervous and--and kind of absent-minded, I guess. Act
+absent-minded, don't I?”
+
+He did, there was no doubt of that, but I did not believe it was his
+work which caused the absent-mindedness.
+
+“If there is any trouble, George,” I said, earnestly; “if you're in any
+difficulty, personally, I shall be very glad to help you, if I can. I
+mean that.”
+
+For a moment I thought he hesitated. Then he shook his head.
+
+“I know you mean it, Ros,” he answered. “I'm much obliged to you, too.
+But there's nothing to help me with. I'm just nervous and tired, that's
+all.”
+
+I did not believe it, but I felt that I had said all I could,
+considering his attitude. I bade him good night and left the building.
+As I came down the steps Miss Colton was just crossing the road from
+Eldredge's store, a good sized brown paper parcel in her hand.
+
+Ever since the day when Captain Jed had given me his warning I had been
+strengthening my resolution. The remark of Mrs. Colton's which I had
+overheard on the night of the fishing trip, although it revealed to me,
+as I believed, my real standing in the minds of my neighbors, whatever
+they might pretend when in my company, was, after all, only a minor
+detail. I knew that I must break off my acquaintance with this girl. By
+all that was sensible and sane it must be broken off. I must not, for
+my own sake, continue to meet her, to see her and speak with her. No;
+I would avoid her if I could, but, at all events, I would break off the
+association, even if I were obliged to offend her, deliberately offend
+her, to accomplish my purpose. I swore it; and then I swore at myself
+for being so weak-minded as to need to swear. That I should be afraid
+of a girl, a mere girl, ten years younger than I, who, as the casual
+pastime of an idle summer, had chosen to pretend an interest in me! I
+was not afraid of her, of course; I was afraid of myself. Not that I was
+in danger of falling in love with her--that idea was too ridiculous
+to be even funny. But she was becoming a disturbing influence in my
+life--that was it, a disturbing influence--and I must not permit myself
+to be disturbed.
+
+So now, as I saw the disturbing influence crossing the road in my
+direction, my first thought was to retreat to the bank. But it was
+too late to retreat; she had seen me, and she bowed pleasantly as she
+approached.
+
+“Good afternoon,” she said.
+
+I bowed and admitted that the afternoon was a good one, conscious as I
+did so that Sim Eldredge had followed her to the door of his store and
+was regarding us with marked interest.
+
+She exhibited the package. “I am acting as my own errand boy, you see,”
+ she said, smiling. “It was such a beautiful day that I refused to send
+any one for this, or even to ride. I did not realize that a few yards
+of muslin would make such a bundle. Now I must carry it, I suppose, in
+spite of appearances.”
+
+I believed I saw an opportunity to escape.
+
+“I am going directly home,” I said. “Let me carry it down for you. I
+will send it over to your house by Lute.”
+
+“Oh, no thank you. I could not think of troubling Mr. Rogers. But do you
+really want to carry it? You may, for a while. We will take turns. I
+am going directly home, too; and we will walk down together. Unless, of
+course, you are in a hurry.”
+
+I think it was the expression of my face which led her to add the last
+sentence. If I had had time to think, to summon my resolution, it is
+possible--yes, it is possible that I should have declared myself to
+be in a hurry and gone on alone. But she had caught me unawares and
+resolution was wanting. I announced that I was in no hurry at all, and
+took the parcel.
+
+We walked on together, she chatting easily, and I pretending to listen,
+although aware that our progress was watched by eager eyes and commented
+upon and exclaimed over by many tongues. The drawn shades of parlor
+windows moved significantly as we passed and, as we turned into the
+Lower Road, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Sim Eldredge and his
+clerk and Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker on the store platform, staring
+after us. As if this audience was not sufficient, and to make the affair
+complete, we met Captain Dean strutting importantly on his way to the
+post-office. He bowed and said “Afternoon,” but the look he gave me was
+significant. There was surprise in it, and distrust. I knew I should
+have to do more explaining at our next meeting. And I knew, too, or
+could guess, what was being said that very moment at the store, and of
+the surmising and theorizing and strengthening of suspicions which would
+go on at a dozen supper tables that evening.
+
+My companion, however, appeared to be quite unconscious of all this.
+That I might be suspected and misjudged because she had chanced to
+prefer my company to a walk home alone did not, evidently, occur to
+her. There was no reason why it should, of course; she was not in the
+position where the opinion or suspicions of Denboro's inhabitants need
+concern her in the least. But I, angry at Captain Jed for his look and
+with Sim Eldredge and his companions for their impudent stares and the
+trouble I knew their gossipy tongues would make for me, was gloomy and
+resentful.
+
+She did most of the talking and I walked beside her, putting in a word
+occasionally and doing my best to appear as unconcerned as she really
+was. We crossed Elnathan Mullet's bridge and continued down the Shore
+Lane. Suddenly I was aware that she had not spoken for some minutes.
+
+“Eh? Yes, Miss Colton; what is it?” I stammered. Then I realized that
+we were standing beside the granite posts marking the entrance to the
+Colton grounds. I had been so wrapped in my unpleasant thoughts and
+forebodings that we had reached our journey's end without my noticing
+it.
+
+“Well!” I exclaimed, and then added the brilliant observation, “We are
+here, aren't we.”
+
+“We are,” she said, dryly. “Didn't you know it?”
+
+“Why, I had not realized. The walk has seemed so short.”
+
+“Yes, I'm sure it must. I think you have spoken exactly six words in the
+last five minutes. Will you come in?”
+
+“Oh no; no, thank you.”
+
+“Why not? Father is in and will be glad to see you.”
+
+“I--I must be getting on toward home. Supper will be ready.”
+
+She bit her lip. “Far be it from me to criticize your domestic
+arrangements, Mr. Paine,” she said, “but it does seem to me that your
+housekeeper serves meals at odd hours. It is only a few minutes after
+four, by my watch.”
+
+She had me at a disadvantage. I imagined I must have appeared
+embarrassed. I know I felt that way.
+
+“I did not realize . . . I thought it much later,” I stammered.
+
+“Then you will come in? Father will like to discuss the fishing with
+you, I know. He has talked of little but his wonderful weakfish ever
+since he caught it.”
+
+“No, thank you, Miss Colton. Really, I must not stop.”
+
+She took the parcel from my hands.
+
+“Very well,” she said, indifferently; “as you please. I thank you for
+your kindness in walking down with me. Good afternoon, Mr. Paine.”
+
+She turned away. Here was the opportunity I had been waiting for, the
+opportunity of breaking off our acquaintance. If I knew anything I knew
+the tone of that “Good afternoon” meant that, for some reason or other,
+she was offended, just as I had been certain I wished her to be. Here
+was the opportunity, Heaven sent, to rid my life of its disturbing
+influence. Just what I had prayed for had come to pass.
+
+And so, to prove the sincerity of my prayers and the worth of my high
+resolve, I--called her back.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I said.
+
+She, apparently, did not hear me, so I called again.
+
+“Miss Colton.”
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“I seem somehow or other to have offended you.” And even as I said it I
+realized the completeness of the back-down, realized it and blushed. I
+was ashamed of my weakness. Yet when she asked me to repeat my words I
+did so.
+
+“You spoke to me?” she said, coldly.
+
+“I--I said I had not meant to offend you.”
+
+“Why should you imagine that I am offended, pray? You seem to think
+other people must necessarily regard you as seriously as you do
+yourself. I am not offended.”
+
+“But you are.”
+
+“Very well; then I am. We won't argue the matter; it is scarcely worth
+argument, is it?”
+
+This observation called for no answer in particular, at least I could
+not think of one. While I was groping for a word she spoke again.
+
+“Don't let me detain you, Mr. Paine,” she said. “I am sure your--supper,
+was it?--must be waiting.”
+
+“Miss Colton, you--you seem to resent my not accepting your invitation
+to visit your father. I assure you I--I should be very glad to call upon
+him.”
+
+“Thank you. I will tell him so. He will be grateful, doubtless. Your
+condescension is overwhelming, Mr. Paine.”
+
+“Miss Colton, everything I say seems to be wrong this afternoon. I don't
+know what I have done. Twice you have spoken of my condescension.”
+
+Her foot was beginning to pat the grass. I recognized the battle signal,
+but I kept on.
+
+“I don't understand what you mean by condescension,” I said.
+
+“Don't you, indeed? You are very dense all at once, Mr. Paine.”
+
+“Possibly. But I don't understand.”
+
+For an instant she hesitated. Then she turned on me with a gust of
+fierce impatience which took my breath away. Her eyes flashed.
+
+“You do,” she declared. “You do understand, I am not blind. Do you
+suppose I could not see that you wished to avoid me when I met you at
+the bank just now? That my company was neither welcome nor desired? That
+you accepted my suggestion of walking down together merely because you
+could think of no excuse for declining?”
+
+This was a staggerer. And the worst of it was its truth.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I faltered, “I can't understand what you mean. I--”
+
+“You do understand. And please,” with a scornful laugh, “oh, PLEASE
+understand that I am not troubled because of THAT. Your charming and
+cultivated society is not indispensable to my happiness, Mr. Paine,
+strange as that may appear to you. Really,” with cutting contempt, “it
+is not.”
+
+“That I quite understand, Miss Colton,” I said, “but--”
+
+“But you are like every one else in this horrid, narrow, bigoted place.
+Don't you suppose that I see it everywhere I go! Every one here hates
+us--every one. We are intruders; we are not wanted here, and you all
+take pains to make us feel as uncomfortable as you can. Oh, you are all
+snobs--all of you.”
+
+I actually gasped.
+
+“Snobs!” I repeated. “We--snobs?”
+
+“Yes. That is exactly what you are. When Father came here he meant to be
+a citizen, a good citizen, of the town. He had intended to do all sorts
+of things to help the village and the people in it. He and I discussed
+ever so many plans for doing good here. And we wanted to be friendly
+with every one. But how have you treated us! No one comes to see us. We
+are avoided as if we had the small-pox. The majority of people scarcely
+speak to us on the street. I am so lonely and--”
+
+She stopped. I had never seen her so agitated. As for me, astonishment
+is much too mild a term to use in describing my feelings. That these
+people, these millionaires and aristocrats should feel that they had
+been avoided and slighted, that we Denboroites were the snobs, that THEY
+should be lonely because no one, or almost no one, came to call upon
+them--this was too much for my bewildered brain to grasp all at once.
+
+The young lady went on.
+
+“And you!” she exclaimed. “You are as bad as the rest. Father has called
+upon you several times. I have called on your mother. Father and I have
+tried to be friendly and neighborly. Not that we are lacking in friends.
+We,” haughtily, “are not obliged to BEG for friendship. But we felt it
+our duty to--”
+
+I interrupted. There is a limit to forbearance and I considered that
+limit reached.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I declared, “you are talking nonsense. Considering the
+manner in which your father treated me when we first met, I--”
+
+“How did you treat him? How did you treat Mr. Carver and me when you
+first met us in the auto? You insulted us. It was plain enough then that
+you hated us.”
+
+“I--why, Miss Colton, I did not know who you were.”
+
+“Indeed! Would it have made any difference if you had known? I doubt it.
+No, you are like the rest of the people here. Because we have come from
+the city you have chosen to be as envious and petty and disagreeable
+as you can. Even Nellie Dean, whom I know better than any one here, has
+never returned my call. There is a concerted plan to make us feel we are
+neither welcome nor wanted. Very well,” disdainfully, “we know it. I,
+for one, shall not force my presence upon any one of you again. And it
+is probable that I shall manage to exist even without the delights of
+Denboro society. Good-by, Mr. Paine.”
+
+“But, Miss Colton--”
+
+“Good-by.”
+
+“Miss Colton, listen to me. You are wrong, all wrong, I tell you. There
+is no plan or plot to make you feel uncomfortable. We are plain village
+people here, and you are wealthy and have been used to associating with
+those of your class. Every one in Denboro knew that when you came, and
+they have been shy of intruding where they might not be welcome. Then
+there was that matter of the Lane here.”
+
+“Oh, that precious Lane! I wish I had never seen it.”
+
+“I have wished that a number of times in the past few months. But it is
+here and the question overshadows everything else in the village just
+now. It does not seem of much importance to you, perhaps; perhaps it is
+not so very important to me; but--”
+
+Again she interrupted me.
+
+“I think it is important enough to make you forget--ordinary courtesy,”
+ she declared. “Yes, courtesy. DON'T look at me like that! You know what
+I mean. As I told you before, I am not blind. Do credit me with some
+intelligence. All the way during this cheerful walk of ours you scarcely
+spoke a word. Did you suppose I did not know what was troubling you? I
+saw how that Captain Dean looked at you. I saw those people staring from
+the post-office door. I knew what you were afraid of their saying: that
+you are altogether too companionable with Father and me; that you intend
+selling the land to us, after all. That is what you thought they would
+say and you were afraid--AFRAID of their gossip. Oh, it is humiliating!
+And, for a time, I really thought you were different from the rest and
+above such things.”
+
+I began to feel as if I were once more a small boy receiving a lecture
+from the governess.
+
+“I am not at all afraid of them, Miss Colton,” I protested.
+
+“You are. Why? Your conscience is clear, isn't it? You don't intend
+selling out to my father?”
+
+“Certainly not.”
+
+“Then why should you care what people like that may think? Oh, you weary
+me! I admired you for your independence. There are few persons with the
+courage to face my father as you have done and I admired you for it. I
+would not have had you sell us the land for ANYTHING.”
+
+“You would not?” I gasped.
+
+“Certainly not! I have been on your side all the time. If you had sold
+I should have thought you, like all the rest, holding back merely for
+a higher price. I respected you for the fight you were making. You must
+have known it. If I had not why do you suppose I gave you that hint
+about the Development Company?”
+
+“Goodness knows!” I exclaimed, devoutly.
+
+“And I was sure you could not be bribed by an offer of a position
+in Father's office. It was not really a bribe--Father has, for some
+unexplainable reason, taken a fancy to you--but I knew you would believe
+it to be bribery. That is why I was so positive in telling him that you
+would not accept. And now you--oh, when I think of how I have LOWERED
+myself! How I have stooped to . . . But there! I am sure that supper
+of yours must be waiting. Pray condescend to convey my regrets to the
+faithful--what is her name? Odd that I should forget a name like THAT.
+Oh, yes! Dorinda!--Pray convey my regrets to the faithful Dorinda
+for being unwittingly the cause of the delay, and assure her that the
+offense will NOT be repeated. Good-by, Mr. Paine.”
+
+She walked off, between the granite posts and along the curved drive.
+This time I made no attempt to call her back. The storm had burst so
+unexpectedly and had developed into such a hurricane that I had had time
+to do little more than bend my head before it. But I had had time enough
+to grow angry. I would not have called her back then for the world. She
+had insulted me, not once only, but again and again. I stood and watched
+her go on her way, and then I turned and went on my own.
+
+The parting had come. The acquaintance was broken off; not precisely as
+I had intended it to be broken, but broken, nevertheless, and ended
+for good and all. I was glad of it. There would be no more fishing
+excursions, no more gifts of flowers and books, no more charity calls.
+The “common fellow” was free from the disturbing influence and he was
+glad of it--heartily glad of it.
+
+Yet his gladness was not as apparent to others as it should, by all
+that was consistent, have been. Lute, evidently, observed no traces of
+transcendent happiness, when I encountered him in the back yard, beside
+the woodpile, sharpening the kindling hatchet with a whetstone, a
+process peculiarly satisfying to his temperament because it took such a
+long time to achieve a noticeable result.
+
+“Hello, Ros!” he hailed. “Why! what ails you?”
+
+“Ails me?” I repeated, crossly. “Nothing ails me, of course.”
+
+“Well, I'm glad to hear it. You look as if you'd lost your last friend.”
+
+“I haven't lost any friends. Far from it.”
+
+“Nobody's dead, then?”
+
+“No. Though I could find some who are half dead without trying very
+hard.”
+
+More perfectly good sarcasm wasted. Lute inquired eagerly if I meant
+old Mrs. Lobelia Glover. “I heard yesterday she was pretty feeble,” he
+added. “'Tain't to be expected she'll last a long spell, at her age.
+Doctor Quimby says she had a spine in her back for twenty years.”
+
+I made no comment upon poor Mrs. Glover's surprising affliction. I
+merely grunted and went into the house. Dorinda looked at me curiously.
+
+“What's the trouble?” she asked.
+
+“Trouble! There isn't any trouble. You and Lute seem to be looking for
+trouble.”
+
+“Don't have to look far to find it, in this world. Anything wrong at the
+bank?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Um-hm. Settin' so long on the fence make you uneasy? I told you the
+pickets would wear through if you roosted on 'em too long.”
+
+“There is nothing the matter, I tell you. How is Mother?”
+
+“She ain't any wuss. If 'twan't an impossibility I'd say she was better
+the last month than I'd seen her since she was took. Nellie Dean called
+on her this afternoon.”
+
+“Humph! I should think a next week's bride would be too busy to call on
+any one except possibly the dressmaker.”
+
+“Um-hm. Well, Nellie looks as if she'd been callin' on the dressmaker
+pretty often. Anyhow she looked worried and Olindy Cahoon's dressmakin'
+gabble is enough to worry anybody. She left a note for you.”
+
+“Who? Olinda?”
+
+“Land sakes! no! What would Olindy be doin' down here? There ain't
+any brides to dress in this house, or bridegrooms either unless you're
+cal'latin' to be one, or Lute turns Mormon. That last notion ain't such
+a bad one,” with a dry smile. “Another wife or two to help me take care
+of him would come in handy.”
+
+“Who did leave the note for me, then?”
+
+“Nellie, of course. She wanted me to be sure you got it. Somethin' about
+that wonderful weddin', I s'pose. I left it upstairs on your bureau.”
+
+I found the note and put it in my pocket to read later on. I did not
+feel like reading it then. I did not feel like doing anything or seeing
+any one; yet least of all did I feel like being alone. For if I was
+alone I should think, and I did not want to think. I prowled about my
+room for a time and then went down and spent a short time with Mother.
+Her first question was concerning my day at the bank, and her second if
+I had seen any of the Coltons recently. “I rather hoped Miss Mabel would
+come to see me to-day,” she added. “I look forward to her visits so, I
+think she's a real friend of ours, Roscoe. I know you don't, dear,
+or you try to believe you do not; but she is--I am convinced of it. I
+wonder if she will come to-morrow.”
+
+I could have put a stop to her wondering on that subject, but I was in
+no mood to do it then. I went into the dining-room. Dorinda warned me
+not to go far from the house because supper would be ready in a few
+minutes. The word “supper” reminded me of my unfortunate choice of an
+excuse and the sarcastic reference to our odd domestic arrangements;
+which reminded me, in its turn, of other sarcasms which had followed it.
+My “charming and cultivated society” was not necessary to her happiness
+. . . When she thought of how she had lowered herself . . . Other people
+did not necessarily regard me as seriously as I did myself . . . And so
+on . . . until Dorinda called me in to sit at the table, and pretend
+to eat while she and Lute commented on my lack of appetite and my
+absent-mindedness.
+
+It was eight o'clock, and I had gone up to my room to escape from their
+solicitude and pointed questioning, when I happened to think of Nellie's
+note. I had not been curious concerning its contents, for, as I had
+agreed to act as best man at the wedding, I assumed, as Dorinda had
+done, that she had written on that, to her, all-important topic. I took
+the note from my pocket and tore open the envelope.
+
+Nellie had not written about the wedding. Her letter was a long
+one, evidently written in great agitation and with words blotted and
+underscored. Its subject was the man she loved, George Taylor. She was
+so anxious about him. Did I remember, that night when my mother was ill,
+how she had spoken of him to me and asked if I had noticed how troubled
+and worried he seemed of late?
+
+“And, Roscoe,” she wrote, “I have noticed it more and more since then.
+He IS in trouble. There is something on his mind, something that he will
+not tell me and that I can see is worrying him dreadfully. He is not
+like himself at all. I KNOW something is wrong, and I cannot find out
+what it is. I want to help him SO much. Oh, please, Roscoe, don't
+think this is just a foolish girl's imagination, and does not amount to
+anything. It does. I know it does. You are his best friend. Can't YOU
+find out what is troubling him and help him, for my sake? I have meant
+to speak to you about this ever so many times, but I seldom see you
+alone and I could not speak while he was with me. So I decided to write
+this letter. If you will try, just TRY to find out what ails him and
+help him I shall never, NEVER forget your kindness. Perhaps he does not
+want to marry me. Perhaps he does not care for me as much as he thought
+he did and will not tell me because he does not want me to feel bad.
+If that is it tell him not to mind my feelings at all. I want him to be
+happy. If it would make him happier to have me give him up I will do it,
+even though I shall pray to die right away. Oh can't you help him and
+me, Roscoe? Please, PLEASE try. A girl ought to be perfectly happy who
+is going to be married. And I am so miserable. I can't tell Mother
+and Father because they would not believe me. They would think I just
+imagined it all. But YOU won't think that, will you? You will see him
+and try to help him, for my sake.”
+
+And so on, eight closely written pages, ending with another plea to me
+to see “poor George” and help him, and begging me to “burn this letter,
+because I should be so ashamed to have any one else see it.”
+
+It was a pitiful letter and, even in the frame of mind I was then in,
+disgusted with humanity and hating the entire feminine sex, I could
+not help feeling sorry for Nellie Dean. Of course I was surprised at
+receiving such a letter and I believed, just as she begged me not to
+believe, that the cause of her distress and anxiety was more imaginary
+than real. But that something was troubling George Taylor I had felt
+certain for a good while. The idea that he did not love Nellie I knew
+was preposterous. That was not it. There was something else, but what I
+could not imagine. I wanted to help the girl if I could, but how could I
+ask George to tell me his secrets? I, with a secret of my own.
+
+After pondering for some time I decided to walk up to George's boarding
+place and talk with him. Nothing would come of the interview, probably,
+but I might as well do that as anything else. I must do something,
+something besides sit in that room and see mocking faces in every
+corner, faces with dark eyes and scornful lips which told me that my
+charming and cultivated society was not necessary to their happiness.
+
+Taylor rented the upper floor of a house a quarter of a mile from the
+bank. His housekeeper answered my ring and informed me that her employer
+had not yet come home.
+
+“He did not even come home for supper,” she said. “Stayed over to
+Nellie's probably. You'll most likely find him there.”
+
+But I was pretty certain he was not at the Deans', for as I passed their
+house, I noticed the windows were dark, indicating that the family, like
+most of respectable Denboro, had already retired. I walked on to the
+Corners. Eldredge's store was closed, but the billiard room was radiant
+and noisy. I could hear Tim Hallet's voice urging some one to take a new
+cue, “'cause that one ain't pocketed many balls yet.”
+
+I looked across at the bank. The front portion of it was black enough,
+but the window of the directors' room was alight. I had located the
+object of my search; the cashier was there, working overtime, as he did
+so often nowadays.
+
+I had my key in my pocket and I unlocked the big door and entered
+quietly. The door of the directors' room was open a little way and I
+tiptoed over and peeped in through the crack. Taylor was seated in a
+chair beside the big table, his elbows upon the table and his head in
+his hands. As I stood there, watching him, he took his hands away and
+I saw his face. Upon it was an expression of abject misery and utter
+despair. I opened the door and entered.
+
+He heard the sound of the opening door and leaped to his feet. His chair
+fell backward on the floor with a clatter, but he paid no attention to
+it.
+
+“Good God!” he cried, wildly. “Who's that?”
+
+He was deathly pale and trembling violently. His appearance startled and
+alarmed me.
+
+“It's all right,” I said, hastily. “It is I--Paine. I saw the light and
+knew you must be here. What ails you? What IS the matter?”
+
+For a moment he stood there staring. Then he turned and picked up the
+fallen chair.
+
+“Oh, it's you, Ros, is it?” he faltered. “I--I--Lord, how you scared me!
+I--I--”
+
+“George! what IS the matter with you? For heaven's sake! stand up, man!”
+ He was swaying and I thought he was going to faint. “George! George
+Taylor! Are you ill? I am going for the doctor.”
+
+“No, no! Stay where you are. I ain't sick. I'll be all right in a
+minute. You--you scared me, creeping in that way. Sit down, sit down.”
+
+He steadied himself with one hand on the table and with the other
+reached to shut a drawer which had been open beside him. The drawer was
+almost full of papers, and, lying upon those papers, was a revolver.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+Before he could close the drawer completely I caught his arm and held
+it.
+
+“George,” I cried, “George, what is the matter? Tell me; you must tell
+me.”
+
+He tried to pull his arm free. Finding that I would not let him do this
+he gave up the attempt and, with a poor attempt at a laugh, answered,
+“Matter? Why, nothing is the matter. I am tired and nervous, same as
+I've told you I've been for the last two or three months, and you scared
+me, tiptoeing in like a sneak thief, this time of night.”
+
+“Time of night! It is but a little after nine. What is the matter with
+you?”
+
+“Nothing is the matter, I tell you. Let go of my arm, Ros. What do you
+mean by holding on to me like this?”
+
+“What do YOU mean, George? What does THAT mean?”
+
+I pointed to the drawer. He looked and, with a sudden effort, jerked his
+arm free and closed the drawer.
+
+“That?” with a forced laugh. “Oh, that's nothing. It was late and I was
+alone here, so--”
+
+“I know better. George, you're frightening us all. Don't you suppose we
+can see that something is wrong with you? I have seen it ever since I
+came here to work. You are worrying your friends. You worry me. Give us
+a chance to help you. Give ME a chance. You owe me that. Tell me your
+trouble and I'll pull you out of it; see if I don't.”
+
+My confidence was, of course, only pretence, but my earnestness had some
+effect. He looked at me wistfully, and shook his head.
+
+“Nobody can pull me out,” he said. “You're a good fellow to want to
+help, but you can't. There ain't any trouble. I'm just nervous--”
+
+“I know better. You're lying, George. Yes, you are; you're lying.”
+
+“Humph! You're pretty plain spoken, Ros Paine. There ain't many people
+I'd take that from.”
+
+“You'll take it from me, because you can't help it and because you know
+it is true. Come, George; come. You have been a friend to me; the only
+real friend I have had in years. I have been looking for a chance to
+get even for what you have done for me. Maybe here is the chance. Let me
+help you. I will.”
+
+He was wavering; I could see it. But again he shook his head.
+
+“Nobody can help me,” he said.
+
+“George, for my sake--well, then, if not for my sake or your own, then
+for Nellie's, give me a chance. You aren't treating her right, George.
+You should think of her. You--”
+
+“Stop! Damn you, Ros Paine! what right have you to--”
+
+“The right of a friend, her friend and yours. You're frightening the
+poor girl to death. She is beginning to be afraid you don't care for
+her.”
+
+“I? I don't care for HER? I don't--Oh, my God!”
+
+To my utter amazement he began to laugh. And then, all at once, his
+laughter ceased, he swayed, choked, and, suddenly collapsing in the
+chair, dropped his head upon his arms on the table and sobbed, sobs that
+shook him from head to heel.
+
+For one strong, healthy, normal man to see another cry is a
+disconcerting and uncomfortable experience. Masculine tears do not flow
+easily and poor George, on the verge of hysterics, was a pitiful and
+distressing spectacle. I was almost as completely disorganized as he. I
+felt ashamed for him and ashamed of myself for having seen him in such
+a condition. I wanted desperately to help him and I did not know what
+to do, so beyond patting him on the back and begging him repeatedly
+to brace up and not behave like that, I did nothing. At last his sobs
+ceased and he was silent. I had risen from my chair and now I
+stood there with a hand on his shoulder; the ticking of the ancient
+eight-sided clock on the wall sounded loud in the room.
+
+Suddenly he sat up and threw off my hand.
+
+“Well,” he said, bitterly, “I'm a fine specimen of a man, ain't I. Ain't
+you proud of me?”
+
+“I am mighty sorry for you,” I answered. “And I mean to help you.”
+
+“You can't.”
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+“Because I do know, Ros,” he turned and looked me straight in the eye.
+“I am going to give you some good advice. Take it, for your own sake.
+Clear out of here and leave me. Don't have anything more to do with me.
+Clear out.”
+
+I did not move.
+
+“Are you going to do as I tell you?” he demanded. “Mind, I'm telling you
+this for your own good. Will you clear out and leave me?”
+
+I smiled. “Of course not,” I answered.
+
+“Don't be a fool. You can't afford to be my friend. Clear out and leave
+me, do you hear?”
+
+“I hear. Now, George, what is it?”
+
+His fingers tapped the table. I could see he was making up his mind.
+
+“You want to know?” he said. “You won't be satisfied until you do?”
+
+“I have made that fairly plain, I hope. At least I've tried to.”
+
+His fist clenched and he struck the table.
+
+“Then, by the Almighty, I'll tell you!” he cried, fiercely. “It'll be
+all over the county in a week. You might as well know it now. I'm a
+crook. I'm a thief. I've stolen money from this bank and I can't pay it
+back because I haven't got it and can't get it. I'm a crook, I tell you,
+and in a week or so it'll be the county jail for mine. Unless--unless,”
+ with a significant glance at the drawer, “something else happens to me
+in the meantime. There; now you know. Are you satisfied? Are you happy
+because you've found out?”
+
+I did not answer. To tell the truth I was not entirely overcome by
+surprise at the disclosure. I had begun to suspect something of the
+sort. Yet, now that my suspicions were confirmed, I was too greatly
+shocked and horrified to speak at once.
+
+“Well?” he sneered. “Now will you clear out and let me settle this my
+own way?”
+
+I pulled my chair forward and sat down.
+
+“Tell me all about it, George,” I said, as calmly as I could. “How much
+is it?”
+
+He stared at me aghast. “You won't go?” he cried. “You--you are going to
+stick by me even--even--”
+
+“There! there! pull yourself together, old fellow. We won't give up the
+ship yet. How much is it? It can't be a great sum.”
+
+“It ain't. But, Ros--you--you can't--you mustn't be mixed up in this. I
+shan't let you. Don't you see?”
+
+I argued and pleaded and reasoned with him for what seemed a long time
+before he would consent to tell me the whole story. And when it was told
+there was nothing new or novel in it. The old tale of an honest man who
+had not meant to go wrong, but, tempted by one of those wiles of the
+devil, an “inside tip” on the stock market, had bought heavily on
+margins, expecting to clear a handsome profit in a short time. The stock
+was Louisville and Transcontinental and the struggle for its control by
+certain big interests had made copy for financial writers for nearly
+a year. George had bought at a time when one syndicate had, so it
+believed, secured the control.
+
+Then something went wrong in the deal and the shares began to decline
+in value. He put up more margins and still more, but it continued to
+decline. Finally under the spur of another “tip,” the last of his own
+savings having gone to the insatiate brokers, he sent, to bolster his
+account and to save him from utter ruin, some bonds belonging to the
+bank.
+
+“Not much,” he declared, “only about thirty-five hundred dollars' worth,
+that's all. I never would have done it, Ros, but I was wild, desperate,
+you see. Here I was, getting ready to be married; Nellie and Cap'n Jed
+and the rest believing me to be comfortably fixed. It's easy enough now
+to say that I ought to have gone to her and told her. If I hadn't been
+certain that the market would turn and I'd be all right in a week, I'd
+have done it. But I was sure I'd be all right and I couldn't take the
+chance. I knew what her father would say about her marrying a pauper,
+and I just couldn't take the risk of losing her; I couldn't. She means
+more to me than--than--oh, wait until your time comes! Wait until the
+girl comes along that you care for more than the whole world. And
+then see what you'd do. See what it would mean to give her up! Just
+wait--wait and see!”
+
+“Yes, yes,” I put in, hastily. “I understand, George. But the stock,
+Louisville and Transcontinental, how is it now?”
+
+“Just the same. It is dead, practically speaking. It hasn't moved half
+a point for six weeks. I've been expecting it would, but it hasn't. It's
+all right; the value is there; I know it. If I could only hang on and
+wait I could get my money back, part of it, anyhow. But I can't. I
+can't wait. And the broker people have got those bonds. Ros, I've been
+fighting this thing for weeks and weeks. I ain't slept a night for
+years, or so it seems. And next week--next WEEK I was to be married. My
+God! think of it!”
+
+“Here, here! Don't do that,” I urged. “Brace up. You and I must work
+this out. Wasn't there any one you could go to? Anyone you could borrow
+the money of? Thirty-five hundred isn't such a lot.”
+
+“Whom could I go to? I tried. Lord knows I tried! I did borrow a
+thousand of Cap'n Elisha Warren; trumped up some excuse or other and got
+that. But that was all he could let me have. And I know he thought my
+asking for that was queer.”
+
+“Did you consider going straight to Cap'n Dean and--”
+
+“Dean? Cap'n Jed? Her father? Oh, Ros, don't be a fool altogether! I
+beg your pardon, old man! I don't mean it. You mustn't mind. I ain't
+responsible for what I say just now. But I couldn't go to Cap'n Jed. You
+know him. He's as straight and square and honest as he is obstinate and
+cranky. If I went to him I couldn't tell him the truth. And if I
+lied he'd suspect and want to know why I needed to borrow money. And
+Nellie--don't you see? There's the real awfulness of the whole thing. I
+couldn't go to her and tell her I was a thief. I couldn't see her face
+when I told her. And yet she's got to know it. She's got to know it!”
+
+“But why? The stock may go up any day and then you could withdraw part
+of your margin.”
+
+He struck the table with another blow. “The stock ain't moved for six
+weeks, I tell you,” he declared. “And, Ros,” he leaned forward, his
+haggard face working with emotion, “those bonds ain't in our safe here,
+where they should be, and the bank examiner is due here within the next
+four days. He's at Middleboro now. I 'phoned Bearse, the cashier there,
+this very forenoon on a matter of business, and he happened to mention
+that the examiner was in his bank and working his way down the Cape.
+It's all up with me! All up! And Nellie! poor girl; I can't be here when
+she finds it out. I know you think I'm a poor specimen of a man, Ros,
+but I can't face the music. No,” desperately, “and I won't.”
+
+He was giving way again, but I seized his shoulder and shook him.
+
+“Stop it!” I commanded. “Stop it, George! Let me think. Be quiet now and
+let me think. There must be a way out somewhere. Let me think.”
+
+He leaned back in his chair. “All right,” he said, hopelessly; “think,
+if you want to. Though why you should want to think about a thing like
+me I don't see. And I used to despise a crook as much as any one! and a
+coward still more! And now I'm both a crook and a coward.”
+
+I knew his cowardice was merely on Nellie's account. George Taylor was
+no coward in the ordinary sense of the word, nor was he a crook. I rose
+and paced up and down the room. He watched me listlessly; it was plain
+that he felt no confidence whatever in my being able to help him. After
+a time he spoke.
+
+“It's no use, Ros,” he said. “Don't worry your head about me; I ain't
+worth it. If there was any way out, any way at all, I'd have sighted it
+long ago. There ain't. Take my advice and leave me. You don't want to be
+mixed up with an embezzler.”
+
+I turned on him, impatiently. “I have been mixed up, as you call it,
+with one before,” I said, sharply. “Is my own family record so clean
+that I need to pretend--there, George! don't be an idiot. Let me think.”
+
+The clock chimed ten. I stopped in my walk and turned to him.
+
+“George,” I said, “tell me this: If you had the money to buy back these
+bonds belonging to the bank you would be all right, wouldn't you? If you
+had it in your hands by to-morrow morning, I mean.”
+
+“Yes; IF I had it--but I haven't.”
+
+“You could send the money to the brokers and--”
+
+“Send! I wouldn't send; I'd go myself and fetch the bonds back with me.
+Once I had them in that safe again I--”
+
+“And you would not take any more risks, even if the market dropped and
+they had to sell out your account? Even if you lost every cent of your
+investment?”
+
+The fierce earnestness of his answer satisfied even me. “What do you
+think I am?” he demanded. “Investment be hanged! It's my name as an
+honest man that I care about. Once let me get that back again and I'll
+face the poorhouse. Yes, and I'll tell Nellie the truth, all except that
+I was a thief; I can't tell her that. But I will tell her that I haven't
+got a cent except my salary. Then if she wants to give me up, all right.
+I'll bear it as best I can. Or, if she doesn't, and I lose my job here,
+I'll get another one somewhere else; I'll work at anything. She and I
+can wait and . . . But what is the use of talking like this? I've been
+over every inch of the ground a thousand times. There ain't a ray of
+light anywhere. The examiner will be here, the bonds will be missing,
+and I--I'll be in jail, or in hell, one or the other.”
+
+“No, you won't,” I said, firmly.
+
+“I won't! Why not?”
+
+“Because there IS a ray of light. More than a ray. George, you go home
+and go to bed. To-morrow morning I may have news for you, good news.”
+
+The blood rushed to his face. He seized the arm of his chair.
+
+“Good news!” he gasped. “Good news for ME! Ros--Ros, for the Lord's
+sake, what do you mean? You don't mean you see a way to--”
+
+“Never mind what I mean. But I should like to know what you mean by not
+coming to me before? What are friends for, if not to help each other?
+Who told you that I was dead broke?”
+
+“You? Why, you ain't got . . . Have you? Ros Paine, you ain't got
+thirty-five hundred to spare. Why, you told me yourself--”
+
+“Shut up! Get up from that chair and come with me. Yes, you; and now,
+this minute. Give me that thing you've got in the drawer there. No, I'll
+take it myself. You ought to be ashamed of its being there, George. I am
+ashamed of you, and, if I thought you really meant to use it, I should
+be still more ashamed. Come! don't keep me waiting.”
+
+“But--but Ros--”
+
+“Will you do as I tell you?”
+
+I dragged him, almost literally dragged him, from the chair. Then, after
+extinguishing the lamp, I led him to the door of the bank and locked it,
+putting the key in my pocket.
+
+“Now,” said I, “I want you to make me a promise. I want you to quit
+behaving like a coward, because you are not one, and promise me that you
+will go straight home and to bed. I'll see you again the first thing in
+the morning. Then, I think--yes, I think your troubles, the worst part
+of them, will be over.”
+
+“But, Ros, PLEASE--I can't believe it! Won't you tell me--”
+
+“Not a word. Will you promise me to behave like a man and go home? Or
+must I go with you?”
+
+“No. I'll--I'll promise. I'll go straight home. But, oh Ros, I can't
+understand--”
+
+“Good night.”
+
+I left him standing there, stammering incoherently like a man awakening
+from a nightmare, and hurried away.
+
+I could not describe my progress down the dark Lower Road and along the
+Shore Lane. I do not remember any portion of it. I think I ran most
+of the way and if I met any one--which is not likely, considering the
+time--he or she must have thought me crazy. My thoughts were centered
+upon one fixed purpose. I had made up my mind to do a certain thing and,
+if possible, to do it that very night. If I did not, if I had time in
+which to reflect, to consider consequences, I might lose my nerve and it
+would not be done at all.
+
+It was with a feeling of great relief that, as I came in sight of the
+Colton house, I saw lights in the rooms on the lower floor. The family,
+not being native born Denboroites, had not retired even though it was
+well after ten. I hastened up the long drive, and stood before the big
+door, my hand upraised to the knocker. And then, just for a moment, I
+hesitated.
+
+If I lifted that knocker and let it fall; if I summoned the servant and
+announced that I wished to speak with Mr. Colton; if I did what I had
+come there to do, it would be all over with me in the village. My new
+born popularity, the respect which Cap'n Warren and Cap'n Jed and
+the rest of the townspeople had shown toward me of late, the cordial
+recognition which had been mine during the past few weeks and which,
+in spite of pretended indifference, I had come to expect and enjoy, all
+these would be lost if I persisted in my purpose. My future in Denboro
+depended upon whether or not I knocked at that door. And it was not too
+late to back out, even yet. I had only to turn quietly away and tell
+George, when I saw him in the morning, that I could not help him as I
+had hoped. And then I thought of his face as I saw it when I entered the
+bank--and of Nellie's letter to me.
+
+I seized the knocker and rapped sharply.
+
+For a few moments my knock was unanswered. Then I heard footsteps and
+the door was opened. Johnson, the butler, opened it, and his clerical
+countenance assumed a most astonished expression when he saw me standing
+before him.
+
+“Is Mr. Colton in?” I asked.
+
+“What? What--sir?” stammered Johnson. The “sir” was added under protest.
+He did not wish to show more respect than was absolutely necessary to a
+countryman, but he scarcely dared speak as disrespectfully as he felt.
+Therefore he compromised by voicing the respect and looking the other
+way.
+
+“Is Mr. Colton in?” I repeated.
+
+“I don't know. I--I don't think so--sir.”
+
+The windows at my left were, I knew, those of the library, the room
+where “Big Jim” and I had had our first lively discussion of the Shore
+Lane matter. I glanced at them.
+
+“I think he is,” I said. “In fact I know it; there is his shadow on the
+curtain. Tell him Mr. Paine wishes to speak with him.”
+
+Johnson looked as insolent as he dared, and still hesitated.
+
+“It is very late,” he said. “Mr. Colton is not in the 'abit of receiving
+callers at this time of night and--”
+
+He was interrupted. The door behind him, the door leading from the
+library to the hall, opened and Colton himself appeared.
+
+“What is it, Johnson?” he asked. “Anything wrong?”
+
+The butler hastened to explain.
+
+“No sir,” he said; “nothing wrong exactly, sir. There is a person 'ere
+to see you, sir, and--”
+
+“To see me, eh? Who is it? Why, hello, Paine! is that you?”
+
+“Mr. Colton,” said I, “I am sorry to disturb you at such a late hour,
+but--”
+
+“Come in, come in,” he interrupted. “What are you standing out there
+for? Johnson, why didn't you ask Mr. Paine in? What do you mean by
+keeping him out there?”
+
+Mr. Johnson looked troubled.
+
+“It was so late, sir,” he stammered, “I thought--”
+
+“You thought! If I had wanted any one to think I never should have hired
+you. Come in, Paine. Come into the library.”
+
+He led the way to the library and I followed him. It was my second
+visit to the big, handsomely furnished room and again, as on the first
+occasion, the sight of the books and all the other refinements and
+luxuries which money brings to its possessor gave me a pang of envy
+and resentment. It added increased bitterness to the humiliation of my
+errand. I had left that room defiantly expressing my independence. I had
+come back to it--
+
+“Sit down,” ordered Colton, pulling forward the big, leather-covered
+chair. “Have a cigar?”
+
+“No thank you.”
+
+“Humph! That's what you said when you were here before. You're young,
+Paine. When you get to be as old as I am you'll never refuse a good
+cigar, or anything else that is good, when it is offered you. Well,
+you're still standing. Aren't going to refuse to sit down, are you?”
+
+That was exactly what I was going to do. I would not sit down in that
+house. I would not accept the slightest courtesy from this man or any of
+his people. I would get rid of the unpleasant task I had come to do and
+then go away, never to return. They might make the most of the triumph
+which was to be theirs, but I would compel them to understand that I
+was not seeking their favor. I would not accept their patronage and they
+should know it. This, as I look back at it now, seems silly and childish
+enough, but I was not myself that night.
+
+“Mr. Colton,” said I, ignoring the proffered chair, “I have come to see
+you on a matter of business.”
+
+“Business, eh? Umph! I thought probably you were going to ask me to
+go fishing with you again. I'm all ready for another tussle with
+those--what do you call 'em--squid--squit--good Lord! what a name for a
+decent fish! But I don't care a continental what you call 'em. I'm ready
+to get at 'em when you say the word.”
+
+“My business will not detain either of us long. I--”
+
+“Sit down, man, sit down. You make me nervous standing there.”
+
+“No. I won't sit.”
+
+He looked at me.
+
+“What is the matter with you?” he asked. “You haven't got a balky
+digestion, have you? I've been fighting one for the last week. That fool
+of a country doctor tells me if I'm not careful what I eat I'll keel
+over pretty soon. I told him I'd eaten what I dashed please ever since
+I'd had teeth and I wasn't going to quit now. But I do feel like the
+devil. Look it, don't I?”
+
+He did look ill, that was a fact, though I had not noticed it before
+and was far from feeling pity for him then. In fact I was rather glad to
+know that he was uncomfortable. I wanted him to be.
+
+“What is the matter with you?” he demanded. “You look as if you had seen
+your grandmother's ghost.”
+
+I ignored the question. “Mr. Colton,” I began again. “You made an offer
+not long ago.”
+
+I had caught his attention at last. He leaned back in his chair.
+
+“I did,” he said. “Ye-es, I did. Do you mean you are going to accept
+it?”
+
+“In a way--yes.”
+
+“In a way? What do you mean by that? I tell you frankly, Paine, if you
+go to work for me there must be no 'ifs' or 'buts' about it. You'll
+enter my office and you'll do as I, or the men under me, tell you to
+do.”
+
+I was glad he said that, glad that he misunderstood me. It gave me an
+opportunity to express my feelings toward him--as I was feeling then.
+
+“Don't let that trouble you,” I said, sarcastically. “There will be no
+'ifs' and 'buts' so far as that is concerned. I have no desire to work
+for you, Mr. Colton, and I don't intend doing so. That was not the offer
+I meant.”
+
+He was surprised, I am sure, but he did not express astonishment. He
+bent forward and looked at me more keenly than ever.
+
+“There was only one other offer that I remember making you,” he said,
+slowly. “That was for that land of yours. I offered you five thousand
+dollars for it. Do you mean you accept that offer?”
+
+“Not exactly.”
+
+“Humph! Paine, we're wasting a lot of time here, it seems to me. My time
+is more or less valuable, and my digestion is, as I told you, pretty
+bad. Come! get it over. What do you mean? Are you going to sell me that
+land?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+He puffed deliberately at his cigar. His gaze did not leave my face.
+
+“Why?” he asked, after a moment.
+
+“That is my own affair. I will sell you the land, but not for five
+thousand dollars.”
+
+His expression changed. He knocked the ashes from his cigar and frowned.
+
+“I see,” he sneered. “Humph! Well, I've tried to make it plain to you
+fellows down here that I couldn't be held up. I thought I'd done it, but
+evidently I haven't. Five hundred is a good price for that land. Five
+thousand is ridiculous, but I gave you my reasons for being willing to
+be robbed that much. That, however, is the limit. I'll give you five
+thousand, but not another cent. You can take it or get out.”
+
+This was better. When he talked like that I could answer him and enjoy
+it.
+
+“I'll get out very shortly,” I said. “You are no more anxious to have
+that happen than I am. I don't want your other cent. I don't want your
+five thousand dollars. I'll sell you the land on one condition--no, on
+two. The first is that you pay me thirty-five hundred dollars for it.”
+
+“WHAT?”
+
+I had upset his composure this time. He forgot to sneer; he even forgot
+to smoke.
+
+“What?” he cried again. “Thirty-five hundred! Why, I offered you--”
+
+“I know your offer. This is mine: I will sell you the land for
+thirty-five hundred, and not another cent. That, as you say, is the
+limit. You can take it or--or I will follow your suggestion and get
+out.”
+
+We looked at each other. His fingers moved toward the match box on the
+table. He took a match, scratched it, and held it to the end of his
+cigar. Then he took the cigar from his lips, blew out the match and
+tossed the latter into the fireplace.
+
+“What is the second condition?” he asked, abruptly.
+
+“That you pay me in cash, in money and not by check, at once.”
+
+“At once? Now, do you mean?”
+
+“Yes, now. To-night if possible; if not, no later than nine o'clock
+to-morrow morning.”
+
+“Humph! Do you think I carry thirty-five hundred loose in my change
+pocket?”
+
+“I don't know. But that is the second condition.”
+
+“Humph! . . . Look here, Paine; what--? I offered you the five thousand.
+That offer holds good.”
+
+“I don't accept it. I will sell for thirty-five hundred; no more and no
+less.”
+
+“But why not more?”
+
+“I don't know. Yes, I do, too. You said once that you were willing to
+pay forty-five hundred for the privilege of having your own way. Perhaps
+I am willing to sacrifice fifteen hundred for the privilege of having
+mine. At all events I mean what I say.”
+
+“But why just thirty-five? Wouldn't you take thirty-six?”
+
+“No. It is useless to argue, Mr. Colton, and useless to ask my reasons.
+I have them, and that is enough. Will you accept MY offer?”
+
+He hesitated. The sneer had left his face and his tone when he addressed
+me was respectful, though there was a curious note of chagrin or
+dissatisfaction in it. I had expected him to be eager and, perhaps,
+mockingly triumphant. He was not. He seemed reluctant, almost
+disappointed.
+
+“I suppose I'll have to,” he said. “But, Paine, what is up? Why are you
+doing this? You're not afraid of me? No, of course you're not. You're
+not the kind to squeal and lie down because you think the odds are
+against you . . . Confound you!” with a sudden burst of impatience, “you
+are enough to upset all the self-conceit a man's got in him. Just as I
+think I'm beginning to size you up you break loose in a new place.”
+
+“Pardon me,” I put in, “but I don't see that you are helping to save
+that valuable time of yours. I understand that you accept. Will you pay
+me now?”
+
+He rose, threw away his cigar, and, with his hands in his pockets, stood
+regarding me.
+
+“Your mind is made up, is it?” he asked.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Humph! Have you thought of what our mutual friend Dean and the rest of
+the patriots may say when they find this out?”
+
+I had thought of little else all the way from the bank to his door. I
+was thinking of it then.
+
+“Of course,” he added, “that is not my affair, but--”
+
+“It is not.”
+
+“You're right; it isn't. Still--hang it all, Paine! I don't often feel
+any compunctions when I beat a fellow in a game like this, and I did
+intend to have my own way in this one--”
+
+“Well, you're having it, aren't you?” I put in. “Why talk so much about
+it?”
+
+“Because I am not so sure I am having it. Of course I can see that, for
+some reason or other, you need thirty-five hundred dollars. Anyone but
+you, if they were going to sell, would get the last dime they could
+squeeze. You won't, because you are as pig-headed as--as--”
+
+“Oh, do cut it short,” I snapped. And then, a trifle ashamed of my
+rudeness, “Excuse me, Mr. Colton, but this isn't exactly pleasant for me
+and I want to get it over. Will you pay me now?”
+
+“Hold on; let me finish. I was going to say that, if you needed the
+thirty-five, perhaps I could manage to let you have it.”
+
+I stared at him. “Let me have it!” I cried. “Do you mean you'll lend it
+to me?”
+
+“Why, yes, maybe. You and I have had such a first-rate, square, stand
+up fight that I rather hate to have it end. I want to lick you, not have
+you quit before I've really begun to fight. There's no fool philanthropy
+in this, understand; it is just for my own satisfaction.”
+
+I was so taken aback by this totally unexpected offer from the man whom
+I had insulted a dozen times since I entered his house, that I found it
+almost impossible to answer.
+
+“What do you say?” he asked.
+
+“No,” I faltered. And then more firmly, “No; certainly not. I--I am much
+obliged to you, Mr. Colton, but--no.”
+
+“All right. You know best. I'll take your offer and I will hand you the
+money at the bank to-morrow morning. Will that do?”
+
+“Not at the bank, Mr. Colton. Send it over to the house, if you can
+conveniently.”
+
+“I'll have it here before ten. My lawyer will draw up the papers and
+arrange for transfer of title in a few days. What? Going, are you? Good
+night. Oh--er--Paine, remember that my other offer, that of the place in
+my office, is open when you're ready to take it.”
+
+I shook my head. I had turned to go, but now I turned back, feeling
+that, perhaps, I should apologize again for my rudeness. After all, he
+had been kind, very kind, and I had scarcely thanked him. So I turned
+back to say something, I hardly knew what.
+
+My doing so was a mistake. The door behind me opened and a voice said
+reproachfully, “Father, are you still here? The doctor said . . . Oh, I
+beg pardon.”
+
+I recognized the voice. Of all voices in the world I wished least to
+hear it just then. My back was toward the door and I kept it so. If she
+would only go! If she would only shut that door and go away!
+
+I think she would have gone but her father called her.
+
+“Mabel,” he cried, “Mabel, don't go. It's all right. Come in. Paine and
+I have finished our talk. Nothing more you wished to say, was there,
+Paine?”
+
+“No,” said I. I was obliged to turn now; I could not get out of that
+room without doing it. So turn I did, and we faced each other.
+
+“Good evening, Miss Colton,” I said, with all the calmness I could
+muster.
+
+She said, “Good evening,” distantly and without any enthusiasm, but I
+saw her glance at her father and then at me and I knew she was wondering
+what our being together could possibly mean.
+
+“Paine has been making me a little call,” explained Colton, his eye
+twinkling. “Mabel, I'll risk another bet that you can't guess why he
+came.”
+
+“I shall not try,” she said, disdainfully.
+
+“Oh, you'd better! No? You won't? Well, then, I'll tell you. He has just
+sold me that land of his . . . Don't look at me like that; he has. We
+had a little disagreement as to price, but,” with a grin, “I met his
+figures and we closed the deal. Aren't you going to congratulate him
+on having come to his senses at last? Come! he's waiting for
+congratulations.”
+
+This was not true. I was waiting for nothing; I was on my way to the
+door. But, to reach it I was obliged to pass her and our eyes met. My
+glance wavered, I know, but hers did not. For a moment she looked at me.
+Then she smiled. Whenever I am tempted to be vain, even now, I remember
+that smile.
+
+“I congratulate him,” she said. “Come, Father; you must go to bed now.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+I am not going to attempt a description of my thoughts that night.
+It would take too long and the description would be wearisome. Other
+people's miseries are not interesting and I shall not catalog mine.
+Morning came at last and I rose, bathed my hot face in cold water, and
+went down stairs. Early as it was, not yet six, I heard Dorinda in the
+kitchen and, having no desire for conversation, I went out and walked up
+and down the beach until breakfast time. I had to pretend to eat, but
+I ate so little that both Lute and Dorinda once more commented upon
+my lack of appetite. Lute, who had never become fully reconciled to my
+becoming a member of the working class, hastened to lay the blame for my
+condition upon my labors at the bank.
+
+“The trouble is,” he announced, dogmatically, “the trouble is, Roscoe,
+that you ain't fitted for bein' shut up astern of a deck. Look at
+yourself now! Just go into Comfort's room and stand in front of her
+lookin' glass and look at yourself. There you be, pale and peaked and
+wore out. Look for all the world just as I done when I had the tonsils
+two winters ago. Ain't that so, Dorindy?”
+
+His wife's answer was a contemptuous sniff.
+
+“If you mean to say that you looked peaked when you had sore throat,”
+ she announced, “then there's somethin' the matter with your mind or your
+eyesight, one or t'other. You peaked? Why, your face was swelled up
+like a young one's balloon Fourth of July Day. And as for bein' pale! My
+soul! I give you my word I couldn't scurcely tell where your neck left
+off and the strip of red flannel you made me tie 'round it begun.”
+
+“Don't make no difference! I FELT pale, anyhow. And I didn't eat no
+more'n Ros does. You'll have to give in to that, Dorindy. I didn't eat
+nothin' but beef tea and gruel.”
+
+“You et enough of them to float a schooner.”
+
+“Maybe I did,” with grieved dignity; “maybe I did. But that's no reason
+why you should set there and heave my sufferin's in my face.”
+
+“What is the man talkin' about now? I didn't heave 'em in your face.
+They come there themselves, same as sore throat sufferin's generally do,
+and if you hadn't waded around in the snow with leaky boots, because
+you was too lazy to take 'em to the shoemaker's to be patched, they
+wouldn't.”
+
+Lute drew back from the table. “It's no use!” he declared, “a man can't
+even be sick in peace in this house. Some wives would have been sorry to
+see their husbands with one foot in the grave.”
+
+“Your feet was in the cookstove oven most of the time. There! there! the
+more you talk the further from home you get. You started in with Roscoe
+and the bank and you're in the grave already. If I was you I'd quit
+afore I went any further. Land knows where you might fetch up if you
+kept on! I . . . Mercy on us! who's at the kitchen door this time in the
+mornin'?”
+
+Her husband, ever curious, was on his way to answer the knock already.
+He came back, a moment later, sputtering with excitement.
+
+“It's that Mr. butler, the Johnson over to Mr. Colton's,” he whispered.
+“I mean it's that Jutler--that--There, Dorindy! you see what sort of a
+state your hectorin' has worked me into! It's that parson critter who
+opens Colton's door for him, that's who 'tis. And he wants to see Ros. I
+tried to find out what for, but he wouldn't tell.”
+
+Even Dorinda showed surprise. She looked at the clock, “This hour of the
+mornin'!” she exclaimed; “what in the world--?”
+
+I hastened to the kitchen, closing the dining-room door behind me
+just in time to prevent Lute's following me. Johnson, the butler,
+was standing on the mica slab at the threshold inspecting our humble
+premises with lofty disdain.
+
+“Mr. Colton sent this to you, sir,” he said, handing me an envelope. “He
+wishes you to send a receipt by me.”
+
+I took the envelope and, stepping back out of sight, tore it open.
+Inside was a check on a New York bank for four thousand dollars. It was
+made payable to “Bearer.” With it was this brief note:
+
+
+Dear Paine:
+
+This is the best I can do for you, as I haven't the money on hand. Cash
+it yourself, take out your thirty-five hundred and hold the additional
+five hundred until I, or one of the family, call for it. I made the
+thing payable to Bearer because I imagined you would prefer it that way.
+Send me some sort of receipt by Johnson; anything will do. I will see my
+lawyer in a day or two. Meanwhile have your papers, deeds, etc., ready
+when he calls for them.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+JAMES W. COLTON.
+
+
+For a minute I considered. If I could cash the check at the bank without
+Taylor's knowledge and get him off to Boston on the early train, I
+might be able to cover my tracks. It was necessary that they should be
+covered. Knowing George as I did I knew that he would never consent to
+my sacrifice. He would not permit me to wreck my future in Denboro to
+save him. The money must be turned over to the Boston bankers and
+the bank's bonds once more in the vault where they belonged before he
+learned where that money came from. Then it would be too late to refuse
+and too late to undo what had been done. He would have to accept and
+I might be able to prevail upon him to keep silent regarding the whole
+affair. I disliked the check with Colton's name upon it; I should have
+much preferred the cash; but cash, it seemed, could not be had without
+considerable delay, and with that bank examiner's visit imminent
+every moment of time was valuable. I folded the check, put it in my
+pocketbook, and, hastily scribbling a receipt in pencil at the bottom
+of Colton's note, replaced the latter in the envelope and handed it to
+Johnson, who departed.
+
+Entering the dining-room I found Dorinda and Lute at the window, peering
+after the butler.
+
+“By time!” exclaimed Lute, “if I didn't know I should say he was a
+bigger big-bug than old Colton himself. Look how he struts! He sartin is
+a dignified lookin' man. I don't see how he ever come to be just hired
+help.”
+
+“Um-hm,” sniffed the cynical Mrs. Rogers. “Well; you can get an awful
+lot of dignity for its board and lodgin'! There's nothin' much more
+dignified or struts much better'n a rooster, but it's the hens that lay
+the eggs. What did he want, Roscoe?”
+
+I made some excuse or other for Mr. Johnson's early call and, taking
+my cap from the rack, hurried from the house. I went “across lots” and,
+running a good part of the way, reached the bank just as Sam Wheeler was
+sweeping out. He expressed surprise at my early arrival and wished to
+know what was up.
+
+“Ain't nothin' wrong, is there, Ros?” asked Sam anxiously. “I saw by the
+paper that the market was feverish again yesterday.”
+
+Sam was an ambitious youth and, being desirous of becoming a banker in
+the shortest possible time, read the financial page with conscientious
+thoroughness. I assured him that the market's fever was not
+contagious--at least I had not contracted the disease--and sent him
+out to sweep the front steps. As soon as he had gone I opened the safe,
+found, to my joy, that we had an abundance of currency on hand, cashed
+the Colton check and locked it securely in the drawer of my own desk. So
+far I was safe. Now to secure George's safety.
+
+He came in soon after, looking as if, as he had told me, he had not
+slept for years. He bade Sam good morning and then walked over to my
+side.
+
+“Well, Ros?” he asked, laying a shaking hand on the desk beside me.
+
+“Not here, George,” I whispered. “Come into the directors' room.”
+
+I led the way and he followed me. I closed the door behind us, took the
+thirty-five hundred dollars in notes from my pocket and laid them on the
+table.
+
+“There's the money, George,” I said. “Now you've got just time enough to
+catch that nine o'clock train for Boston.”
+
+I thought, for a moment, he was going to collapse altogether. Then he
+pounced upon the money, counted it with fingers that trembled so he
+could scarcely control them, and turned to me.
+
+“Ros--Ros--” he stammered. “Where did you--how did you--Great God, man!
+I--I--”
+
+“There! there!” I interrupted. “I told you I wasn't a pauper exactly.
+Put that where you won't lose it and clear out. You haven't any time to
+argue.”
+
+“But--but, Ros, I hadn't ought to take this from you. I don't see where
+you got it and--”
+
+“That's my business. Will you go?”
+
+“I don't know as I ever can pay you. Lord knows I'll try all my life,
+but--”
+
+I seized his arm. “George,” I urged, impatiently, “you fool, don't waste
+time. Get that train, do you hear! Those bonds must be in that safe by
+night. Go!”
+
+The mention of the bonds did what my urging had failed to do. He crammed
+the bills into his pocket book, thrust the latter into an inside pocket,
+and rushed from the room. I followed him as far as the outer door. He
+was running up the road like a wild man. Sam stared after him.
+
+“For mercy sakes!” he cried, “what's the matter with the boss? Has he
+gone loony?”
+
+“No,” I said, turning back to my desk; “he's sane enough, I guess. He's
+after the train.”
+
+“I should think he was after somethin'. Did you see the face he had on
+him? If he ain't crazy then you and I are, that's all I've got to say.”
+
+“All right, Sam,” I answered, drawing a long breath, “perhaps that's it.
+Perhaps you and I are the crazy ones--one of us, at any rate.”
+
+All that day I worked hard. I did not go home for lunch, but sent Sam
+over to Eldredge's store for canned ham and crackers which I ate at my
+desk. It was a fairly busy day, fortunately, and I could always find
+some task to occupy my mind. Lute called, at two o'clock, to inquire why
+I had not been home and I told him that Taylor was away and I should be
+late for supper. He departed, shaking his head.
+
+“It's just as I said,” he declared, “you're workin' yourself sick,
+that's what you're doin'. You're growin' foolish in the head about
+work, just the same as Dorindy. And YOU don't need to; you've got money
+enough. If I had independent means same as you've got I tell you I'd
+have more sense. One sick invalid in the family's enough, ain't it?”
+
+“No doubt, Lute,” I replied. “At all events you must take care of your
+health. Don't YOU work yourself sick.”
+
+Lute turned on me. “I try not to,” he said, seriously; “I try not to,
+but it's a hard job. You know what that wife of mine is cal'latin' to
+have me do next? Wash the hen house window! Yes sir! wash the window
+so's the hens can look at the scenery, I presume likely. I says to her,
+says I, 'That beats any foolishness ever I heard! Next thing you'll want
+me to put down a carpet in the pigsty, won't ye? You would if we kept a
+pig, I know.'”
+
+“What did she say to that?” I inquired.
+
+“Oh, the land knows! Somethin' about keepin' one pig bein' trouble
+enough. I didn't pay much attention. But I shan't wash no hen's window,
+now you can bet on that!”
+
+I shouldn't have bet much on it. He went away, to spend the next hour in
+a political debate at Eldredge's, and I wrote letters, needlessly long
+ones. Closing time came and Sam went home, leaving me to lock up. The
+train was due at six-twenty, but it was nearly seven before I heard it
+whistle at the station. I stood at the front window looking up the road
+and waiting.
+
+I waited only a few minutes, but they were long ones. Then I saw George
+coming, not running this time, but walking with rapid strides. The
+crowd, waiting on the post-office steps, shouted at him but he paid
+no attention. He sprang up the steps and entered the bank. I stepped
+forward and seized his hand. One look at his face was enough; he had the
+bonds, I knew it.
+
+“Ros, you here!” he exclaimed. “Is it all right? The examiner hasn't
+showed up?”
+
+“No,” I answered. “You have them, George?”
+
+“Right in my pocket, thank the Lord--and you, Ros Paine. Just let me get
+them into that safe and I--What! You're not going?”
+
+“Yes, I'm going. I congratulate you, George. I am as glad as you are.
+Good night.”
+
+“But Ros, I want to tell you about it. I want to thank you again. I
+never shall forget . . . Ros, hold on!”
+
+But I was already at the door. “Good night,” I called again, and went
+out. I went straight home, ate supper, spent a half hour with Mother,
+and then went to my room and to bed. The excitement was over, for good
+or bad the thing was done beyond recall, and I suddenly realized that I
+was very tired. I fell asleep almost immediately and slept soundly until
+morning. I was too tired even to think.
+
+I had plenty of time to think during the fortnight which followed and
+there was enough to think about. The lawyer came and the papers were
+signed transferring to James W. Colton the strip of land over which
+Denboro had excited itself for months. Each day I sat at my desk
+expecting Captain Dean and a delegation of indignant citizens to rush in
+and denounce me as a traitor and a turncoat. Every time Sam Wheeler met
+me at my arrival at the bank I dreaded to look him in the face, fearing
+that he had learned of my action and was waiting to question me about
+it. In spite of all my boasts and solemn vows not to permit “Big Jim”
+ Colton to obtain the Shore Lane I had sold it to him; he could, and it
+was to be expected that he would, close it at once; Denboro would make
+its just demand upon me for explanations, explanations which, for George
+and Nellie's sake, I could not give; and after that the deluge. I was
+sitting over a powder mine and I braced myself for the explosion.
+
+But hours and days passed and no explosion came. The fishcarts rattled
+down the Lane without hindrance. Except for the little flurry of
+excitement caused by the coming wedding at the Dean homestead the
+village life moved on its lazy, uneventful jog. I could not understand
+it. Why did Colton delay? He, whose one object in life was to have his
+own way, had it once more. Now that he had it why didn't he make use of
+it? Why was he holding back? Out of pity for me? I did not believe it.
+Much more likely that his daughter, whose pride I had dared to offend,
+had taken the affair in her hands and this agony of suspense was a
+preliminary torture, a part of my punishment for presuming to act
+contrary to her imperial will.
+
+I saw her occasionally, although I tried my best not to do so. Once we
+passed each other on the street and I stubbornly kept my head turned in
+the other direction. I would risk no more looks such as she had given me
+when, in response to her father's would-be humorous suggestion, she had
+offered me her “congratulations.” Once, too, I saw her on the bay, I was
+aboard the Comfort, having just anchored after a short cruise, and she
+went by in the canoe, her newest plaything, which had arrived by freight
+a few days before. A canoe in Denboro Bay was a distinct novelty;
+probably not since the days of the Indians had one of the light,
+graceful little vessels floated there, and this one carried much comment
+among the old salts alongshore. It was the general opinion that it was
+no craft for salt water.
+
+“Them things,” said Zeb Kendrick, sagely, “are all right for ponds
+or rivers or cricks where there ain't no tide nor sea runnin'. Float
+anywheres where there's a heavy dew, they say they will. But no darter
+of mine should go out past the flats in one of 'em if I had the say.
+It's too big a risk.”
+
+“Yup; well, Zeb, you ain't got the say, I cal'late,” observed Thoph
+Newcomb. “And it takes more'n say to get a skiff like that one. They
+tell me the metal work aboard her is silver-plated--silver or gold, I
+ain't sure which. Wonder the old man didn't make it solid gold while he
+was about it. He'd do anything for that girl if she asked him to. And
+she sartin does handle it like a bird! She went by my dory t'other
+mornin' and I swan to man if she and the canoe together wan't a sight
+for sore eyes. I set and watched her for twenty minutes.”
+
+“Um--ye-es,” grunted Zeb. “And then you charged the twenty minutes in
+against the day's work quahaugin' you was supposed to be doin' for me, I
+suppose.”
+
+“You can take out the ten cents when you pay me--if you ever do,” said
+Newcomb, gallantly. “'Twas wuth more'n that just to look at her.”
+
+The time had been when I should have agreed with Thoph. Sitting in the
+canoe, bare-headed, her hair tossing in the breeze, and her rounded arms
+swinging the light paddle, she was a sight for sore eyes, doubtless.
+But it was not my eyes which were sore, just then. I watched her for a
+moment and then bent over my engine. I did not look up again until the
+canoe had disappeared beyond the Colton wharf.
+
+I did not tell Mother that I had sold the land. I intended to do so;
+each morning I rose with my mind made up to tell her, and always I
+put off the telling until some other time. I knew, of course, that she
+should be told; that I ought to tell her rather than to have her learn
+the news from others as she certainly would at almost any moment, but I
+knew, too, that even to her I could not disclose my reason for
+selling. I must keep George's secret as he had kept mine and take the
+consequences with a close mouth and as much of my old indifference to
+public opinion as I could muster. But I realized, only too well, that
+the indifference which had once been real was now only pretense.
+
+I have said very little about George Taylor's gratitude to me, nor his
+appreciation of what I had done for him. The poor fellow would have
+talked of nothing else if I had let him.
+
+“You've saved my good name and my life, Ros,” he said, over and over
+again, “and not only my life, but what is a mighty sight more worth
+saving, Nellie's happiness. I don't know how you did it; I believe yet
+that there is something behind all this, that you're keeping something
+from me. I can't see how, considering all you've said to me about your
+not being well-off, you got that money so quick. But I know you don't
+want me to talk about it.”
+
+“I don't, George,” I said. “All I ask of you is just to forget the whole
+thing.”
+
+“Forget! I shan't forget while I live. And, as soon as ever I can scrape
+it together, I'll pay you back that loan.”
+
+He had kept his word, so far as telling Nellie of his financial
+condition was concerned. He had not, of course, told her of his use of
+the bank bonds, but he had, as he said he would, told her that, in all
+probability, he should be left with nothing but his salary.
+
+“I told her she was free to give me up,” he said, with emotion, “and
+what do you suppose she said to me? That she would marry me if she knew
+she must live in the poorhouse the rest of her days. Yes, and be happy,
+so long as we could be together. Well, I ain't worth it, and I told her
+so, but I'll do my best to be worth something; and she shan't have to
+live in the poorhouse either.”
+
+“I don't think there's much danger of that,” I said. “And, by the way,
+George, your Louisville and Transcontinental speculation may not be
+all loss. You may save something out of it. There has been considerable
+trading in the stock during the past two days. It is up half a point
+already, according to the papers. Did you notice it?”
+
+“Yes, I noticed it. But I tell you, Ros, I don't care. I'll be glad to
+get some of my money back, of course; enough to pay you and Cap'n Elisha
+anyhow; but I'm so happy to think that Nellie need never know I was a
+thief that I don't seem to care much for anything else.”
+
+Nellie was happy, too. She came to me and told me of her happiness. It
+was all on George's account, of course.
+
+“The poor fellow had lost money in investments,” she said, “and he
+thought I would not care for him if I found out he was poor. He isn't
+poor, of course, but if he was it would make no difference to me. I am
+so glad to see him without that dreadful worried look on his face that
+I--I--Oh, you must think me awful silly, Roscoe! I guess I am. I know I
+am. But you are the only one I can talk to in this way about--about him.
+All Ma wants to talk about now is the wedding and clothes and such, and
+Pa always treats me as if I was a child. I feel almost as if you were
+the closest friend I have, and I know George feels the same. He says you
+have helped him out of his troubles. I was sure you would; that is why I
+wrote you that letter. We are both SO grateful to you.”
+
+Their gratitude and the knowledge of their happiness were my sole
+consolations in this trying time. They kept me from repenting what I
+had done. It was hard not to repent. If Colton had only made known his
+purchase and closed the Lane at once, while my resolution was red hot,
+I could have faced the wrath of the village and its inevitable
+consequences fairly well, I believed; but he still kept silent and made
+no move. I saw him once or twice; on one occasion he came into the bank,
+but he came only to cash a check and did not mention the subject of the
+Lane. He did not look well to me and I heard him tell Taylor something
+about his “damned digestion.”
+
+The wedding day came. I, as best man, was busy and thankful for the
+bustle and responsibility. They occupied my mind and kept it from
+dwelling on other things. George worked at the bank until noon, getting
+ready to leave the institution in my charge and that of Dick Small,
+Henry's brother, who had reported for duty that morning. The marriage
+was to take place at half past one in the afternoon and the bridal
+couple were to go away on the three o'clock train. The honeymoon trip
+was to be a brief one, only a week.
+
+Every able-bodied native of Denboro, man, woman and child, attended that
+wedding, I honestly believe. It was the best sort of advertising for
+Olinda Cahoon and Simeon Eldredge, for Olinda had made the gowns worn
+by the bride and the bride's mother and a number of the younger female
+guests, and Sim had sold innumerable bottles of a peculiarly penetrating
+perfume, a large supply of which he had been talked into purchasing by a
+Boston traveling salesman.
+
+“Smell it, Ros, do ye?” whispered Sim, grinning triumphantly between
+the points of a “stand-up” collar. “I give you my word when that
+slick-talkin' drummer sold me all that perfumery, I thought I was stuck
+sure and sartin. But then I had an idee. Every time women folks come
+into the store and commenced to talk about the weddin' I says to 'em,
+says I, 'Can't sell you a couple of handkerchiefs to cry on, can I, Miss
+So-and-so? Weddin's are great places for sheddin' tears, you know.' If
+I sold 'em the handkerchiefs all well and good; but if they laughed
+and said they had a plenty, I got out my sample bottle of 'May Lilock',
+that's the name of the cologne, and asked 'em to smell of it. 'If you
+cry with that on your handkerchief,' says I, 'all hands will be glad to
+have you do it. And only twenty cents a bottle!' You wouldn't believe
+how much I sold. You can smell this weddin' afore you come in sight of
+the house, can't ye now.”
+
+You could, and you continued to smell it long after you left. My best
+suit reeked of “May Lilac” weeks later when I took it out of the closet.
+
+Dorinda was there, garbed in rustling black alpaca, her Sunday gown for
+ten years at least, and made over and “turned” four or five times. Lute
+was on deck, cutaway coat, “high water” trousers and purple tie, grand
+to look upon, Alvin Baker and Elnathan Mullet and Alonzo Black and
+Thoph Newcomb and Zeb Kendrick were, as the Item would say, “among those
+present” and if Zeb's black cutaway smelled slightly of fish it was, at
+least, a change from the pervading “May Lilac.”
+
+Captain Jed strutted pompously about, monarch of the day. He greeted me
+genially.
+
+“Hello, Ros!” he said. “You out here? Thought you'd be busy overhaulin'
+George's runnin' riggin' and makin' sure he was all ready to heave
+alongside the parson.”
+
+“I have been,” I answered. “I am on my way back there now.”
+
+“All right, all right. Matildy give me fits for not stayin' upstairs
+until the startin' gun was fired, but I told her that, between her with
+her eyes full of tears and Olindy Cahoon with her mouth full of pins,
+'twas no place for a male man. So I cleared out till everything was
+shipshape. Say, Ros,” he laid his hand on my shoulder and bent to
+whisper in my ear: “Say, Ros,” he said, “I'm glad to see you're takin'
+my advice.”
+
+“Taking your advice?” I repeated, puzzled.
+
+“Yes; about not playin' with fire, you know. I ain't heard of you and
+the Princess cruisin' together for the past week. Thought 'twas best
+not to be too familiar with the R'yal family, didn't you? That's right,
+that's right. We can't take chances. We've got Denboro and the Shore
+Lane to think about, ain't we?”
+
+I did not answer. I did not risk looking him in the face.
+
+“She's liable to be here most any time, I cal'late,” he went on. “Nellie
+would insist on invitin' her. And I must say that, to be honest, the
+present she sent is the finest that's come aboard yet. The only thing
+I've got against her is her bad judgment in pickin' a father. If 'twan't
+for that I--hello! Who--Why, I believe--”
+
+There was a commotion among the guests and heads were turned toward the
+door. The captain started forward. I started back. She had entered the
+room and was standing there, looking about her with smiling interest.
+I had forgotten that, considering her friendship with Nellie, she was
+certain to be invited.
+
+She was dressed in a simple, but wonderful, white gown and wore a bunch
+of lilies of the valley at her bosom. The doorway was decorated with
+sprays of honeysuckle and green boughs and against this background she
+made a picture that brought admiring whispers from the people near me.
+She did not notice me at first and I think I should have escaped by the
+side door if it had not been for Sim Eldredge. Simeon was just behind me
+and he darted forward with outstretched hand.
+
+“Why, how d'ye do, Miss Colton!” exclaimed Sim. “You're just in time,
+ain't ye! Let me get you a chair. Alvin,” to Mr. Baker, who, perspiring
+beneath the unaccustomed dignity of a starched shirt front, occupied a
+front seat, “get up and let Miss Colton set down.”
+
+She looked in Sim's direction and saw me, standing beside him. I had
+no opportunity to avoid her look now, as I had done when we met in
+the street. She saw me and I could not turn away. I bowed. She did not
+acknowledge the bow. She looked calmly past me, through me. I saw, or
+fancied that I saw, astonishment on the faces of those watching us.
+Captain Jed stepped forward to greet her and I went into the adjoining
+room, where George was anxiously awaiting me.
+
+“Good land, Ros!” he exclaimed, with a sigh of relief, “I was beginning
+to be afraid you'd skipped out and left me to go through it all alone.
+Say something to brace me up, won't you; I'm scared to death. Say,” with
+a wondering glance at my face, “what's struck YOU? You look more upset
+than I feel.”
+
+I believe I ordered him not to be an idiot. I know I did not “brace him
+up” to any extent.
+
+It was a very pretty wedding. At least every one said it was, although
+they say the same of all weddings, I am told. Personally I was very
+glad when it was over. Nellie whispered in my ear as I offered her my
+congratulations, “We owe it all to you, Roscoe.” George said nothing,
+but the look he gave me as he wrung my hand was significant. For a
+moment I forgot myself, forgot to be envious of those to whom the door
+for happiness was not shut. After all I had opened the door for these
+two, and that was something.
+
+I walked as far as the corner with Lute and Dorinda. Dorinda's eyes were
+red and her husband commented upon it.
+
+“I thought a weddin' was supposed to be a joyful sort of thing,” he
+said, disgustedly. “It's usually cal'lated to be. Yet you and the rest
+of the women folks set and cried through the whole of it. What in time
+was there to cry about?”
+
+“Oh, I don't know, Luther,” replied Dorinda in, for her, an unusually
+tolerant tone. “Perhaps it's because we've all been young once and can't
+forget it.”
+
+“I don't forget, no more'n you do. I ain't so old that I can't remember
+that fur back, I hope. But it don't make me feel like cryin'.”
+
+“Well, all right. We won't argue about it. Let's be pleasant as we can,
+for once.”
+
+Now that is where Lute should have taken the hint and remained silent.
+At least he should have changed the subject. But he was hot and
+uncomfortable and, I suspect, his Sunday shoes were tight. He persisted.
+
+“Huh!” he sniffed; “I don't see's you've given me no sensible reason for
+cryin'. If I recollect right you didn't cry at your own weddin'.”
+
+His wife turned on him. She looked him over from head to foot.
+
+“Didn't I?” she said, tartly. “Well, maybe not. But if I'd realized what
+was happenin' to me, I should.”
+
+“Lute,” said I, as I parted from them at the corner, “I am going to the
+bank for a little while. Then I think I shall take a short run down the
+bay in the Comfort. Did you fill her tank with gasolene as I asked you
+to?”
+
+Lute stopped short. “There!” he exclaimed, “I knew there was somethin' I
+forgot. I'll do it soon's ever I get home.”
+
+“When you get home,” observed Dorinda, firmly, “you'll wash that
+henhouse window.”
+
+“Now, Dorinda, if that ain't just like you! Don't you hear Roscoe askin'
+me about that gas? I've had that gas in my head ever since yesterday.”
+
+“Um-hm,” wearily. “Well, I shouldn't think a little extry more or less
+would make much difference. Never mind, don't waste any more on me.
+Get the gas out of your head, if Roscoe wants you to. You can wash the
+window afterward.”
+
+Lute's parting words were that he would fill that tank the very first
+thing. If he had--but there! he didn't.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+The fog had come almost without warning. When, after leaving the bank,
+at four o'clock or thereabouts, I walked down to the shore and pulled my
+skiff out to where the Comfort lay at her moorings, there had not been
+a sign of it. Now I was near the entrance of the bay, somewhere abreast
+Crow Point, and all about me was gray, wet blankness. Sitting in the
+stern of the little launch I could see perhaps a scant ten feet beyond
+the bow, no more.
+
+It was the sudden shift of the wind which had brought the fog. When I
+left the boat house there had been a light westerly breeze. This had
+died down to a flat calm, and then a new breeze had sprung up from the
+south, blowing the fog before it. It rolled across the water as swiftly
+as the smoke clouds roll from a freshly lighted bonfire. It blotted
+Denboro from sight and moved across the bay; the long stretch of beach
+disappeared; the Crow Point light and Ben Small's freshly whitewashed
+dwellings and outbuildings were obliterated. In ten minutes the Comfort
+was, to all appearances, alone on a shoreless sea, and I was the only
+living creature in the universe.
+
+I was not troubled or alarmed. I had been out in too many fogs on that
+very bay to mind this one. It was a nuisance, because it necessitated
+cutting short my voyage, although that voyage had no objective point and
+was merely an aimless cruise in search of solitude and forgetfulness.
+The solitude I had found, the forgetfulness, of course, I had not. And
+now, when the solitude was more complete than ever, surrounded by
+this gray dismalness, with nothing whatever to look at to divert my
+attention, I knew I should be more bitterly miserable than I had been
+since I left that wedding. And I had been miserable and bitter enough,
+goodness knows.
+
+Home and the village, which I had been so anxious to get away from, now
+looked inviting in comparison. I slowed down the engine and, with an
+impatient growl, bent over the little binnacle to look at the compass
+and get my bearings before pointing the Comfort's nose in the direction
+of Denboro. Then my growl changed to an exclamation of disgust. The
+compass was not there. I knew where it was. It was on my work bench in
+the boat house, where I had put it myself, having carried it there to
+replace the cracked glass in its top with a new one. I had forgotten it
+and there it was.
+
+I could get along without it, of course, but its absence meant delay and
+more trouble. In a general way I knew my whereabouts, but the channel
+was winding and the tide was ebbing rapidly. I should be obliged to run
+slowly--to feel my way, so to speak--and I might not reach home until
+late. However, there was nothing else to do, so I put the helm over
+and swung the launch about. I sat in the stern sheets, listening to
+the dreary “chock-chock” of the propeller, and peering forward into the
+mist. The prospect was as cheerless as my future.
+
+Suddenly, from the wet, gray blanket ahead came a call. It was a good
+way off when I first heard it, a call in a clear voice, a feminine voice
+it seemed to me.
+
+“Hello!”
+
+I did not answer. I took it for granted that the call was not addressed
+to me. It came probably, from the beach at the Point, and might be
+Mrs. Small hailing her husband, though it did not sound like her voice.
+Several minutes went by before it was repeated. Then I heard it again
+and nearer.
+
+“Hello! Hello-o-o! Where are you?”
+
+That was not Mrs. Small, certainly. Unless I was away off in my
+reckoning the Point was at my right, and the voice sounded to the left.
+It must come from some craft afloat in the bay, though before the fog
+set in I had seen none.
+
+“Hello-o! Hello, the motor boat!”
+
+“Hello!” I answered. “Boat ahoy! Where are you?”
+
+“Here I am.” The voice was nearer still. “Where are you? Don't run into
+me.”
+
+I shifted my helm just a bit and peered ahead. I could see nothing. The
+fog was thicker than ever; if that were possible.
+
+“Where are you?” repeated the unseen voyager, and to my dismay, the hail
+came from the right this time.
+
+“Don't move!” I shouted. “Stay where you are. I will keep shouting . . .
+LOOK OUT!”
+
+Out of the fog to starboard a long dark shadow shot, silent and swift.
+It was moving directly across the Comfort's bow. I jammed the wheel over
+and the launch swung off, but not enough. It struck the canoe, for it
+was a canoe, a glancing blow and heeled it down to the water's edge.
+There was a scrape, a little scream, and two hands clutched at the
+Comfort's rail. I let go the wheel, sprang forward and seized the owner
+of the hands about the waist. The canoe, half full of water, disappeared
+somewhere astern. I swung Mabel Colton aboard the launch.
+
+I think she spoke first. I do not remember saying anything, and I think
+it must have been at least a full minute before either of us broke
+the silence. She lay, or sat, upon the cockpit floor, her shoulders
+supported by the bench surrounding it, just where I had placed her after
+lifting her over the rail. I knelt beside her, staring as if she were a
+spirit instead of a real, and rather damp, young lady. And she stared at
+me. When she spoke her words were an echo of my thought.
+
+“It IS you?” she gasped.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“This--this is the third time.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Another interval of silence. Then she spoke once more and her tone was
+one expressing intense conviction.
+
+“This,” she said, slowly, “is getting to be positively ridiculous.”
+
+I did not deny it. I said nothing.
+
+She sat up. “My canoe--” she faltered.
+
+The mention of the canoe brought me partially to my senses. I realized
+that I was kneeling on the deck of a launch that was pounding its way
+through the fog with no one at the helm. I sprang to my feet and seized
+the wheel. That my doing so would be of little use, considering that the
+Comfort might be headed almost anywhere by this time, did not occur to
+me. Miss Colton remained where she was.
+
+“My canoe--” she repeated.
+
+I was awakening rapidly. I looked out into the mist and shook my head.
+
+“I am afraid your canoe has gone,” I said. And then, as the thought
+occurred to me for the first time, “You're not hurt, I hope? I dragged
+you aboard here rather roughly, I am afraid.”
+
+“No, I am not hurt. But--where are we?”
+
+“I don't know, exactly. Somewhere near the mouth of the bay, that is
+all I can be sure of. You, are certain you are not hurt? You must be wet
+through.”
+
+She got upon her feet and, leaning over the Comfort's rail, gazed about
+her.
+
+“I am all right,” she answered. “But don't you know where you are?”
+
+“Before the fog caught me I was nearly abreast the Point. I was running
+at half speed up the channel when I heard your hail. Where were you?”
+
+“I was just beyond your boat house, out in the middle of the bay. I had
+come out for a paddle before dinner. I did not notice the fog until it
+was all about me. Then I think I must have been bewildered. I thought
+I was going in the direction of home, but I could not have been--not if
+you were abreast the Point. I must have been going directly out to sea.”
+
+She shivered.
+
+“You are wet,” I said, anxiously. “There is a storm coat of mine in the
+locker forward. Won't you put that about your shoulders? It may prevent
+your taking cold.”
+
+“No, thank you. I am not wet, at all; or, at least, only my feet and the
+bottom of my skirt. I shall not take cold.”
+
+“But--”
+
+“Please don't worry. I am all right, or shall be as soon as I get home.”
+
+“I am very sorry about your canoe.”
+
+“It doesn't matter.”
+
+Her answers were short now. There was a different note in her voice. I
+knew the reason of the change. Now that the shock and the surprise of
+our meeting were over she and I were resuming our old positions. She was
+realizing that her companion was the “common fellow” whose “charming and
+cultivated society” was not necessary to her happiness, the fellow to
+whom she had scornfully offered “congratulations” and whom she had cut
+dead at the Deans' that very afternoon. I made no more suggestions and
+expressed no more sympathy.
+
+“I will take you home at once,” I said, curtly.
+
+“If you please.”
+
+That ended conversation for the time. She seated herself on the bench
+near the forward end of the cockpit and kept her head turned away from
+me. I, with one hand upon the wheel--a useless procedure, for I had no
+idea where the launch might be headed--looked over the rail and listened
+to the slow and regular beat of the engine. Suddenly the beat grew less
+regular. The engine barked, hiccoughed, barked again but more faintly,
+and then stopped altogether.
+
+I knew what was the matter. Before I reached the gasolene tank and
+unscrewed the little cover I knew it. I thrust in the gauge stick and
+heard it strike bottom, drew it out and found it, as I expected, dry
+to the very tip. I had trusted, like an imbecile, to Lute. Lute had
+promised to fill that tank “the very first thing,” and he had not kept
+his promise.
+
+There was not a pint of gasolene aboard the Comfort; and it would be my
+cheerful duty to inform my passenger of the fact!
+
+She did not wait for me to break the news. She saw me standing there,
+holding the gauge stick in my hand, and she asked the natural question.
+
+“What is the matter?” she demanded.
+
+I swallowed the opinion of Mr. Rogers which was on the tip of my tongue.
+
+“I am sorry,” I stammered, “but--but--well, we are in trouble, I am
+afraid.”
+
+“In trouble?” she said coldly. “What trouble do you mean?”
+
+“Yes. The fact is, we have run out of gasolene. I told my man, Rogers,
+to fill the tank and he hasn't done it.”
+
+She leaned forward to look at me.
+
+“Hasn't done it?” she repeated. “You mean--why, this boat cannot go
+without gasolene, can it?”
+
+“Not very well; no.”
+
+“Then--then what are we going to do?”
+
+“Anchor and wait, if I can.”
+
+“Wait! But I don't wish to wait. I wish to be taken home, at once.”
+
+“I am sorry, but I am afraid that is impossible.”
+
+I was on my way forward to where the anchor lay, in the bow. She rose
+and stepped in front of me.
+
+“Mr. Paine.”
+
+“Yes, Miss Colton.”
+
+“I tell you I do not wish you to anchor this boat.”
+
+“I am sorry but it is the only thing to do, under the circumstances.”
+
+“I do not wish it. Stop! I tell you I will not have you anchor.”
+
+“Miss Colton, we must do one of two things, either anchor or drift. And
+if we drift I cannot tell you where we may be carried.”
+
+“I don't care.”
+
+“I do.”
+
+“Yes,” with scornful emphasis, “I presume you do.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“I mean--never mind what I mean.”
+
+“But, as I have explained to you, the gasolene--”
+
+“Nonsense! Do you suppose I believe that ridiculous story?”
+
+“Believe it?” I gazed at her uncomprehendingly. “Believe it,” I
+repeated. “Don't you believe it?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Miss Colton, do you mean that you think I am not telling you the truth?
+That I am lying?”
+
+“Well,” fiercely, “and if I did, would it be so astonishing,
+considering--considering the TRUTHS you have told me before?”
+
+I made no further effort to pass her. Instead I stepped back.
+
+“Would you mind telling me,” I demanded, with deliberate sarcasm, “what
+possible reason you think I might have for wishing to keep you here?”
+
+“I shall tell you nothing. And--and I will not have you anchor this
+boat.”
+
+“Is it your desire then that we drift--the Lord knows where?”
+
+“I desire you to start that engine and take me home.”
+
+“I cannot start the engine.”
+
+“I don't believe it.”
+
+For a moment I hesitated. Then I did what was perhaps the most senseless
+thing I ever did in all my life, which is saying considerable. I turned
+my back on her and on the anchor, and seated myself once more in the
+stern sheets. And we drifted.
+
+I do not know how long we drifted before I regained my sanity. It must
+have been a good while. When I first returned to my seat by the wheel it
+was with the firm determination to allow the Comfort to drift into the
+bottomless pit rather than to stir hand or foot to prevent it. In fact
+that particular port looked rather inviting than otherwise. Any torments
+it might have in store could not be worse than those I had undergone
+because of this girl. I sat, silent, with my gaze fixed upon the
+motionless engine. I heard my passenger move once or twice, but I did
+not look at her.
+
+What brought me to my senses was the boat hook, which had been lying on
+the seat beside me, suddenly falling to the floor. I started and looked
+over the rail. The water, as much of it as I could see through the fog,
+was no longer flat and calm. There were waves all about us, not big
+ones, but waves nevertheless, long, regular swells in the trough of
+which the Comfort rocked lazily. There was no wind to kick up a sea.
+This was a ground swell, such as never moved in Denboro Bay. While I sat
+there like an idiot the tide had carried us out beyond the Point.
+
+With an exclamation I sprang up and hurried forward. Miss Colton was
+sitting where I had left her.
+
+“What is it?” she asked. “What are you going to do?”
+
+“I am going to anchor,” I said.
+
+“I do not wish you to anchor.”
+
+“I can't help that. I must. Please stand aside, Miss Colton.”
+
+She tried to prevent me, but I pushed her away, not too gently I am
+afraid, and clambered forward to the bow, where the anchor lay upon its
+coil of line. I threw it overboard. The line ran out to its very end and
+I waited expectantly for the jerk which would tell me that the anchor
+had caught and was holding. But no jerk came. Reaching over the bow I
+tried the line. It was taut and heavy. Then I knew approximately how far
+we had drifted. We were beyond the shoal making out from Crow Point over
+the deep water beyond. My anchor rope was not long enough to reach the
+bottom.
+
+Still I was not alarmed. I was provoked at my own stubbornness which had
+gotten us into this predicament and more angry than ever at the person
+who was the cause of that stubbornness. But I was not frightened. There
+were other shoals further out and I left the anchor as it was, hoping
+that it might catch and hold on one of them. I went back once more to my
+seat by the wheel.
+
+Then followed another interval of silence and inaction. From astern and
+a good way off sounded the notes of a bell. From the opposite direction
+came a low groan, indescribably mournful and lonely.
+
+My passenger heard it and spoke.
+
+“What was that?” she demanded, in a startled tone.
+
+“The fog horn at Mackerel Island, the island at the mouth of Wellmouth
+harbor,” I answered.
+
+“And that bell?”
+
+“That is the fog bell at Crow Point.”
+
+“At Crow Point? Why, it can't be! Crow Point is in Denboro Bay, and that
+bell is a long way behind us.”
+
+“Yes. We are a mile or more outside the Point now. The tide has carried
+us out.”
+
+“Carried us--Do you mean that we are out at sea?”
+
+“Not at sea exactly. We are in Cape Cod Bay.”
+
+“But--why, we are still drifting, aren't we? I thought you had
+anchored.”
+
+“I tried to, but I was too late. The water is too deep here for the
+anchor to reach bottom.”
+
+“But--but what are you going to do?”
+
+“Nothing at present. There is nothing I can do. Sit down, please.”
+
+“Nothing! Nothing! Do you mean that you propose to sit there and let us
+be carried out to sea?”
+
+“We shall not be carried far. There is no wind. When the tide turns we
+shall probably be carried in again.”
+
+“But,” sharply, “why don't you do something? Can't you row?”
+
+“I have only one oar.”
+
+“But you must do something. You MUST. I--I--It is late! it is growing
+dark! My people! What will they think?”
+
+“I am sorry, Miss Colton.”
+
+“Sorry! You are not sorry! If you were you would do something, instead
+of sitting there as--as if you enjoyed it. I believe you do enjoy it.
+You are doing it purposely to--to--”
+
+“To what, pray?”
+
+“Never mind.”
+
+“But I do mind. You have accused me of lying, Miss Colton, and of
+keeping you here purposely. What do you mean by it?”
+
+“I mean that--that--Oh, you know what I mean! You hate me and you hate
+my father, and you are trying to--to punish us for--for--”
+
+I had heard enough. I did not propose to hear any more.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I interrupted, sternly, “stop! this is silly. I assure
+you that I am as anxious to end this--excursion--of ours as you can be.
+Your being afloat in Denboro Bay in a canoe was your own recklessness
+and not my fault. Neither was it my fault that the launch collided with
+your canoe. I called to you not to move, but to stay where you were.
+And, moreover, if you had permitted me to anchor when I first attempted
+to do so we should not be in this scrape. I shall get you out of it just
+as quick as I can. In order that I may do so I shall expect you to stop
+behaving like a child and do as I tell you. Sit down on that bench and
+keep still.”
+
+This had the effect I meant it to. She looked at me as if she could not
+believe she had heard aright. But I met her gaze squarely, and, with a
+shudder of disgust, or fear, I do not know which, she turned her back
+upon me and was silent. I went forward to the cuddy, found the tin horn
+which, until that moment, I had forgotten, and, returning, blew strident
+blasts upon it at intervals. There was little danger of other craft
+being in our vicinity, but I was neglecting no precautions.
+
+The bell at Crow Point sounded further and further astern. The twilight
+changed to dusk and the dusk to darkness. The fog was as thick as ever.
+It was nearly time for the tide to turn.
+
+Suddenly there was a jerk; the launch quivered, and swung about.
+
+“Oh! what was that?” demanded Miss Colton, shortly.
+
+“The anchor,” I answered. “We have reached the outer shoal.”
+
+“And,” hesitatingly, “shall we stay here?”
+
+“Yes; unless--”
+
+“Unless what?”
+
+“Unless . . . Hush! listen!”
+
+There was an odd rushing sound from the darkness astern, a sort of hiss
+and low, watery roar. I rushed to the bow and dragged the anchor inboard
+with all my strength. Then I ran to the wheel. I had scarcely reached it
+when I felt a hand on my arm.
+
+“What is it?” asked the young lady, her voice quivering. “Oh, what is
+it?”
+
+“Wind,” I answered. “There is a squall coming. Sit down! Sit down!”
+
+“But--but--”
+
+“Sit down.”
+
+She hesitated and I seized her arm and forced her down upon the bench
+beside me. I threw the helm over. The rushing sound grew nearer. Then
+came a blast of wind which sent my cap flying overboard and the fog
+disappeared as if it had been a cloth snatched away by a mighty hand.
+Above us was a black sky, with stars showing here and there between
+flying clouds, and about us were the waves, already breaking into foam
+upon the shoal.
+
+The Comfort rocked and wallowed in the trough. We were being driven by
+the wind away from the shoal, but not fast enough. Somehow or other we
+must get out of that dangerous neighborhood. I turned to my companion.
+She had not spoken since the squall came.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I said, “give me your hands.”
+
+I presume she could not imagine what I meant. No doubt, too, my tone and
+the request frightened her. She hesitated. I seized her hands and placed
+them on the spokes of the wheel.
+
+“I want you to hold that wheel just as it is,” I commanded. “I must go
+forward and get steerage way on this craft somehow, or we shall capsize.
+Can you hold it, do you think?”
+
+“Yes; I--I think so.”
+
+“You must.”
+
+I left her, went to the cuddy and dragged out the small canvas tarpaulin
+which I used to cover the engine at night. With this, a cod line, the
+boathook, and my one oar I improvised a sort of jury rig which I tied
+erect at the forward end of the cockpit. Then I went aft and took the
+wheel again. The tarpaulin made a poor apology for a sail, but I hoped
+it might answer the purpose well enough to keep the Comfort before the
+wind.
+
+It did. Tacking was, of course, out of the question, but with the gale
+astern the launch answered her helm and slid over the waves instead of
+rolling between them. I sighed in relief. Then I remembered my passenger
+sitting silent beside me. She did not deserve consideration, but I
+vouchsafed a word of encouragement.
+
+“Don't be frightened,” I said. “It is only a stiff breeze and this boat
+is seaworthy. We are all right now.”
+
+“But why did you take up the anchor?”
+
+By way of answer I pointed aft over the stern. In the darkness the froth
+of the shoal gleamed white. I felt her shudder as she looked.
+
+“Where are we going now--please?” she asked, a moment later.
+
+“We are headed for the Wellmouth shore. It is the only direction we can
+take. If this wind holds we shall land in a few hours. It is all deep
+water now. There are no more shoals.”
+
+“But,” anxiously, “can we land when we reach there? Isn't it a bad
+coast?”
+
+“Not very. If we can make Mackerel Island we may be able to get ashore
+at the light or anchor in the lee of the land. It is all right, Miss
+Colton. I am telling you the truth. Strange as it may seem to you, I
+really am.”
+
+I could not help adding the last bit of sarcasm. She understood. She
+drew away on the bench and asked no more questions.
+
+On drove the Comfort. The first fierceness of the squall had passed and
+it was now merely what I had called it, a stiff breeze. Out here in the
+middle of the bay the waves were higher and we shipped some spray over
+the quarter. The air was sharp and the chill penetrated even my thick
+jacket.
+
+“You must be cold,” I said. “Aren't you?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“But you must be. Take the wheel a moment.”
+
+“I am not cold.”
+
+“Take the wheel.”
+
+She took it. I groped about in the cuddy again, got out my storm coat,
+an old pea jacket which I wore on gunning expeditions, and brought it to
+her.
+
+“Slip this on,” I said.
+
+“I do not care for it.”
+
+“Put it on.”
+
+“Mr. Paine,” haughtily, “I tell you . . . . oh!”
+
+I had wrapped the coat about her shoulders and fastened the upper
+button.
+
+“Now sit down on the deck here,” I ordered. “Here, by my feet. You will
+be below the rail there and out of the wind.”
+
+To my surprise she obeyed orders, this time without even a protest. I
+smiled grimly. To see her obey suited my humor. It served her right. I
+enjoyed ordering her about as if I were mate of an old-time clipper and
+she a foremast hand. She had insulted me once too often and she should
+pay for it. Out here social position and wealth and family pride counted
+for nothing. Here I was absolute master of the situation and she
+knew it. All her life she would remember it, the humiliation of being
+absolutely dependent upon me for life and safety and warmth. I looked
+down at her crouching at my feet, and then away over the black water.
+The Comfort climbed wave after wave.
+
+“Mr. Paine.”
+
+The tone was very low but I heard it.
+
+I came out of my waking dream--it was not a pleasant one--and answered.
+
+“Yes?” I said.
+
+“Where are we?”
+
+“We are making fair progress, everything considered. Are you warmer
+now?”
+
+“Yes--thank you.”
+
+She said no more, nor did I. Except for the splash of the spray and the
+flapping of the loose ends of the tarpaulin, it was quiet aboard the
+Comfort. Quiet, except for an odd sound in the shadow by my knee. I
+stooped and listened.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I said, quickly. “What is it?”
+
+No answer. Yet I heard the sound again.
+
+“What is it, Miss Colton?” I repeated. “What is the matter? Why are you
+crying?”
+
+“I--I am NOT crying,” indignantly. And on the very heels of the denial
+came a stifled sob.
+
+That sob went to my heart. A great lump rose in my own throat. My brain
+seemed to be turning topsy-turvy. A moment before it had been filled
+with bitterness and resentment and vengeful thoughts. Now these had
+vanished and in their place came crowding other and vastly different
+feelings. She was crying, sobbing there alone in the dark at my feet.
+And I had treated her like a brute!
+
+“Miss Colton,” I pleaded, in an agony of repentance, “what is it? Is
+there anything I can do? Are you still cold? Take this other coat, the
+one I have on. I don't need it, really. I am quite warm.”
+
+“I am not cold.”
+
+“But--”
+
+“Oh, please don't speak to me! PLEASE!”
+
+I closed my lips tightly and clutched the wheel with both hands. Oh, I
+had been a brute, a brute! I should have known that she was not herself,
+that she was frightened and nervous and distraught. I should have been
+considerate and forbearing. I should have remembered that she was only a
+girl, hysterical and weak. Instead I had--
+
+“Miss Colton,” I begged, “please don't. Please!”
+
+No answer; only another sob. I tried again.
+
+“I have been a cad,” I cried. “I have treated you abominably. I don't
+expect you to forgive me, but--”
+
+“I--I am so frightened!” The confession was a soliloquy, I think; not
+addressed to me at all. But I heard it and forgot everything else. I let
+go of the wheel altogether and bent over her, both hands outstretched,
+to--the Lord knows what. I was not responsible just then.
+
+But while I still hesitated, while my hands were still in the air above
+her, before they touched her, I was brought back to sanity with a rude
+shock. A barrel or so of cold water came pouring over the rail and
+drenched us both. The launch, being left without a helmsman, had swung
+into the trough of the sea and this was the result.
+
+I am not really sure what happened in the next few seconds. I must, I
+imagine, have seized the wheel with one hand and my passenger with
+the other. At any rate, when the smoke, so to speak, had cleared, the
+Comfort was headed on her old course once more, I was back on the bench
+by the wheel, Mabel Colton's head was on my shoulder, and I was telling
+her over and over that it was all right now, there was no danger, we
+were perfectly safe, and various inanities of that sort.
+
+She was breathing quickly, but she sobbed no more. I was glad of that.
+
+“You are sure you are not hurt?” I asked, anxiously.
+
+“Yes--yes, I think so,” she answered, faintly. “What was it? I--I
+thought we were sinking.”
+
+“So did I for a moment. It was all my fault, as usual. I let go the
+wheel.”
+
+“Did you? Why?”
+
+“I don't know why.” This was untrue; I did. “But you are wet through,” I
+added, remorsefully. “And I haven't another dry wrap aboard.”
+
+“Never mind. You are as wet as I am.”
+
+“Yes, but _I_ don't mind. I am used to it. But you--”
+
+“I am all right. I was a little faint, at first, I think, but I am
+better now.” She raised her head and sat up. “Where are we?” she asked.
+
+“We are within a few miles of the Wellmouth shore. That light ahead
+is the Mackerel Island light. We shall be there in a little while. The
+danger is almost over.”
+
+She shivered.
+
+“You are cold!” I cried. “Of course you are! If I only had another coat
+or something. It is all my fault.”
+
+“Don't say that,” reproachfully. “Where should I have been if it had not
+been for you? I was paddling directly out toward those dreadful shoals.
+Then you came, just as you have done before, and saved me. And,” in a
+wondering whisper, “I knew it was you!”
+
+I did not ask her what she meant; I seemed to understand perfectly.
+
+“Yes,” I said.
+
+“But I tell you I knew it was you,” she repeated. “I did not know--I
+did not suspect until the moment before the collision, before the launch
+came in sight--then, all at once, I knew.”
+
+“Yes. That was when I knew.”
+
+She turned and gazed at me.
+
+“YOU knew?” she gasped, hysterically. “Why--what do you mean?”
+
+“I can't explain it. Just before your canoe broke through the fog I
+knew, that is all.”
+
+It was unexplainable, but it was true. Call it telepathy or what you
+will--I do not know what it was--I am certain only that, although I had
+not recognized her voice, I had suddenly known who it was that would
+come to me out of the fog. And she, too, had known! I felt again, with
+an almost superstitious thrill, that feeling of helplessness which had
+come over me that day of the fishing excursion when she rode through the
+bushes to my side. It was as if she and I were puppets in the hands of
+some Power which was amusing itself at our expense and would have its
+way, no matter how we might fight against it.
+
+She spoke as if she were struggling to awaken from a dream.
+
+“But it can't be,” she protested. “It is impossible. Why should you and
+I--”
+
+“I don't know . . . Unless--”
+
+“Unless what?”
+
+I closed my lips on the words that were on the tip of my tongue. That
+reason was more impossible than all else.
+
+“Nothing,” I stammered.
+
+She did not repeat her question. I saw her face, a dainty silhouette
+against the foam alongside, turned away from me. I gazed at it until
+I dared gaze no longer. Was I losing my senses altogether? I--Ros
+Paine--the man whose very name was not his own? I must not think such
+thoughts. I scarcely dared trust myself to speak and yet I knew that I
+must. This silence was too dangerous. I took refuge in a commonplace.
+
+“We are getting into smoother water,” I said. “It is not as rough as it
+was, do you think?”
+
+If she heard the remark she ignored it. She did not turn to look at me.
+After a moment she said, in a low voice:
+
+“I can't understand.”
+
+I supposed her to be still thinking of our meeting in the fog.
+
+“I cannot understand myself,” I answered. “I presume it was a
+coincidence, like our meeting at the pond.”
+
+She shook her head. “I did not mean that,” she said. “I mean that I
+cannot understand how you can be so kind to me. After what I said, and
+the way I have treated you; it is wonderful!”
+
+I was obliged to wait another moment before I could reply. I clutched
+the wheel tighter than ever.
+
+“The wonderful part of it all,” I said, earnestly, “is that you should
+even speak to me, after my treatment of you here, to-night. I was a
+brute. I ordered you about as if--”
+
+“Hush! Don't! please don't. Think of what I said to you! Will you
+forgive me? I have been so ungrateful. You saved my life over and over
+again and I--I--”
+
+“Stop! Don't do that! If you do I shall--Miss Colton, please--”
+
+She choked back the sob. “Tell me,” she said, a moment later, this time
+looking me directly in the face, “why did you sell my father that land?”
+
+It was my turn to avoid her look. I did not answer.
+
+“I know it was not because of the money--the price, I mean. Father told
+me that you refused the five thousand he offered and would accept only
+a part of it; thirty-five hundred, I think he said. I should have known
+that the price had nothing to do with it, even if he had not told me.
+But why did you sell it?”
+
+I would have given all I had, or ever expected to have, in this world,
+to tell her the truth. For the moment I almost hated George Taylor.
+
+“Oh, I thought I might as well, give in then as later,” I answered, with
+a shrug. “It was no use fighting the inevitable.”
+
+“That was not it. I know it was not. If it had been you would have taken
+the five thousand. And I know, too, that you meant what you said when
+you told me you never would sell. I have known it all the time. I know
+you were telling me the truth.”
+
+I was astonished. “You do?” I cried. “Why, you said--”
+
+“Don't! I know what I said, and I am so ashamed. I did not mean it,
+really. For a moment, there in the library, when Father first told me, I
+thought perhaps you--but I did not really think it. And when he told me
+the price, I KNEW. Won't you tell me why you sold?”
+
+“I can't. I wish I could.”
+
+“I believe I can guess.”
+
+I started. “You can GUESS?” I repeated.
+
+“Yes. I think you wanted the money for some purpose, some need which
+you had not foreseen. And I do not believe it was for yourself at all. I
+think it was for some one else. Wasn't that it?”
+
+I could not reply. I tried to, tried to utter a prompt denial, but the
+words would not come. Her “guess” was so close to the truth that I could
+only stammer and hesitate.
+
+“It was,” she said. “I thought so. For your mother, wasn't it?”
+
+“No, no. Miss Colton, you are wrong. I--”
+
+“I am not wrong. Never mind. I suppose it is a secret. Perhaps I shall
+find out some day. But will you forgive me for being so hateful? Can
+you? What is the matter?”
+
+“Nothing--nothing. I--you are too good to me, that is all. I don't
+deserve it.”
+
+“Hush! And we will be friends again?”
+
+“Yes. . . . . Oh, no! no! I must not think of it. It is impossible.”
+
+“Must not think of it? When I ask you to? Can't you forgive me, after
+all?”
+
+“There was nothing to forgive.”
+
+“Yes, there was, a great deal. Is there something else? Are you still
+angry with me because of what I said that afternoon at the gate?”
+
+“No, of course not.”
+
+“It was hateful of me, I know. But I could see that you wished to avoid
+me and I was provoked. Besides, you have punished me for that. You have
+snubbed me twice since, sir.”
+
+“_I_ snubbed YOU?”
+
+“Yes--twice. Once when we met in the street. You deliberately turned
+away and would not look at me. And once when I passed you in the canoe.
+You saw me--I know you did--but you cut me dead. That is why I did not
+return your bow to-day, at the wedding.”
+
+“But you had said--I thought--”
+
+“I know. I had said horrid things. I deserved to be snubbed. There! now
+I have confessed. Mayn't we be friends?”
+
+“I . . . Oh, no, we must not, for your sake. I--”
+
+“For my sake! But I wish it. Why not?”
+
+I turned on her. “Can't you see?” I said, despairingly. “Look at the
+difference between us! You are what you are and I--”
+
+She interrupted me. “Oh,” she cried, impatiently, “how dare you speak
+so? How dare you believe that money and--all the rest of it influences
+me in my friendships? Do you think I care for that?”
+
+“I did not mean money alone. But even that Miss Colton, that evening
+when we returned from the trip after weakfish, you and your father and
+I, I heard--I did not mean to hear but I did--what your mother said when
+she met you. She said she had warned you against trusting yourself to
+'that common fellow,' meaning me. That shows what she thinks. She was
+right; in a way she was perfectly right. Now you see what I mean by
+saying that friendship between us is impossible?”
+
+I had spoken at white heat. Now I turned away. It was settled. She must
+understand now.
+
+“Mr. Paine.”
+
+“Yes, Miss Colton.”
+
+“I am sorry you heard that. Mother--she is my mother and I love her--but
+she says foolish things sometimes. I am sorry you heard that, but since
+you did, I wish you had heard the rest.”
+
+“The rest?”
+
+“Yes. I answered her by suggesting that she had not been afraid to trust
+me in the care of Victor--Mr. Carver. She answered that she hoped I did
+not mean to compare Mr. Carver with you. And I said--”
+
+“Yes? You said--?”
+
+“I said,” the tone was low but I heard every syllable, “I said she was
+right, there was no comparison.”
+
+“You said THAT!”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You said it! And you meant--?”
+
+“I meant--I think I meant that I should not be afraid to trust you
+always--anywhere.”
+
+Where were my good resolutions--my stern reasons to remember who and
+what I was--to be sane, no matter at what cost to myself? I do not know
+where they were; then I did not care. I seized her hand. It trembled,
+but she did not draw it away.
+
+“Mabel--” I cried. “Mabel--”
+
+“BUMP!”
+
+The Comfort shook as the bow of a dory scraped along her starboard
+quarter. A big red hand clasped the rail and its mate brandished a
+good-sized club before my eyes.
+
+“Now,” said a determined voice, “I've got ye at last! This time I've
+caught ye dead to rights! Now, by godfreys, you'll pay me for them
+lobsters!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+If I had been giving undivided attention to my combined duties as
+steersman and pilot, instead of neglecting them for other and more
+engrossing matters, I should, doubtless, have seen the dory before. As
+it was I had not seen it at all, nor heard the oars. It had sneaked up
+on the Comfort out of the darkness and its occupant had laid us aboard
+as neatly as you please.
+
+I was, to say the least, startled and surprised. I dodged the
+threatening club and turned a dazed face toward the person brandishing
+it. He appeared to be a middle-sized, elderly person, in oilskins and
+souwester, and when he spoke a gray whisker wagged above the chin strap
+of the souwester.
+
+“Who in blazes are you?” I demanded, as soon as I could get the words
+together.
+
+“Never you mind that. You know who I be all right enough. Be you goin'
+to pay me for them lobsters? That's what _I_ want to know.”
+
+“What lobsters?”
+
+“Them lobsters you've been stealin' out of my pots for the last
+fortnight.”
+
+“_I_ have been stealing?”
+
+“Yes, you. I been layin' for you all night long. I don't know who
+you be, but you'll pay for them lobsters or come along with me to the
+lock-up, one or t'other.”
+
+I looked about, over the water. The light toward which I had been trying
+to steer blazed dead ahead, surprisingly near and bright. Except for
+that, however, there was no sign of anything except darkness and waves.
+
+“Look here, my man,” I said. “I haven't stolen your lobsters; but--”
+
+“I know better. I don't know who you be, but I'd know you was a thief if
+I run acrost you in prayer-meetin'. Just to look at you is enough.”
+
+I heard a hysterical giggle from the bench beside me. Evidently the
+person with the club heard it, too, for he leaned forward to look.
+
+“So there's two of ye, eh!” he said. “Well, by godfreys, I don't care if
+there's a million! You'll pay for them lobsters or go to the lock-up.”
+
+I laughed aloud. “Very well,” I said. “I am agreeable.”
+
+“You're agreeable! What do you mean by that? This ain't no laughin'
+matter, I'll tell you that.”
+
+I laughed again. “I don't care what you tell me,” I observed. “And if
+you will take us somewhere ashore--to the lock-up or anywhere else--I
+shall be much obliged.”
+
+The occupant of the dory seemed to be puzzled. He leaned forward once
+more.
+
+“What sort of talk is that?” he demanded. “Where's my lobsters? . . .
+Hey! What? I swan to man, I believe one of ye's a woman! Have the
+females turned thieves, too?”
+
+“I don't know. See here, my friend, my name is Paine, and I'm the only
+lobster aboard this craft. This lady and I belong in Denboro. My launch
+has run out of gasolene and we have been drifting about the bay since
+five o'clock. Now, for heaven's sake, don't talk any more, but take us
+to the lock-up and be quick about it.”
+
+The unknown paid no attention to my entreaty. Instead he leaned still
+further over the Comfort's rail. The dory careened until I expected to
+see her capsize.
+
+“I swan to man!” he muttered. “I swan to man! 'Tain't possible I'm
+mistook!”
+
+“It scarcely seems possible, I admit. But I'm afraid it is true.”
+
+I heard the club fall with a clatter.
+
+“My--godfreys! Do you mean to say--? From Denboro? Out of gasolene!
+Why--why, you've got sail up!”
+
+“Nothing but a tarpaulin on an oar.”
+
+“And you've been cruisin' all night? Through the fog--the squall--and
+all?”
+
+“Yes,” wearily, “yes--yes--yes.”
+
+“But--but ain't you drownded?”
+
+“Not quite. If you don't let go of that rail we shall be soon.”
+
+“Driftin' all night! Ain't you wet through?”
+
+“Yes. Might I suggest that we postpone the rest of the catechism until
+we reach--the lock-up?”
+
+This suggestion apparently was accepted. Our captor suddenly became very
+much alive.
+
+“Give me a line,” he ordered. “Anchor rope'll do. Where is it? up
+for'ard?”
+
+He pawed the dory along, hand over hand, until he reached the Comfort's
+bow. I heard the thump of the anchor as he dragged it into the dory.
+Then came the creak and splash of oars. His voice sounded from somewhere
+ahead.
+
+“Head for the light,” he shouted. “I'm goin' to tow you in.”
+
+“In where?”
+
+“In ashore. That's Mack'rel Island light. My name's Atwood. I'm keeper
+of it.”
+
+I turned to my passenger.
+
+“It looks,” I said, “as if our voyage was almost over.”
+
+And it was. Mr. Atwood had a tough job on his hands, towing the launch.
+But the make-shift sail helped some and I did my best to steer in his
+wake. Miss Colton and I had no opportunity to talk. The gentleman in
+the dory kept up a running fire of remarks, shouted between grunts,
+and embroidered with cheerful profanity. We caught fragments of the
+monologue.
+
+“I swan to man--ugh--I thought ye was thieves, for sartin. Some
+everlastin', dam--ugh--have been sneakin' out nights and haulin' my
+lobster pots. Ugh--if I'd caught 'em I was cal'latin' to--ugh--break
+their--ugh--ugh--This dory pulls like a coal barge--I--Wet through,
+ain't ye? And froze, I cal'late--Ugh--and hungry, too--Ugh--ugh--My old
+woman's tendin' light. She--ugh--Here we be! Easy now!”
+
+A low shore loomed black across our bows. Above it the lighthouse rose,
+a white chalk mark against the sky with a red glare at its upper end.
+Mr. Atwood sprang overboard with a splash. The launch was drawn in at
+the end of its anchor rope until its keel grated on the sand.
+
+“Now then!” said our rescuer. “Here we be! Made harbor at last, though I
+did think I'd crack my back timbers afore we done it. I'll tote the lady
+ashore. You can wade, can't ye?”
+
+I could and I was very glad of the opportunity. I turned to take Miss
+Colton in my arms, but she avoided me.
+
+“Here I am, Mr. Atwood,” she said. “Oh, thank you.”
+
+She was swung into the air and moved shoreward to the accompaniment of
+mighty splashings.
+
+“Don't be scart, ma'am,” said Mr. Atwood. “I shan't let ye drop. Lord
+sakes! I've toted more women in my time than you can shake a stick at.
+There's more da--that is, there's more summer folks try to land on this
+island at low tide than there is moskeeters and there's more of them
+than there's fiddles in--Hi! come on, you, Mr. What's-your-name!
+Straight as you go.”
+
+I came on wading through eelgrass and water until I reached a sandy
+beach. A moment later we stood before a white door in a very white
+little house. Mr. Atwood opened the door, revealing a cosy little
+sitting room and a gray-haired, plump, pleasant-faced woman sitting in a
+rocking chair beside a table with a lamp upon it.
+
+“Hello, Betsy!” bellowed our rescuer, stamping his wet rubber boots on
+the braided mat. “Got company come to supper--or breakfast, or whatever
+you want to call it. This is Mr. Paine from Denboro. This is his wife,
+Mrs. Paine. They've been cruisin' all the way from Cape Cod to Kamchatky
+in a motor boat with no power to it. Don't that beat the Old Scratch,
+hey?”
+
+The plump woman rose, without a trace of surprise, as if having company
+drop in at three o'clock in the morning was nothing out of the ordinary,
+and came over to us, beaming with smiles.
+
+“I'm real glad to see you, Mrs. Paine,” she exclaimed. “And your
+husband, too. You must be froze to death! Set right down while I fix up
+a room for you and hunt up some dry things for you to put on. I won't be
+but a minute.”
+
+Before I could offer explanations, or do more than stammer thanks,
+and rather incoherent ones at that, she had bustled out of the room. I
+caught one glimpse of Mabel Colton's face; it was crimson from neck to
+brow. “Mrs. Paine!” “Your husband!” I was grateful to the doughty Mr.
+Atwood, but just then I should have enjoyed choking him.
+
+The light keeper, quite unaware that his unfortunate misapprehension of
+the relationship between his guests might be embarrassing, was doing his
+best to make us feel at home.
+
+“Take off your boots, Mr. Paine,” he urged. “The old lady'll fetch you
+a pair of my slippers and some socks in a minute. She'll make your wife
+comf'table, too. She's a great hand at makin' folks comf'table. I tell
+her she'd make a cake of ice feel to home on a hot stove. She beats--”
+
+The “old lady” herself interrupted him, entering with a bottle in one
+hand and a lamp in the other.
+
+“Joshua!” she said, warningly.
+
+“Well, what is it, Betsy?”
+
+“Be careful how you talk.”
+
+“Talk!” with a wink at me. “I wan't goin' to say nothin'.”
+
+“Yes, you was. Mrs. Paine, you mustn't mind him. He used to go mate on
+a fishin' schooner and, from all I can learn, they use pretty strong
+language aboard these boats.”
+
+“Pick it up same as a poll parrot,” cut in her husband. “Comes natural
+when you're handlin' wet trawl line in February. Can't seem to get no
+comfort out of anything milder.”
+
+“He's a real good-hearted man, Joshua is, and a profession' church
+member, but he does swear more'n he ought to. But, as I tell the
+minister, he don't mean nothin' by it.”
+
+“Not a damn thing!” said Mr. Atwood, reassuringly. The bottle, it
+appeared, contained Jamaica ginger, a liberal dose of which Mrs. Atwood
+insisted upon our taking as a precaution against catching cold.
+
+“There's nothin' better,” she said.
+
+“You bet there ain't!” this from the lightkeeper. “A body can't get
+within forty fathoms of a cold with a swallow of that amidships. It's
+hotter than--”
+
+“Joshua!”
+
+“The Fourth of July,” concluded her husband, triumphantly.
+
+“And now, Mrs. Paine,” went on the lady of the house, “your room's all
+ready. I've laid out some dry things for you on the bed and some of
+Joshua's, too. You and your husband--”
+
+I thought it high time to explain.
+
+“The lady is not my wife,” I said, quickly.
+
+“She ain't! Why, I thought Joshua said--”
+
+“He--er--made a mistake. She is Miss Colton, a summer resident and
+neighbor of mine in Denboro.”
+
+“Sho! you don't say! That's just like you, Joshua!”
+
+“Just like me! Well, how'd I know? I beg your pardon, Miss, I'm sure.
+Shan't beg your hus--I mean Mr. Paine's pardon; he ought to thank me for
+the compliment. Haw! haw!”
+
+Miss Colton herself made the next remark.
+
+“If my room is ready, Mrs. Atwood,” she said,, without even a glance in
+my direction, “I think I will go to it. I AM rather wet.”
+
+“Wet! Land sakes, yes! I guess you be! Come right in, Joshua, take them
+clothes of yours into our room and let Mr. Paine put 'em on.”
+
+Her husband obeyed orders. After I was alone in the room to which
+he conducted me and enjoying the luxury of dry socks, I heard him
+justifying his mistake in stentorian tones.
+
+“I couldn't help it, Betsy,” I heard him say. “I took it for granted
+they was married. When I hove alongside that motor boat they was
+a-settin' close up together in the stern sheets and so, of course, I
+thought--”
+
+“You hadn't any business to. You made that poor young lady blush
+somethin' dreadful. Most likely they're just keepin' company--or
+engaged, or somethin'. You ought to be more careful.”
+
+I wondered if the young lady herself heard all this. I didn't see how
+she could help it.
+
+Kinder-hearted people than these two never lived, I do believe. It was
+after three in the morning, both had been up all night, we were absolute
+strangers to them, and yet, without a word of complaint, they gave the
+remainder of the hours before daylight to making us comfortable. When I
+dressed as much of myself as a suit of Mr. Atwood's--his Sunday best, I
+presume--would cover, and, with a pair of carpet slippers about the size
+and shape of toy ferry boats on my feet, emerged from the bedroom, I
+found the table set in the kitchen, the teapot steaming and Mrs.
+Atwood cooking “spider bread” on the stove. When Miss Colton, looking
+surprisingly presentable--considering that she, too, was wearing
+borrowed apparel four sizes too large for her--made her appearance, we
+sat down to a simple meal which, I think, was the most appetizing I ever
+tasted.
+
+The Atwoods were bursting with curiosity concerning our getting adrift
+in the motor boat. I described the adventure briefly. When I told of
+Lute's forgetfulness in the matter of gasolene the lightkeeper thumped
+the table.
+
+“There, by godfreys!” he exclaimed. “I could see it comin'! That
+feller's for all the world like a cook I had once aboard the Ezry H.
+Jones. That cook was the biggest numskull that ever drawed the breath
+of life. Always forgettin' somethin', he was, and always at the most
+inconvenient time. Once, if you'll believe it, I had a skipper of
+another vessel come aboard and, wishin' to be sort of hospitable, as you
+might say, I offered him a glass of rum.”
+
+“Joshua!”
+
+“Oh, it's all right, Betsy. This was years ago. I'm as good a teetotaler
+now as you be, and I never was what you'd call a soak. But I've SEEN
+fellers--Why, I knew one once that used to go to bed in the dark. He
+was so full of alcohol he didn't dast to light a match fear he'd catch
+a-fire. Fact! He was eighty-odd then, and he lived to be nigh a hundred.
+Preserved, you understand, same as one of them specimens in a museum.
+He'd kept forever, I cal'late, if he hadn't fell off the dock. The water
+fixed him; he wasn't used to it. He was the wust--”
+
+“Never mind him. Stick to the cook.”
+
+“Yes, yes. Well, I sent that cook for the rum and when he fetched it, I
+thought it smelt funny. And when I TASTED it--godfreys! 'Twas bay rum;
+yes, sir, bay rum! same as they put on your hair. You see, he'd forgot
+to buy any rum when we was in our last port and, havin' the bay rum
+along he fetched that. 'Twas SOME kind of rum and that was enough for
+him. I WAS mad, but that visitin' skipper, he didn't care. Drank it down
+and smacked his lips. 'I'm a State of Maine man,' he says, 'and that's
+a prohibition state. This tastes like home,' he says. 'If you don't mind
+I'll help myself to another.' 'I don't mind,' says I, 'but I'm sorry I
+ain't got any hair-ile. If I had you might have a barber-shop toddy.'
+Yes, sir! Ho-ho! that's what I said. But he didn't mind. He was--”
+
+And so on. The yarns were not elegant, but, as he told them, they were
+funny. Mabel Colton laughed as heartily as the rest of us. She appeared
+to be in fine spirits. She talked with the Atwoods, answered their
+questions, and ate the hot “spider bread” and butter as if she had never
+tasted anything as good. But with me she would not talk. Whenever I
+addressed a remark to her, she turned it with a laugh and her next
+speech was pretty certain to be addressed to the lightkeeper or his
+wife. As for our adventure in the launch, that she treated as a joke.
+
+“Wan't you awful scared when that squall struck so sudden?” inquired
+Mrs. Atwood.
+
+“Dreadfully.”
+
+“Humph!” this from Joshua; “I cal'late Mr. Paine was some scart too.
+What did you do, Mr. Paine?”
+
+“I rigged that canvas on the oar as soon as possible,” I answered.
+
+“Um-hm. That was good judgment.”
+
+“Tell me, Mr. Atwood,” asked the young lady innocently, “are all
+seafaring men very dictatorial under such circumstances?”
+
+“Very--which?”
+
+“I mean do they order people about and make them do all sorts of things,
+whether they wish to or not?”
+
+“Sartin. Godfreys! I never asked nobody what they wished aboard the Ezry
+H. Jones.”
+
+“And do they tell them to 'sit down and keep still'?”
+
+“Gen'rally they tell 'em to get up and keep movin'. If they don't they
+start 'em pretty lively--with a rope's end.”
+
+“I see. Even when they are--ladies?”
+
+“Ladies? Godfreys! we never had but one woman aboard the Ezry. Had the
+skipper's wife one v'yage, but nobody ever ordered her around any to
+speak of. She was six feet tall and weighed two hundred. All hands was
+scart to death of her.”
+
+“Suppose she had been ordered to 'sit down and keep still'; what do you
+think would have happened?”
+
+“Don't know. If 'twas one of the hands I guess likely she'd have hove
+him overboard. If 'twas the skipper I shouldn't wonder if she'd have
+knocked him down--after she got over the surprise of his darin' to do
+such, a thing. She had HIM trained, I tell ye!”
+
+“Miss Colton thinks me rather a bully, I am afraid,” I said. “I did
+order her about rather roughly.”
+
+Mr. Atwood burst into a laugh. “That Ezry Jones woman was the skipper's
+wife,” he declared. “Makes a lot of diff'rence, that does. I was
+considerable of a bully myself afore Betsy got me on the parson's books.
+Now I'm the most peaceable critter ever you see. Your turn's comin',
+Miss Colton. All you got to do is be patient.”
+
+“Joshua!” said Mrs. Atwood, in mild reproof. “You mustn't mind his talk,
+Miss Colton. He's a terrible joker.”
+
+Miss Colton changed the subject. She did not so much as look at me again
+during the meal and, after it was over, she went to her room, explaining
+that she was very tired and would try to get a little sleep.
+
+I had discovered that the lighthouse, being close to the mainland, was
+equipped with a telephone. Now I begged permission to use it. I called
+up Denboro and asked to be connected with the Colton home. I felt very
+sure that there would be no sleep in the big house that night and I
+wished to relieve their anxiety and to send word to Mother. Mr. Colton
+himself answered my call.
+
+I announced my identity and explained where I was and that his daughter
+was in my care and perfectly safe.
+
+“Thank God!” was the fervent exclamation at the other end of the wire,
+and the voice which uttered it was shaking with emotion. “Stay where you
+are a moment, Paine. Let me tell my wife. She is almost crazy. Hold the
+wire.”
+
+I held the wire and waited. The next voice which reached my ears was
+Mrs. Colton's. She asked a dozen questions, one after the other. Was
+Mabel safe? Was I sure she was safe? Wasn't the poor child almost dead
+after all she'd been through? What had happened? What was she doing away
+over there in that dreadful place? Why had I taken her there?
+
+I answered as well as I could, telling briefly of the collision in
+the fog and what followed. The explanation appeared to be rather
+unsatisfactory.
+
+“You take the wire, James,” I heard the lady say. “I can't make it all
+out. Mabel is at some horrid lighthouse and there is no kerosene, or
+something. The poor child! Alone there, with that man! Tell him she must
+be brought home at once. It is dreadful for her! Think what she must
+have suffered! And with HIM! What will people say? Tell him to bring her
+home! The idea! I don't believe a word--”
+
+“Hello--hello, Paine!” Colton was at the 'phone once more. “Can you get
+Mabel--Miss Colton, over to Wellmouth, do you think?”
+
+“Yes. I will get a boat as soon as I can. Miss Colton is in her room,
+asleep I hope. She is very tired and I think she should rest until
+daylight. I will get her to Wellmouth in time for the morning train.”
+
+“Never mind the train. I'll come after her in the auto. I will start
+now. I will meet you at the landing--at the wharf, if there is one.”
+
+“Very well. Will you be good enough to send word to my mother that I am
+safe and sound? She will be worried.”
+
+“Yes, yes, I'll send word. Tell Mabel to be careful and not take cold.
+. . . Yes, Henrietta, I am attending to everything. Good-by, Paine.”
+
+That was all, not a word of thanks. I did not expect thanks and I made
+allowances for the state of mind at the mansion; but that telephone
+conversation, particularly Mrs. Colton's share in it, cast a gloom over
+my spirits. I did not care to hear more of Mr. Atwood's yarns and jokes.
+I went to my own room, but I did not sleep.
+
+At half-past five I was astir again. The lightkeeper, it appeared, had
+an auxiliary engine in a catboat which he owned and could let me have a
+sufficient supply of gasolene to fill the Comfort's tank. When this was
+done--and it took a long time, for Joshua insisted upon helping and
+he was provokingly slow--I returned to the sitting room and asked Mrs.
+Atwood to call Miss Colton.
+
+“Land sakes!” was the cheery answer, “I didn't have to call her. She's
+been up for fifteen minutes. Said she was goin' to take a cruise around
+the lighthouse. I cal'late you'll find her out there somewheres. Go
+and fetch her here. You two must have a bite--a cup of hot coffee and a
+biled egg, anyhow--afore you leave. Yes, you must. I shan't listen to a
+no from either of you.”
+
+I went out and crossed the sandy yard to the whitewashed lighthouse.
+There was no sign of Miss Colton in the yard, but the door of the
+lighthouse was open and I entered. No one there. The stairs, winding
+upward, invited me to climb and I did so. The little room with the big
+lantern, the latter now covered with a white cloth, was untenanted
+also. I looked out of the window. There she was, on the iron gallery
+surrounding the top of the tower, leaning on the rail and gazing out
+over the water. She had not heard me. For a moment I stood there,
+watching her.
+
+She was not wearing Mrs. Atwood's gown now, but her own, wrinkled and
+stained from its last night's drenching in salt water, but dry now. She
+was bareheaded and her brown hair was tossing in the sea breeze. The
+sun, but a little way above the horizon and shining through the morning
+haze, edged her delicate profile with a line of red gold. I had never
+seen her look more beautiful, or more aristocratic and unapproachable.
+The memory of our night in the launch seemed more like an unbelievable
+dream than ever, and the awakening more cruel. For I was awake now. What
+I had heard over the 'phone had awakened me thoroughly. There should be
+no more dreaming.
+
+I stepped out upon the gallery.
+
+“Good morning,” I said.
+
+She turned quickly, and I heard her catch her breath with a little gasp.
+
+“I beg pardon,” said I; “I'm afraid I startled you.”
+
+She was startled, that was evident, and, it seemed to me, a trifle
+embarrassed. But the embarrassment was but momentary.
+
+“Good morning,” she said. “How very silent you can be when you choose,
+Mr. Paine. How long have you been standing there, pray?”
+
+“Only a moment. I came to call you to breakfast.”
+
+“To breakfast?”
+
+“Yes, Mrs. Atwood insists upon our breakfasting before I take you
+ashore.”
+
+“Oh! Why didn't you call me? I would have come down.”
+
+“I did not see you until I reached the lantern room. My silence was not
+premeditated. I made noise enough, or so it seemed to me; but you were
+so wrapped in your thoughts--”
+
+“Nonsense!” She interrupted me almost sharply. “I was not 'wrapped' in
+anything, except the beauty of this view. It IS beautiful, isn't it?”
+
+“Very,” I answered, but fear I was not looking at the view. It may be
+that she noticed this, for she said:
+
+“You have come into your own again, I see. So have I.”
+
+She indicated her gown with a smile and a gesture. I laughed.
+
+“Yes,” I said. “I have returned unto Joshua that which was his.”
+
+“You should have kept it. You have no idea what a picturesque
+lightkeeper you make, Mr. Paine.”
+
+Somehow or other this harmless joke hurt.
+
+“Yes,” I answered, drily, “that is about my measure, I presume.”
+
+Her eyes twinkled. “I thought the measure rather scant,” she
+observed, mischievously. “I wish I might have a snap-shot of you in
+that--uniform.”
+
+“I am afraid the opportunity for that is past.”
+
+“But it--” with a little bubble of mirth, “it was so funny.”
+
+“No doubt. I am sorry I can't oblige you with a photograph.”
+
+She looked at me, biting her lip.
+
+“Is your bump of humor a dent, Mr. Paine?” she inquired. “I am afraid it
+must be.”
+
+“You may be right. I don't appreciate a joke as keenly as--well, as Mr.
+Carver, for instance.”
+
+She turned her back upon me and led the way to the door.
+
+“Shall we go to breakfast?” she asked, in a different tone.
+
+Breakfast was a silent meal, so far as we two were concerned. The
+Atwoods, however, talked enough to make up the deficiency.
+
+As we rose from the table the young lady turned to the lightkeeper.
+
+“Mr. Atwood,” she said, “I presume you are going to be kind enough to
+take me to Wellmouth?”
+
+“Why, Miss, I--I wan't cal'latin' to. Mr. Paine here, he's got all the
+gas he needs now and he'll take you over in his launch.”
+
+“Oh! But you will go, if I ask you to?”
+
+“Sartin sure.”
+
+“You have been so very kind that I dislike to ask another favor; but
+I hoped you would send a telegram for me. My father and mother will be
+very much alarmed and I must wire them at once. You will have to send it
+'collect,' for,” with a rueful smile, “I haven't my purse with me.”
+
+“Land sakes! that'll be all right. Glad to help you out.”
+
+I put in a word. “It will not be necessary,” I said, impatiently. “I
+have money enough, Miss Colton.”
+
+I was ignored.
+
+“Thank you so much, Mr. Atwood. You will come with me and look out for
+the telegram?”
+
+“Yes. Yes--yes. But I don't see what you need to send no telegram for.
+Mr. Paine here, he telephoned to your folks last night.”
+
+She looked at me and then at Joshua.
+
+“Last night?” she repeated.
+
+“Why yes--or this mornin' after you'd gone to bed. He was dead set on
+it. I could see he was 'most tired and wore out, but he wouldn't rest
+till he'd 'phoned your folks and told 'em you was safe and sound. Didn't
+seem to care nothin' about himself, but he was bound your pa and ma
+shouldn't worry.”
+
+She turned to me.
+
+“Did you?” she asked.
+
+“Yes,” I answered. “Your father is to meet us at the Wellmouth wharf.”
+
+“Why didn't you tell me?”
+
+“I intended to. I meant to tell you when I saw you in the lighthouse,
+but--I forgot it.”
+
+She said no more, but when Joshua, hat and boots on, met us at the door
+she spoke to him.
+
+“You need not go, Mr. Atwood,” she said. “It will not be
+necessary--now.”
+
+“Godfreys! I'd just as soon as not. Ruther, if anything.”
+
+He hurried down to the beach. I was about to follow when a hand touched
+my arm. I turned, to find a pair of brown eyes, misty but wonderful,
+looking into mine.
+
+“Thank you,” said Miss Colton.
+
+“Don't mention it.”
+
+“But I shall. It was thoughtful and kind. I had forgotten, or--at
+least--I took it for granted there was no 'phone here. But you did not
+forget. It was thoughtful, but--it was like you.”
+
+I was breathing hard. I could not look at her.
+
+“Don't,” I said, roughly. “It was nothing. Anyone with common sense
+would have thought of it and done it, of course.”
+
+“I did not. But you--Oh, it was like you! Always some one else and
+never yourself. You were worn out. You must have been, after--” with a
+shudder--“last night. Oh, I have so much to thank you for! I--”
+
+“Come on! Heave ahead!” It was Mr. Atwood, bellowing from the beach.
+“All aboard for Wellmouth and pints alongshore.”
+
+Betsy appeared in the door behind us.
+
+“All ready, be you?” she asked.
+
+I could not have answered, but my companion was once more as calm and
+cool as the morning itself.
+
+“All ready,” she answered. “Good-by, Mrs. Atwood. And thank you over and
+over again. You have been so kind.” With a sudden flash of enthusiasm.
+“Every one is kind. It is a beautiful world. Good-by.”
+
+She ran lightly down the slope and I followed.
+
+The trip to Wellmouth was of but a half hour's duration. Atwood talked
+all the time. Miss Colton laughed at his stories and seemed to be
+without a care. She scarcely looked at me during the passage, and if
+she caught me looking at her and our glances met she turned away. On the
+wharf was a big automobile, surrounded by a gaping crowd of small boys
+and 'longshore loafers.
+
+We drew up beside the landing. Our feminine passenger sprang ashore and
+ran up the steps, to be seized in her father's arms. Mrs. Colton was
+there also, babbling hysterically. I watched and listened for a moment.
+Then I started the engine.
+
+“Shove off,” I ordered. The lightkeeper was astonished.
+
+“Ain't ye goin' ashore?” he demanded.
+
+“No,” I answered, curtly. “I'm going home. Shove off.”
+
+The launch was fifty feet from the pier when I heard a shout. Colton
+was standing on the wharf edge, waving his hand. Beside him stood his
+daughter, her mother's arms about her.
+
+“Here! Paine!” shouted Colton. “Come back! Come back and go home with us
+in the car. There is plenty of room.”
+
+I did not answer.
+
+“Come back! Come back, Paine!” he shouted again. Mrs. Colton raised her
+head from her daughter's shoulder.
+
+“James! James!” she cautioned, without taking the trouble to lower
+her voice, “don't make a scene. Let him go in his dreadful boat, if he
+prefers to.”
+
+“Paine!” cried her husband again.
+
+“I must look out for the launch,” I shouted. “I shall be home almost as
+soon as you are. Good-by.”
+
+I left the lightkeeper at his island. He refused to accept a cent
+from me, except in payment for the gasolene, and declared he had had a
+“fust-rate night of it.”
+
+“Come and see us again, Mr. Paine,” he said. “Come any time and fetch
+your lady along. She's a good one, she is, and nice-lookin', don't talk!
+You're a lucky critter, did you know it? Haw! haw! Good-by.”
+
+The Comfort never made better time than on that homeward trip. I
+anchored her at her moorings, went ashore in the skiff, and hastened up
+to the house. It was past ten o'clock and I would be over an hour
+late at the bank. A fine beginning for my first day in charge of the
+institution!
+
+The dining-room door was open, but no one was in the dining-room. The
+kitchen door, however, was shut and from behind it I heard Dorinda's
+voice.
+
+“You can get right out of this house,” she said. “I don't care if you've
+got a mortgage on the rest of the Cape! You ain't got one on this house,
+and you nor nobody else shall stay in it and talk that way. There's the
+door.”
+
+“Dorindy!” wailed another voice--Lute's. “You mustn't talk so--to him!
+Don't you realize--”
+
+“I realize that if I had a husband instead of a jellyfish I shouldn't
+have to talk. Be still, you!”
+
+A third voice made itself heard.
+
+“All right,” it growled. “I ain't anxious to stay here any longer than
+is necessary. Bein' an honest, decent man, I'm ashamed to be seen here
+as it is. But you can tell that low-lived sneak, Ros Paine, that--”
+
+I opened the door.
+
+“You may tell him yourself, Captain Dean,” said I. “What is it?”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+My unexpected entrance caused a sensation. Lute, sitting on the edge of
+one of the kitchen chairs, an agonized expression on his face, started
+so violently that he almost lost his balance. Dorinda, standing with her
+back toward me, turned quickly. Captain Jedediah Dean, his hand on the
+knob of the door opening to the back yard, showed the least evidence of
+surprise. He did not start, nor did he speak, but looked at me with a
+countenance as grim and set and immovable as if it had been cast in a
+mould.
+
+Lute, characteristically enough, uttered the first word.
+
+“By time!” he gasped. “It's Ros himself! Ros--Ros, you know what he
+says?” He pointed a shaking finger at the captain. “He says you--”
+
+“Keep still!” Dorinda struck her palms together with a slap, as if her
+husband had been what she often called him, a parrot. Then, without
+another glance in his direction, she stepped backward and took her stand
+beside me.
+
+“I'm real glad to see you home safe and sound, Roscoe,” she said,
+calmly.
+
+“Thank you, Dorinda. Now, Captain Dean, I believe you were sending a
+message to me just now. I am here and you can deliver it. What is it you
+have to say?”
+
+Before he could answer Dorinda spoke once more.
+
+“Lute,” she said, “you come along with me into the dinin'-room.”
+
+“But--but, Dorindy, I--”
+
+“You come with me. This ain't any of my business any more, and it never
+was any of yours. Come! move!”
+
+Lute moved, but so slowly that his progress to the door took almost a
+full minute. His wife paid no heed to the pleading looks he gave her
+and stood majestically waiting until he passed her and crossed the sill.
+Then she turned to me.
+
+“If you want me, just speak,” she said. “I shall be in the dining-room.
+There ain't no need for Comfort to know about this. She doesn't know
+that you've been away and hasn't been worried at all. I'll look out for
+her. Lute'll be with me, so you needn't fret about him, either.”
+
+She closed the door.
+
+“Now, Captain Dean,” I repeated, “what is it you have to say?”
+
+The captain's grim mouth twisted in a savage sneer.
+
+“You know what I'm goin' to say as well as I do,” he answered.
+
+“Possibly, but you had better say it.”
+
+“It won't take me long. You've sold that Shore Lane land to Jim Colton,
+ain't you?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+My calm affirmative seemed to astonish him. I think he expected a
+denial. His hand left the doorknob and he stepped toward me.
+
+“You--HAVE!” he cried. “You don't even take the trouble to--You have the
+face to stand there and tell me--”
+
+He almost choked.
+
+“Captain Dean,” I interrupted, quickly, “wait a moment. Listen to me. I
+have sold Colton the land. I did not intend selling it at all, least of
+all to him, but circumstances compelled me to change my mind. I did it
+because I was obliged to. It is done. I am sorry I had to do it, but,
+under the same conditions, I should do it again. I am not ashamed.”
+
+He leaned forward, steadying himself with a hand upon the table, and
+stared at me.
+
+“You ain't ashamed?” he repeated. “You ain't ashamed! Why, you--Didn't
+you tell me you'd never sell that land? Didn't you promise me?”
+
+“I did not promise anything. At first I promised not to sell without
+letting you know of my intention. Afterward I took back that promise.”
+
+“But why did you sell? You said it wan't a question of price at all. You
+made your brags that it wan't! To me, over and over, you made 'em. And
+then you sneak off and--”
+
+“Stop! I did think it was not a question of price. Then I found out that
+it was.”
+
+He clenched his fist.
+
+“Damn you!” he shouted, furiously. “You liar! You sneak! After I--”
+
+“That is enough, Captain. This has gone far enough. I have sold the
+land--for what seemed to me a good reason--and your calling me names
+will not change the situation. I don't care to hear them. You had better
+go.”
+
+“WHAT?”
+
+“I say you had better go.”
+
+“_I_ go? You'll put me out?”
+
+“No, certainly not. But there is nothing to be gained by a quarrel, and
+so, for both our sakes, I think you had better go away.”
+
+For a moment I thought he would strike me. Then his fist fell heavily
+upon the table. His lips were quivering like those of an infirm person.
+He looked old, and I had never before considered him an old man.
+
+“What made you do it?” he cried, desperately. “What made you do it? Is
+it all settled? Can't you back out?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“But--but why didn't you sell to me--to the town? If you had to sell why
+didn't you do that? Why did you go to him?”
+
+“Because he would pay me what I needed; because his price was higher
+than any you or the town could offer.”
+
+“How did you know that? My heavens above! I'd have paid--I'd have paid
+most anything--out of my own pocket, I would. I tell you this meant
+everything to me. I'm gettin' along in years. I ain't been any too well
+liked here in Denboro, and I knew it. You think that didn't make no
+difference to me, maybe I pretended it didn't, but it did; by the
+Almighty, it did! I intended for folks to be thankful to me for--I--Oh,
+WHY did you do it, Ros?”
+
+I shook my head. I was sorry for him now--sorry and astonished. He
+had given me a glimpse of the real Jedediah Dean, not the pompous,
+loud-voiced town politician and boss, but the man desirous of fighting
+his way into the esteem and liking of his neighbors.
+
+“I'm sorry, Captain,” I said. “If I had known--if I had had time to
+think, perhaps I might have acted differently. But I had no time. I
+found that I must have the money which that land would bring and that I
+had to have it immediately. So I went where I knew I could get it.”
+
+“Money? You needed money? Why didn't you come to me? I'd have lent it to
+you.”
+
+“You?”
+
+“Yes, me. What do you cal'late I've been backin' you all this summer
+for? What did I get you that job in my bank for?”
+
+“YOU? George Taylor engaged me for that place.”
+
+“Maybe so. But do you suppose he did it on his own hook? HE couldn't
+hire you unless the directors said so and the directors don't say
+anything, the majority of 'em, unless I say it first. _I_ put the notion
+in George's head. He didn't know it, but I did. And I put it in the
+directors' heads, too. Ros Paine, I always liked you, though I did use
+to think you was a gentleman loafer. There was a somethin' about you
+even then, a kind of hands-off, mind your own business independence
+about you that I liked, though I knew mighty well you never liked me.
+And after you and me got together on this Lane thing I liked you more
+and more. You could tell me to go to the devil as well as you could
+anybody else, and I'll shake hands with a feller that'll do that. I
+always wanted a boy of my own. Nellie's a good girl, no better afloat or
+ashore, but she is a girl. George is a good feller, too, but somehow,
+or 'nother, I'd come to think of you as the kind of son I'd have had, if
+the Almighty had give me one. Oh, what did you do this for?”
+
+I could not answer. He had overwhelmed me. I never felt meaner or more
+wicked. I had been ready to face him, ready for the interview with him
+which I knew was inevitable and which I had foreseen, but not this kind
+of an interview.
+
+He took his hand from the table and stood erect.
+
+“Money!” he said. “You wanted money. You must have wanted it bad. What
+did you want it for?”
+
+“I can't tell you.”
+
+“You had better. It's your only chance, I tell you that!”
+
+“I can't help it, Captain Dean. I can't tell you. I wish I could.”
+
+He regarded me in silence for a moment. Then: “All right,” he said,
+solemnly. “I'm through with you, Ros Paine. In one way I'm through with
+you. In another I ain't. I cal'late you was figgerin' to go straight up
+to the bank, as bold as brass, and set down at George Taylor's desk and
+draw your wages like an honest man. Don't you ever dare set foot in that
+bank again. You're fired! bounced! kicked out! Do you understand?”
+
+“Very well; I understand.”
+
+“You will understand, whether you do now or not. Colton's got the Shore
+Lane and you've got his dirty money in your pocket. He's paid you, but
+the town ain't. The town you sold out ain't paid you--but I'm goin' to
+see that it does. Ros Paine, I'm goin' to drive you out of Denboro.”
+
+He turned on his heel, strode to the door, went out, and slammed it
+behind him.
+
+I went back to the dining-room. Lute was nowhere in sight, but Dorinda
+was standing by the mantel, dusting, as usual, where there was no
+dust. I did not speak but walked toward the door leading to the stairs.
+Dorinda stepped in front of me.
+
+“Roscoe,” she said, sharply, “can he do it?”
+
+“Do it?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”
+
+“Can he give you your walkin' papers at that bank? Oh, I heard him! I
+tried not to, but he hollered so I couldn't help it. That kitchen door
+ain't much thicker'n a sheet of paper, anyhow. Can he do it?”
+
+“I guess so. He seems to be boss of that institution.”
+
+“But can't 'Lisha Warren or some of the other directors help you? Jed
+Dean don't boss 'Lisha Warren--not much.”
+
+“I shan't ask for help. Please don't trouble me, Dorinda.”
+
+I tried to pass her, but she would not permit it.
+
+“I shan't trouble you, Ros,” she said. “I guess you've got troubles
+enough without me. But you let me ask you this: Are you goin' to let him
+drive you out of town?”
+
+I shrugged my shoulders. “It may not take much driving,” I announced,
+listlessly, “if it were not for Mother I should be only too glad to go.”
+
+Again I tried to pass, but this time she seized my arm.
+
+“Roscoe Paine,” she cried, “don't you talk like that. I don't want to
+hear another word like that. Don't you let Jed Dean or nobody else drive
+you out of Denboro. You ain't done nothin' to be ashamed of, have you?”
+
+“I sold that land to Mr. Colton. I don't know how Captain Jed found it
+out, but it is true enough; I did exactly what he said I did.”
+
+“Found out! He found out from somebody over to Ostable where the deed
+was recorded, that is how he found out. He said so. But I don't care for
+that. And I don't care if you sold the Lane ten times over. You didn't
+do it for any mean or selfish reason, that I know. There ain't a selfish
+bone in your body, Roscoe. I've lived along with you all these years and
+I know. Nobody that was mean or selfish would give up their chances in
+life and stay here in this one-hoss town because his ma was sick and had
+took a notion that she couldn't bear to part with him. Don't you mind
+Jed Dean--pig-headed old thing!--or anybody else in Denboro. Hold up
+your head and show 'em you don't care for the whole caboodle of 'em. Let
+'em talk and act like fools, if they want to. It comes natural to most
+of 'em, I cal'late, and they'll be sorry some day. Don't you let 'em
+drive you out. They won't come inside THIS house with their talk, not
+while I'm here, I tell you that!”
+
+Her eyes, behind the brass-rimmed spectacles, flashed fire. This was the
+longest speech I had ever heard her make.
+
+“There, Dorinda,” I said, smiling, “don't worry on my account. I'm not
+worth it. And, whatever I do, I shall see that you and Lute are provided
+for.”
+
+Instead of calming her this statement seemed to have the exactly
+opposite effect.
+
+“Stop it!” she snapped. “The idea! Do you suppose it's for myself I'm
+talkin' this way to you? I guess 'tain't! My soul! I'll look out for
+myself, and Lute, too, long's I'm able to walk; and when I can't walk
+'twill be because I've stopped breathin'. It's for you I'm talkin', for
+you and Comfort. Think of her.”
+
+I sighed. “I have been thinking of her, Dorinda,” I declared. “She
+doesn't know a word about this.”
+
+“Then tell her.”
+
+“I can't tell her my reason for selling, any more than I can tell
+you--or Dean.”
+
+“Tell her what you can, then. Tell her as much of the truth as you can.
+She'll say you done right, of course. Whatever you do is right to her.”
+
+I made no reply. She regarded me keenly.
+
+“Roscoe,” she went on, “do you WANT to go somewheres else?”
+
+“I don't know, Dorinda. I might as well be here as anywhere, perhaps. I
+am rather blue and discouraged just now, that's all.”
+
+“I can't blame you much. But bein' discouraged don't do any good.
+Besides, it's always darkest just afore dawn, they say; anyhow, I've had
+that preached to me ever since I was a girl and I've tried to believe
+it through a good many cloudy spells. Roscoe, don't you let old Jed or
+anybody DRIVE you out of Denboro, but, if you WANT to go--if you think
+you'd ought to go, to earn money or anything, don't you worry about
+leavin' Comfort. I'll look out for her as well as if she was my own.
+Remember that.”
+
+I laid my hand on hers. “Thank you,” I said, earnestly. “Dorinda, you
+are a good woman.”
+
+To my surprise the eyes behind the spectacles became misty. Tears
+in Dorinda's eyes! When she spoke it was in, for her, a curiously
+hesitating tone.
+
+“Roscoe,” she faltered, “I wonder if you'd be cross if I asked about
+what wan't any of my business. I'm old enough to be your grandma, pretty
+nigh, so I'm goin' to risk it. You used to be independent enough. You
+never used to care for the town or anybody in it. Lately you've changed.
+Changed in a good many ways. Is somethin' besides this Lane affair
+frettin' you? Is somebody frettin' you? Are you worried about--that
+one?”
+
+She had caught me unawares. I felt the blood tingle in my cheeks. I
+tried to laugh and made a failure of the attempt.
+
+“That one?” I repeated. “I--Why, I don't understand, Dorinda.”
+
+“Don't you? Well, if you don't then I'm just talkin' silly, that's all.
+If you do, I . . . . Humph! I might have known it!”
+
+She turned like a shot and jerked the door open. There was a rattle, a
+series of thumps, and a crash. Lute was sprawling upon the floor at
+our feet. I gazed at him in open-mouthed astonishment. Dorinda sniffed
+scornfully.
+
+“I might have known it,” she repeated. “Sittin' on the stairs there,
+listenin', wan't you?”
+
+Lute raised himself to his knees.
+
+“I think,” he panted, “I--I swan! I shouldn't wonder if I'd broke my
+leg!”
+
+“Um-hm! Well, if you'd broke your neck 'twouldn't have been no more'n
+you deserve. Shame on you! Sneakin' thing!”
+
+“Now, Dorindy, I--I wan't listenin'. I was just--”
+
+“Don't talk to me. Don't you open your mouth. And if you open it to
+anybody else about what you heard I'll--I declare I'll shut you up
+in the dark closet and keep you there, as if you was three year old.
+Sometimes I think your head ain't any older than that. Go right out of
+this house.”
+
+“But where'll I go?”
+
+“I don't care where you go. Only don't let me set eyes on you till
+dinner time. March!”
+
+Lute backed away as she advanced, waving both his hands and pleading and
+expostulating.
+
+“Dorindy, I tell you . . . WHAT makes you so unlikely? . . . I was just
+. . . All right then,” desperately, “I'll go! And if you never set eyes
+on me again 'twon't be my fault. You'll be sorry then. If you never see
+me no more you'll be sorry.”
+
+“I'll set eyes on you at dinner time. I ain't afraid of that. Git!”
+
+She followed him to the kitchen and then returned.
+
+“Ah hum!” she sighed, “it's pretty hard to remember that about darkest
+just afore dawn when you have a burden like that on your shoulders to
+lug through life. It's night most of the time then. Poor critter! he
+means well enough, too. And once he was a likely enough young feller,
+though shiftless, even then. But he had a long spell of fever three year
+after we was married and he's never been good for much since. I try to
+remember that, and to be patient with him, but it's a pretty hard job
+sometimes.”
+
+She sighed again. I had often wondered how a woman of her sense could
+have married Luther Rogers. Now she was telling me.
+
+“I never really cared for him,” she went on, looking toward the door
+through which the discomfited eavesdropper had made his exit. “There was
+somebody else I did care for, but he and I quarreled, and I took Luther
+out of spite and because my folks wanted me to. I've paid for it since.
+Roscoe,” earnestly, “Roscoe, if you care for anybody and she cares for
+you, don't let anything keep you apart. If she's worth a million or
+fifty cents that don't make any difference. It shouldn't be a matter
+of her folks or your folks or money or pride or anything else. It's a
+matter for just you and her. And if you love each other, that's enough.
+I tell you so, and I know.”
+
+I was more astonished than ever. I could scarcely believe that this was
+the dry, practical Dorinda Rogers who had kept house for Mother and me
+all these years. And with my astonishment were other feelings, feelings
+which warned me that I had better make my escape before I was trapped
+into betraying that which, all the way home from Mackerel Island, I
+had been swearing no one should ever know. I would not even admit it to
+myself, much less to anyone else.
+
+I did not look at Dorinda, and my answer to her long speech was as
+indifferent and careless as I could make it.
+
+“Thank you, Dorinda,” I said. “I'll remember your advice, if I ever need
+it, which isn't likely. Now I must go to my room and change my clothes.
+These are too badly wrinkled to be becoming.”
+
+When I came down, after an absence of half an hour, she was sitting by
+the window, sewing.
+
+“Comfort's waitin' to see you, Roscoe,” she said. “I've told her all
+about it.”
+
+“YOU'VE told her--what?” I demanded, in amazement.
+
+“About your sellin' the Lane and losin' your job, and so on. Don't look
+at me like that. 'Twas the only common-sense thing to do. She'd heard
+old Leather-Lungs whoopin' out there in the kitchen and she'd heard you
+and me talkin' here in the dinin'-room. I hoped she was asleep, but she
+wan't. After you went upstairs she called for me and wanted to know
+the whole story. I told her what I knew of it. Now you can tell her the
+rest. She takes it just as I knew she would. You done it and so it's all
+right.”
+
+“Roscoe, is that you?”
+
+It was Mother calling me. I went into the darkened room and sat down
+beside the bed.
+
+She and I had much to say to each other. This time I kept back nothing,
+except my reason for selling the land. I told her frankly that that
+reason was a secret, and that it must remain a secret, even from her.
+
+“I hate to say that to you, Mother,” I told her. “You don't know how I
+hate it. I would tell you if I could.”
+
+She pressed my hand. “I know you would, Roscoe,” she said. “I am quite
+content not to know. That your reason for selling was an honorable one,
+that is all I ask.”
+
+“It was that, Mother.”
+
+“I am sure of it. But,” hesitatingly, “can you tell me this: You did not
+do it because you needed money--for me? Our income is the same as ever?
+We have not met with losses?”
+
+“No, Mother. Our income is the same that it has been for years.”
+
+“Then it was not because of me; because you felt that I should have
+those 'luxuries' you talk about so often? Oh, I don't need them, Roscoe
+I really don't. I am--I scarcely dare say it for fear it may not be
+true--but I THINK I am better than I have been. I feel stronger.”
+
+“I know you are better, Mother. Doctor Quimby is very much encouraged.”
+
+“Is he? I am so glad! For your sake, Boy. Perhaps the time will come
+when I may not be your Old Man Of the Sea as I am now. But you did not
+sell the land because of me?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You did not sell it for yourself, that I know. I wonder . . . But,
+there! I mustn't wonder, and I won't. Captain Dean was very angry and
+unreasonable, Dorinda says. I suppose his pride is hurt. I'm afraid he
+will make it unpleasant for you in the village.”
+
+“He will do his best, I'm sure of that.”
+
+“You poor boy! As if you did not have enough to bear without that! He
+has asked you to resign from the bank?”
+
+I smiled. “He has pitched me out, neck and crop,” I answered. “I
+expected that, of course.”
+
+“But what will you do? Can't Mr. Taylor help you? Perhaps he will use
+his influence with the captain.”
+
+“I don't need his influence, Mother. I took the place merely because of
+a whim. Now that I have lost it I am no worse off than I was before.”
+
+“But you enjoyed the work?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+I was only beginning to realize how much I had enjoyed it. I sighed,
+involuntarily.
+
+Mother heard the sigh and the pressure of her hand on mine tightened.
+
+“Poor boy!” she said again. Then, after a moment, “I wish I might talk
+with Miss Colton about this.”
+
+I started violently. What had put that idea in her head?
+
+“Miss Colton!” I exclaimed. “Mother, whatever you do, don't speak to
+her--about me.”
+
+“Why not? She has not called on us for some time, but she is interested
+in you, I know. And perhaps her father could--”
+
+“Mother, don't.”
+
+She was silent for an instant. Then she said, quietly. “Boy, what is it?
+Is there something else you haven't told me? Something about--her?”
+
+“No, no,” I stammered.
+
+“Isn't there? Are you sure?”
+
+I do not know what reply I should have made. Her question, coming so
+close upon the heels of Dorinda's hints, upset me completely. Was it
+written upon my face, for everyone to see? Did I look the incredible
+idiot that I knew myself to be? For I did know it. In spite of my
+determination not to admit it even in my innermost thoughts, I knew. I
+was in love with Mabel Colton--madly, insanely, hopelessly in love with
+her, and should be until my dying day. I had played with fire too long.
+
+Before I could answer there came a knock at the door. It opened and
+Dorinda's head appeared. She seemed, for her, excited.
+
+“There's somebody to see you, Ros,” she said. “You'd better come out
+soon's you can. He's in a hurry.”
+
+“Someone to see me,” I repeated. “Who is it?”
+
+Dorinda glanced at Mother and then at me. She did not so much as
+whisper, but her lips formed a name. I rose from my chair.
+
+Mother looked at me and then at Dorinda.
+
+“Who is it, Roscoe?” she asked.
+
+“Just a caller on a business matter,” I answered, hurriedly. “I'll be
+out at once, Dorinda.”
+
+“But who is it, Roscoe?”
+
+“It's Mr. Colton, Mother. He has probably come to--”
+
+“Dorinda,” Mother interrupted me, “ask Mr. Colton to come in here.”
+
+“But, Mother--”
+
+“Ask him to come in here, Dorinda. I should like to meet him.”
+
+Dorinda hesitated, but when Mother spoke in that tone none of us
+hesitated long. She disappeared. A moment later the door opened wide
+and Colton entered. The sudden transition from sunlight to semidarkness
+bewildered him for a moment, doubtless, for he stood there without
+speaking. Dorinda, who had ushered him in, went out and closed the door.
+I stepped forward.
+
+“Good morning, Mr. Colton,” I said, as calmly as I could. “You have
+never met my mother, I think. Mother, this is Mr. Colton, our neighbor.”
+
+Colton turned toward the bed and murmured a few words. For once, I
+think, he was startled out of his customary cool self-possession. And
+when Mother spoke it seemed to me that she, too, was disturbed.
+
+“Roscoe,” she said, quickly, “will you draw that window-shade a little
+more? The light is rather strong. Thank you. Mr. Colton, I am very glad
+to meet you. I have heard of you often, of course, and I have met your
+daughter. She has been very kind to me, in many ways. Won't you sit
+down?”
+
+I drew forward a chair. Our visitor accepted it.
+
+“Thank you, Mrs. Paine,” he said. “I will sit. To be honest, I'm very
+glad of the opportunity. I have been under the doctor's care for the
+past few weeks and last night's performance is not the best sort of
+treatment for a tender digestion. The doctor told me what I needed was
+rest and sleep and freedom from care. I told him I probably shouldn't
+get the last item till I was dead. As for the rest--and sleep--Humph!”
+ with a short laugh, “I wonder what he would have said if he had seen me
+last night.”
+
+Mother's face was turned away from him on the pillow. “I am sorry to
+hear that you have been ill, Mr. Colton,” she said.
+
+“Ill! I'm not ill. I have never been sick in my life and I don't propose
+to begin now. If the crowd in New York would let me alone I should be
+all right enough. There is a deal on there that is likely to come to
+a head pretty soon and my people at the office are nervous. They keep
+'phoning and telegraphing and upsetting things generally. I'll have to
+run over there myself in a day or two and straighten it out. But there!
+I didn't come here to worry you with my troubles. I feel as if I knew
+you, Mrs. Paine.”
+
+“Knew me? Knew ME, Mr. Colton?”
+
+“Yes. I have never had the pleasure of meeting you before, but my
+daughter has spoken of you often. She is a great admirer of yours. I
+won't tell you all the nice things she has said about you, for she has
+probably said them to you or to your son, already.”
+
+“You should be very proud of your daughter, Mr. Colton. She is a
+charming girl.”
+
+“Thanks. Just among us three I'll admit, in confidence, that I think
+you're right. And I'll admit, too, that you have a pretty good sort of
+a son, Mrs. Paine. He is inclined to be,” with a glance in my direction,
+“a little too stubborn and high-principled for this practical world,
+but,” with a chuckle, “he can be made to listen to reason, if you give
+him time enough. That is so, isn't it, Paine?”
+
+I did not answer. Mother spoke for me.
+
+“I am not sure that I understand you, Mr. Colton,” she said, quietly.
+“I presume you are referring to the sale of the land. I do not know why
+Roscoe changed his mind in that matter, but I do know that his reason
+was a good one, and an honest one.”
+
+“He hasn't told it to you, then?”
+
+“No. But I know that he thought it right or he never would have sold.”
+
+I broke in here. I did not care to hear my own praises.
+
+“Did you call to discuss the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton?” I inquired. “I
+thought that affair settled.”
+
+“It is. No, I didn't come to discuss that. Mrs. Paine, I don't know why
+your son sold me that land, but I'm inclined to think, like you, that he
+wouldn't have done it unless he thought it was right. I know mighty
+well he wasn't afraid of me. Oh, you needn't laugh, young man. There
+ARE people in that fix, plenty of 'em. No, I didn't come to talk 'Lane.'
+That bird is dead. I came, first of all, to thank you for what you did
+for my daughter last night.”
+
+Mother turned her head and looked at him.
+
+“For your daughter? Last night? Roscoe, what does he mean?”
+
+“Nothing, Mother, nothing,” I said, hastily. “I was unlucky enough to
+run the Comfort into Miss Colton's canoe in the bay yesterday afternoon
+in the fog. Fortunately I got her into the launch and--and--”
+
+“And saved her from drowning, then and a dozen times afterward. He
+hasn't told you, Mrs. Paine? No, I can see that he hasn't. All right, I
+will. Paine, if your ingrowing modesty won't stand the pressure you had
+better leave the room. This is about what happened, Mrs. Paine, as Mabel
+tells it.”
+
+I tried to prevent him, but it was no use. He ignored me altogether and
+went on to tell of the collision in the fog, the voyage across the
+bay, and my telephone from the lighthouse. The story, as he told it,
+magnified what he called my coolness and common-sense to a ridiculous
+extent. I lost patience as I listened.
+
+“Mr. Colton,” I interrupted, “this is silly. Mother, the whole affair
+was more my fault than my good judgment. If I had anchored when it first
+happened we should have been home in an hour, instead of drifting all
+night.”
+
+“Why didn't you anchor, then?” asked Colton.
+
+“Because I--I--”
+
+I stopped short. I could not tell him why I did not anchor. He laughed
+aloud.
+
+“That's all right,” he said. “I guess Mabel's story is near enough to
+the truth for all practical purposes. Mrs. Paine,” with a sudden change
+to seriousness, “you can understand why I have come here this morning.
+If it had not been for your son's pluck, and cool head, and good
+judgment I--Mrs. Colton and I might have been--God knows in what state
+we might have been to-day! God knows! I can't think of it.”
+
+His voice trembled. Mother put out a hand and took mine.
+
+“Roscoe,” she said, “Roscoe.”
+
+“So I came to thank him,” went on our visitor. “This isn't the first
+time he has done something of the sort. It seems almost as if he--But
+never mind that. I'm not going to be foolish. Your son and I, Mrs.
+Paine, have been fighting each other most of the summer. That's all
+right. It was a square fight and, until this newest freak of his--and he
+has got me guessing as to what it means--I admit I thought he was quite
+as likely to lick me as I was to lick him. I've watched him pretty
+closely and I am a pretty fair judge of a man, I flatter myself. Did he
+tell you that, a while ago, I offered him a place in my office?”
+
+“In your office? You offered him that? No, he did not tell me. Roscoe!”
+ reproachfully.
+
+“I did not tell you, Mother, because it was not worth while. Of course I
+could not accept the offer.”
+
+She hesitated and, before she spoke, Colton broke in.
+
+“Why not? That was what you were going to say, Mrs. Paine, I take it.
+That is what _I_ said--why not? And I say it again. Paine, that offer is
+still open.”
+
+I shook my head. “I told you then that I could not accept,” I said. “It
+is impossible.”
+
+“Why is it impossible? So far as I am concerned I believe you would be a
+mighty good investment.”
+
+“Impossible,” I said again.
+
+“Nothing is impossible. We won't waste words. I am going to be plain and
+I think Mrs. Paine will excuse me. You think you should not leave your
+mother, perhaps. I understand that reason. It would be a good one,
+except that--well, that it isn't good any longer. Your mother is much
+better than she was. Quimby--her doctor and mine--says so. I shall see
+that she is well looked after. If she needs a nurse she shall have
+one, the best we can get. Oh, be still and let me finish! You can talk
+afterward. You're not going so far away. New York isn't the end of the
+earth; it is only the center, or it thinks it is. You'll be in close
+touch with Denboro all the time and you can come here whenever you want
+to. Now will you take my offer?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Young man, if I didn't know there were brains inside that head of yours
+I should think it was, as the boys say, solid ivory. Confound you! Here,
+Mrs. Paine,” turning to Mother, “you take him in hand. Tell him he must
+come with me.”
+
+“Mother--” I protested. He cut my protest short.
+
+“Tell him,” he ordered.
+
+Mother looked at me. “I think, perhaps, you should accept, Roscoe,” she
+said, slowly.
+
+“Accept! Mother!”
+
+“Yes. I--I think you should. I am sure everyone else would think so. I
+should not wish you to do so if Mr. Colton was merely trying to be kind,
+to help you from motives of gratitude, or charity--”
+
+“Don't use that word, please,” snapped “Big Jim.” “When I lose my mind I
+may take to charity, but not before. Charity! Good Lord!”
+
+“But it is not charity. I am better, Roscoe; I realize it every day;
+and with Dorinda I shall get on perfectly well. I have been thinking of
+something like this for a long time. You owe it to yourself, Roscoe. The
+chance is one that many men would be very, very glad to have come their
+way. I shall not urge you, Boy. You must decide for yourself, and I know
+you will; but, Roscoe, I shall be quite contented--yes, glad and proud,
+if you say yes to Mr. Colton.”
+
+The gentleman named nodded emphatic approval. “That's the talk!” he
+exclaimed. “Mrs. Paine, I congratulate you on your common-sense.”
+
+“I think, like you, that you will have made a good investment, Mr.
+Colton,” was Mother's answer.
+
+I rose to my feet. This must be ended now, for all time.
+
+“I thank you, Mr. Colton,” I said, though not as steadily as I could
+have wished. “I am greatly obliged to you and I realize that you offer
+me an exceptional opportunity, or what would be one for another man. But
+I cannot accept.”
+
+“Look here, Paine! I'll speak plainer still. I understand that that
+Shore Lane trade of ours has become common property, or, at any rate, it
+will be common property soon. If I see the situation clearly, Denboro is
+likely to be a rather unpleasant place for you. That fellow Dean has a
+lot of influence here--heaven knows why!--and he hates me worse than Old
+Nick hates holy water. Oh, I know you're not afraid of him! But what
+is the use of taking the rough road when the smooth one is right before
+your feet? Say yes, and let's end it.”
+
+“No,” said I, stubbornly. “No, Mr. Colton.”
+
+“You mean it? Very well, I leave you in your Mother's hands. She will
+probably bring you to your senses before long. Mrs. Paine, you can
+handle him, I have no doubt. I am glad to have met you, and, with your
+permission, I shall call on you again. So will Mabel. As for you, young
+man, I thank you for last night's work. You will, perhaps, accept thanks
+if you refuse everything else. Good morning.”
+
+He rose, bowed, and walked to the door. As he opened it he staggered,
+perceptibly. I thought, for an instant, that he was going to fall, and I
+sprang to his assistance.
+
+“It's all right,” he said, gruffly. “This digestion of mine sets my head
+spinning sometimes. That doctor says I shall upset completely unless I
+rest. I told him he was a fool and I intend to prove it. Let me be. I
+can walk, I should hope. When I can't I'll call the ambulance--or the
+hearse. I'll find the way out, myself. Good-by.”
+
+The door closed behind him.
+
+“Roscoe,” said Mother, quickly, “come here.”
+
+I turned toward her. She was looking at me with a strange expression.
+
+“What is it, Mother?” I asked, anxiously.
+
+“Roscoe,” she whispered, “I know him. I have met him before.”
+
+“Know him! You have met Mr. Colton--before? Where?”
+
+“At our home in the old days. He came there once with--with your father.
+He was our guest at dinner.”
+
+I could scarcely believe it. Then, as the thought of what this might
+mean flashed to my mind, I asked anxiously:
+
+“Did he know you, do you think?”
+
+“No, I am sure he did not. We met but once and I have,” with a little
+sigh, “changed since then. But I recognized him. The name of Colton was
+familiar to me when you first mentioned it, some time ago, but I did
+not remember where I had heard it. Of course, I did not connect this Mr.
+Colton with--that one.”
+
+I frowned. This complicated matters still more, and further
+complications were superfluous.
+
+“And, knowing this, knowing that he might recognize you at any time, you
+urged me to accept his offer,” I said, reproachfully. “Mother!”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Mother, how can you? Would you have me go to New York and enter a
+banking house where, any hour of any day, I might be recognized by some
+of the men I once knew? Where I might expect at any moment to be called
+by my real name? How can you?”
+
+She gazed at me earnestly. “Why not tell him, Roscoe?” she asked.
+
+I stared at her, aghast. “Tell him!” I repeated. “Tell him who I am?
+Tell him our story, the story that--Mother, are you crazy?”
+
+“No. I believe I am sane, at least. I have been thinking a great deal of
+late. As I have been growing stronger I have been thinking more and more
+and I am not sure that you and I have been right in hiding here as
+we have done. It was all my fault, I know, but I was weak and--and I
+dreaded all the gossip and scandal. But, Boy, it was a mistake. After
+all, we have done no wrong, you and I--we, personally, have nothing to
+be ashamed of. Why not end all this? Go to Mr. Colton, tell him who you
+are, tell him our story; then, if he still wants you--”
+
+I interrupted. “No, Mother,” I said, “no, no! It is impossible. Even if
+he knew, and it made no difference, I could not do it. I may go away! I
+may feel that I must go, if you are well enough for me to leave you, but
+I can not go with him. I ought not to see him again. I must not see HER.
+. . . . Oh, don't you understand? Mother, I--I--”
+
+She understood. I had seized her hand and now she stroked it gently with
+her own.
+
+“So it is true,” she said, quietly. “You love her, Roscoe.”
+
+“Yes! yes! yes!” I answered, desperately. “Oh, don't speak of it,
+Mother! I am insane, I think.”
+
+“Does she care for you, Boy? Have you spoken to her?”
+
+“MOTHER! Is it likely?”
+
+“But I think she does care, Roscoe. I think she does. She must.”
+
+This was so characteristic that, although I was in anything but a
+laughing mood, I could not help smiling.
+
+“How could she help it? I presume you mean,” I observed, sarcastically.
+“There, Mother, don't worry. I did not intend that you or anyone else
+should know what an idiot I am, but don't worry--I shan't do anything
+ridiculous or desperate. I may go somewhere, to get away from Denboro,
+and to earn a living for you and me, but that is all. We won't speak of
+her again.”
+
+“But if she does care, Boy?”
+
+“If she does--Of course, she doesn't--but, if she does, can't you see
+that only makes it worse? Think who she is and who and what I am! Her
+family--Humph! you have not met her mother; I have.”
+
+“But if she loves you--”
+
+“Do you think I should permit her to ruin her life--for me?”
+
+“Poor boy! I am SO sorry!”
+
+“It is all right, Mother. There! we won't be foolish any longer. I am
+going for a walk and I want you to rest. I am glad, we have had this
+talk; it has done me good to speak what I have been thinking. Good-by. I
+will be back soon.”
+
+She would have detained me, but I broke away and went out. My walk was a
+long one. I tramped the beach for eight long miles and, though one
+might think that my adventures of the night before had provided exercise
+enough, this additional effort seemed to do no harm. I forgot dinner
+entirely and supper was on the table when I returned to the house.
+
+I found Dorinda in a condition divided between anxiety and impatience.
+
+“Have you seen anything of that man of mine?” she demanded. “I ain't
+seen hide nor hair of him since I pitched him out of this room this
+mornin'!”
+
+I was surprised and a little disturbed. I remembered Lute's threat about
+“never seein' me no more.”
+
+“You don't suppose he has run away, or anything like that, do you?” I
+asked.
+
+“He wouldn't run far; runnin's too much like work. But why he wan't home
+for dinner I don't understand. I never knew him to miss a meal's vittles
+afore. I hope nothin' ain't happened to him, that's all. Well, we'll
+have our supper, anyhow. After that we'll see.”
+
+But we did not have to see. We were at the table when we heard the sound
+of hurrying footsteps on the walk. The gate closed with a bang. Dorinda
+rose from her chair.
+
+“I swan! I believe that's him now!” she exclaimed.
+
+“If it is, he is certainly running this time,” I observed. “What--”
+
+The door was thrown open and the missing member of the household
+appeared. He was red-faced and panting, but there was a curious air of
+dignified importance in his bearing. Dorinda's lips shut tightly.
+
+“Well, Lute,” said I, “where have you been?”
+
+Lute struggled for breath.
+
+“Don't ask me where I've been!” he gasped. “Don't waste no time askin'
+ME questions. Get your hat on, Ros! Get your hat on this minute! Where
+did I put that? Where in time did I put it?”
+
+He was fumbling in his pockets. Dorinda and I looked at each other. She
+shook her head.
+
+“He's gone stark foolish at last!” she said, with decision. “Well,
+I've been expectin' it! Lute Rogers, stop pawin' yourself over and act
+sensible, if you can. What is the matter with you?”
+
+“Matter with me! Nothin's the matter with ME; but there's somethin' the
+matter with other folks, I tell you that! Doctor Quimby's been there
+twice already, and the telephone's been goin', and--and--My time! you
+ought to seen her face! 'Twas just as white as--as--WHERE did I put that
+letter?”
+
+His “pawing” became more frantic than ever. His wife stepped forward and
+seized him by the arm.
+
+“Stop it, I tell you!” she commanded. “Stop it! Who's sick? Whose
+telephone's ringin'? What letter are you talkin' about? Answer me! Stop
+that Saint Vitus dancin' and answer me this minute!”
+
+She gave him a shake and his cap fell to the floor. From it fell an
+envelope. Lute pulled himself free and pounced upon it.
+
+“There 'tis!” he exclaimed. “By time! I was scart I'd lost it! Read it,
+Ros! read it!”
+
+He handed me the envelope. It bore my name. I tore it open--took out the
+sheet of notepaper which it inclosed, and read as follows:
+
+
+“Dear Mr. Paine:
+
+“Father is very ill, and I am in great trouble. I think you, perhaps,
+can help us both. Will you come over at once? PLEASE do.
+
+“Hastily yours,
+
+“MABEL COLTON.”
+
+
+“And--and--” panted Lute, “she told me to tell you to please hurry. And
+you'd ought to seen her face! She--”
+
+I heard no more. I did not wait to get my hat, as the excited bearer
+of the note had urged me to do. Bareheaded, I hurried out of the
+dining-room and along the path toward the Colton mansion.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+It was early in the evening, but the big house was lighted as if for a
+reception; lights in the rooms above, lights in the library and hall
+and drawing-room. Doctor Quimby's horse and buggy stood by one of
+the hitching posts and the Colton motor car was drawn up by the main
+entrance. From the open windows of the servants' quarters came the
+sounds of excited voices. I hastened to the front door. Before I could
+push the button of the electric bell the door was opened. Johnson, the
+butler, peered out at me. Most of his dignity was gone.
+
+“Is it you, Mr. Paine?” he asked, anxiously. “Come in, sir, please. Miss
+Mabel has been asking for you not a minute ago, sir.”
+
+I entered the hall. “What is it, Johnson?” I asked, quickly. “How is Mr.
+Colton?”
+
+The butler looked behind him before replying. He shook his head
+dubiously.
+
+“He's awful ill, sir,” he whispered. “The doctor's been with him for an
+hour; 'e's unconscious and Mrs. Colton is takin' on something terrible.
+It's awful, sir, ain't it!”
+
+His nervousness was sufficient indication of the general demoralization
+of the household. And from one of the rooms above came the sobs of a
+hysterical woman.
+
+“Brace up, man,” I whispered in reply. “This is no time for you to go to
+pieces. Where is Miss Colton?”
+
+“She's with her father, sir. Step into the library and I'll call her.”
+
+He was not obliged to call her, for, at that moment, I heard her voice
+speaking from the head of the stairs.
+
+“Who is it, Johnson?” she asked, in a low tone.
+
+“It's Mr. Paine, Miss Mabel.”
+
+I heard a little exclamation, of relief it seemed to me. Then she
+appeared, descending the staircase. Her face was, as Lute had said,
+pale, but her manner was calm, much calmer than the butler's.
+
+She came to me and extended her hand. “Thank you for coming,” she said.
+“I was sure you would.”
+
+“How is your father, Miss Colton?” I asked.
+
+“He is no worse. Come into the library, please. Johnson, if Mother or
+the doctor need me, I shall be in the library. Come, Mr. Paine.”
+
+We entered the library together. The room in which I had had my two
+memorable encounters with “Big Jim” Colton was without its dominant
+figure now. His big armchair was drawn up beside the table and the
+papers and writing materials were in the place where I had seen them. A
+half-burned cigar lay in the ash tray. But the strong fingers which
+had placed it there were weak enough now and the masterful general of
+finance was in his room upstairs fighting the hardest battle of his
+life, fighting for that life itself. A door at the end of the library, a
+door which I had not noticed before, was partially open and from within
+sounded at intervals a series of sharp clicks, the click of a telegraph
+instrument. I remembered that Colton had told me, in one of his
+conversations, that he had both a private telephone and telegraph in his
+house.
+
+Miss Colton closed the door behind us, and turned to me.
+
+“Thank you for coming,” she said, again. “I need help and I could think
+of no one but you. You have hurried dreadfully, haven't you!”
+
+She was looking at my forehead. I caught a glimpse of my face in the
+mirror above the mantel and reached for my handkerchief.
+
+“I must have run every step of the way,” I answered. “I didn't realize
+it. But never mind that. Tell me about your father.”
+
+“He was taken ill soon after he returned from your house. He was in the
+library here and I heard him call. When I reached him he was lying upon
+the couch, scarcely able to speak. He lost consciousness before we could
+get him to his room. The doctor says it is what he has feared, an attack
+of acute indigestion, brought on by anxiety and lack of rest. It was my
+fault, I am afraid. Last night's worry--Poor Father!”
+
+For just a moment I feared she was going to break down. She covered her
+eyes with her hand. But she removed it almost immediately.
+
+“The doctor is confident there is no great danger,” she went on.
+“Danger, of course, but not the greatest. He is still unconscious
+and will be for some time, but, if he is kept perfectly quiet and not
+permitted to worry in the least, he will soon be himself again.”
+
+“Thank God for that!” I exclaimed, fervently. “And your mother--Mrs.
+Colton--how, is she?”
+
+Her tone changed slightly. I inferred that Mrs. Colton's condition was
+more trying than serious.
+
+“Mother is--well, in her nervous state any shock is disturbing. She is
+bearing the anxiety as well as we should expect.”
+
+I judged that not much was expected.
+
+“It was not on account of Father's illness that I sent for you, Mr.
+Paine,” she went on. “If he had not been ill I should not have needed
+you, of course. But there is something else. It could not have happened
+at a more unfortunate time and I am afraid you may not be able to give
+me the help I need. Oh, I hope you can! I don't know what to do. I know
+it must be dreadfully important. Father has been troubled about it for
+days. He has been saying that he must go to New York. But the doctor had
+warned us against his going and so we persuaded him to wait. And now . . .
+sit down, please. I want to ask your advice.”
+
+I took the chair she indicated. She drew another beside me and seated
+herself.
+
+“Mr. Paine--” she began. Then, noticing my expression, she asked, “What
+is it?”
+
+“Nothing,” I answered, “nothing except--Isn't that the telegraph
+instrument I hear? Isn't someone calling you?”
+
+“Yes, yes, it is Mr. Davis, Father's confidential man, his broker, in
+New York. He is trying to get us, I am sure. He telephoned an hour ago.
+I got a part of his message and then the connection was broken off.
+Central says there is something the matter with the wire, a big storm in
+Connecticut somewhere. It may take a whole day to repair it. And it is
+SO important! It may mean--I don't know WHAT it may mean! Oh, Mr. Paine,
+DO you know anything about stocks?”
+
+I looked at her blankly.
+
+“Stocks?” I repeated.
+
+“Yes, yes,” a trifle impatiently. “Stocks--the stock market--railroad
+shares--how they are bought and sold--do you know anything about them?”
+
+I was more puzzled than ever, but I answered as best I could.
+
+“A very little,” I replied. “I used to know a good deal about them once,
+and, of late, since I have been in the Denboro bank, my knowledge has
+been brushed up a bit. But I am afraid it is pretty fragmentary.”
+
+“Do you know anything about Louisville and Transcontinental?”
+
+I started. Louisville and Transcontinental was the one stock about which
+I did know something. Of late I had read everything the papers printed
+concerning it. It was the stock in which George Taylor had risked
+so much and which had come so near to ruining him. No wonder I was
+startled. Why did she mention that particular stock?
+
+“What?” I stammered.
+
+“Louisville and Transcontinental,” she repeated, eagerly. “DO you know
+anything about it? Why do you look at me like that?”
+
+I must be careful. It was not possible that she could have learned
+George's secret. No one knew that except George himself, and his
+brokers, and I. Yet--yet why did she ask that question? I must be on my
+guard.
+
+“I did not realize that I was looking at you in any extraordinary way,
+Miss Colton,” I answered.
+
+“But you were. Why? Do you know anything about it? If you do--oh, if you
+do you may be able to help me, to advise me! And, for Father's sake, I
+want advice so much.”
+
+For her father's sake! That did not sound as if her question concerned
+George or me. A trifle reassured, I tried to remember something of what
+I had read.
+
+“I know, of course,” I answered, slowly, “what every one knows, that the
+California and Eastern has been, or is reported to have been, trying to
+get control of the L. and T. Its possession would give the California
+people the balance of power and mean the end of the present rate war
+with the Consolidated Pacific. The common stock has fluctuated between
+30 and 50 for months and there have been all sorts of rumors. So much
+the newspapers have made common property. That is all I know.”
+
+“You did not know then that Father and his associates control the
+California and Eastern?”
+
+I leaned back in my chair.
+
+“No,” I said, “I did not know that. Then your father--”
+
+“Father tells me a great deal concerning his business affairs. I have
+been very much interested in this. It seems almost like a great war and
+as if Father were a general. He and his associates have gradually bought
+up the C. and E. until they practically own it. And they have been
+working to get the Louisville road. Last winter, you remember, there was
+a great excitement and the stock went up and then down again. That
+was when it looked as if the other side--the Consolidated Pacific--had
+beaten Father, but they had not. You remember that?”
+
+I remembered it. That is to say, George had told me of the rise and fall
+of the stock. It was then that he had bought.
+
+“Yes,” I said, “I remember something of it.”
+
+“If Father had stayed in New York he would have won before this. Oh,”
+ with a burst of pride, “they can NEVER beat him when he is leading the
+fight himself! He has, through his brokers, been selling--what do they
+call it? Oh, yes, selling the Louisville stock 'short' ever since. I am
+not sure just what that means, but perhaps you know.”
+
+“I think I do,” I answered, thoughtfully. “He has been selling, quietly,
+so as to force the stock down, preparatory to buying in. I remember
+the papers have said that the C. and E. were reported as having lost
+interest in the Louisville. That was only a blind, I presume.”
+
+“Yes. Father never gives up, you know that. But he was very anxious that
+the Consolidated Pacific people should think he had. And now--now, when
+he is so ill--comes this! Mr. Davis telephoned that--Yes, what is it?”
+
+There had been a knock at the door. It opened and the butler appeared.
+
+“A telegram for Mr. Colton, Miss Mabel,” he said.
+
+“Give it to me. Tell the man to wait, Johnson. It is from Mr. Davis,”
+ she exclaimed, turning to me. “I am sure it is. Yes. See!”
+
+She handed me the yellow telegram. I read the following aloud:
+
+
+“James W. Colton,
+
+“Denboro, Mass.
+
+“Galileo potato soap currency tomato deeds command army alcohol thief
+weather family--”
+
+
+“What on earth--!” I exclaimed.
+
+“That is in the code, Father's private code. Don't you see? The code
+book is here somewhere. I must find it.”
+
+She was rummaging in the drawer of the desk. With a sigh of relief she
+produced a little blue leather-covered book.
+
+“Here it is,” she said. “Now read me the telegram and I will write the
+translation. Hurry!”
+
+I read again:
+
+“'Galileo'--”
+
+“That means 'Consolidated Pacific'. Go on.”
+
+It took us five minutes to translate the telegram. When we had finished
+the result was:
+
+“Consolidated Pacific crowd wise situation. Strong buying close market
+to-day. Expect worse to-morrow. We are bad shape. Can deliver only part.
+Sure big advance opening and more follow. What shall I do? Why do
+not you answer private telegraph line? Telephone out order. Wire
+instructions immediately. Better still come yourself. Davis.”
+
+“Is that all?” asked Miss Colton. “What answer shall we make?”
+
+“Wait. Wait, please, until I dig some sort of sense out of all this.
+'Wise situation'--”
+
+“Wise TO situation, I presume that means. The Consolidated Pacific
+is wise to the situation. 'Wise' is slang, isn't it? It used to be at
+college.”
+
+“It is yet, even in Denboro. Humph! let me think. 'Sure big advance
+opening.' I suppose that means the market will open with Louisville
+and Transcontinental at a higher figure and that the price is sure to
+advance during the day.”
+
+“Yes. Yes, it must mean that. But why should Mr. Davis be so excited
+about it? He said something about 'ruin' over the 'phone. What does 'We
+are bad shape' mean? And 'Can deliver only part'?”
+
+“I don't know . . . unless . . . Humph! If we had some particulars. Why
+don't you answer on the private telegraph, as he says?”
+
+“Because I can't. Don't you see? I can't. There is no telegraph operator
+in the house. When we first came Father had a secretary, who could use
+the telegraph; but he sent him back to New York. Said he was sick of the
+sight of him. They did not get on well together.”
+
+“But your father must have used the telegraph since.”
+
+“Yes. Father used it himself. He was a telegraph operator when he was
+a young man. Oh, you don't know what a wonderful man my father is! His
+story is like something in a book. He--But never mind that. Hark! there
+is the instrument going again. It must be dreadfully important. Mr.
+Davis is so worried.”
+
+“He seems to be, certainly.”
+
+“But what shall we do?”
+
+“I wish I knew, but I don't. You know nothing of the particulars?”
+
+“No. Nothing more than I have told you. Oh, CAN'T you help me? I feel
+somehow as if Father had left me in charge of his affairs and as if I
+must not fail. Now, when he is helpless! when he is . . . Oh, can't YOU
+do something, Mr. Paine? I thought you might. You are a banker.”
+
+“A poor imitation only, I am afraid. Let me think. Did you tell this man
+Davis of your father's illness?”
+
+“No. I thought perhaps Father would not wish it. And I had no
+opportunity . . . Oh, dear! there is someone at the door again! Who is
+it?”
+
+Johnson's voice replied. “It is me, Miss Mabel,” he said. “The telegraph
+person says he can't wait any longer. He 'asn't 'ad his supper. And
+there is a twenty-five-cent charge for bringing the message, Miss.”
+
+“Tell him he must wait a minute longer,” I answered, for her. “Miss
+Colton, it seems to me that, whether we can do anything or not, we
+should know the particulars. Tell that man--Phineas Cahoon, the depot
+master, I suppose it is--that there is an answer and he must wait for
+it. Now let's consult that code.”
+
+She took the code book and I picked up a sheet of paper and a pencil
+from the table.
+
+“We must ask him to send all the particulars,” I declared. “Look up
+'send' in the code, Miss Colton.”
+
+She was turning the pages of the little book when the butler knocked
+once more.
+
+“He says he can't send any message until morning, Miss Mabel. The
+telegraph office closes at eight o'clock.”
+
+The code book fell to the table. Miss Colton stared helplessly at me.
+
+“What SHALL we do?” she breathed.
+
+I rose to my feet. “Wait, Johnson,” I called. “Make that man wait a
+moment longer. Miss Colton, I have an idea. Would your father be willing
+to--but, that is silly! Of course he would! I'll see Cahoon myself.”
+
+I found Phineas, long-legged and gaunt, sitting on the front step of the
+colonial portico. He had been invited into the hall, but had refused the
+invitation. “I had on my workin' duds,” he explained later. “A feller
+that's been handlin' freight all the afternoon ain't fit to set on
+gold-plated furniture.” He looked up in surprise as I came out.
+
+“Well, for thunder sakes!” he exclaimed, in astonishment. “It's Ros
+Paine! What in the nation are you doin' in here, Ros? Ain't married into
+the family, have ye? Haw, haw!”
+
+I could have kicked him for that pleasantry--if he had not been just
+then too important a personage to kick. As it was, his chance remark
+knocked my errand out of my head, momentarily.
+
+“How's the old man, Ros?” he whispered. “They tell me it's brought on by
+high livin', champagne wine and such. Is it?”
+
+“Phin,” said I, ignoring the question, “would you stay up all night for
+twenty dollars?”
+
+He stared at me.
+
+“What kind of conundrum's that?” he demanded. “'Would I set up all night
+for twenty dollars?' That may be a joke, but--”
+
+“Would you? I mean it. Mr. Colton is sick and his daughter needs some
+one to send and receive messages over their private telegraph wire. She
+will pay you twenty dollars--or I will, if she doesn't--if you will stay
+here and do that for her. Will you?”
+
+For a minute he sat there staring at me.
+
+“You mean it, Ros?” he asked, slowly. “You do, hey! I thought
+p'raps--but no, it's long past April Fool day. WILL I do it? Show me the
+telegraph place quick, afore I wake up and come out of the ether. Twenty
+dollars! Consarn it, I send messages all the week for twelve, and hustle
+freight and sell tickets into the bargain. I ain't had no supper, but
+never mind. Make it twenty-five and I'll stay all day to-morrer.”
+
+I led him into the library and explained his presence to Miss Colton.
+She was delighted.
+
+“It is SO good of you, Mr. Cahoon,” she exclaimed. “And you shan't
+starve, either. I will have some supper sent in to you at once. You can
+eat it while you are at work, can't you?”
+
+She hurried out to order the supper. Phineas, in accordance with my
+request, seated himself in the little room adjoining the library, before
+the telegraph instrument.
+
+“Thunder!” he observed, looking about him. “I never expected to send
+messages for King Solomon in all his glory, but I cal'late I can stand
+it if Sol can. S'pose there'd be any objection to my takin' off my coat?
+Comes more nat'ral to work in my shirt sleeves.”
+
+I bade him take it off and he did so.
+
+“This feller's in some hurry,” he said, nodding toward the clicking
+instrument. “Shall I tell him we're on deck and ready for business?”
+
+“Yes, tell him.”
+
+His long fingers busied themselves with the sender. A sharp series of
+clicks answered the call. Phineas glanced apprehensively out into the
+library.
+
+“Say, he ain't no parson, is he?” he chuckled. “Wants to know what in
+hell has been the trouble all this time. What'll I tell him?”
+
+“Tell him to send particulars concerning L. and T. at once. All the
+particulars.”
+
+The message was sent. The receiver rattled a hasty reply.
+
+“He says you know all the particulars already. You must know 'em. Wants
+to know if this is Mr. Colton.”
+
+“Tell him Mr. Colton is here, in the house. That will be true enough.
+And say we wish all particulars, figures and all. We want to know just
+where we stand.”
+
+The demand for particulars was forwarded. There was more clicking.
+
+“Give me a piece of paper and a pencil, quick,” urged Phineas. “This is
+a long feller.”
+
+While he was writing the “long feller,” as the telegraph ticked it off,
+Miss Colton and the butler appeared, the latter bearing a loaded tray.
+He drew a little table up beside the operator and placed the tray upon
+it. Then he went away. The telegraph clicked and clicked and Cahoon
+wrote. Miss Colton and I watched him anxiously.
+
+“Say,” observed Phineas, between intervals of clicks, “this feller's
+in some loony asylum, ain't he. This is pretty nigh as crazy as that
+message I fetched down. . . . Here 'tis. Maybe you folks know what it
+means, I don't. It's forty fathoms long, ain't it.”
+
+It was long enough, surely. It was not all in the code jargon--Davis
+trusted the privacy of the wire sufficiently to send a portion of it in
+plain English--but he did not trust even that altogether. Miss Colton
+and I worked it out as we had the first telegram. As the translation
+progressed I could feel my hair tingling at the roots.
+
+Was it to help in such a complication as this that I had been summoned?
+I, of all people! These waters were too deep for me.
+
+Boiled down, the “particulars” for which Davis had been asked, and which
+he had sent, amounted to this: Colton, it seemed, had sold L. and T.
+“short” for a considerable period of time in order, as I had surmised,
+to force down the price and buy in at a reasonable figure. He had sold,
+in this way, about three-eighths of the common stock. Of this amount he
+had in his possession--in his broker's possession, that is--but two
+of the eighths. The “other crowd”--the Consolidated Pacific,
+presumably--had, as Davis now discovered, three-eighths actual
+certificates, in its pocket, had been acquiring them, on the quiet,
+while pretending to have lost interest. The public, unsuspecting
+powers in this, as in most of Wall Street little games, had still
+three-eighths. The “other crowd,” knowing “Big Jim's” position, had but
+to force immediate delivery of the missing one-eighth--the amount of
+Colton's over-selling--and he might be obliged to pay Heaven knew what
+for the shares. He MUST acquire them; he must buy them. And the price
+which he would be forced to pay might mean--perhaps not bankruptcy for
+him, the millionaire--but certainly the loss of a tremendous sum and all
+chance of acquiring control of the road. “This has been sprung on us all
+at once,” wired Davis. “They have got us cold. What shall I do? You must
+be here yourself before the market opens.”
+
+And the man who “must be there himself” was critically ill and
+unconscious!
+
+The long telegram, several hundred words of it, was before us. I read it
+through again, and Miss Colton sat and looked at me.
+
+“Do you understand it--now?” she whispered, anxiously.
+
+“Yes, I think I do. . . . What is it, Phin?”
+
+“I was just wonderin',” drawled Cahoon's voice from the adjoining room,
+“if I couldn't eat a little mite of this supper. I've got to do it or
+have my nose and eyes tied up. Havin' all them good things settin' right
+where I can see and smell 'em is givin' me the fidgets.”
+
+“Yes, yes, eat away,” I said, laughing. And even Miss Colton smiled. But
+my laugh and her smile were but transient.
+
+“Is it--Does it mean that things are VERY wrong?” she asked, indicating
+the telegram.
+
+“They are very serious; there is no doubt of that.”
+
+The instrument clicked.
+
+“Say, Ros,” said Phin, his mouth full, “this feller's gettin' as fidgety
+as I was afore I got afoul of this grub. He wants to know what his
+instructions are. What'll he do?”
+
+“What shall you tell him?” asked Miss Colton.
+
+“I don't know,” I answered. “I do not know. I am afraid I am of no use
+whatever. This is no countryman's job. No country banker, even a
+real one, should attempt to handle this. This is high finance with a
+vengeance. I don't know. I think he . . . Suppose we tell him to consult
+the people at your father's office.”
+
+She shook her head. “No,” she said. “The people at the office know
+nothing of it. This was Father's own personal affair. No one knows of it
+but Mr. Davis.”
+
+“How about them instructions?” this from Cahoon.
+
+“Tell him--yes, tell him Mr. Colton cannot leave here at present and
+that he must use his own judgment, go ahead on his own responsibility.
+That is the only thing I see to do, Miss Colton. Don't worry; he must be
+a man of experience and judgment or your father never would use him. He
+will pull it through, I am sure.”
+
+I was by no means as confident as I pretended to be, however, and the
+next message from Davis proved my forebodings to be well founded. His
+answer was prompt and emphatic:
+
+
+Matter too important. Decline to take responsibility. Must have definite
+instructions or shall not act. Is this Mr. Colton himself?
+
+
+“He would not act without Father's orders in a matter like this. I was
+afraid of it. And he is growing suspicious. Oh, CAN'T you help me, Mr.
+Paine? CAN'T you? I relied on you. I felt sure YOU would know what to
+do. I am--I am SO alone; and with Father so ill--I--I--”
+
+She turned away and leaned her head upon her hand on the table. I felt
+again the desperate impulse I had felt when we were alone on board the
+launch, the impulse to take her in my arms and try to comfort her, to
+tell her that I would do anything--anything for her. And yet what could
+I do?
+
+“Can't you help me?” she pleaded. “You have never failed me before.”
+
+There came a knock at the door and Johnson's voice called her name.
+
+“Miss Mabel,” he whispered, “Miss Mabel, will you come, please? The
+doctor wants you right away.”
+
+She rose quickly, drawing her hand across her eyes as she did so.
+
+“I am coming, Johnson,” she said. Then, turning to me, “I will be back
+as soon as I can. Do try--try to think. You MUST, for Father's sake, for
+all our sakes.”
+
+She left the room. I rose and, with my hands in my pockets, began to
+pace the floor. This was the tightest place I had ever been in. There
+had been a time, years before, when I prided myself on my knowledge
+of the stock market and its idiosyncrasies. Then, in the confidence of
+youth, I might have risen to a situation like this, might have tackled
+it and had the nerve to pull it through or blame the other fellow if I
+failed. Now I was neither youthful nor confident. Whatever I did would
+be, in all human probability, the wrong thing, and to do the wrong thing
+now meant, perhaps, ruin for the sick man upstairs. And she had trusted
+me! She had sent for me in her trouble! I had “never failed her before”!
+
+I walked the floor, trying hard to think. It was hard to think calmly,
+to be sensible, and yet I realized that common-sense and coolness were
+what I needed now. I tried to remember the outcome of similar situations
+in financial circles, but that did not help me. I remembered a play I
+had seen, “The Henrietta” was its name. In that play, a young man with
+more money than brains had saved the day for his father, a Wall Street
+magnate, by buying a certain stock in large quantities at a critical
+time. He arrived at his decision to buy, rather than sell, by tossing a
+coin. The father had declared that his son had hit upon the real secret
+of success in stock speculation. Possibly the old gentleman was right,
+but I could not make my decision in that way. No, whatever I did must
+have some reason to back it. Was there no situation, outside of Wall
+Street, which offered a parallel? After all, what was the situation?
+Some one wished to buy a certain thing, and some one else wished to
+buy it also. Neither party wanted the other to get it. There had been a
+general game of bluff and then . . . Humph! Why, in a way, it was like
+the original bidding for the Shore Lane land.
+
+It was like it, and yet it was not. I owned the land and Colton wanted
+to buy it; so also did Jed Dean. Each side had made bids and had been
+refused. Then the bidders had, professedly, stood pat, but, in reality,
+they had not. Jed had told me, in his latest interview, that he
+would have paid almost anything for that land, if he had had to. And
+Colton--Colton had invented the Bay Shore Development Company. That
+company had fooled Elnathan Mullet and other property holders. It had
+fooled Captain Jed. It had come very near to fooling me. If Mabel Colton
+had not given me the hint I might have been tricked into selling. Then
+Colton would have won, have won on a “bluff.” A good bluff did sometimes
+win. I wondered . . .
+
+I was still pacing the floor when Miss Colton returned to the library.
+She was trying hard to appear calm, but I could see that she was greatly
+agitated.
+
+“What is it?” I asked. “Is he--”
+
+“He is not as well just now. I--I must not leave him--or Mother. But I
+came back for a moment, as I told you I would. Is there anything new?”
+
+“No. Davis has repeated his declaration to do nothing without orders
+from your father.”
+
+She nodded. “Very well,” she said, “then it is over. We are
+beaten--Father is beaten for the first time. It makes little difference,
+I suppose. If he--if he is taken from us, nothing else matters. But
+I hoped you . . . never mind. I thank you, Mr. Paine. You would have
+helped him if you could, I know.”
+
+Somehow this surrender, and the tone in which it was made, stirred me
+more than all else. She had trusted me and I had failed. I would not
+have it so.
+
+“Miss Colton,” I said, earnestly, “suppose--suppose I should go ahead
+and make this fight, on my own hook. Suppose I should give Davis the
+'instructions' he is begging for. Have I permission to do it?”
+
+She looked at me in surprise. “Of course,” she said, simply.
+
+“Do you mean it? It may mean complete smash. I am no railroad man, no
+stock manipulator. I have an idea and if this trouble were mine I should
+act upon it. But it is not mine. It is your father's--and yours. I may
+be crazy to risk such a thing--”
+
+She stepped forward. “Do it,” she commanded. “I tell you to do it. If it
+fails I will take the responsibility.”
+
+“That you shall not do. But I will take the chance. Phin!”
+
+“Yup; here I be.”
+
+“Send this message at once: 'Try your hardest to get hold of any shares
+you can, at almost any figure in reason, before the market opens. When
+it opens begin buying everything offered.' Got that?”
+
+“Yup. I've got it.”
+
+“Sign it 'Colton' and send it along. I am using your father's name,” I
+added, turning to her. “It seems to me the only way to avoid suspicion
+and get action. No one must know that 'Big Jim' is critically ill; you
+understand that.”
+
+“Yes, I understand. But,” hesitatingly, “to buy may mean paying
+tremendous prices, may it not? Can we--”
+
+“We must. Here is Davis's reply coming. What is it, Phin?”
+
+Cahoon read off the message as the receiver clicked.
+
+
+“You are insane. Buying at such prices will be suicide.”
+
+
+“Tell him no. Tell him to let it leak out that Colton is seizing the
+opportunity to clinch his control of the road. The other crowd will
+think, if he is willing to buy at any price, that he cannot be so short
+as they supposed. Send all that, Phin. It is a bluff, Miss Colton,
+nothing but a bluff, but it may win. God knows I hope it will.”
+
+She did not answer. Together we waited for the reply. It came as
+follows:
+
+
+All right if you say so, of course, but still think it suicide. I am
+off on the still hunt for those shares but don't believe one to be had,
+Consolidated bunch too sharp for that. Stay by the wire. Will report
+when I can. Good luck and good-by.
+
+
+“He's gone, I cal'late,” observed Phineas. “Need me any more, do you
+think?”
+
+“Yes. You must stay here all night, just as I told you.”
+
+“Right you be. Send word to the old woman, that's all, if you can.
+Cal'late she's waitin' at the kitchen door with a rollin' pin, by this
+time.”
+
+“I will send the word, Mr. Cahoon,” replied Miss Colton. “And--don't you
+think you could go home now, Mr. Paine? I know how exhausted you must
+be, after last night.”
+
+“No home for me,” I answered, with assumed cheerfulness. “Admirals of
+Finance are expected to stick by the ship. I will lie down here on the
+couch and Phineas can call me if I am needed. Don't worry, Miss Colton.
+Go to your father and forget us altogether, if you can. If--if I should
+be needed for--for any other cause, please speak.”
+
+She looked at me in silence for a moment. Then she came toward me and
+held out her hand. “I shall not forget, whatever else I may do,” she
+said, brokenly. “And I will speak if I need you, my friend.”
+
+She turned hastily and went to the door.
+
+“I will send word to your people as well as Mr. Cahoon's,” she added.
+“Try and sleep, if you can. Good night.”
+
+The door closed behind her. Sleep! I was not likely to sleep. A man who
+has lighted the fuse of the powder magazine beneath him does not sleep
+much.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+And yet sleep I did, for a little while, just before morning broke. I
+had spent the night pacing the floor and talking to Phineas, who
+was wide awake and full of stories and jokes, to which I paid little
+attention. Miss Colton did not come to the library again. From the rooms
+above I heard occasional sobs and exclamations in Mrs. Colton's voice.
+Once Doctor Quimby peeped in. He looked anxious and weary.
+
+“Hello, Ros!” he hailed, “I heard you were here. This is a high old
+night, isn't it!”
+
+“How is he?” I asked.
+
+“About the same. No worse; in fact, he's better than he was a while ago.
+But he's not out of the woods yet, though I'm pretty hopeful, for the
+old boy has a husky constitution--considering the chances he's taken
+with it all his life. It's his wife that bothers me. She's worse than
+one of the plagues of Egypt. I've given her some sleeping powders now;
+they'll keep her quiet for a spell, I hope.”
+
+“And Miss Colton--how is she?”
+
+“She! She's as calm and sensible and helpful as a trained nurse. By the
+Almighty, she is a wonder, that girl! Well, I must get back on my job.
+Don't have a millionaire patient every day in the week.”
+
+At three o'clock came a message from Davis. He had not been able
+to secure a single share. Did his instructions to buy still hold? I
+answered that they did and he replied that he was going to get a nap
+for an hour or so. “I shall need the rest, if I am any prophet,” he
+concluded.
+
+It was shortly after this that I lay down on the couch. I had determined
+not to close my eyes, but I was utterly worn out, I suppose, and
+exhaustion got the better of me. The next thing I knew the gray light of
+dawn was streaming in at the library windows and Johnson was spreading a
+tempting-looking breakfast on the table.
+
+I sprang up.
+
+“What time is it?” I demanded.
+
+“About half-past five, sir, or thereabouts,” was the answer, in a tone
+of mingled weariness and resentment. Plainly Mr. Johnson had been up all
+night and considered himself imposed upon.
+
+I was thankful that my lapse from duty had been of no longer duration.
+It had been much too long as it was.
+
+“How is Mr. Colton?” I asked.
+
+“Better, sir, I believe. He is resting more quiet at present.”
+
+“Where is Cahoon?”
+
+“Here I be,” this from Phineas in the next room. “Have a good snooze,
+did you, Ros?”
+
+“Too good.” I walked in and found him still sitting by the telegraph
+instrument. “Has anything happened?” I asked.
+
+“Nary thing. All quiet as the tomb since that last message, the one you
+heard. Pretty nigh fell asleep myself, I did. Guess I should have, only
+Miss Colton she came in and kept me comp'ny for a spell.”
+
+“Miss Colton--has she been here? Why didn't you call me, Ros?”
+
+“I was goin' to, but she wouldn't let me. Said you was all wore out,
+poor feller, and that you wan't to be disturbed unless 'twas necessary.
+She's an awful nice young woman, ain't she. Nothin' stuck up about her,
+at all. Set here and talked with me just as sociable and folksy as if
+she wan't wuth a cent. Asked more questions than a few, she did.”
+
+“Did she?” I was not paying much attention to his remarks. My mind was
+busy with more important things. I was wondering what Davis was doing
+just then. Phin went on.
+
+“Yup. I happened to remember that you wan't at the bank to-day and
+I asked her if she knew the reason why. 'How did you know he wasn't
+there?' says she. 'Alvin Baker told me fust,' I says, 'and Sam Wheeler
+told him. Everybody knew it and was wonderin' about it. They cal'lated
+Ros was sick,' I told her, 'but that couldn't be or he wouldn't be round
+here settin' up all night.' What WAS the reason you wan't there, Ros?”
+
+I thought it strange that he, and everyone else in town, did not know
+the reason before this. Was it possible that Captain Dean alone knew
+of my “treason” to Denboro, and that he was keeping the discovery to
+himself? Why should he keep it to himself? He had threatened to drive me
+out of town.
+
+“I had other business to-day, Phin,” I answered, shortly.
+
+“Yup. So I gathered from what Cap'n Jed said. He was in the depot this
+noon sendin' a telegram and I asked him about you. 'Is Ros sick?' I
+says. 'Huh!' says he--you know how he grunts, Ros; for all the world
+like a hog--'Huh!' says he, 'sick! No, but I cal'late he'll be pretty
+sick afore long.' What did he mean by that, do you s'pose?”
+
+I knew, but I did not explain. I made no reply.
+
+“Twas a queer sort of talk, seemed to me,” continued Phin. “I asked him
+again why you wan't at the bank, and he said you had other business,
+just same as you said now. He was ugly as a cow with a sore horn over
+somethin' and I judged 'twas best to keep still. That telegram he sent
+was a surprisin' thing, too. 'Twas to--but there! he made me promise
+I wouldn't tell and so I mustn't. I ain't told a soul--except one--and
+then it slipped out afore I thought. However, that one won't make no
+difference. She ain't interested in--in the one the telegram was sent
+to, 'tain't likely.”
+
+“Where is Miss Colton now?” I asked.
+
+“With her ma and pa, I presume likely. Her and me set and whispered
+together for a long spell. Land sakes! she wouldn't let me speak
+louder'n a whisper for fear of wakin' you up. A body'd think you was a
+young-one in arms, the care she took of you.”
+
+Again I did not answer, and again the garrulous station master continued
+without waiting for a reply.
+
+“I says to her, says I, 'It's a pity George Taylor ain't to home,' I
+says. 'I shouldn't wonder if he could help you with this Louisville
+stock you're so worried about. George was consider'ble interested in
+that stock himself a spell ago. I sent much as a dozen telegrams from
+him about that very stock to some broker folks up to Boston, and they
+was mighty anxious telegrams, too. I tell you!' I says.”
+
+He had caught my attention at last.
+
+“Did you tell her that?” I demanded.
+
+“Sure I did! I never meant to, nuther. Ain't told another soul. You see,
+George, he asked me not to. But she's got a way with her that would make
+Old Nick confess his sins, if she set out to larn 'em. I was sort of
+ashamed after I told her and I explained to her that I hadn't ought to
+done it. 'But I guess it's all right now, anyway,' I says. 'If there was
+any trouble along of George and that stock I cal'late it's all over.
+He acted dreadful worried for a spell, but for the week afore he was
+married he seemed chipper as ever. Biggest change in him you ever see,'
+says I. 'So my tellin' you is all right, I guess,' I says. 'I'm sure
+it's all right,' says she, and her face kind of lighted up, as you might
+say. When she looked at me that way I'd have given her my house and lot,
+if she'd wanted 'em, though you needn't tell my old woman that I said
+so. He! he! 'Of course it's all right,' she says. 'But you had better
+not tell anyone else. We'll have it for our secret, won't we, Mr.
+Cahoon?' she says, smilin'. 'Sartin we will,' says I. And--well, by
+thunder!” as if the thought occurred to him for the first time. “I said
+that, and now I've been and blatted out the whole business to you! I am
+the DARNDEST fool!”
+
+I did not contradict him. I was too angry and disturbed even to speak to
+him for the moment. And, before I could speak, we were interrupted. The
+young lady herself appeared in the doorway. SHE had not slept, that was
+plain. Her face was pale and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes.
+As I looked at her I was more ashamed of my own unpremeditated nap than
+ever. Yet she was, as the doctor had said, calm and uncomplaining. She
+even smiled as she greeted us.
+
+“Good morning,” she said. “Your breakfast is ready, Mr. Cahoon. I know
+you feel that you must be getting back to your work at the station.”
+
+Phineas pulled out an enormous nickel watch and glanced at it.
+
+“Land sakes! most six, ain't it,” he exclaimed. “I guess you're right.
+I'll have to be trottin' along. But you needn't fuss for no breakfast
+for me. I'm used to missin' a meal's vittles now and again and I et
+enough last night to last me one spell.”
+
+He was hurrying from the room, but she would not let him go.
+
+“There has been no 'fuss' whatever, Mr. Cahoon,” she said. “Breakfast is
+ready, here in the library. And yours is ready, too, Mr. Paine. I hope
+your few minutes' sleep has rested you. I am sorry you woke so soon. I
+told Johnson to be careful and not disturb you.”
+
+“I deserve to be shot for sleeping at all,” I declared, in self
+reproach. “I did not mean to. I lay down for a moment and--well, I
+suppose I was rather tired.”
+
+“I know. Last night's experience was enough to tire anyone.”
+
+“Nonsense! It was no worse for me than for you,” I said.
+
+“Yes, it was. You had the care and the responsibility. I, you see, knew
+that I was well guarded. Besides, I slept for hours this morning. Come,
+both of you. Breakfast is ready.”
+
+Phineas was already seated at the table, glancing over his shoulder at
+the butler, whose look of dignified disgust at being obliged to wait
+upon a countryman in his shirt sleeves would have been funny, if I had
+been in a mood for fun. I don't know which was the more uncomfortable,
+Cahoon or the butler.
+
+“Won't you join us, Miss Colton?” I asked.
+
+“Why--why, yes, perhaps I will, if you don't mind. I am not hungry but I
+will take a cup of coffee, Johnson.”
+
+Phineas did almost all the talking while he remained with us, which was
+not long. He swallowed his breakfast in a tremendous hurry, a proceeding
+which still further discomposed the stately Johnson, and then rose and
+put on his coat.
+
+“I hate to leave you short handed and on a lee shore, Miss,” he
+explained, apologetically; “but I know you understand how 'tis with me.
+My job's all I've got and I'll have to hang onto it. The up train's due
+in forty minutes and I've got to be on hand at the deepo. However, I've
+got that Davis feller's address and I'll raise him the first thing to
+send his messages to me and I'll get 'em right down here by the reg'lar
+telephone. He can use that--what-do-you-call-it?--that code thing, if
+he's scart of anybody's findin' out what he says. The boss school-marm
+of all creation couldn't read that gibberish without the book.”
+
+I hated to have him go, but there was no alternative. After he had
+gone and she and I were left together at the table a sense of restraint
+seemed to fall upon us both. To see her sitting opposite me at the
+table, pouring my coffee and breakfasting with me in this intimate,
+family fashion, was so wonderful and strange that I could think of
+nothing else. It reminded me, in a way, of our luncheon at Seabury's
+Pond, but that had been out of doors, an impromptu picnic, with all a
+picnic's surroundings. This was different, quite different. It was so
+familiar, so homelike, so conventional, and yet, for her and me, so
+impossible. I looked at her and she, looking up at the moment, caught
+my eyes. The color mounted to her cheeks. I felt my own face flushing.
+Dorinda--practical, unromantic Dorinda--had guessed my feeling for this
+girl; Mother had divined it. It was plain enough for anyone to read.
+I glanced apprehensively at the butler, half expecting to see upon his
+clerical countenance the look of scornful contempt which would prove
+that he, too, was possessed of the knowledge. But he merely bent forward
+with a deferential, “Yes, sir. What is it?” and I meekly requested
+another roll. Then I began, desperately, to talk.
+
+I inquired about Mr. Colton's condition and was told that he was, or
+appeared to be, a trifle better. Mrs. Colton was, at last, thanks to
+the doctor's powders, asleep. Johnson left the room for the moment and
+I switched to the subject which neither of us had mentioned since the
+night before, the Louisville and Transcontinental muddle. I explained
+what had been done and pretended a confidence which I did not feel that
+everything would end well. She listened, but, it seemed to me, she was
+not as interested as I expected. At length she interrupted me.
+
+“Suppose we do not talk about it now,” she said. “As I understand it,
+you--we, that is--have made up our minds. We have decided to do certain
+things which seem to us right. Right or wrong, they must be done now.
+I am trying very hard to believe them right and not to worry any more
+about them. Oh, I CAN'T worry! I can't! With all the rest, I--I--Please
+let us change the subject. Mr. Paine, I am afraid you must think me
+selfish. I have said nothing about your own trouble. Father--”
+ she choked on the name, but recovered her composure almost
+immediately--“Father told me, after his return from your house this
+morning, that his purchase of the land had become public and that you
+were in danger of losing your position at the bank.”
+
+I smiled. “That danger is past,” I answered. “I have lost it. Captain
+Dean gave me my walking papers this morning.”
+
+“Oh, I am so sorry!”
+
+“I am not. I expected it. The wonder is only that it has not happened
+before. I realized that it was inevitable when I made up my mind to
+sell. It is of no consequence, Miss Colton.”
+
+“Yes, it is. But Father offered you the position in his employ. He said
+you refused, but he believed your refusal was not final.”
+
+“He was wrong. It is final.”
+
+“But--”
+
+“I had rather not discuss that, Miss Colton.”
+
+She looked at me oddly, and with a faint smile. “Very well,” she said,
+after a moment, “we will not discuss it now. But you cannot suppose that
+either Father or I will permit you to suffer on our account.”
+
+“There is no suffering. I sold the land to your father deliberately and
+with complete knowledge of the consequences. As to the bank--well, I am
+no worse off than I was before I entered its employ. I am satisfied.”
+
+She toyed with her coffee spoon.
+
+“Captain Dean seems to be the only person in Denboro who knows of the
+sale,” she said. “Why has he kept it a secret?”
+
+“I don't know. Has he?”
+
+“You know he has, Mr. Paine. Mr. Cahoon did not know of it, and he would
+be one of the first to hear. It seems odd that the captain should tell
+no one.”
+
+“Probably he is waiting for the full particulars. He will tell, you may
+be sure of that. His last remark to me was that he should drive me out
+of Denboro.”
+
+I rather expected a burst of indignation. In fact I was somewhat hurt
+and disappointed that it did not come. She merely smiled once more.
+
+“He has not done it yet,” she said. “If he knew why you sold that
+land--your real reason for selling it--he would not drive you away, or
+try to.”
+
+I was startled and alarmed.
+
+“What do you mean?” I asked quickly.
+
+“If he knew he would not drive you away, would he?”
+
+“He will never know.”
+
+“Perhaps he may. Perhaps the person for whose sake you sold it may tell
+him.”
+
+“Indeed he will not! I shall see to that.”
+
+“Oh, then there is such a person! I was sure of it before. Now you have
+told me.”
+
+Before I could recover from the mental disturbance and chagrin which my
+slip and her quick seizure of it caused me, the butler re-entered the
+room.
+
+“Mrs. Colton is awake and asking for you, Miss Mabel,” he said. “The
+doctor thinks you had better go to her at once, if you please.”
+
+With a word of apology to me, she hurried away. I rose from the table. I
+had had breakfast enough. The interruption had come at a fortunate
+time for me. Her next question might have forced me to decline to
+answer--which would have been equivalent to admitting the truth--or to
+lie. One thing I determined to do without delay. I would write Taylor at
+once warning him to be more close-mouthed than ever. Under no conditions
+would I permit him to speak. If it were necessary I would go to
+Washington, where he and Nellie were spending their honeymoon, and make
+him promise to keep silence. His telling the truth might ruin him, and
+it certainly would not help me. In the one essential thing--the one
+which was clenching my determination to leave Denboro as soon as I could
+and seek forgetfulness and occupation elsewhere--no one could help me.
+I must help myself, or be miserable always. Just now the eternal misery
+seemed inevitable, no matter what I did.
+
+Johnson cleared the table and left me alone in the library. The hours
+passed. Nine o'clock came, then nine-thirty. It was almost time for the
+stock market to open. My thoughts, which had been diverted from my rash
+plunge into the intricacies of high finance, began to return to it. As
+ten o'clock drew near, I began to realize what I had bade Davis do, and
+to think what might happen because of it. I, Roscoe Paine, no longer
+even a country banker, was at the helm of “Big Jim” Colton's bark in the
+maelstrom of the stock market. It would have been funny if it had not
+been so desperate. And desperate it was, sheer reckless desperation and
+nothing else. I must have been crazier than ever, more wildly insane
+than I had been for the past month, to even think of such a thing. It
+was not too late yet, I could telegraph Davis--
+
+The telephone on the desk--not the public, the local, 'phone, but
+the other, Colton's private wire to New York--rang. I picked up the
+receiver.
+
+“Hello-o! Hello-o!” a faint voice was calling. “Is this Colton's house
+at Denboro? . . . Yes, this is Davis. . . . The wire is all right now.
+. . . Is this Mr. Colton speaking?”
+
+“No,” I answered, “Mr. Colton is here in the house. You may give the
+message to me.”
+
+“I want to know if his orders hold. Am I to buy? Ask him. I will wait.
+Hurry! The market opens in five minutes.”
+
+I put down the receiver. Now was my opportunity. I could back out now.
+Five minutes more and it would be too late. But if I did back out--what?
+
+One of the minutes passed. Then another. I seized the telephone.
+
+“Go ahead!” I shouted. “Carry out your orders.”
+
+A faint “All right” answered me.
+
+The die was cast. I was in for it. There was nothing to do but wait.
+
+And I waited alone. I walked up and down the floor of the little room,
+looking at the clock and wondering what was happening on that crowded
+floor of the big Broad Street building. The market was open. Davis was
+buying as I had directed. But at what figure was he buying?
+
+No one came near me, not even the butler. It was ten-twenty before the
+bell rang again.
+
+“Hello! This is Mr. Davis's office. Is this Mr. Colton? Tell him Mr.
+Davis says L. and T. is one hundred and fifty now and jumping twenty
+points at a lick. There is the devil to pay. Scarcely any stock in sight
+and next door to a panic. Shall we go on buying?”
+
+I was trying to decide upon an answer when some one touched my elbow.
+Miss Colton was standing beside me. She did not speak, but she looked
+the question.
+
+I told her what I had just heard.
+
+“One hundred and fifty!” she exclaimed. “That is--Why, that is dreadful!
+What will you do?”
+
+I shook my head. “That is for you to say,” I answered.
+
+“No, it is for you. You are doing this. I trust you. Do what you think
+is right--you and Mr. Davis. That is what Father would wish if he knew.”
+
+“Davis will do nothing on his own responsibility.”
+
+“Then you must do it alone. Do it! do it!”
+
+I turned to the 'phone once more. “Buy all you can get,” I ordered.
+“Keep on bidding. But be sure and spread the news that it is Colton
+buying to secure control of the road, not to cover his shorts. Be sure
+that leaks out. Everything depends on that.”
+
+I hung up the receiver. She and I looked at each other.
+
+“What will happen, do you think?” she asked.
+
+“God knows! . . . Are you going? Don't go!”
+
+“I must,” gently. “Father is worse, I fear, and I must not leave
+him. Doctor Quimby says the next few hours may tell us whether he
+is--is--whether he is to be with us or not. I must go. Be brave. I trust
+you. Be brave, for--for I am trying so hard to be.”
+
+I seized her hand. She drew it from my grasp and hastened away. Brave!
+Well, for her sake, I must be. Yet it was because of her that I was such
+a coward.
+
+As I recall all this now I wonder at myself. The whole thing seems too
+improbable to be true, yet true it was. I lost my identity that day,
+I think, and, as the telephone messages kept coming, and the situation
+became more and more desperate, became some one else, some one a great
+deal braver and cooler and more clear-sighted than ever I had been or
+shall be again. I seemed to see my course plainer every moment and to
+feel surer of myself and that my method--my bluff, if you like--was the
+only salvation.
+
+At eleven Louisville and Transcontinental was selling--the little that
+was sold--at four hundred and fifty dollars a share, on a par value of
+fifty. At eleven-thirty it had climbed another hundred. The whole
+Street was a Bedlam, so they 'phoned me, and the newspapers were issuing
+“panic” extras.
+
+“Tell Davis to stop buying now,” I ordered. “Let it be known that Colton
+has secured control and is satisfied.”
+
+At noon the figure was 700 bid and 800 asked. There was no trading at
+all, for the sufficient reason that no shares were to be had. Johnson
+came in to ask if he should bring my luncheon. I bade him clear out and
+let me alone. As he was tip-toeing away I called after him.
+
+“How is Mr. Colton?” I asked.
+
+“Very bad indeed, sir. Miss Mabel wished me to say that she could not
+leave him an instant. It is the crisis, the doctor thinks.”
+
+There were two crises then, one on each floor of the big house. At one
+Davis himself 'phoned.
+
+“Still hanging around 700,” he announced. “Begins to look as if the top
+had been reached. What shall I do now?”
+
+My plan was ready and I gave my orders as if I had been doing such
+things for years.
+
+“Sell, in small lots, at intervals,” I told him. “Then, if the price
+breaks, begin buying through another broker as cautiously as you can.”
+
+The answer was in a different tone; there was a new note, almost of
+hope, in it.
+
+“By the Lord, I believe you have got it!” he cried. “It may work. I'll
+report to you, Mr. Colton, right away.”
+
+Plainly he had no doubt that “Big Jim” was directing the fight in
+person. Far was it from me to undeceive him!
+
+Another interval. Then he reported a drop of a hundred points.
+
+“The bottom is beginning to fall out, I honestly believe. They think
+you've done 'em again. I am spreading the report that you have the
+control cinched. As soon as the scramble is really on I'll have a half
+dozen brokers buying for us.”
+
+It was half-past two when the next message came. It was exultant,
+triumphant.
+
+“Down like an avalanche. Am grabbing every share offered. We've got 'em,
+sure!”
+
+And, as three o'clock struck, came the final crow.
+
+“Hooray for our side! They're dead and buried! You have two hundred
+shares more than fifty per cent, of the common stock. The Louisville
+road is in your pocket, Mr. Colton. I congratulate you. Might have
+known they couldn't lick the old man. You are a wonder. I'll write full
+particulars and then I am going home and to bed. I'm dead. I didn't
+believe you could do it! How did you?”
+
+I sat there, staring at the 'phone. Then, all at once, I began to laugh,
+weakly and hysterically, but to laugh, nevertheless.
+
+“I--I organized a Development Company,” I gasped. “Good night.”
+
+I rose from the chair and walked out into the library. I was so
+completely fagged out by the strain I had been under that I staggered as
+I walked. The library door opened and Johnson came in. He was beaming,
+actually beaming with joy.
+
+“He's very much better, sir,” he cried. “He's conscious and the doctor
+says he considers 'im out of danger now. Miss Mabel sent word she would
+be down in a short while. She can't leave the mistress immediate, but
+she'll be down soon, sir.”
+
+I looked at him in a dazed way. “Tell Miss Colton that I am very
+glad, Johnson,” I said. “And tell her, too, that everything here is
+satisfactory also. Tell her that Mr. Paine says her father has his
+control.”
+
+“'His control!' And what may that be, if you please, sir?”
+
+“She will understand. Say that everything is all right, we have won and
+that Mr. Colton has his control. Don't forget.”
+
+“And--and where will you be, sir?”
+
+“I am going home, I think. I am going home and--to bed.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+
+The next thing I remember with any distinctness is Dorinda's knocking
+at my bedroom door. I remember reaching that bedroom, of course, and
+of meeting Lute in the kitchen and telling him that I was not to be
+disturbed, that I should not come down to supper and that I wanted to
+be let alone--to be let ALONE--until I saw fit to show myself. But these
+memories are all foggy and mixed with dreams and nightmares. As I say,
+the next thing that I remember distinctly after staggering from the
+Colton library is Dorinda's knocking at the door of my bedroom.
+
+“Ros! Roscoe!” she was calling. “Can you get up now? There is somebody
+downstairs waitin' to see you.”
+
+I turned over in bed and began to collect my senses.
+
+“What time is it, Dorinda?” I asked, drowsily.
+
+“About ten, or a little after.”
+
+Ten! Then I had not slept so long, after all. It was nearly four when
+I went to bed and . . . But what made the room so light? There was no
+lamp. And the windows . . . I sat up.
+
+“You don't mean to tell me it is ten o'clock IN THE FORENOON!” I cried.
+
+“Um-hm. I hated to disturb you. You've been sleepin' like the
+everlastin' hills and I knew you must be completely wore out. But I felt
+pretty sartin you'd want to see the--who 'tis that here's to see you, so
+I decided to wake you up.”
+
+“It is high time you did, I should think! I'll be down in a minute. Who
+is it that wishes to see me, Dorinda?”
+
+But Dorinda had gone. I dressed hurriedly and descended the stairs to
+the dining-room. There, seated in a chair by the door, his eyes closed,
+his chin resting upon his chest, and his aristocratic nose proclaiming
+the fact that he slumbered, was Johnson, the Colton butler. I was not
+greatly surprised. I had rather suspected that my caller might be he, or
+some other messenger from the big house.
+
+He started at the sound of my entrance and awoke.
+
+“I--I beg your pardon, sir,” he stammered. “I--I beg your pardon, sir,
+I'm sure. I've been--I 'aven't closed my eyes for the past two nights,
+sir, and I am tired out. Mr. Colton wishes to see you at once, sir. He
+wishes you to come over immediately.”
+
+I was surprised now. “MR. Colton wishes it,” I repeated. “You mean Miss
+Colton, don't you, Johnson.”
+
+“No, sir. It is Mr. Colton this time, sir. Miss Colton is out in the
+motor, sir.”
+
+“But Mr. Colton is too ill to see me, or anyone else.”
+
+“No, sir, he isn't. He's very much better. He's quite himself, sir,
+really. And he is very anxious to see you. On a matter of business, he
+says.”
+
+I hesitated. I had expected this, though not so soon. He wanted to ask
+questions concerning my crazy dip into his financial affairs, doubtless.
+Well, I should have to see him some time or other, and it might as well
+be now.
+
+I called to Dorinda, who was in the kitchen, and bade her tell Mother,
+if she inquired for me, that I had gone out, but would be back soon.
+Then Johnson and I walked briskly along the bluff path. We entered the
+big house.
+
+“Mr. Colton is in his room, sir,” explained the butler. “You are to see
+him there. This way, sir.”
+
+But before we reached the foot of the stairs Doctor Quimby came out of
+the library. He and I shook hands. The doctor was a happy man.
+
+“Well!” he exclaimed, “what's the matter with the one-horse, country-jay
+doctor now, hey! If there is any one of the Boston specialists at a
+hundred a visit who can yank a man out of a serious sickness and put him
+on his feet quicker than I can, why trot him along, that's all! I want
+to see him! I've been throwing bouquets at myself for the last ten
+hours. Ho! ho! Say, Ros, you'll think my head is swelled pretty bad,
+won't you! Ho! ho!”
+
+I asked how the patient was getting on.
+
+“Fine! Tip-top! The only trouble is that he ought to keep perfectly
+quiet and not do a thing or think of a thing, except getting his
+strength back, for the next week. But he hadn't been conscious more than
+a couple of hours before he was asking questions about business and so
+on. He and his daughter had a long confab this morning and after that he
+was neither to bind or tie. He must see you, that's all there was to
+it. Say, Ros, what did you and Phin Cahoon and the Colton girl do
+yesterday?”
+
+“Oh, we put through one of Mr. Colton's little trades for him, that's
+all.”
+
+“That's all, hey! Well, whatever 'twas, he and I owe you a vote of
+thanks. He began to get better the minute he heard it. He's feeling so
+chipper that, if it wasn't that I swore he shouldn't, he'd have got out
+of bed by this time. You must go up and see him, I suppose, but don't
+stay too long. He's a wonder for strength and recuperative powers, but
+don't tire him too much. If that wife of his was in Europe or somewhere,
+I'd feel easier. She's the most tiring thing in the house.”
+
+Johnson led the way upstairs. At the chamber door he knocked and
+announced my presence.
+
+“Bring him in! What is he waiting for?” demanded a voice which,
+considering how recently its owner had been at death's door, was
+surprisingly strong. I entered the room.
+
+He was in bed, propped up with pillows. Beside him sat Mrs. Colton. Of
+the two she looked the more disturbed. Her eyes were wet and she
+was dabbing at them with a lace handkerchief. Her morning gown was a
+wondrous creation. “Big Jim,” with his iron-gray hair awry and his eyes
+snapping, looked remarkably wide awake and alive.
+
+“How are you, Paine?” he said. “Glad to see you. Sorry to bring you over
+here, but I had to see you and that doctor says I must stay in this room
+for a while yet. He may be right. My understanding is pretty shaky, I'll
+admit. You've met Mrs. Colton, haven't you?”
+
+I bowed and expressed my pleasure at meeting the lady. Her bow was
+rather curt, but she regarded me with an astonishing amount of agitated
+interest. Also she showed symptoms of more tears.
+
+“I don't remember whether or not Mr. Paine and I have ever been formally
+introduced,” she observed. “If we haven't it makes no difference, I
+suppose. The other members of the family seem to know him well enough.
+And--and mothers nowadays are not considered. I--I must say that--”
+
+She had recourse to the lace handkerchief. I could understand what the
+doctor meant by calling her the “most tiring thing in the house.” Her
+husband laid a hand on hers.
+
+“There, there, my dear,” he said, soothingly, “don't be foolish. Sit
+down, Paine. Henrietta, perhaps you had better leave Mr. Paine and I
+together. We have some--er--business matters to discuss and you are
+tired and nervous. I should go to my room and lie down, if I were you.”
+
+Mrs. Colton accepted the suggestion, but her acceptance was not the most
+gracious.
+
+“I am in the way, as usual,” she observed, chokingly. “Very well, I
+should be resigned to that by this time, no doubt. I will go. But James,
+for my sake, don't be weak. Remember what--Oh, remember all we had hoped
+and planned! When I think of it, I--I--A nobody! A person without . . .
+What SHALL I do?”
+
+The handkerchief was in active operation. She swept past me to the door.
+There she turned.
+
+“I may forgive you some time, Mr. Paine,” she sobbed. “I suppose I shall
+have to. I can't do anything else. But don't ask me to do it now. That
+would be TOO much!”
+
+The door closed and I heard her sobs as she marched down the hall. To
+say that I was amazed and decidedly uncomfortable would be a very mild
+estimate of my feelings. Why should I expect her to forgive me? What had
+I done? I--or luck and I together--had saved one of her husband's stock
+speculations from ending in smash; but that was no injury for which I
+should beg forgiveness. At least I could not see that it was.
+
+Colton looked after her with a troubled expression.
+
+“Nerves are the devil, aren't they,” he observed. “And nerves and a
+woman together are worse than that. My wife, Paine, is--well, she hasn't
+been in good health for a long time and Mabel and I have done our best
+to give her her own way. When you've had your own way for years it
+rather hurts to be checkmated. I know that from experience. She'll feel
+better about it by and by.”
+
+“Better about what?” I demanded, involuntarily. “I don't understand Mrs.
+Colton's meaning in the least.”
+
+He looked at me keenly for a moment without speaking.
+
+“Don't you?” he asked. “You are sure you don't?”
+
+“Certainly I am sure. What I have done that requires forgiveness I don't
+see.”
+
+Another pause and more scrutiny.
+
+“So you don't understand what she means, hey?” he said again. “All
+right, all right! We won't discuss that yet a while. If you don't
+understand--never mind. Time enough for us to talk of that when you do.
+But, say, Paine,” with one of his dry smiles, “who taught you to buck a
+stock pool?”
+
+This question I could understand. I had expected this.
+
+“No one taught me,” I answered. “If I had any knowledge at all in that
+direction I was born with it, I guess. A form of original sin.”
+
+“It's a mighty profitable sort of wickedness--for me. Young man, do you
+realize what you did? How do you expect me to thank you for that, hey?”
+
+“I don't expect you to thank me at all. It was bull luck that won for
+you, Mr. Colton. Bull luck and desperation on my part. Miss Colton sent
+for me to help her. Your confidential man, Davis, refused to make a move
+without orders from you. You couldn't give any orders. Someone had to do
+something, or, so it seemed to your daughter and me, your Louisville and
+Transcontinental deal was a gone goose.”
+
+“It was more than that. I might have come pretty near being a gone goose
+along with it. Not quite gone, perhaps--I should have had a few cents
+left in the stocking--but I should have lost a lot more than I care to
+lose. So it was bull luck, hey? I don't believe it. Tell me the whole
+story, from beginning to end, will you? Mabel has told me some, but I
+want to hear it all. Go ahead!”
+
+I thought of Quimby's warning. “I'm afraid I should tire you, Mr.
+Colton. It is a long story, if I give particulars.”
+
+“Never mind, you give them. That 'tiring' business is some more of that
+doctor's foolishness. HE makes me tired, all right. You tell me what I
+want to know or I'll get out of this bed and shake it out of you.”
+
+He looked as if he meant to carry out his threat. I began my tale at the
+beginning and went on to the astonishing end.
+
+“Don't ask me why I did this or that, Mr. Colton,” I concluded. “I don't
+know. I think I was off my head part of the time. But something HAD to
+be done. I tried to look at the affair in a common-sense way, and--”
+
+“And, HAVING common-sense, you used it. Paine, you're a brick! Your kind
+of common-sense is so rare that it's worth paying any price for. Ha! ha!
+So it was Keene and his 'Development Company' that gave you the idea.
+That's good! That little failure of mine wasn't altogether a failure,
+after all. You saw it was a case where a bluff might win, and you had
+the sand to bluff it through. That comes of living so long where there
+is more sand than anything else, I imagine, hey! Ha! ha! Well, bull luck
+or insanity or whatever you call it, it did the trick. Of course I'm
+more obliged to you than I can tell. You know that.”
+
+“That's all right, Mr. Colton. Now I think I must be going. You've
+talked enough.”
+
+“You sit still. I haven't begun to talk yet. Paine, before you did this
+thing for me I had taken a fancy to you. I believed there was good
+stuff in you and that I could use you in my business. Now I know I can't
+afford to do without you. . . . Stop! let me finish. Young man, I told
+you once that when I made up my mind to do a thing, I always did it.
+ALWAYS; do you understand? I am going to get you. You are coming with
+me.”
+
+I had foreseen this, of course. But I had hoped to get away from that
+room before he reached the point. He had reached it, however, and
+perhaps it was as well he had. We would end this for all time.
+
+“Mr. Colton,” I answered, “you have a monopoly of some things, but of
+others you have not. I am just as determined to have my own way in this
+matter as you are. I shall NOT accept your offer of employment. That is
+final.”
+
+“Final be damned! Young man--”
+
+“Mr. Colton, if you persist I shall go away.”
+
+“Go away! Before I tell you to? Why, you--”
+
+I rose. “The doctor told me that you must not excite yourself,” I said.
+“I am going. Good-by.”
+
+He was excited, there was no doubt of that. He sat up in bed.
+
+“You come back!” he ordered. “Come back! If you don't--Well, by the
+Lord, if you don't I'll get up and come after you!”
+
+I believe he would have tried to do it. I was frightened, on his
+account. I turned reluctantly. He sank back on the pillow, grinning
+triumphantly.
+
+“Sit down there,” he panted. “Sit down. Now I want you to tell me the
+real reason why you won't work for me. By gad! you're the first one in
+many a day I have had to ask twice. Why? Tell me the truth! Why?”
+
+I hesitated. “Well, for one reason,” I said, “I don't care for your
+business.”
+
+“Don't CARE for it! After what you just did!”
+
+“I did that because I was driven to it. But I don't care for the stock
+game. Once I used to think I liked that sort of thing; now I know I
+don't. If I am anything I am a bank man, a poor sort of one, perhaps,
+but--”
+
+“Bank man! Why, you idiot! I don't care what you are. I can use you in
+a dozen places. You don't have to buck the market. I'll do that myself.
+But there are plenty of places where your brains and that common-sense
+you talk about will be invaluable to me. I do a banking business, on the
+side, myself. I own a mining property, a good one, out West. It needs a
+financial manager, and needs one badly. You come with me, do you hear!
+I'll place you where you fit, before I get through with you, and I'll
+make you a rich man in ten years. There! now will you say yes?”
+
+I shook my head. “No,” I said.
+
+“NO! You are enough to drive a well man crazy, to say nothing of a
+half-sick relic like me. _I_ say yes--yes--YES! Sooner or later I'll
+MAKE you. You've lost your place here. You told me yourself that that
+old crank Dean is going to make this town too hot to hold you. You'll
+HAVE to go away. Now won't you?”
+
+I nodded. “I shall go away,” I answered. “I have made up my mind to go,
+now that Mother seems well enough for me to leave her.”
+
+“Where will you go?”
+
+“I don't know.”
+
+He stared at me in silence for what seemed a long time. I thought he
+must be exhausted, and once more I rose to go.
+
+“Stop! Stay where you are,” he ordered. “I haven't got the answer to
+you yet, and I know it. There's something back of all this, something
+I don't know about. I'm going to find out what it is, if it takes me a
+year. You can tell me now, if you want to. It will save time. What is
+the real reason why you won't take my offer?”
+
+I don't know why I did it. I had kept the secret all the years and
+certainly, when I entered that room, I had no intention of revealing it.
+Yet, now, when he asked this question I turned on him and blurted out
+what I had sworn no one--least of all he or his--should ever know.
+
+“I'll tell you why,” I cried, desperately. “I can't take the place you
+offer because you know nothing about me. You don't know who I am. If you
+did you . . . . Mr. Colton, you don't even know my name.”
+
+He looked at me and shook his head, impatiently. “Either you ARE crazy,
+or I am,” he muttered. “Don't know your name!”
+
+“No, you don't! You think I am Roscoe Paine. I am not. I am Roscoe
+Bennett, and my father was Carleton Bennett, the embezzler.”
+
+I had said it. And the moment afterward I was sorry. I would have given
+anything to take back the words, but repentance came too late. I had
+said it.
+
+I heard him draw a deep breath. I did not look at him. I did not care
+to see his face and read on it the disgust and contempt I was sure it
+expressed.
+
+“Humph!” he exclaimed. “Humph! Do you mean to tell me that your father
+was Carleton Bennett--Bennett of Bennett and Company?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well! well! well! Carleton Bennett! No wonder there was something
+familiar about your mother, something that I seemed to remember. I met
+her years ago. Well! well! So you're Carleton Bennett's son?”
+
+“Yes, I am his son.”
+
+“Well, what of it?”
+
+I looked at him now. He was smiling, actually smiling. His illness had
+affected his mind.
+
+“What OF it!” I gasped.
+
+“Ye-es, what of it? What has that got to do with your working for me?”
+
+I could have struck him. If he had not been weak and ill and
+irresponsible for what he was saying I think I should.
+
+“Mr. Colton,” I said, striving to speak calmly, “you don't understand.
+My father was Carleton Bennett, the embezzler, the thief, the man whose
+name was and is a disgrace all over the country. Mother and I came here
+to hide from that disgrace, to begin a new, clean life under a clean
+name. Do you think--? Oh, you don't understand!”
+
+“I understand all right. This is the first time I HAVE understood. I see
+now why a clever man like you was willing to spend his days in a place
+like Denboro. Well, you aren't going to spend any more of them there.
+You're going to let me make something worth while out of you.”
+
+This sounded, in one way, like sanity. But in another--
+
+“Mr. Colton,” I cried, “even if you meant it, which you don't--do you
+suppose I would go back to New York, where so many know me, and enter
+your employ under an assumed name? Run the risk of--”
+
+“Hush! Enter it under your own name. It's a good name. The Bennetts are
+one of our oldest families. Ask my wife; she'll tell you that.”
+
+“A good name!”
+
+“Yes. I declare, Paine--Bennett, I mean--I shall begin to believe you
+haven't got the sense I credited you with. I can see what has been
+the matter with you. You came here, you and your sick mother, with the
+scandal of your father's crookedness hanging over you and her sickness
+making her super-sensitive, and you two kept the secret and brooded over
+it so long that you have come to think you are criminals, too. You're
+not. You haven't done anything crooked. What's the matter with you, man?
+Be sensible!”
+
+“Sensible!”
+
+“Yes, sensible, if you can. I don't care who your father was. He was
+a smart banker, before he went wrong, and I can see now where you
+inherited your ability. But never mind that. He's dead; let him stay so.
+I'm not trying to get him. It's you I want.”
+
+“You want ME! Do you mean you would take me into your employ, knowing
+who I am?”
+
+“Sure! It is because I know WHAT you are that I want you.”
+
+“Mr. Colton, you--I don't know what to say to you.”
+
+“Try saying 'yes' and see how it seems. It will be a change, anyhow.”
+
+“No, no! I cannot; it is impossible.”
+
+“Oh, you make me weary! . . . Humph! What is it now? Any more
+'reasons'?”
+
+“Yes.” I faced him squarely. “Yes,” I said, “there is another reason,
+one that makes it impossible, utterly impossible, if nothing else did.
+When I tell you what it is you will understand what I mean and agree
+with me. Your daughter and I have been thrown together a great deal
+since she came to Denboro. Our meetings have not been of my seeking, nor
+of hers. Of late I have realized that, for my own sake, for the sake of
+my peace of mind, I must not meet her. I must not be where she is. I--”
+
+“Here! Stop!” he broke in sharply. “What is this? Do you mean to tell me
+that you and Mabel--”
+
+“It is not her fault. It is my own, entirely. Mr. Colton, I--”
+
+“Stop, I tell you! Do you mean to tell me that you are--that you have
+been making love to my daughter?”
+
+“No. Certainly not.”
+
+“Then what do you mean? That she has been making love to you?”
+
+“Mr. Colton--”
+
+“There! Don't act like the Wild Man of Borneo. Do you mean that you are
+in love with her?”
+
+“Don't you see now why I cannot accept? I must go away. I am going.”
+
+“Humph! That will do. . . . Humph! Well, Paine--Bennett, I should say;
+it is hard to keep track of your names--you are rather--er--reckless,
+it seems to me. Mabel is our only child and her mother and I,
+naturally, had planned for her future . . . Have you told her of
+your--recklessness?”
+
+“Of course not! I shall not see her again. I shall leave Denboro as soon
+as I can. She will never know.”
+
+“Humph! I see . . . I see . . . Well, I don't know that there is
+anything for me to say.”
+
+“There is not.”
+
+“I am sorry for you, of course.”
+
+“Thank you.”
+
+There was a sharp rap at the door. Doctor Quimby opened it and entered
+the room. He glanced from me to his patient and his face expressed sharp
+disapproval.
+
+“You'd better go, Ros,” he snapped. “What is the matter with you? Didn't
+I tell you not to excite him.”
+
+“I'M not excited,” observed Colton, drily.
+
+“Clear out this minute!” continued the angry doctor. “Ros Paine, I
+thought you had more sense.”
+
+“So did I,” this from “Big Jim”. “However, I am learning a lot these
+days. Good-by, Paine.”
+
+I was at the door.
+
+“Oh, by the way,” he called after me, “let me make a suggestion. If I
+were you, Roscoe, I wouldn't leave Denboro to-day. Not before to-morrow
+morning, at any rate.”
+
+I did not understand him and I asked for no explanation. It was the
+first time he had addressed me by my Christian name, but it was not
+until afterward that I remembered that fact.
+
+
+
+That afternoon I was alone in my haven of refuge, the boathouse. Mother
+and I had had a long talk. I told her everything that had transpired.
+I kept back nothing, either of my acts or my feelings. She said she was
+not sorry for what I had done. She was rather glad, than otherwise, that
+I had disclosed our secret to Mr. Colton.
+
+“He knows now, Roscoe,” she said. “And he was right, too. You and I have
+brooded over our sorrow and what we considered our disgrace much more
+than we should. He is right, Boy. We are innocent of any wrong-doing.”
+
+“Yes, Mother,” I answered, “I suppose we are. But we must keep the
+secret still. No one else in Denboro must know. You know what gossip
+there would be. There is enough now. I presume I am called a traitor and
+a blackguard by every person in the town.”
+
+“Why no, you are not. That is the strange thing about it. Luther was up
+at the post-office this morning and no one seems to know of your sale of
+the land. Captain Dean has, apparently, kept the news to himself. Why do
+you suppose he does that?”
+
+“I don't know. I don't know, unless it is because he--no, I can't
+understand it at all. However, they will know soon enough. By the way,
+I have never asked Dorinda where Lute was that noon--it seems ages
+ago--when he was missing at dinner time. And how did he know of Mr.
+Colton's illness?”
+
+She smiled. “Poor Luther!” she said. “He announced his intention of
+running away, you remember. As a matter of fact he met the Coltons'
+chauffeur in the motor car and the chauffeur invited him to go to
+Bayport with him. The chauffeur had an errand there. Lute accepted--as
+he says, automobile rides don't come his way every day in the week--and
+they had trouble with the engine and did not get back until almost
+night. Then Miss Colton told him of her father's seizure and gave him
+the note for you. It was to you she turned in her trouble, Boy. She
+trusts you. Roscoe, I--I think she--”
+
+“Don't say it, Mother. All that is ended. I am going to forget--if I
+can.”
+
+The rest of our conversation need not be written here. She said many
+things, such as fond mothers say to their sons and which the sons know
+too well they do not deserve. We discussed my leaving Denboro and she
+was so brave and self-sacrificing that my conscience smote me.
+
+“I'll stay, Mother,” I said. “I can't leave you. I'll stay and fight it
+out with you. After all, it will not be much worse than it was before I
+went to the bank.”
+
+But she would not hear of my staying. I had a friend in Chicago, a
+distant relative who knew our story. Perhaps he could help me to a start
+somewhere. She kissed me and bade me keep up my courage, and I left
+her. I ate a hurried meal, a combination of breakfast and dinner, and,
+dodging Lute, who was in the back yard waiting to question me concerning
+the Coltons, walked down to the boathouse. There, in my armchair, I
+tried to think, to map out some sort of plan for my future.
+
+It was a hopeless task. I was not interested in it. I did not much care
+what became of me. If it were not for Mother I should not have cared at
+all. Nevertheless, for her sake, I must try to plan, and I did.
+
+I was still trying when I heard footsteps approaching the door, the
+small door at the side, not the big one in front. I did not rise to open
+the door, nor did I turn my head. The visitor was Lute, probably, and if
+I kept still he might think I was not within and go away again.
+
+The door opened. “Here he is,” said a voice, a voice that I recognized.
+I turned quickly and sprang to my feet. Standing behind me was Captain
+Jedediah Dean and with him George Taylor--George Taylor, who should have
+been--whom I had supposed to be in Washington with his bride!
+
+“Here he is,” said Captain Jed, again. “Well, Ros, we've come to see
+you.”
+
+But I paid no attention to him. It was his companion I was staring at.
+What was he doing here?
+
+“George!” I cried. “GEORGE!”
+
+He stepped forward and held out his hand. He was smiling, but there was
+a look in his eye which expressed the exact opposite of smiles.
+
+“Ros,” he said, quietly, “Ros Paine, you bull-headed, big-hearted old
+chump, how are you?”
+
+But I could only stare at him. Why had he come to Denboro? What did his
+coming to me mean? Why had he come with Captain Jed, the man who had
+vowed that he was done with me forever? And why was the captain looking
+at me so oddly?
+
+“George!” I cried in alarm, “George, you haven't--you haven't made a
+fool of yourself? You haven't--”
+
+Captain Jed interrupted me. “He ain't the fool, Ros,” he said. “That
+is, he ain't now. I'm the fool. I ought to have known better. Ros, I--I
+don't know's you'll give it to me, but anyhow I'm goin' to ask it; I beg
+your pardon.”
+
+“Ros,” said Taylor, before I could reply, “don't stand staring as if
+you were petrified. Sit down and let me look at you. You pig-headed old
+idiot, you! What do you mean by it? What did you do it for?”
+
+He pushed me into the chair I had just vacated. Captain Dean took
+another. George remained standing.
+
+“He IS petrified, I do believe!” he exclaimed.
+
+But my petrification was only temporary. I was beginning to understand,
+and to be more alarmed than ever.
+
+“What are you doing here in Denboro?” I demanded.
+
+Captain Jed answered for him. “He's here because I telegraphed for him
+yesterday,” he said. “I wired him to come straight home and take charge
+of the bank. I had fired you, like the dumb fool I was, and I wanted him
+to take command. He got here on the mornin' train.”
+
+I remembered what Phin Cahoon had said about the telegram and the
+captain's making him promise not to mention the name of the person to
+whom it was sent. It was George, of course. If I had been in a normal
+state of mind when Phin told me I should have guessed as much.
+
+Taylor took up the conversation. “Yes, I got here,” he said. “And when
+I got here--or a little before--” with a glance at the captain--“I found
+out what had been going on since I left. You old chump, Ros Paine! What
+did you do it for?”
+
+I looked at him and then at his companion. What I saw there confirmed my
+worst suspicions.
+
+“George,” I said, “if you have told him you must be crazy.”
+
+“I was crazy not to tell him before. I was crazy not to guess what you
+had been up to. But I didn't suppose anybody would be crazy enough to do
+what you did, Ros. I didn't imagine for a minute that you would be crazy
+enough to throw away your job and get yourself into the trouble you knew
+was sure to come, just to help me. To help ME, by the Lord! Ros! Ros!
+what can I say to you!”
+
+“You've said enough, and more than enough,” I answered, bitterly. “I did
+what I did so that you might keep your secret. I did it to help you and
+Nellie. And if you had kept still no one need ever have known, no one
+but you and I, George. And now you--”
+
+“Shut up, Ros!” he interrupted. “Shut up, I tell you! Why, confound
+you, what do you think I am? Do you suppose I would let you sacrifice
+yourself like that, while I set still and saw you kicked out of town?
+What do you think I am?”
+
+“But what was the use of it?” I demanded. “It was done. Nothing you
+could say would change it. For Nellie's sake--”
+
+“There! there!” broke in Captain Jed, “Nellie knows. George told her the
+day they was married. He told her before they was married. He was man
+enough to do that and I honor him for it. If he'd only come to me then
+it would have been a mighty sight better. I'd have understood when I
+heard about your sellin' Colton the land, and I wouldn't have made
+a jackass of myself by treatin' you as I done. You! the man that
+sacrificed yourself to keep my girl from breakin' her heart! When I
+think what you saved us all from I--I--By the Almighty, Ros Paine! I'll
+make it up to you somehow. I will! I swear I will!”
+
+He turned away and looked out of the window. George laid a hand on his
+shoulder.
+
+“I am the one to make it up, Cap'n,” he said, solemnly. “If I live I'll
+make it up to Ros here, and to you, and to Nellie, God bless her! I
+expected you would never speak to me again when I'd told you. Telling
+you--next to telling Nellie--was the toughest job I ever tackled. But
+I'll make it up to you both, and to Ros. Thank the Lord, it ain't too
+late to make it up to him!”
+
+“We'll both make it up to him, George,” replied Captain Jed. “As far
+as we can, we will. If he wants to come back to the bank this minute he
+can. We'll be proud to have him. But I cal'late,” with a smile, “he'll
+have bigger fish to fry than we can give him. If what we've just heard
+is true, he will.”
+
+“I don't know what you mean,” I answered. “And as for the bank--well,
+you forget one thing: I sold the Shore Lane and the town knows it. How
+long would the other directors tolerate me in that bank, after that, do
+you think?”
+
+To my surprise they looked at each other and laughed. Captain Dean shook
+his head.
+
+“No,” he said, “you're mistook, Ros. The town don't know you sold it.
+I didn't tell 'em because I wanted George in command of that bank afore
+the row broke loose. I larned of the sale myself, by chance, over to
+Ostable and I never told anybody except Dorindy Rogers and her fool of
+a husband. I'll see that they keep still tongues in their heads. And as
+for the Lane--well, that won't be closed. Colton don't own it no more.”
+
+“Don't OWN it,” I repeated. “Don't own it! He does. I sold it to him
+myself.”
+
+“Yes. And George, here, bought it back not an hour ago. We saw His
+Majesty--sick in bed he was, but just as high and mighty and independent
+as ever--and George bought back the land and the Lane for thirty-five
+hundred dollars. The old man didn't seem to give a durn about it any
+more. He'd had his own way, he said, and that was all he cared about.
+Besides, he ain't goin' to stay in Denboro much longer. The old
+lady--his wife--is sick of the place and he only come here on her
+account. He cal'lates that New York is good enough for him. I cal'late
+'tis. Anyhow, Denboro won't hang onto his coattails to hold him back.
+Tell Ros the whole story, George.”
+
+George told it, beginning with his receipt of his father-in-law's
+telegram and his hurried return to the Cape. He had gone directly to
+Captain Dean and confessed the whole thing. The captain had behaved like
+a trump, I learned. Instead of denouncing his daughter's husband he had
+forgiven him freely. Then they had gone to see Colton and George had
+bought the land.
+
+“And I shall give it to the town,” he said. “It's the least I can do.
+You wonder where the money came from, Ros? I guess you ain't seen the
+newspapers. There was a high old time in the stock market yesterday and
+Louisville and Transcontinental climbed half-way to the moon. From being
+a pauper I'm pretty well fixed.”
+
+“I'm heartily glad of it, George,” I said. “But there is one thing I
+don't understand. You say you learned of my selling the land before you
+reached Denboro. Captain Jed says no one but he and my people knew it.
+How did you find it out?”
+
+Again my two callers looked at each other.
+
+“Why, somebody--a friend of yours--come to me at the Ostable station and
+dragged Nellie and me off the train. We rode with that person the rest
+of the way and--the said person told us what had happened and begged
+us to help you. Seemed to have made a middling good guess that I COULD
+help, if I would.”
+
+“A person--a friend of mine! Why, I haven't any friend, any friend who
+knew the truth, or could guess.”
+
+“Yes, you have.”
+
+“Who was it?”
+
+George laughed aloud and Captain Jed laughed with him.
+
+“I guess I shan't tell you,” said the former. “I promised I wouldn't.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+
+They left me soon after this. I tried to make them tell who the
+mysterious friend might be, but they refused. The kind things they said
+and the gratitude they both expressed I shall never forget. They did not
+strenuously urge me to return to the bank, and that seemed strange to
+me.
+
+“The job's yours if you want it, Ros,” said Captain Jed. “We'd be only
+too happy to have you if you'd come--any time, sooner or later. But I
+don't think you will.”
+
+“No,” I answered, “I shall not. I have made other plans. I am going to
+leave Denboro.”
+
+That did not seem to surprise them and I was still more puzzled. They
+shook hands and went away, promising to call at the house that evening
+and bring Nellie.
+
+“She wants to thank you, too, Ros,” said George.
+
+After they had gone I sat by the big door, looking out at the bay,
+smooth and beautiful in the afternoon sunlight, and thinking of what
+they had told me. For Mother's sake I was very glad. It would be easier
+for her, after I had gone; the townspeople would be friendly, instead
+of disagreeable. For her sake, I was glad. For myself nothing seemed to
+make any difference. George Taylor's words--those he had spoken to me
+that fateful evening when I found him with the revolver beside him--came
+back to me over and over. “Wait until your time comes. Wait until the
+girl comes along that you care for more than the whole world. And then
+see what you'd do. See what it would mean to give her up!”
+
+I was seeing. I knew now what it meant.
+
+I rose and went out of the boathouse. I did not care to meet anyone or
+speak with anyone. I strolled along the path by the bluff, my old walk,
+that which I had taken so many times and with such varied feelings,
+never with such miserable ones as now.
+
+The golden-rod, always late blooming on the Cape, bordered the path with
+gorgeous yellow. The leaves of the scrub oaks were beginning to turn,
+though not to fall. I walked on and entered the grove where she and I
+had met after our adventure with Carver and the stranded skiff. I turned
+the bend and saw her coming toward me.
+
+I stood still and she came on, came straight to me and held out her
+hand.
+
+“I was waiting for you,” she said. “I was on my way to your house and I
+saw you coming--so I waited.”
+
+“You waited,” I stammered. “Why?”
+
+“Because I wished to speak to you and I did not want that--that Mr.
+Rogers of yours to interrupt me. Why did you go away yesterday without
+even letting me thank you for what you had done? Why did you do it?”
+
+“Because--because you were very busy and--and I was tired. I went home
+and to bed.”
+
+“You were tired. You must have been. But that is no excuse, no good one.
+I came down and found you were gone without a word to me. And you had
+done so much for me--for my father!”
+
+“Your father thanked me this morning, Miss Colton. I saw him in his room
+and he thanked me. I did not deserve thanks. I was lucky, that was all.”
+
+“Father does not call it luck. He told me what you said to him.”
+
+“He told you! Did he tell you all I told him?”
+
+“I--I think so. He told me who you were; what your real name was.”
+
+“He did! And you were still willing to meet me!”
+
+“Yes. Why not? Does it make any difference that you are Mr.
+Bennett--instead of Mr. Paine?”
+
+“But my father was Carleton Bennett--the--the--You must have heard of
+him.”
+
+“I never knew your father. I do know his son. And I am very proud to
+know him.”
+
+“But--but, Miss Colton.”
+
+“Tell me,” she interrupted, quickly, “have you seen Mr. Taylor? He is
+here in Denboro.”
+
+“Yes. I have seen him.”
+
+“And he told you about the Lane? That he has bought it?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And you will not be,” with a smile, “driven from Denboro by that cross
+old Captain Dean?”
+
+“I shall not be driven--no.”
+
+“Then Mr. Taylor did help you. He promised me he would.”
+
+“He promised you? When? When did you see George Taylor?”
+
+She appeared confused. “I--I--Of course I saw him at the house this
+noon, when he came to see Father.”
+
+“But he could not have promised you then. He had helped me already. Did
+you see him before that?”
+
+“Why, how could I? I--”
+
+“Miss Colton, answer me. Was it you that met him at the Ostable station
+this morning? Was it?”
+
+She was as red as the reddest of the autumn leaves. She laughed,
+confusedly.
+
+“I did meet him there,” she confessed. “That queer Mr. Cahoon, the
+station agent, told me that Captain Dean had telegraphed him to come.
+I knew he would probably be on that train. And Mr. Cahoon told me about
+his being interested in stocks and very much troubled. You had told me,
+or as much as told me, that you sold the land to get money to help some
+one. I put two and two together and I guessed the rest. I met him and
+Nellie and we rode to Denboro together in our auto. He promised me that
+he would make everything right for you. I am so glad he did!”
+
+I caught my breath with a gasp.
+
+“You did that!” I exclaimed. “You did that, for me!”
+
+“Why not? Surely you had done enough for--us. I could not let you be
+'driven from town', you know.”
+
+I did not speak. I knew that I must not attempt a reply. I should say
+too much. She looked up at me, and then down again at the pine-needles
+beneath our feet.
+
+“Father says he intends to do great things for you,” she went on. “He
+says you are to come with him. He is enthusiastic about it. He believes
+you are a great man. No one but a great man, he says, could beat the
+Consolidated Pacific gang single-handed. He says you will be the best
+investment he ever made.”
+
+“I am afraid not,” I answered. “Your father made me a generous offer. I
+wish I might have been able to accept it, but I could not.”
+
+“Oh, but you are going to accept.”
+
+“No, I am not.”
+
+“He says you are. And he always has his way, you know.”
+
+“Not in this case, Miss Colton.”
+
+“But _I_ want you to accept. Surely you will do it to oblige me.”
+
+“I--I can't.”
+
+“What are you going to do; go back to the bank?”
+
+“No, I am going to leave Denboro. I don't know where I shall go. This is
+good-by, Miss Colton. It is not likely that we shall meet again.”
+
+“But why are you going?”
+
+“I cannot tell you.”
+
+She was silent, still looking down at the pine-needles. I could not see
+her face. I was silent also. I knew that I ought to go, that I should
+not remain there, with her, another moment. Yet I remained.
+
+“So you think this is our parting,” she said. “I do not.”
+
+“Don't you? I fear you are wrong.”
+
+“I am not wrong. You will not go away, Mr.--Bennett. At least, you will
+not until you go where my father sends you. You will accept his offer, I
+think.”
+
+“You are mistaken.”
+
+“No. I think I am not mistaken. I think you will accept it,
+because--because I ask you to.”
+
+“I cannot, Miss Colton.”
+
+“And your reason?”
+
+“That I cannot tell anyone.”
+
+“But you told my father.”
+
+I was stricken dumb again.
+
+She went on, speaking hurriedly, and not raising her eyes.
+
+“You told my father,” she repeated, “and he told me.”
+
+“He told you!” I cried.
+
+“Yes, he told me. I--I am not sure that he was greatly surprised. He
+thought it honorable of you and he was very glad you did tell him, but I
+think he was not surprised.”
+
+The oaks and the pines and the huckleberry bushes were dancing great
+giddy-go-rounds, a reflection of the whirlpool in my brain. Out of the
+maelstrom I managed to speak somehow.
+
+“He was not surprised!” I repeated. “He was not--not--What do you mean?”
+
+She did not answer. She drew away from me a step, but I followed her.
+
+“Why wasn't he surprised?” I asked again.
+
+“Because--because--Oh, I don't know! What have I been saying! I--Please
+don't ask me!”
+
+“But why wasn't he surprised?”
+
+“Because--because--” she hesitated. Then suddenly she looked up into my
+face, her wonderful eyes alight. “Because,” she said, “I had told him
+myself, sir.”
+
+I seized her hands.
+
+“YOU had told him? You had told him that I--I--”
+
+“No,” with a swift shake of the head, “not you. I--I did not know
+that--then. I told him that I--”
+
+But I did not wait to hear any more.
+
+
+
+Some time after that--I do not know how long after and it makes no
+difference anyway--I began to remember some resolutions I had made,
+resolves to be self-sacrificing and all that sort of thing.
+
+“But, my dear,” I faltered, “I am insane! I am stark crazy! How can I
+think of such a thing! Your mother--what will she say?”
+
+She looked up at me; looking up was not as difficult now, and, besides,
+she did not have to look far. She looked up and smiled.
+
+“I think Mother is more reconciled,” she said. “Since she learned who
+you were she seems to feel better about it.”
+
+I shook my head, ruefully. “Yet she referred to me as a 'nobody' only
+this morning,” I observed.
+
+“Yes, but that was before she knew you were a Bennett. The Bennetts are
+a very good family, so she says. And she informed me that she always
+expected me to throw myself away, so she was not altogether unprepared.”
+
+I sighed. “Throwing yourself away is exactly what you have done, I'm
+afraid,” I answered.
+
+She put her hand to my lips. “Hush!” she whispered. “At all events, I
+made a lucky throw. I'm very glad you caught me, dear.”
+
+There was a rustle of leaves just behind us and a startled exclamation.
+I turned and saw Lute Rogers standing there in the path, an expression
+on his face which I shall not attempt to describe, for no description
+could do justice to it. We looked at Lute and he looked at us.
+
+He was the first to recover.
+
+“My time!” exclaimed Lute. “My TIME!”
+
+He turned and fled.
+
+“Come here!” I shouted after him. “Come back here this minute! Lute,
+come back!”
+
+Lute came, looking shamefaced and awkward.
+
+“Where were you going?” I demanded.
+
+“I--I was cal'latin' to go and tell Dorindy,” he faltered.
+
+“You'll tell nobody. Nobody, do you hear! I'll tell Dorinda myself,
+when it is necessary. What were you doing here? spying on me in that
+fashion.”
+
+“I--I wan't spyin', Ros. Honest truth, I wan't. I--I didn't know you and
+she was--was--”
+
+“Never mind that. What were you doing here?”
+
+“I was chasin' after you, Ros. I just heard the most astonishing thing.
+Jed Dean was to the house to make Dorindy and me promise to say nothin'
+about that Shore Lane 'cause you never sold it, and he said Mr. Colton
+had offered you a turrible fine job along of him and that you was goin'
+to take it. I wanted to find you and ask it 'twas true. 'Taint true, is
+it, Ros?” wistfully. “By time! I wish 'twas.”
+
+Before I could answer Mabel spoke.
+
+“Yes, it is true, Mr. Rogers,” she said. “It is quite true and you may
+tell anyone you like. It is true, isn't it, Roscoe?”
+
+What answer could I make? What answer would you have made under the
+circumstances?
+
+“Yes,” I answered, with a sigh of resignation. “I guess it is true,
+Lute.”
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by Joseph C. Lincoln
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+    <title>
+      The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by Joseph C. Lincoln
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by Joseph C. Lincoln
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+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Rise of Roscoe Paine
+
+Author: Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+Release Date: June 3, 2006 [EBook #3137]
+Last Updated: March 5, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RISE OF ROSCOE PAINE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Donald Lainson; David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      THE RISE OF ROSCOE PAINE
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Joseph C. Lincoln
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a>
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm going up to the village,&rdquo; I told Dorinda, taking my cap from the hook
+      behind the dining-room door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo; asked Dorinda, pushing me to one side and reaching for the
+      dust-cloth, which also was behind the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, just for the walk,&rdquo; I answered, carelessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm,&rdquo; observed Dorinda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm&rdquo; is, I believe, good Scotch for &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; I have read that it is,
+      somewhere&mdash;in one of Barrie's yarns, I think. I had never been in
+      Scotland, or much of anywhere else, except the city I was born in, and my
+      college town, and Boston&mdash;and Cape Cod. &ldquo;Um-hm&rdquo; meant yes on the
+      Cape, too, except when Dorinda said it; then it might mean almost
+      anything. When Mother asked her to lower the window shade in the bed-room
+      she said &ldquo;Um-hm&rdquo; and lowered it. And, five minutes later, when Lute came
+      in, loaded to the guards with explanations as to why he had forgotten to
+      clean the fish for dinner, she said it again. And the Equator and the
+      North Pole are no nearer alike, so far as temperature is concerned, than
+      those two &ldquo;Um-hms.&rdquo; And between them she had others, expressing all
+      degrees from frigid to semi-torrid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her &ldquo;Um-hm&rdquo; this time was somewhere along the northern edge of Labrador.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a good morning for a walk,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm,&rdquo; repeated Dorinda, crossing over to Greenland, so to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I opened the outside door. The warm spring sunshine, pouring in, was a
+      pleasant contrast and made me forget, for the moment, the glacier at my
+      back. Come to think of it, &ldquo;glacier&rdquo; isn't a good word; glaciers move
+      slowly and that wasn't Dorinda's way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you going to do?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Work,&rdquo; snapped Dorinda, unfurling the dust cloth. &ldquo;It's a good mornin'
+      for that, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I went out, turned the corner of the house and found Lute sound asleep on
+      the wash bench behind the kitchen. His full name was Luther Millard
+      Filmore Rogers, and he was Dorinda's husband by law, and the burden which
+      Providence, or hard luck, had ordered her to carry through this vale of
+      tears. She was a good Methodist and there was no doubt in her mind that
+      Providence was responsible. When she rose to testify in prayer-meeting she
+      always mentioned her &ldquo;cross&rdquo; and everybody knew that the cross was Luther.
+      She carried him, but it is no more than fair to say that she didn't
+      provide him with cushions. She never let him forget that he was a steerage
+      passenger. However, Lute was well upholstered with philosophy, of a kind,
+      and, so long as he didn't have to work his passage, was happy, even if the
+      voyage was a rather rough one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just now he was supposed to be raking the back yard, but the rake was
+      between his knees, his head was tipped back against the shingled wall of
+      the kitchen, and he was sleeping, with the sunshine illuminating his open
+      mouth, &ldquo;for all the world like a lamp in a potato cellar,&rdquo; as his wife had
+      said the last time she caught him in this position. She went on to say
+      that it was a pity he wouldn't stand on his head when he slept. &ldquo;Then I
+      could see if your skull was as holler as I believe it is,&rdquo; she told him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute heard me as I passed him and woke up. The &ldquo;potato cellar&rdquo; closed with
+      a snap and he seized the rake handles with both hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was takin' a sort of observation,&rdquo; he explained hurriedly. &ldquo;Figgerin'
+      whether I'd better begin here or over by the barn. Oh, it's you, Roscoe,
+      is it! Land sakes! I thought first 'twas Dorindy. Where you bound?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up to the village,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ain't goin' to the post-office, be you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I may; I don't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute sighed. &ldquo;I was kind of cal'latin' to go there myself,&rdquo; he observed,
+      regretfully. &ldquo;Thoph Newcomb and Cap'n Jed Dean and the rest of us was
+      havin' a talk on politics last night up there and 'twas mighty
+      interestin'. Old Dean had Thoph pretty well out of the race when I hauled
+      alongside, but when I got into the argument 'twas different. 'What's goin'
+      to become of the laborin' men of this country if you have free trade?' I
+      says. Dean had to give in that he didn't know. 'Might have to let their
+      wives support 'em,' he says, pompous as ever. 'That would be a calamity,
+      wouldn't it, Lute?' That wasn't no answer, of course. But you can't expect
+      sense of a Democrat. I left him fumin' and come away. I've thought of a
+      lot more questions to ask him since and I was hopin' I could get at him
+      this mornin'. But no! Dorindy's sot on havin' this yard raked, so I s'pose
+      I've got to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had dropped the rake, but now he leaned over, picked it up, and rose
+      from the wash bench.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I s'pose I've got to do it,&rdquo; he repeated, &ldquo;unless,&rdquo; hopefully, &ldquo;you want
+      me to run up to the village and do your errand for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I hadn't any errand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then I s'pose I'd better start in. Unless there was somethin' else
+      you'd ruther I'd do to-day. If there was I could do this to-morrer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To-morrow would have one advantage: there would be more to rake then.
+      However, judging by Dorinda's temper this morning, I think, perhaps, you
+      had better do it to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's Dorindy doin'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is dusting the dining-room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll bet you! And she dusted it yesterday and the day afore. Do you know&mdash;&rdquo;
+       Lute sat down again on the bench&mdash;&ldquo;sometimes I get real worried about
+      her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! Do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I do. I think she works too hard. Seems's if sometimes it had kind
+      of struck to her brains&mdash;work, I mean. She don't think of nothin'
+      else. Now take the dustin', for instance. Dustin's all right; I believe in
+      dustin' things. But I don't believe in wearin' 'em out dustin' 'em. That
+      ain't sense, is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It doesn't seem like it, that's a fact.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You bet it don't! And it ain't good religion, neither. Now take&mdash;well,
+      take this yard, for instance. What is it that I'm slavin' myself over this
+      fine mornin'? Why, rakin' this yard! And what am I rakin'? Why, dead
+      leaves from last fall, and straws and sticks and pieces of seaweed and
+      such that have blowed in durin' the winter. And what blowed 'em in? Why,
+      the wind, sartin! And whose wind was it? The Almighty's, that's whose! Now
+      then! if the Almighty didn't intend to have dead leaves around why did he
+      put trees for 'em to fall off of? If he didn't want straws and seaweed and
+      truck around why did He send them everlastin' no'theasters last November?
+      Did that idea ever strike you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know that it ever did, exactly in that way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Well, that's 'cause you ain't reasoned it out, same as I have. You've
+      got the same trouble that most folks have, you don't reason things out.
+      Now, let's look at it straight in the face.&rdquo; Lute let go of the rake
+      altogether and used both hands to illustrate his point. &ldquo;That finger
+      there, we'll say, is me, rakin' and rakin' hard as ever I can. And that
+      fist there is the Almighty, not meanin' anything irreverent. I rake, same
+      as I'm doin' this mornin'. The yard's all cleaned up. Then&mdash;zing!&rdquo;
+       Lute's clenched fist swept across and knocked the offending finger out of
+      the way. &ldquo;Zing! here comes one of the Almighty's no'theasters, same as
+      we're likely to have to-morrer, and the consarned yard is just as dirty as
+      ever. Ain't that so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at the yard. &ldquo;It seems to be about as it was,&rdquo; I agreed, with
+      some sarcasm. Lute was an immune, so far as sarcasm was concerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yup,&rdquo; he said, triumphantly. &ldquo;Now, Dorindy, she's a good, pious woman.
+      She believes the Powers above order everything. If that's so, then ain't
+      it sacrilegious to be all the time flyin' in the face of them Powers by
+      rakin' and rakin' and dustin' and dustin'? That's the question.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, according to that reasoning,&rdquo; I observed, &ldquo;we should neither rake
+      nor dust. Wouldn't that make our surroundings rather uncomfortable, after
+      a while?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sartin. But when they got uncomfortable then we could turn to and make
+      'em comfortable again. I ain't arguin' against work&mdash;needful work,
+      you understand. I like it. And I ain't thinkin' of myself, you know, but
+      about Dorindy. It worries me to see her wearin' herself out with&mdash;with
+      dustin' and such. It ain't sense and 'tain't good religion. She's my wife
+      and it's my duty to think for her and look out for her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused and reached into his overalls pocket for a pipe. Finding it, he
+      reached into another pocket for the wherewithal to fill it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you suggested to her that she's flying in the face of Providence?&rdquo; I
+      asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute shook his head. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he admitted, &ldquo;I ain't. Got any tobacco about
+      you? Dorindy hove my plug away yesterday. I left it back of the clock and
+      she found it and was mad&mdash;dustin' again, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took the pouch I handed him, filled his pipe and absently put the pouch
+      in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Got a match?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Thanks. No, I ain't spoke to her about it,
+      though it's been on my mind for a long spell. I didn't know but you might
+      say somethin' to her along that line, Roscoe. 'Twouldn't sound so
+      personal, comin' from you. What do you think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook my head. &ldquo;Dorinda wouldn't pay much attention to my ideas on such
+      subjects, I'm afraid,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;She knows I'm not a regular
+      church-goer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute was plainly disappointed. &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, with a sigh, &ldquo;maybe you're
+      right. She does cal'late you're kind of heathen, though she hopes you'll
+      see the light some day. But, just the same,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;it's a good
+      argument. I tried it on the gang up to the post-office last night. I says
+      to 'em, says I, 'Work's all right. I believe in it. I'm a workin' man,
+      myself. But to work when you don't have to is wrong. Take Ros Paine,' I
+      says&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should you take me?&rdquo; I interrupted, rather sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Cause you're the best example I could think of. Everybody knows you
+      don't do no work. Shootin' and sailin' and fishin' ain't work, and that's
+      about all you do. 'Take Ros,' says I. 'He might be to work. He was in a
+      bank up to the city once and he knows the bankin' trade. He might be at it
+      now, but what would be the use?' I says. 'He's got enough to live on and
+      he lives on it, 'stead of keepin' some poor feller out of a job.' That's
+      right, too, ain't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I didn't answer at once. There was no reason why I should be irritated
+      because Luther Rogers had held me up as a shining example of the
+      do-nothing class to the crowd of hangers-on in a country post-office. What
+      did I care for Denboro opinion? Six years in that gossipy village had made
+      me, so I thought, capable of rising above such things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; I asked after a moment, &ldquo;what did they say to that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, nothin' much. They couldn't; I had 'em, you see. Some of 'em laughed
+      and old Cap'n Jed he hove out somethin' about birds of a feather stickin'
+      up for each other. No sense to it. But, as I said afore, what can you
+      expect of a Democrat?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I turned on my heel and moved toward the back gate. &ldquo;Ain't goin', be you?&rdquo;
+       asked Lute. &ldquo;Hadn't you better set down and rest your breakfast a spell?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I'm going. By the way, if you're through with that tobacco pouch of
+      mine, I'll take it off your hands. I may want to smoke by and by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute coolly explained that he had forgotten the pouch; it had &ldquo;gone clean
+      out of his head.&rdquo; However, he handed it over and I left him seated on the
+      wash bench, with his head tipped back against the shingles. I opened the
+      gate and strolled slowly along the path by the edge of the bluff. I had
+      gone perhaps a hundred yards when I heard a shrill voice behind me.
+      Turning, I saw Dorinda standing by the corner of the kitchen, dust cloth
+      in hand. Her husband was raking for dear life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I walked on. The morning was a beautiful one. Beside the path, on the
+      landward side, the bayberry and beach-plum bushes were in bud, the green
+      of the new grass was showing above the dead brown of the old, a bluebird
+      was swaying on the stump of a wild cherry tree, and the pines and scrub
+      oaks of the grove by the Shore Lane were bright, vivid splashes of color
+      against the blue of the sky. At my right hand the yellow sand of the bluff
+      broke sharply down to the white beach and the waters of the bay, now
+      beginning to ebb. Across the bay the lighthouse at Crow Point glistened
+      with new paint and I could see a moving black speck, which I knew was Ben
+      Small, the keeper, busy whitewashing the fence beside it. Down on the
+      beach Zeb Kendrick was overhauling his dory. In the distance, beyond the
+      grove, I could hear the carpenters' hammers on the roof of the big Atwater
+      mansion, which was now the property of James Colton, the New York
+      millionaire, whose rumored coming to Denboro to live had filled the
+      columns of the country weekly for three months. The quahaug boats were
+      anchored just inside the Point; a clam digger was wading along the outer
+      edge of the sedge; a lobsterman was hauling his pots in the channel; even
+      the bluebird on the wild cherry stump had a straw in his beak and was
+      plainly in the midst of nest building. Everyone had something to do and
+      was doing it&mdash;everyone except Lute Rogers and myself, the &ldquo;birds of a
+      feather.&rdquo; And even Lute was working now, under compulsion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ordinarily the sight of all this industry would not have affected me. I
+      had seen it all before, or something like it. The six years I had spent in
+      Denboro, the six everlasting, idle, monotonous years, had had their
+      effect. I had grown hardened and had come to accept my fate, at first
+      rebelliously, then with more of Lute's peculiar kind of philosophy.
+      Circumstances had doomed me to be a good-for-nothing, a gentleman loafer
+      without the usual excuse&mdash;money&mdash;and, as it was my doom, I
+      forced myself to accept it, if not with pleasure, at least with
+      resignation. And I determined to get whatever pleasure there might be in
+      it. So, when I saw the majority of the human race, each with a purpose in
+      life, struggling to attain that purpose, I passed them by with my gun or
+      fishing rod on my shoulder, and a smile on my lips. If my remnant of a
+      conscience presumed to rise and reprove me, I stamped it down. It had no
+      reasonable excuse for rising; I wasn't what I was from choice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But, somehow, on this particular morning, my unreasonable conscience was
+      again alive and kicking. Perhaps it was the quickening influence of the
+      spring which resurrected it; perhaps Luther's quotation from the remarks
+      of Captain Jedediah Dean had stirred it to rebellion. A man may know, in
+      his heart, that he is no good and still resent having others say that he
+      is, particularly when they say that he and Luther Rogers are birds of a
+      feather. I didn't care for Dean's good opinion; of course I didn't! Nor
+      for that of any one else in Denboro, my mother excepted. But Dean and the
+      rest should keep their opinions to themselves, confound them!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The path from our house&mdash;the latter every Denboro native spoke of as
+      the &ldquo;Paine Place&rdquo;&mdash;wound along the edge of the bluff for perhaps
+      three hundred yards, then turned sharply through the grove of scrub oaks
+      and pitch pines and emerged on the Shore Lane. The Shore Lane was not a
+      public road, in the strictest sense of the term. It was really a part of
+      my land and, leading, as it did, from the Lower Road to the beach, was
+      used as a public road merely because mother and I permitted it to be. It
+      had been so used, by sufferance of the former owner, for years, and when
+      we came into possession of the property we did not interfere with the
+      custom. Land along the shore was worth precious little at that time and,
+      besides, it was pleasant, rather than disagreeable, to hear the fish carts
+      going out to the weirs, and the wagons coming to the beach for seaweed,
+      or, filled with picnic parties, rattling down the Lane. We could not see
+      them from the house until they had passed the grove and emerged upon the
+      beach, but even the noise of them was welcome. The Paine Place was a good
+      half-mile from the Lower Road and there were few neighbors; therefore,
+      especially in the winter months, any sounds of society were comforting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I strode through the grove, kicking the dead branches out of my way, for
+      my mind was still busy with Luther and Captain Dean. As I came out into
+      the Lane I looked across at the Atwater mansion, now the property of the
+      great and only Colton, &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; Colton, whose deals and corners in Wall
+      Street supplied so many and such varied sensations for the financial pages
+      of the city papers, just as those of his wife and family supplied news for
+      the society columns; I looked across, I say, and then I stopped short to
+      take a longer look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I could see the carpenters, whose hammers I had heard, at work upon the
+      roof of the barn, now destined to do double duty as a stable and garage.
+      They, and the painters and plumbers, had been busy on the premises for
+      months. The establishment had been a big one, even when Major Atwater
+      owned it, but the new owners had torn down and added and rebuilt until the
+      house loomed up like a palace or a Newport villa. A Newport villa in
+      Denboro! Why on earth any one should deliberately choose Denboro as a
+      place to live in I couldn't understand; but why a millionaire, with all
+      creation to select from, should build a Newport villa on the bluff
+      overlooking Denboro Bay was beyond comprehension. The reason given in the
+      Cape Cod Item was that Mrs. Colton was &ldquo;in debilitated health,&rdquo; whatever
+      that is, and had been commanded by her doctors to seek sea air and
+      seclusion and rest. Well, there was sea air and rest, not to mention
+      seclusion or sand and mosquitoes, for a square mile about the new villa,
+      and no one knew that better than I, condemned to live within the square.
+      But if Mrs. Colton had deliberately chosen the spot, with malice
+      aforethought, the place for her was a home for the feeble minded. At
+      least, that was my opinion on that particular morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not the carpenters who caused me to pause in my walk and look
+      across the lane and over the stone wall at my new neighbor's residence.
+      What caught my attention was that the place looked to be inhabited. The
+      windows were open&mdash;fifty or so of them&mdash;smoke was issuing from
+      one of the six chimneys; a maid in a white cap and apron was standing by
+      the servants' entrance. Yes, and a tall, bulky man with a yachting cap on
+      the back of his head and a cigar in his mouth was talking with Asa Peters,
+      the boss carpenter, by the big door of the barn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had not been up to the village for two days, having been employed at our
+      boat-house on the beach below the house, getting my motor dory into
+      commission for the summer. But now I remembered that Lute had said
+      something about the Coltons being expected, or having arrived, and that he
+      seemed much excited over it. He would have said more, but Dorinda had
+      pounced on him and sent him out to shut up the chickens, which gave him
+      the excuse to play truant and take his evening's trip to the post-office.
+      It was plain that the Coltons HAD arrived. Very likely the stout man with
+      the yachting cap was the mighty &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; himself. Well, I didn't envy him
+      in his present situation. He had my pity, if anything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Possibly the fact that I could pity some one other than myself helped to
+      raise my spirits. At any rate I managed to shake off a little of my gloom
+      and tramped on up the Lane, feeling more like a human being and less like
+      a yellow dog. Less as I should imagine a yellow dog ought to feel, I mean,
+      for, as a matter of fact, most yellow dogs of my acquaintance seem to be
+      as happy as their brown or white or black relatives. I walked up the Lane,
+      turned into the Lower Road, and headed for the village. The day was a
+      gorgeous one, the air bracing as a tonic, and my thirtieth birthday was
+      not yet so far astern as to be lost in the fog. After all, there were some
+      consolations in being alive and in a state of health not &ldquo;debilitated.&rdquo; I
+      began to whistle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A quarter of a mile from the junction of the Shore Lane, on the Lower
+      Road, was a willow-shaded spot, where the brook which irrigated Elnathan
+      Mullet's cranberry swamp ran under a small wooden bridge. It was there
+      that I first heard the horn and, turning, saw the automobile coming from
+      behind me. It was approaching at a speed of, I should say, thirty miles an
+      hour, and I jumped to the rail of the bridge to let it pass. Autos were
+      not as common on the Cape then as they have become since. Now the average
+      pedestrian of common-sense jumps first and looks afterwards.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      However, I jumped in time, and stood still to watch the car as it went by.
+      But it did not go by&mdash;not then. Its speed slackened as it approached
+      and it came to a halt on the bridge beside me. A big car; an aristocratic
+      car; a machine of pomp and price and polish, such as Denboro saw but
+      seldom. It contained three persons&mdash;a capped and goggled chauffeur on
+      the front seat, and a young fellow and a girl in the tonneau. They
+      attracted my attention in just that order&mdash;first the chauffeur, then
+      the young fellow, and, last of all, the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the chauffeur who hailed me. He leaned across the upholstery beside
+      him and, still holding the wheel, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Bill, what's the quickest way to get to Bayport?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now my name doesn't happen to be Bill and just then I objected to the
+      re-christening. At another time I might have appreciated the joke and
+      given him the information without comment. But this morning I didn't feel
+      like joking. My dissatisfaction with the world in general included
+      automobilists who made common folks get out of their way, and I was
+      resentful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should say that you had picked about as quick a way as any,&rdquo; I
+      answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The chauffeur didn't seem to grasp the true inwardness of this brilliant
+      bit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, what&mdash;&rdquo; he stammered. &ldquo;Say, what&mdash;look here, I asked you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the young man in the tonneau took charge of the conversation. He was
+      a very young man, with blond hair and a silky mustache, and his clothes
+      fitted him as clothes have no right to fit&mdash;on Cape Cod.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That'll do, Oscar,&rdquo; he ordered. Then, turning to me, he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here, my man, we want to go to Bayport.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was not his man, and wouldn't have been for something. The chauffeur had
+      irritated me, but he irritated me more. I didn't like him, his looks, his
+      clothes, and, particularly, his manner. Therefore, because I didn't feel
+      like answering, I showed my independence by remaining silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the matter?&rdquo; he demanded, impatiently. &ldquo;Are you deaf? I say we
+      want to go to Bayport.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A newspaper joke which I had recently read came to my mind. &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; I
+      said, &ldquo;you have my permission.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a rude thing to say, and not even original. I don't attempt to
+      excuse it. In fact, I was sorry as soon as I had said it. It had its
+      effect. The young man turned red. Then he laughed aloud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, by Jove!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;What have we here? A humorist, I do
+      believe! Mabel, we've discovered a genuine, rural humorist. Another David
+      Harum, by Jove! Look at him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl in the tonneau swept aside her veil and looked, as directed. And
+      I looked at her. The face that I saw was sweet and refined and delicate, a
+      beautiful young face, the face of a lady, born and bred. All this I saw
+      and realized at a glance; but what I was most conscious of at the time was
+      the look in the dark eyes as they surveyed me from head to foot.
+      Indifference was there, and contemptuous amusement; she didn't even
+      condescend to smile, much less speak. Under that look my self-importance
+      shrank until the yellow dog with which I had compared myself loomed as
+      large as an elephant. She might have looked that way at some curious and
+      rather ridiculous bug, just before calling a servant to step on it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The young man laughed again. &ldquo;Isn't it a wonder, Mabel?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;The
+      native wit on his native heath! Reuben&mdash;pardon me, your name is
+      Reuben, isn't it?&mdash;now that you've had your little joke, would you
+      condescend to tell us the road which we should take to reach Bayport in
+      the shortest time? Would you oblige us to that extent?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The young lady smiled at this. &ldquo;Victor,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;how idiotic you are!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I agreed with her. Idiot was one of the terms, the mildest, which I should
+      have applied to that young man. I wanted very much to remove him from that
+      car by what Lute would call the scruff of the neck. But most of all, just
+      then, I wanted to be alone, to see the last of the auto and its occupants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;First turn to the right, second to the left,&rdquo; I said, sullenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Reuben,&rdquo; vouchsafed the young man. &ldquo;Here's hoping that your
+      vegetables are fresher than your jokes. Go ahead, Oscar.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The chauffeur threw in the clutch and the car buzzed up the road, turning
+      the corner at full speed. There was a loose board projecting from the
+      bridge just under my feet. As a member&mdash;though an inactive one&mdash;of
+      the Village Improvement Society I should have trodden it back into place.
+      I didn't; I kicked it into the brook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then I walked on. But the remainder of my march was a silent one, without
+      music. I did not whistle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The post-office was at Eldredge's store, and Eldredge's store, situated at
+      the corners, where the Main Road and the Depot Road&mdash;which is also
+      the direct road to South Denboro&mdash;join, was the mercantile and social
+      center of Denboro. Simeon Eldredge kept the store, and Simeon was also
+      postmaster, as well as the town constable, undertaker, and auctioneer. If
+      you wanted a spool of thread, a coffin, or the latest bit of gossip, you
+      applied at Eldredge's. The gossip you could be morally certain of getting
+      at once; the thread or the coffin you might have to wait for.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I scarcely know why I went to Eldredge's that morning. I did not expect
+      mail, and I did not require Simeon's services in any one of his
+      professional capacities. Possibly Lute's suggestion had some sort of
+      psychic effect and I stopped at the post-office involuntarily. At any
+      rate, I woke from the trance in which the encounter with the automobile
+      had left me to find myself walking in at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mail was not yet due, to say nothing of having arrived or been sorted,
+      but there was a fair-sized crowd on the settees and perched on the edge of
+      the counter. Ezra Mullet was there, and Alonzo Black and Alvin Baker and
+      Thoph Newcomb. Beriah Doane and Sam Cahoon, who lived in South Denboro,
+      were there, too, having driven over behind Beriah's horse, on an errand;
+      that is, Beriah had an errand and Sam came along to help him remember it.
+      In the rear of the store, by the frame of letter boxes, Captain Jedediah
+      Dean was talking with Simeon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alvin Baker saw me first and hailed me as I entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's Ros Paine,&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;He'll know more about it than anybody
+      else. Hey, Ros, how many hired help does he keep, anyhow? Thoph says it's
+      eight, but I know I counted more'n that, myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's eight, I tell you,&rdquo; broke in Newcomb, before I could answer.
+      &ldquo;There's the two cooks and the boy that waits on 'em&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The idea of having anybody wait on a cook!&rdquo; interrupted Mullet. &ldquo;That's
+      blame foolishness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never said he waited on the cooks. I said he waited on them&mdash;on
+      the family. And there's a coachman&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do they call them kind of fellers coachmen?&rdquo; put in Thoph. &ldquo;There
+      ain't any coach. I see the carriages when they come&mdash;two freight cars
+      full of 'em. There was a open two-seater, and a buckboard, and that
+      high-wheeled thing they called a dog-cart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beriah Doane laughed uproariously. &ldquo;Land of love!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Does the
+      dog have a cart all to himself? That's a good one! You and me ain't got no
+      dog, Sam, but we might have a couple of cat-carts, hey? Haw! haw!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thoph paid no attention to this pleasantry. &ldquo;There was the dog-cart,&rdquo; he
+      repeated, &ldquo;and another thing they called the 'trap.' But there wan't any
+      coach; I'll swear to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't make no difference,&rdquo; declared Alvin; &ldquo;there was a man along that
+      SAID he was the coachman, anyhow. And a big minister-lookin' feller who
+      was a butler, and two hired girls besides the cooks. That's nine, anyhow.
+      One more'n you said, Thoph.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And that don't count the chauffeur, the chap that runs the automobiles,&rdquo;
+       said Alonzo Black. &ldquo;He's the tenth. Say, Ros,&rdquo; turning to me, &ldquo;how many is
+      there, altogether?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many what?&rdquo; I asked. It was my first opportunity to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, hired help&mdash;servants, you know. How many does Mr. Colton keep?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know how many he keeps,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Why should I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The group looked at me in amazement. Thoph Newcomb voiced the general
+      astonishment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should you!&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;Why shouldn't you, you mean! You're livin'
+      right next door to 'em, as you might say! My soul! If I was you I cal'late
+      I'd know afore this time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No doubt you would, Thoph. But I don't. I didn't know the Coltons had
+      arrived until I came by just now. They have arrived, I take it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arrived! There was no question of the arrival, nor of its being witnessed
+      by everyone present, myself and the South Denboro delegates excepted.
+      Newcomb and Baker and Mullet and Black began talking all together. I
+      learned that the Colton invasion of Denboro was a spectacle only equaled
+      by the yearly coming of the circus to Hyannis, or the opening of the
+      cattle show at Ostable. The carriages and horses had arrived by freight
+      the morning before; the servants and the family on the afternoon train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see 'em myself,&rdquo; affirmed Alonzo. &ldquo;I was as nigh to 'em as I be to you.
+      Mrs. Colton is sort of fleshy, but as handsome a woman as you'd want to
+      see. I spoke to her, too. 'It's a nice day,' I says, 'ain't it?'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did she say?&rdquo; asked Newcomb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She didn't say nothin'. Engine was makin' such a noise she didn't hear, I
+      presume likely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; sniffed Baker, evidently envious; &ldquo;I guess she heard you, all
+      right. Fellers like you make me tired. Grabbin' every chance to curry
+      favor with rich folks! Wonder you didn't tell her you drove a fish-cart
+      and wanted her trade! As for me, I'm independent. Don't make no difference
+      to me how well-off a person is. They're human, just the same as I am, and
+      <i>I</i> don't toady to 'em. If they want to talk they can send for me.
+      I'll wait till they do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hope you've got lots of patience, Alvin,&rdquo; observed Mullet drily. During
+      the hilarity which followed, and while the offended apostle of
+      independence was trying to think of a sufficiently cutting reply, I walked
+      to the rear of the store.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Our letter box was Number 218, in the center of the rack, and, as I
+      approached, I glanced at it involuntarily. To my surprise there was a
+      letter in it; I could see it through the glass of the box door. Lute had,
+      as I knew, got the mail the previous evening and the morning's mail had
+      not yet arrived. Therefore this letter must have been written by some one
+      in Denboro and posted late the night before or early that morning. It was
+      not the custom for Denboro residents to communicate with each other
+      through the medium of the post. They preferred to save the two cents stamp
+      money, as a general thing. Bills sometimes came by mail, but this was the
+      tenth, not the first, of the month; and, besides, our bills were paid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I reached into my pocket for my keys, unlocked the box and took out the
+      letter. The envelope was square, of an expensive quality, and eminently
+      aristocratic. It was postmarked Denboro, dated that morning, and addressed
+      in a sharp, clear masculine hand unfamiliar to me, to &ldquo;Roscoe Paine, Esq.&rdquo;
+       The &ldquo;Esq.&rdquo; would have settled it, if the handwriting had not. No
+      fellow-townsman of my acquaintance would address me, or any one else, as
+      Esquire. Misters and Captains were common enough, but Esquires&mdash;no.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a Denboro custom, when one received a mysterious letter, to get the
+      fullest enjoyment out of the mystery before solving it. I had known
+      Dorinda Rogers to guess, surmise and speculate for ten minutes before
+      opening a patent medicine circular. But, though mysteries were uncommon
+      enough in my life, I think I should have reached the solution of this one
+      in the next second&mdash;in fact, I had torn the end from the envelope&mdash;when
+      I was interrupted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Captain Dean who interrupted me. He had evidently concluded his
+      conversation with the postmaster and now was bearing down majestically
+      upon me, like a ten thousand ton steamer on a porgie schooner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hey, you&mdash;Ros!&rdquo; he roared. He was at my elbow, but he roared just
+      the same. Skipper of a coaster in his early days, he had never outgrown
+      the habit of pitching his voice to carry above a fifty-mile gale. &ldquo;Hey,
+      Ros. See here; I want to talk to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not want to talk with any one, particularly with him. He was the
+      individual who, according to Lute, had bracketed Mr. Rogers and myself as
+      birds of a feather, the remark which was primarily responsible for my ill
+      humor of the morning. If he had not said that, and if Lute had not quoted
+      the saying to me, I might have behaved less like a fool when that
+      automobile overtook me, I might not have given that young idiot, whose
+      Christian name it seemed was Victor, the opportunity to be smart at my
+      expense. That girl with the dark eyes might not have looked at me as if I
+      were a worm or a June bug. Confound her! what right had she to look at me
+      like that? Victor, or whatever his name was, was a cub and a cad and as
+      fresh as the new paint on Ben Small's lighthouse, but he had deigned to
+      speak. Whereas that girl&mdash;!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No, I did not want to talk with Jedediah Dean. However, he wanted to talk
+      to me, and what he wanted he usually got.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Captain Dean was one of Denboro's leading citizens. His parents had been
+      as poor as Job's turkey, but Jedediah had determined to get money and now
+      he had it. He was reputed to be worth &ldquo;upwards of thirty thousand,&rdquo; owned
+      acres and acres of cranberry swamps, and the new house he had just built
+      was almost as big as it was ugly, which is saying considerable. He had
+      wanted to be a deacon in the church and, though the church was by no means
+      so eager, deacon he became. He was an uncompromising Democrat, but he had
+      forced himself into the Board of Selectmen, every other member a
+      Republican. He was director in the Denboro bank, and it was town talk that
+      his most ardent desire at the present time was to see his daughter Helen&mdash;Nellie,
+      we all called her&mdash;married to George Taylor, cashier of that bank. As
+      George and Nellie were &ldquo;keeping company&rdquo; it seemed likely that Captain Jed
+      would be gratified in this, as in all other desires. He was a born boss,
+      and did his best to run the town according to his ideas. Captain Elisha
+      Warren, who lived over in South Denboro and was also a director in the
+      bank, covered the situation when he said: &ldquo;Jed Dean is one of those
+      fellers who ought to have a big family to order around. The Almighty gave
+      him only one child and so he adopted Denboro and is bossin' that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to talk to you, Ros,&rdquo; repeated Captain Jed. &ldquo;Come here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He led the way to the settee by the calico and dress goods counter. I put
+      the unread letter in my pocket and followed him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Set down,&rdquo; he ordered. &ldquo;Come to anchor alongside.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I came to anchor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How's your mother?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Matilda was cal'latin' to go down and set
+      with her a spell this afternoon, if she didn't have anything else to do&mdash;if
+      Matilda didn't, I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Matilda was his wife. In her husband's company she was as dumb as a broken
+      phonograph; when he was not with her she talked continuously, as if to get
+      even. A call from Matilda Dean was one of the additional trials which made
+      Mother's invalid state harder to bear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Course she may not come,&rdquo; Jedediah hastened to say. &ldquo;She's pretty busy
+      these days. But if she don't have anything else to do she will. I told her
+      she'd better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother will be charmed,&rdquo; I said. Captain Jed was no fool and he looked at
+      me sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um; yes,&rdquo; he grunted. &ldquo;I presume likely. You're charmed, too, ain't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was not expecting this. I murmured something to the effect that I was
+      delighted, of course.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sartin. Well, that's all right. I didn't get you on this settee to charm
+      you. I want to talk business with you a minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Business! With me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yup. Or it may be business later on. I've been thinkin' about that Shore
+      Lane, the one that runs through your land. Us town folks use that a whole
+      lot. I cal'late most everybody's come to look at it as a reg'lar public
+      road to the beach.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, I suppose they have,&rdquo; I said, puzzled to know what he was
+      driving at. &ldquo;It is a public road, practically.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, 'tain't, neither. It's a private way, and if you wanted to you could
+      shut it off any day. A good many folks would have shut it off afore this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I guess not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess yes. I'd shut it off myself. I wouldn't have Tom, Dick and Harry
+      drivin' fish wagons and tip carts full of seaweed through my premises free
+      gratis for nothin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;What harm does it do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know as it does any. But because a tramp sleepin' on my front
+      piazza might not harm the piazza, that's no reason why I'd let him sleep
+      there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I laughed. &ldquo;The two cases aren't exactly alike, are they?&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;The
+      land is of no value to us at present. Mother and I are glad to have the
+      Lane used, if it is a convenience, as I suppose it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's that, sartin. Ros, who owns that land the Lane runs through&mdash;you
+      or your mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is in my name,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. Well, would you sell it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sell it! Sell that strip of sand and beach grass! Who would buy it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know as anybody would. I just asked if you'd sell it, that's
+      all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps I would. I presume I should, if I had the chance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ain't had any chance yet, have you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean by that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, nothin', nothin'! Well, you just think it over. If you decide you
+      would sell it and get so fur as fixin' a price on it, let me know, will
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Captain, what in the world do you want of that land? See here! you don't
+      want to shut off the Shore Lane, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What in time would I want to shut it off for? I use it as much as
+      anybody, don't I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I don't see&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe there ain't nothin' TO see. Only, if you decide to sell, let me
+      know. Yes, and don't sell WITHOUT lettin' me know. Understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you understand enough, I cal'late. All I want you to do is to
+      promise not to sell that land the Lane's on without speakin' to me fust.
+      Will you promise that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I considered for a moment. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I'll promise that. Though I
+      can't imagine what you're driving at.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't need to. Maybe I'm just drivin' blind; I hope I am. That's all
+      I wanted to talk about,&rdquo; rising from the settee. &ldquo;Oh, by the way,&rdquo; he
+      added, &ldquo;your neighborhood's honored just now, ain't it? The King of New
+      York's arrived, they tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;King of New York? Oh! I see; you mean the Coltons.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sartin. Who else? Met his Majesty yet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Have you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I met him when he was down a month ago. Sim Eldredge introduced me right
+      here in the store. 'Mr. Colton,' says Sim, proud but humble, so to speak,
+      'let me make you acquainted with one of our selectmen, Cap'n Dean. Cap'n,
+      shake hands with Mr. Colton of New York.' We shook, and I cal'late I'd
+      ought to have kept that hand in a glass case ever since. But, somehow or
+      other, I ain't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What sort of a chap is Colton?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, all right of his kind, I guess. In amongst a gang of high financers
+      like himself he'd size up as a pretty good sport, I shouldn't wonder. And
+      he was polite enough to me, I suppose. But, darn him, I didn't like the
+      way he looked at me! He looked as if&mdash;as if&mdash;well, I can't tell
+      you how he looked.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't need to,&rdquo; I said, brusquely. &ldquo;I know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do, hey? He ain't looked at you, has he? No, course he ain't! You
+      said you hadn't met him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've met others of his kind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Well, I'm a hayseed and I know it. I'm just a countryman and he's a
+      millionaire. He'll be the big show in this town from now on. When he blows
+      his nose seven-eighths of this community 'll start in workin' up a cold in
+      the head.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned on his heel and started to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you?&rdquo; I asked, slily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked back over his shoulder. &ldquo;I ain't subject to colds&mdash;much,&rdquo;
+       he snapped. &ldquo;But YOU better lay in a supply of handkerchiefs, Ros.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I smiled. I knew what was troubling him. A little tin god has a pleasant
+      time of it, no doubt, until the coming of the eighteen carat gold idol.
+      Captain Jed had been boss of Denboro&mdash;self-appointed to that eminent
+      position, but holding it nevertheless&mdash;and to be pushed from his
+      perch by a city rival was disagreeable. If I knew him he would not be
+      dethroned without a fight. There were likely to be some interesting and
+      lively times in our village.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I could understand Dean's dislike of Colton, but his interest in the Shore
+      Lane was a mystery. Why should he wish to buy that worthless strip of
+      land? And what did he mean by asking if I had chances to sell it? Still
+      pondering over this puzzle, I walked toward the front of the store, past
+      the group waiting for the mail, where the discussion concerning the
+      Coltons was still going on, Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker both talking at
+      once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You ask Ros,&rdquo; shouted Alvin, pounding the counter beside him. &ldquo;Say, Ros,
+      Newcomb here seems to think that because a feller comes from the city and
+      is rich that that gives him the right to order the rest of us around as if
+      we was fo'mast hands. He says&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't neither!&rdquo; yelled Thoph. &ldquo;What I say is that money counts, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do, too! Ros, do YOU intend to get down on your knees to them
+      Coltons?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I laughed and went on without replying. I left the store and strolled
+      across the road to the bank, intending to make a short call on George
+      Taylor, the cashier, my most intimate acquaintance and the one person in
+      Denboro who came nearest to being my friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But George was busy in the directors' room, and, after waiting a few
+      moments in conversation with Henry Small, the bookkeeper, I gave it up and
+      walked home, across the fields this time; I had no desire to meet more
+      automobilists.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda had finished dusting the dining room and was busy upstairs. I
+      could hear the swish-swish of her broom overhead. I opened the door
+      leading to Mother's bedroom and entered, closing the door behind me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The curtains were drawn, as they always were on sunny days, and the room
+      was in deep shadow. Mother had been asleep, I think, but she heard my step
+      and recognized it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that you, Boy?&rdquo; she asked. If I had been fifty, instead of thirty-one,
+      Mother would have called me &ldquo;Boy&rdquo; just the same.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Mother,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where have you been? For a walk? It is a beautiful morning, isn't it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her only way of knowing that the morning was a beautiful one was that the
+      shades were drawn. She had not seen the sunlight on the bay, nor the blue
+      sky; she had not felt the spring breeze on her face, or the green grass
+      beneath her feet. Her only glimpses of the outside world were those which
+      she got on cloudy or stormy days when the shades were raised a few inches
+      and, turning her head on the pillow, she could see beneath them. For six
+      years she had been helpless and bedridden in that little room. But she
+      never complained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I told her that I had been uptown for a walk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you meet any one?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I said that I had met Captain Dean and Newcomb and the rest. I said
+      nothing of my encounter with the motor car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Captain Jed graciously informed me that his wife might be down to sit
+      with you this afternoon,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Provided she didn't have anything else
+      to do; he took pains to add that. You mustn't see her, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She smiled. &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;Matilda is a little tiresome at times,
+      but she means well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Mother, I think you would make excuses for the Old Harry himself.
+      That woman will talk you to death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no! Not as bad as that. And poor Matilda doesn't talk much at home,
+      I'm afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her husband sees to that; I don't blame him. By the way, the Captain had
+      a queer bee in his bonnet this morning. He seems to be thinking of buying
+      some of our property.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I told her of Jedediah's interest in the Shore Lane and his hint
+      concerning its possible purchase. She listened and then said thoughtfully:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you decided to do about it, Roscoe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't decided at all. What do you think, Mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems to me that I shouldn't sell, at least until I knew his reason
+      for wanting to buy. It would be different if we needed the money, but, of
+      course, we don't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; I said, hastily. &ldquo;But why not sell? We don't use the land.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. But the Denboro people need that Lane. They use it a great deal. If
+      it were closed it would put many of them to a great inconvenience,
+      particularly those who get their living alongshore. Every one in Denboro
+      has been so kind to us. I feel that we owe them a debt we never can
+      repay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one could help being kind to you, Mother. Oh! I have another piece of
+      news. Did you know that our new neighbors, the Coltons, have arrived?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Dorinda told me. Have you met any of them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dorinda says Mrs. Colton is an invalid. Poor woman! it must be hard to be
+      ill when one has so much to enjoy. Dorinda says they have a very pretty
+      daughter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I made no comment. I was not interested in pretty daughters, just then.
+      The memory of the girl in the auto was too fresh in my mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you go to the post-office, Roscoe?&rdquo; asked Mother. &ldquo;I suppose there
+      were no letters. There seldom are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then I remembered the letter in my pocket. I had forgotten it altogether.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, there was a letter, a letter for me. I haven't read it yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I took the envelope from my pocket and drew out the enclosure. The latter
+      was a note, very brief and very much to the point. I read it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, by George!&rdquo; I exclaimed, angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it, Roscoe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It appears to be a summons from what Captain Jed called the King of New
+      York. A summons to appear at court.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At court?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, not the criminal court. Merely the palace of his Majesty. Just
+      listen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was the letter:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Roscoe Paine, Esq.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dear Sir:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I should like to see you at my house this&mdash;Thursday&mdash;forenoon,
+      on a matter of business. I shall expect you at any time after ten in the
+      morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yours truly,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      JAMES W. COLTON.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From Mr. Colton!&rdquo; exclaimed Mother. &ldquo;Why! what can he want of you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;And I don't particularly care.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother, did you ever hear such a cool, nervy proposition in your life? He
+      wants to see me and he orders me to come to him. Why doesn't he come to
+      me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose he didn't think of it. He is a big man in New York and he has
+      been accustomed to having people come at his convenience. It's his way of
+      doing things, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I don't like the way. This is Denboro, not New York. He will expect
+      me at any time after ten, will he? Well, as Mullet said to Alvin Baker
+      just now at the post-office, I hope he has lots of patience. He'll need
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what can he want of you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. Wants to look over his nearest jay neighbor, I should
+      imagine, and see what sort of a curio he is. He thinks it may be necessary
+      to put up barbed wire fences, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe, don't be narrow-minded. Mr. Colton's ways aren't ours and we must
+      make allowances.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let him make a few, for a change.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren't you going to see him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. At least not until I get good and ready.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda came in just then to ask Mother some questions concerning dinner,
+      for, though Mother had not seen the dining room since that day, six years
+      ago, when she was carried from it to her bedroom, she kept her interest in
+      household affairs and insisted on being consulted on all questions of
+      management and internal economy. I rose from my chair and started toward
+      the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you going, Roscoe?&rdquo; asked Mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, just out of doors; perhaps to the boat-house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the matter? Something has gone wrong; I knew it as soon as you
+      came in. What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing. That is, nothing of any consequence. I'm a little out of sorts
+      to-day and that man's letter irritates me. I'll get over it. I'll be back
+      soon. Good-by, Mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-by, Boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I went out through the dining room and kitchen, to the back yard, where,
+      seating myself on Lute's favorite resting place, the wash bench, I lit my
+      pipe and sat thinking, gloomily thinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It is a dreadful thing to hate one's own father; to hate him and be unable
+      to forgive him even though he is dead, although he paid for his sin with
+      his life. Death is said to pay all debts, but there are some it cannot
+      pay. To my father I owed my present ambitionless, idle, good-for-nothing
+      life, my mother's illness, years of disgrace, the loss of a name&mdash;everything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Paine was my mother's maiden name; she was christened Comfort Paine. My
+      own Christian name is Roscoe and my middle name is Paine. My other name,
+      the name I was born with, the name that Mother took when she married, we
+      dropped when the disgrace came upon us. It was honored and respected once;
+      now when it was repeated people coupled it with shame and crime and
+      dishonor and broken trust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As a boy I remember myself as a spoiled youngster who took the luxuries of
+      this world for granted. I attended an expensive and select private school,
+      idled my way through that somehow, and entered college, a happy-go-lucky
+      young fellow with money in my pocket. For two-thirds of my Freshman year&mdash;which
+      was all I experienced of University life&mdash;I enjoyed myself as much as
+      possible, and studied as little. Then came the telegram. I remember the
+      looks of the messenger who brought it, the cap he wore, and the grin on
+      his young Irish face when the fellow sitting next me at the battered black
+      oak table in the back room of Kelly's asked him to have a beer. I remember
+      the song we were singing, the crowd of us, how it began again and then
+      stopped short when the others saw the look on my face. The telegram
+      contained but four words: &ldquo;Come home at once.&rdquo; It was signed with the name
+      of my father's lawyer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I presume I shall never forget even the smallest incident of that night
+      journey in the train and the home-coming. The lawyer's meeting me at the
+      station in the early morning; his taking care that I should not see the
+      newspapers, and his breaking the news to me. Not of the illness or death
+      which I had feared and dreaded, but of something worse&mdash;disgrace. My
+      father was an embezzler, a thief. He had absconded, had run away, like the
+      coward he was, taking with him what was left of his stealings. The banking
+      house of which he had been the head was insolvent. The police were on his
+      track. And, worse and most disgraceful of all, he had not fled alone.
+      There was a woman with him, a woman whose escapades had furnished the
+      papers with sensations for years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had never been well acquainted with my father. We had never been friends
+      and companions, like other fathers and sons I knew. I remember him as a
+      harsh, red-faced man, whom, as a boy, I avoided as much as possible. As I
+      grew older I never went to him for advice; he was to me a sort of walking
+      pocket-book, and not much else. Mother has often told me that she
+      remembers him as something quite different, and I suppose it must be true,
+      otherwise she would not have married him; but to me he was a source of
+      supply coupled with a bad temper, that was all. That I was not utterly
+      impossible, that, going my own gait as I did, I was not a complete young
+      blackguard, I know now was due entirely to Mother. She and I were as close
+      friends as I would permit her to be. Father had neglected us for years,
+      though how much he had neglected and ill-treated her I did not know until
+      she told me, afterward. She was in delicate health even then, but, when
+      the blow fell, it was she and not I who bore up bravely and it was her
+      pluck and nerve, not mine, which pulled us through that dreadful time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And it was dreadful. The stories and pictures in the papers! The rumors,
+      always contradicted, that the embezzler had been caught! The
+      misrepresentation and lies and scandal! The loss of those whom we had
+      supposed were friends! Mother bore them all, wore a calm, brave face in
+      public, and only when alone with me gave way, and then but at rare
+      intervals. She clung to me as her only comfort and hope. I was sullen and
+      wrathful and resentful, an unlicked cub, I suspect, whose complaints were
+      selfish ones concerning the giving up of my college life and its
+      pleasures, and the sacrifice of social position and wealth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother had&mdash;or so we thought at the time&mdash;a sum in her own name
+      which would enable us to live; although not as we had lived by a great
+      deal. We took an apartment in an unfashionable quarter of the city, and
+      thanks to the lawyer&mdash;who proved himself a real and true friend&mdash;I
+      was given a minor position in a small bank. Oddly enough, considering my
+      former life, I liked the work, it interested me, and during the next few
+      years I was made, by successive promotions, bookkeeper, teller, and, at
+      last, assistant cashier. No news came from the absconder. The police had
+      lost track of him, and it seemed probable that he would never be heard of
+      again. But over Mother and myself hung always the dread that he might be
+      found and all the dreadful business revived once more. Mother never
+      mentioned it, nor did I, but the dread was there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came the first breakdown in Mother's health which necessitated her
+      removal to the country. Luther and Dorinda Rogers were distant relatives
+      of our friend, the lawyer. They owned the little house by the shore at
+      Denboro and the lawyer had visited them occasionally on shooting and
+      fishing trips. They were in need of money, for, as Dorinda said: &ldquo;We've
+      got two mouths in this family and only one pair of hands. One of the
+      mouths is so big that the hands can't fill it, let alone the mouth that
+      belongs to THEM.&rdquo; Mother&mdash;as Mrs. Paine, a widow&mdash;went there
+      first as a boarder, intending to remain but a few months. Dorinda took to
+      her at once, being attracted in the beginning, I think, by the name. &ldquo;They
+      call you Comfort Paine,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and you are a comfort to everybody
+      else's pain. Yet you ain't out of pain a minute scurcely, yourself. I
+      never see anything like it. If 'twan't wicked I'd say that name was give
+      you by the Old Scratch himself, as a sort of divilish joke. But anybody
+      can see that the Old Scratch never had anything in common with you, even a
+      hand in the christenin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda was very kind, and Lute was a never-ending joy in his peculiar
+      way. Mother would have been almost happy in the little Denboro home, if I
+      had been with her. But she was never really happy when we were separated,
+      a condition of mind which grew more acute as her health declined. I came
+      down from the city once every month and those Sundays were great
+      occasions. The Denboro people know me as Roscoe Paine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a time Mother seemed to be holding her own. In answer to my questions
+      she always declared that she was ever so much better. But Doctor Quimby,
+      the town physician, looked serious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She must be kept absolutely quiet,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;She must not be troubled in
+      any way. Worry or mental distress is what I fear most. Any sudden bad news
+      or shock might&mdash;well, goodness knows what effect it might have. She
+      must not be worried. Ros&mdash;&rdquo; after one has visited Denboro five times
+      in succession he is generally called by his Christian name&mdash;&ldquo;Ros, if
+      you've got any worries you keep 'em to yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had worries, plenty of them. Our little fortune, saved, as we thought,
+      from the wreck, suffered a severe shrinkage. A considerable portion of it,
+      as the lawyers discovered, was involved and belonged to the creditors. I
+      said nothing to Mother about this: she supposed that we had a sufficient
+      income for our needs, even without my salary. Without telling her I gave
+      up our city apartment, stored our furniture, and took a room in a
+      boarding-house. I was learning the banking business, was trusted with more
+      and more responsibility, and believed my future was secure. Then came the
+      final blow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I saw the news in the paper when I went out to lunch. &ldquo;Embezzler and His
+      Companion Caught in Rio Janeiro. He Commits Suicide When Notified of His
+      Arrest.&rdquo; These headlines stared at me as I opened the paper at the
+      restaurant table. My father had shot himself when the police came. I read
+      it with scarcely more than a vague feeling of pity for him. It was of
+      Mother that I thought. The news must be kept from her. If she should hear
+      of it! What should I do? I went first of all to the lawyer's office: he
+      was out of town for the day. I wandered up and down the streets for an
+      hour. Then I went back to the bank. There I found a telegram from Doctor
+      Quimby: &ldquo;Mrs. Paine very ill. Come on first train.&rdquo; I knew what it meant.
+      Mother had heard the news; the shock which the doctor dreaded had had its
+      effect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I reached Denboro the next morning. Lute met me at the station. From his
+      disjointed and lengthy story I gathered that Mother had been &ldquo;feelin'
+      fust-rate for her&rdquo; until the noon before. &ldquo;I come back from the
+      post-office,&rdquo; said Lute, &ldquo;and I was cal'latin' to read the newspaper, but
+      Dorindy had some everlastin' chore or other for me to do&mdash;I believe
+      she thinks 'em up in her sleep&mdash;and I left the paper on the
+      dinin'-room table and went out to the barn. Dorindy she come along to boss
+      me, as usual. When we went back to the house there was Mrs. Comfort on the
+      dinin'-room floor&mdash;dead, we was afraid at fust. The paper was
+      alongside of her, so we judge she was just a-goin' to read it when she was
+      took. The doctor says it's a paralysis or appleplexy or somethin'. We
+      carried her into the bedroom, but she ain't spoke sence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not speak for weeks and when she did it was to ask for me. She
+      called my name over and over again and, if I left her, even for a moment,
+      she grew so much worse that the doctor forbade my going back to the city.
+      I obtained a leave of absence from the bank for three months. By that time
+      she was herself, so far as her reason was concerned, but very weak and
+      unable to bear the least hint of disturbance or worry. She must not be
+      moved, so Doctor Quimby said, and he held out no immediate hope of her
+      recovering the use of her limbs. &ldquo;She will be confined to her bed for a
+      long time,&rdquo; said the doctor, &ldquo;and she is easy only when you are here. If
+      you should go away I am afraid she might die.&rdquo; I did not go away. I gave
+      up my position in the bank and remained in Denboro.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the end of the year I bought the Rogers house and land, moved a portion
+      of our furniture down there, sold the rest, and resigned myself to a
+      period of idleness in the country. Dorinda I hired as housekeeper, and
+      when Dorinda accepted the engagement she threw in Lute, so to speak, for
+      good measure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And here I have been ever since. At first I looked upon my stay in Denboro
+      as a sort of enforced vacation, which was to be, of course, only
+      temporary. But time went on and Mother's condition continued unchanged.
+      She needed me and I could not leave her. I fished and, shot and sailed and
+      loafed, losing ambition and self-respect, aware that the majority of the
+      village people considered me too lazy to earn a living, and caring little
+      for their opinion. At first I had kept up a hit or miss correspondence
+      with one or two of my associates in the bank, but after a while I dropped
+      even this connection with the world. I was ashamed to have my former
+      acquaintances know what I had become, and they, apparently, were quite
+      willing to forget me. I expected to live and die in Denboro, and I faced
+      the prospect with indifference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The summer people, cottagers and boarders, I avoided altogether and my
+      only friend, and I did not consider him that, was George Taylor, the
+      Denboro bank cashier. He was fond of salt-water and out-door sports and
+      we, occasionally enjoyed them together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thanks to the lawyer, our names had been scarcely mentioned in the papers
+      at the time of my father's death. No one in the village knew our identity
+      or our story. And, because I knew that Mother would worry if she were
+      told, I kept from her the fact that our little income was but half of what
+      it had been. Our wants were few, and if my clothes were no longer made by
+      the best tailors, if they were ready-made and out-of-date and lacked
+      pressing, they were whole, at all events, because Dorinda was a tip-top
+      mender. In fact, I had forgotten they were out-of-date until the sight of
+      the immaculately garbed young chap in the automobile brought the
+      comparison between us to my mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But now, as I sat on the wash-bench, thinking of all this, I looked down
+      at my baggy trousers and faded waistcoat with disgust. One of the surest
+      signs of the loss of self-respect is a disregard of one's personal
+      appearance. I looked like a hayseed&mdash;not the independent countryman
+      who wears old clothes on week days from choice and is proudly conscious of
+      a Sunday suit in the closet&mdash;but that other variety, the post-office
+      and billiard-room idler who has reached the point of utter indifference,
+      is too shiftless to care. Captain Jed was not so far wrong, after all&mdash;Lute
+      Rogers and I were birds of a feather in more ways than one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No wonder that girl in the auto had looked at me as if I were something
+      too contemptible for notice. Yet I hated her for that look. I had behaved
+      like a boor, of course. Because I was a failure, a country loafer with no
+      prospect of ever being anything else, because I could not ride in
+      automobiles and others could&mdash;these were no good reasons for
+      insulting strangers more fortunate than I. Yet I did hate that girl. Just
+      then I hated all creation, especially that portion of it which amounted to
+      anything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I took the letter from my pocket and read it again. &ldquo;I should like to see
+      you . . . on a matter of business.&rdquo; What business could &ldquo;Yours truly,
+      James W. Colton&rdquo; have with me? And Captain Jed also had talked business. I
+      supposed that I had given up business long ago and for good; now, all at
+      once, it seemed to be hunting me. Well, all the hunting should be on its
+      side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At another time I might have treated the great Colton's &ldquo;summons to court&rdquo;
+       as a joke. I might, like Mother, have regarded the curtness of the command
+      and its general tone of taking my prompt obedience for granted as an
+      expression of the Wall Street magnate's habit of mind, and nothing more.
+      He was used to having people jump when he snapped his fingers. But now it
+      made me angry. I sympathized with Dean and Alvin Baker. The possession of
+      money did not necessarily imply omnipotence. This was Cape Cod, not New
+      York. His Majesty might, as Captain Jed put it, have blown his Imperial
+      nose, but I, for one, wouldn't &ldquo;lay in a supply of handkerchiefs&rdquo;&mdash;not
+      yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard a rustle in the bushes and, turning my head, saw Lute coming along
+      the path. He was walking fast&mdash;fast for him, that is&mdash;and seemed
+      to be excited. His excitement, however, did not cause him to forget
+      prudence. He looked carefully about to be sure his wife was not in sight,
+      before he spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dorindy ain't been here sence I've been gone, has she?&rdquo; was his first
+      question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess not,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;She has been in the house since I got back. But I
+      don't know how long you've been gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only a few minutes. I&mdash;I just stepped over 'cross the Lane for a
+      jiffy, that's all. Say, by time; them Coltons must have money!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a habit of millionaires, I believe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hey? What do you mean by that? If they didn't have money they couldn't be
+      millionaires, could they? How'd you like to be a millionaire, Ros?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. I never tried.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By time! I'D like to try a spell. I've been over lookin' 'round their
+      place. You never see such a place! Why, their front doorstep's big as this
+      yard, pretty nigh.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does it have to be raked?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Raked! Whoever heard of rakin' a doorstep?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give it up! But it does seem to me that I have heard of raking a yard. I
+      think Dorinda mentioned that, didn't she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute looked at me: then he hurried over and picked up the rake which was
+      lying near the barn, a pile&mdash;a very small pile&mdash;of chips and
+      leaves beside it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When did she mention it?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A week ago, I think, was the first time. She has referred to it
+      occasionally since. She was mentioning it to you when I went up town this
+      morning. I heard her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute looked relieved. &ldquo;Oh, THEN!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I thought you meant lately.
+      Well, I'm rakin' it, ain't I? Say, Ros,&rdquo; he added, eagerly, &ldquo;did you go to
+      the post-office when you was uptown? Was there a letter there for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What makes you think there was?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Asa Peters' boy, the bow-legged one, told me. The chauffeur, the feller
+      that pilots the automobiles, asked him where the post-office was and he
+      see the address on the envelope. He said the letter was for you. I told
+      him he was lyin'&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What in the world did you tell him that for?&rdquo; I interrupted. I had known
+      Lute a long time, but he sometimes surprised me, even yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Cause he is, nine times out of ten,&rdquo; replied Lute, promptly. &ldquo;You never
+      see such a young-one for dodgin' the truth. Why, one time he told his
+      grandmother, Asa's ma, I mean, that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did he say about the letter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Said 'twas for you. And the chauffeur said Mr. Colton told him to mail it
+      right off. 'Twan't for you, was it, Ros?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It WAS! Well, by time! What did a man like Mr. Colton write to you
+      about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Among his other lackings Lute was conspicuously short of tact. This was no
+      time for him to ask me such a question, especially to emphasize the &ldquo;you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why shouldn't he write to me?&rdquo; I asked, tartly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but HIM&mdash;writin' to YOU!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Even a god stoops once in a while. Read your mythology, Lute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hey? Say, look here, what are you swearin' about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Swearing? Oh, that's all right. The god I referred to was a heathen one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it's a good thing Dorindy didn't hear you; she's down on swearin',
+      heathen or any other kind. But what did Mr. Colton write to you for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He says he wants to see me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See you? What for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't know. Perhaps he wants to borrow money.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Borrow&mdash;! I believe you're crazy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I'm tolerably sane. There! there! don't look at me like that. Here's
+      his letter. Read it, if you want to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute's fingers were so eager to grasp that letter that they were all
+      thumbs. He dropped it on the grass, picked it up with as much care as if
+      it was a diamond, and holding it a foot from his nose&mdash;he had broken
+      his spectacles and was afraid to ask Dorinda for the money to have them
+      repaired&mdash;he spelt it out to the last word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, by time!&rdquo; he exclaimed, when he had finished. &ldquo;He wants to see you
+      at his house this forenoon! And&mdash;and&mdash;why, the forenoon's all
+      but gone now! What are you settin' here for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I thought I should enjoy watching you rake the yard. It is a
+      pleasure deferred so far.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Watchin' me&mdash;! Roscoe Paine, you are out of your head! Ain't you
+      goin' to see him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You AIN'T!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros Paine, have you jined in with them darn fools uptown?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who's swearing now? What fools do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Darn ain't swearin'. Dorindy herself says that once in a while. I mean
+      Alvin Baker, and Jed Dean and the rest of 'em. They was goin' on about Mr.
+      Colton last night; said THEY wan't goin' to run at his beck and call. I
+      told 'em, says I, 'You ain't had the chance. You'll run fast enough when
+      you do.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you say that to Captain Jed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No-o. I said it to Alvin, but old Jed's just as bad. He's down on anybody
+      that's got more'n he has. But Ros, you ain't foolish enough to side with
+      Jed Dean. Just think! Here's Mr. Colton, richer'n King Solomon and all his
+      glory. He's got servants and butlers and bonds and cowpons and horses and
+      teams and automobiles and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I rose from the wash bench.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know what he's got, Lute,&rdquo; I interrupted. &ldquo;And I know what he hasn't
+      got.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? Is there anything he ain't got?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He hasn't got me&mdash;not yet. If he wants to see me he may. I expect to
+      be at home for the next day or two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean you expect a millionaire like him to come cruisin' after
+      YOU! Well, by time! I think I see him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you do, let me know,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I should like to be prepared.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&mdash;by&mdash;time!&rdquo; said Lute, by way of summing up. I ate dinner
+      with Dorinda. Her husband did not join us. Dorinda paid a visit to the
+      back yard and, seeing how little raking had been done, announced that
+      until the job was finished there would be &ldquo;no dinner for some folks.&rdquo; So
+      she and I ate and Lute raked, under protest, and vowing that he was so
+      faint and holler he cal'lated to collapse 'most any time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After the meal was finished I went down to the boathouse. The boathouse
+      was a little building on the beach at the foot of the bluff below the
+      house. It was a favorite resort of mine and I spent many hours there. My
+      eighteen foot motor launch, the Comfort, the one expensive luxury I
+      allowed myself and which I had bought second-hand two years before, was
+      jacked up in the middle of the floor. The engine, which I had taken apart
+      to clean, was in pieces beside it. On the walls hung my two shot guns and
+      my fishing rod. Outside, on the beach, was my flat-bottomed skiff, which I
+      used for rowing about the bay, her oars under the thwarts. In the
+      boathouse was a comfortable armchair and a small shelf of books, novels
+      for the most part. A cheap clock and a broken-down couch, the latter a
+      discard from the original outfit of the cottage, made up the list of
+      furniture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My idea in coming to the boathouse was to continue my work with the
+      engine. I tried it for a half hour or so and then gave it up. It did not
+      interest me then. I shut the door at the side of the building, that by
+      which I had entered&mdash;the big double doors in front I had not opened
+      at all&mdash;and, taking a book from the shelf, stretched myself on the
+      couch to read.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The book I had chosen was one belonging to the Denboro Ladies' Library;
+      Miss Almena Doane, the librarian, had recommended it highly, as a &ldquo;real
+      interesting story, with lots of uplifting thoughts in it.&rdquo; The thoughts
+      might be uplifting to Almena, but they did not elevate my spirits. As for
+      the story&mdash;well, the hero was a young gentleman who was poor but
+      tremendously clever and handsome, and the heroine had eyes &ldquo;as dark and
+      deep as starlit pools.&rdquo; The poor but beautiful person met the pool-eyed
+      one at a concert, where he sat, &ldquo;his whole soul transfigured by the
+      music,&rdquo; and she had been &ldquo;fascinated in spite of herself&rdquo; by the look on
+      his face. I read as far as that and dropped the book in disgust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After that I must have fallen asleep. What awakened me was a knock on the
+      door. It was Lute, of course. Probably mother wanted me for something or
+      other, and Dorinda had sent her husband to hunt me up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The knock was repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come in,&rdquo; I said, sleepily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door opened and in came, not Lute, but a tall, portly man, with a
+      yachting cap on the back of his gray head, and a cigar in his mouth. He
+      looked at me as I lay on the couch and I lay on the couch and looked at
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Afternoon,&rdquo; he said, curtly. &ldquo;Is your name Paine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I nodded. I was waking rapidly, but I was too astonished to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe Paine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, mine's Colton. I sent you a letter this morning. Did you get it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      I sat up on the couch. Mr. Colton knocked the ashes from his cigar, waited
+      an instant, and then repeated his question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you get my letter?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you did. I was afraid that man of mine might have forgotten to mail
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I got it. Won't you&mdash;er&mdash;won't you sit down?&rdquo; He pulled the
+      armchair toward him and sat down. I noticed that he had a habit of doing
+      things quickly. His sentences were short and to the point and he spoke and
+      acted like one accustomed to having his own way. He crossed his knees and
+      looked about the little building.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a pleasant day,&rdquo; I observed, for the sake of saying something. He
+      did not seem to hear me, or, if he did, he was not interested in the
+      weather. For my part I found the situation embarrassing. I knew what his
+      next question would be, and I did not know how to answer. Sure enough, he
+      asked it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wrote you to come over to my place this forenoon,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You didn't
+      come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here was the issue joined. Here, if ever, was the opportunity to assert my
+      independence a la Jed Dean and Alvin Baker. But to assert it now, after he
+      had done the unexpected, after the mountain had come to Mahomet, seemed
+      caddish and ridiculous. So I temporized, weakly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't read your letter until about noon,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see. Well, I waited until two o'clock and then I decided to hunt you
+      up. I called at your house. The woman there said you were down here. Your
+      mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo; My answer was prompt and sharp enough this time. It was natural,
+      perhaps, that he should presume Dorinda to be my mother, but I did not
+      like it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He paid absolutely no attention to the tone of my reply or its curtness.
+      He did not refer to Dorinda again. She might have been my wife or my
+      great-aunt for all he cared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This your workshop?&rdquo; he asked, abruptly. Then, nodding toward the
+      dismembered engine, &ldquo;What are you? a boat builder?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not exactly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the price of a boat like that?&rdquo; indicating the Comfort with a kick
+      in her direction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About two hundred and fifty dollars, I believe,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You believe! Don't you know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I bought that boat second-hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not refer to the boat again; apparently forgot it altogether. His
+      next move was to rise and turn toward the door. I watched him, wondering
+      what was going to happen next. He had a habit of jumping from one subject
+      to another which was bewildering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that fellow doing off there?&rdquo; he asked, suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked where he was pointing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is Zeb Kendrick,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;He's raking for quahaugs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Raking for what hogs?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quahaugs. What you New Yorkers call clams.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Sell 'em, does he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell him to call at my house next time you see him. And for heaven's sake
+      tell him to come to the servants' door. Don't you people down here have
+      any servants' doors to your houses? There have been no less than fifty
+      peddlers on my porch since yesterday and my butler will die of apoplexy if
+      it keeps on. He's a good one, for a wonder, and I don't want to lose him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I made no reply to this observation and he did not seem to expect any. He
+      watched Zeb rake for a moment and then he turned back to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you come over to my house now?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was not expecting this and again I did not have an answer ready.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you?&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;I've got a business deal to make with you and I'd
+      rather make it there. I've got a lot of carpenters and painters at work
+      and they ask me ten questions a minute. They are unnecessary questions but
+      if I don't answer them the fellows are sure to make some fool mistake or
+      other. They need a governess. If you'll come over with me I'll be in touch
+      with them and you and I can talk just as well. Can come, can't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not know what to say. I wanted to say no, that if he had any
+      business with me it could be discussed in that boathouse. I did not like
+      his manner, yet I had a feeling that it was his usual one and that he had
+      not meant to be rude. And I could think of no good reason for not going
+      with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can come, can't you?&rdquo; he repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose I can. But&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course if you're too busy to leave&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I remembered the position he had found me in and I rather think I had
+      turned red. He did not smile, but there was a sort of grim twinkle in his
+      eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll come,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Much obliged. I won't keep you long. Come on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He led the way and I followed, rebellious, and angry, not so much with him
+      as with myself. I wished now that I had gone over to the Colton place when
+      I first received the summons to court, instead of making proclamations of
+      defiance to mother and Lute Rogers. This seemed such a complete backdown.
+      As we passed the house I saw Lute peering from the barn. I devoutly hoped
+      he might not see me, but he did. His mouth opened and he stared. Then,
+      catching my eye, he winked triumphantly. I wanted to punch his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The King of New York walked briskly on in silence until we were just at
+      the edge of the grove by the Shore Lane. Then he stopped and turned to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You own all this land, don't you?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Get a good view from here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I admitted that the view was good. At that particular point it embraced
+      nearly the whole of the bay in front, and a large portion of the village
+      at the side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He waved his hand toward the cluster of houses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are eighteen hundred people in this town, they tell me,&rdquo; he said.
+      &ldquo;Permanent residents, I mean. What do they all do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. How do they get a living? They must get it somehow. In the regular
+      summer resorts they squeeze it out of the city people, I know that. But
+      there aren't so many cottagers and boarders here. What do you all do for a
+      living?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I told him that most of masculine Denboro fished or farmed or kept store.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which do you do?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;You said you weren't a boat-builder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not doing anything at present,&rdquo; I replied, shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out of a job?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You might call it that. Is this a part of the business you wished to see
+      me about, Mr. Colton?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was boiling inwardly and a little of the heat was expressed in my tone.
+      I don't know whether he took the hint or merely lost interest in the
+      subject. At any rate his reply was a brief &ldquo;No,&rdquo; and we continued our
+      walk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As we reached the Shore Lane he paused again, and I thought he was about
+      to speak. He did not, however, and we crossed the boundary line of my
+      property and entered the Colton grounds. As we drew nearer to the house I
+      was surprised to see how large it was. When the Atwaters owned it I was an
+      occasional caller there, for old Major Atwater was fond of shooting and
+      sometimes borrowed my decoys. But, since it changed hands, I had not been
+      nearer to it than the Lane. With the new wing and the other additions it
+      was enormous. It fairly reeked of money, though, so far as I was a judge,
+      the taste shown in rebuilding and decorating was good. We turned the
+      corner, where Asa Peters, the head carpenter, came hurrying up. Asa looked
+      surprised enough to see me in company with his employer and regarded me
+      wonderingly. &ldquo;Mr. Colton,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I wanted to ask you about them
+      skylights.&rdquo; I stepped back out of hearing, but I inferred from Colton's
+      actions that the question was another one of the &ldquo;unnecessary&rdquo; ones he had
+      so scornfully referred to in the boathouse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jackass!&rdquo; he exclaimed, as he rejoined me. I judged he was classifying
+      Asa, but, if so, he did not trouble to lower his voice. &ldquo;Come on, Paine,&rdquo;
+       he added, and we passed a long line of windows, hung with costly curtains,
+      and stepped up on a handsome Colonial portico before two big doors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doors were opened by an imposing personage in dark blue and brass
+      buttons, who bowed profoundly before Colton and regarded me with
+      condescending superiority. This personage, whom I recognized, from Alvin's
+      description, as the &ldquo;minister-lookin'&rdquo; butler, led us through a hall about
+      as large as our sitting-room, dining-room and kitchen combined, but
+      bearing no other resemblance to these apartments, and opened another door,
+      through which, bowing once more, he ushered us. Then he closed the door,
+      leaving himself, to my relief, outside. It had been a long time since I
+      was waited upon by a butler and I found this specimen rather overpowering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room we were in was the library, and, though it was bigger and far
+      more sumptuous than the library I remembered so well as a boy, the sight
+      of the books in their cases along the walls gave me a feeling almost of
+      homesickness. My resentment against my millionaire neighbor increased. Why
+      should he and his have everything, and the rest of us be deprived of the
+      little we once had?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Colton seated himself in a leather upholstered chair and waved his hand
+      toward another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down,&rdquo; he said. He took a cigar from his pocket. &ldquo;Smoke?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was a confirmed smoker, but I was not going to smoke one of his cigars&mdash;not
+      then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No thank you,&rdquo; said I. He did not comment on my refusal, but lit the
+      cigar himself, from the stump of his former one. Then he crossed his legs
+      and proceeded, with characteristic abruptness, to his subject.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Paine,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;you own this land next to me, you say. Your property
+      ends at the fence this side of that road we just crossed, doesn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It ends where yours begins,&rdquo; I announced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Just this side of that road.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of the Shore Lane. It isn't a road exactly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't care what you call it. Road or lane or cow-path. It ends there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And it IS your land? It belongs to you, personally, all of it, free and
+      clear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;yes; it does.&rdquo; I could not see what business of his my
+      ownership of that land might be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. I asked that because, if it wasn't yours, if it was tied up or
+      mortgaged in any way, it might complicate matters. But it isn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! Then we can get down to brass tacks and save time. I want a piece
+      of that land.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You want&mdash;?&rdquo; I repeated, slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want a strip of your land. Want to buy it, of course. I don't expect
+      you to give it to me. What's it worth, by the acre, say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. All at once I was beginning to see a light. Captain Jed
+      Dean's mysterious conversation at the post-office was beginning to lose
+      some of its mystery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; asked Colton, impatiently. Then, without waiting longer, he added:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the way, before you name a figure, answer me one more question. That
+      road&mdash;or lane, or whatever it is&mdash;that is yours, too? Doesn't
+      belong to the town?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The light was growing more brilliant. I could see breakers ahead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I replied, slowly. &ldquo;It is a private way. It belongs to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! Well, what's that land of yours worth by the acre?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook my head. &ldquo;I scarcely know,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I've never figured it that
+      way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't care how you figure it. Here, let's get down to a business
+      proposition. I want to buy a strip of that land from the Lower Road&mdash;that's
+      what you call the one above here, isn't it?&mdash;to the beach. The strip
+      I want is about three hundred feet wide, for a guess. It extends from my
+      fence to the other side of that grove by the bluff. What will you sell it
+      for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The breakers were close aboard. However, I dodged them momentarily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you want to buy?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For reasons.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think you had land enough already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought I had, but it seems I haven't. Well, what's your price for that
+      strip?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton, I&mdash;I'm afraid&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind that. I suppose you're afraid you'll make the price too low.
+      Now, see here, I'm a busy man. I haven't time to do any bargaining. Name
+      your price and, if it's anywhere within reason, we won't haggle. I expect
+      to pay more than anyone else would. That's part of my fine for being a
+      city man and not a native. Gad! the privilege is worth the money. I'll pay
+      the fine. What's the price?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why do you want to buy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For reasons of my own, I tell you. They haven't anything to do with your
+      selling.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not so sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean by that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That strip takes in the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, if you buy, I presume the Lane will be closed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at me, surprised, and, I thought, a little annoyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;suppose it is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it will be, won't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You bet your life it will! What of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I don't know that I care to sell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He leaned back in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't care to sell!&rdquo; he repeated, slowly. &ldquo;What the devil do you mean
+      by that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What I said. And, besides, Mr. Colton, I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He interrupted me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why don't you care to sell?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;The land is no good to you, is
+      it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much. No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Are you so rich that you've got all the money you want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was angry all through. I rose from my chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good day, Mr. Colton,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Hold on! Where are you going?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't see that there is any use of our talking further.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No use? Why&mdash;There! there! sit down. It's none of my business how
+      rich you are, and I beg your pardon. Sit down. Sit down, man, I tell you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I sat down, reluctantly. He threw his cigar, which had gone out, into the
+      fireplace and lit another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you surprise me, Paine. What do you mean by saying you
+      won't sell that land? You don't know what I'll pay for it yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then how do you know you won't sell it? I never had anything yet&mdash;except
+      my wife and family&mdash;that I wouldn't sell for a price. Look here! I
+      haven't got time to do any Down-East horse-jockeying. I'll make you an
+      offer. I'll give you five hundred dollars cash for that strip of land.
+      What do you say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I didn't say anything. Five hundred dollars was a generous offer. I
+      couldn't help thinking what Mother and I might do with that five hundred
+      dollars.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you say?&rdquo; he repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I answered, Yankee fashion, with another question. &ldquo;Mr. Colton,&rdquo; I asked,
+      &ldquo;why do you want to close that Shore Lane?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I do. What difference does it make to you why I want to close
+      it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That Lane has been used by Denboro people for years. It is almost a
+      public necessity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He puffed twice on his cigar before he spoke again. When he did it was in
+      a different tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Humph! I see. Paine, does the town pay you rent for the
+      use of that road?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has it been bidding to buy it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is any one else after it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No-o. I think not. But&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You THINK not. That means you're not sure. You've had a bite somewhere.
+      Somebody has been nibbling at your hook. Well, they've got to bite quick
+      and swallow some to get ahead of me. I want that road closed and I'm going
+      to have it closed, sooner or later. I'd prefer it sooner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why do you want to close it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before he could answer there came a knock at the door. The butler
+      appeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon, sir&mdash;&rdquo; he began. His master cut him short.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell 'em to wait,&rdquo; he ordered. &ldquo;I can't see any one now, Johnson. If it
+      is that damned carpenter he can wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn't the carpenter, sir,&rdquo; explained Johnson. &ldquo;It's Mrs. Colton, sir.
+      She wishes to know if you have bought that road. She says three of those
+      'orrid fishcarts have gone by in the last hour, sir, and they are making
+      her very nervous. That's all, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell her I've bought it,&rdquo; snapped the head of the house. &ldquo;Get out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The butler obeyed orders. Colton turned to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You heard that, Paine,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That's my reason, the principal one. I
+      bought this place principally on account of Mrs. Colton's health. The
+      doctors said she needed quiet and rest. I thought she could have them here&mdash;God
+      knows the place looked forsaken enough&mdash;but it appears she can't.
+      Whenever she or I sit on the veranda or at a window we have to watch a
+      procession of jays driving smelly fish carts through that lane of yours,
+      or be stared at by a gang of countrymen hanging over the fence. It's a
+      nuisance. It is bad enough for me or my daughter and our guests, but it
+      will be the ruination of my wife's nerves, and I can't stand for that. You
+      see the position I'm in. You heard what I told that butler. I said I had
+      bought the road. You wouldn't make me a liar, would you? I'll give you
+      five hundred for that bunch of sand. You couldn't get more for it if you
+      sold it by the pound, like tea. Say yes, and close the deal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook my head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand your position, Mr. Colton,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;but I can't say yes.
+      Not now, at any rate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? Isn't five hundred enough?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a good offer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why not accept it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because, if I were certain that I wanted to sell, I could not accept any
+      offer just now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? See here! are you afraid the town will be sore because the road
+      is closed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would be a great inconvenience to them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a greater one to me as it is. Can you afford to be a philanthropist?
+      Are you one of those public-spirited citizens we read about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was sneering now, and my anger, which had lessened somewhat when he
+      spoke of his wife's ill health, was rising again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you?&rdquo; he repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know as to that. But, as I said a while ago, Mr. Colton, I
+      couldn't sell that land to you now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because, if there were no other reason, I promised not to sell it without
+      telling another person first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He threw down his cigar and stood up. I rose also.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; he said, with sarcasm. &ldquo;I knew there was something beside public
+      spirit. You think, by hanging off and playing me against this other
+      sucker, you can get a higher price. Well, if that's the game, I'll keep
+      him busy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took out his watch, glanced at it, and thrust it back into his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've wasted time enough over this fool thing,&rdquo; he declared. &ldquo;Now that I
+      know what the game is we'll talk to the point. It's highway robbery, but I
+      might have expected to be robbed. I'll give you six hundred for that
+      land.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. I was holding my temper by main strength and I could not
+      trust myself to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; he sneered. &ldquo;That shakes your public spirit some, hey? What do you
+      say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I answered, and started for the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; he could hardly believe his ears. &ldquo;By the Lord Harry! the fellow
+      is crazy. Six hundred and fifty then, you infernal robber.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;NO! Say, what in thunder do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that you may go to the devil,&rdquo; I retorted, and reached for the
+      door knob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But before my fingers touched it there was the sound of laughter and
+      voices in the hall. The knob was turned from without. I stepped back and
+      to one side involuntarily, as the door opened and into the library came,
+      not the butler, but a young lady, a girl in an automobile coat and bonnet.
+      And, following her, a young man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father,&rdquo; said the young lady, &ldquo;Johnson says you've bought that horrid
+      road. I'm so glad! When did you do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Congratulations, Mr. Colton,&rdquo; said the young man. &ldquo;We just passed a cart
+      full of something&mdash;seaweed, I believe it was&mdash;as we came along
+      with the car. Oscar had to slow down to squeeze by, and we certainly were
+      swept by ocean breezes. By Jove! I can smell them yet. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The young lady interrupted him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush, Victor,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I beg your pardon, Father. I thought you were
+      alone. Victor, we're intruding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The open door had partially screened me from the newcomers. But Colton,
+      red and wrathful, had not ceased to glare in my direction and she,
+      following his gaze, saw me. She did not recognize me, I think&mdash;probably
+      I had not made sufficient impression upon her mind even for casual
+      remembrance&mdash;but I recognized her. She was the girl with the dark
+      eyes, whose look of contemptuous indifference had so withered my
+      self-esteem. And her companion was the young chap who, from the tonneau of
+      the automobile that morning, had inquired the way to Bayport.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The young man turned lazily. &ldquo;Are we?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&mdash;What! Why, Mabel,
+      it's the humorist!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she recognized me. I could feel the blood climbing from my toes to
+      the roots of my hair. I was too astonished and chagrined to speak or even
+      move, though I wanted to move very much indeed. She looked at me and I at
+      her. Then she turned coldly away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come, Victor,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Victor was his own blase self. It took more than a trifle to shake his
+      calm. He laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the humorist,&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;Reuben, how are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Colton regarded the three of us with amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo; he began. &ldquo;Mabel, do you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But I had recovered my powers of locomotion. I was on my way out of that
+      library.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; shouted Colton. &ldquo;Stop!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not stop. Feeling as I did at that moment it would have been
+      distinctly unpleasant for the person who tried to stop me. The girl was in
+      my way and, as I approached, she drew her skirts aside. No doubt it was my
+      imagination which made her manner of doing it seem like an insult, but,
+      imagination or reality, it was the one thing necessary to clench my
+      resolution. Now when she looked at me I returned the look with interest. I
+      strode through the doorway and across the hall. The butler would have
+      opened the outer door for me, but I opened it myself to the imminent
+      danger of his dignified nose. As I stepped from the portico I heard behind
+      me a roar from Big Jim Colton and a shout of laughter from Victor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I walked home at top speed. Only once did I look back. That was just as I
+      was about to enter the grove on the other side of the Shore Lane. Then I
+      turned and saw, at the big window at the end of the &ldquo;Newport villa,&rdquo; a
+      group of three staring in my direction: Colton, his daughter and that cub
+      Victor. The distance was too great to see the expression of their faces,
+      but I knew that two of them, at least, were laughing&mdash;laughing at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute was waiting for me by the gate and ran to meet me. He was wild with
+      excitement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He came after you, didn't he?&rdquo; he cried, grabbing at my coat sleeve. &ldquo;You
+      went over to his house with him, didn't you! I see you and at fust I
+      couldn't scurcely believe it. What did he want? What did he say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. He ran along beside me, still clinging to my sleeve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did he want?&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;What did he say to you? What did you say
+      to him? Tell a feller, can't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told him to go to the devil,&rdquo; I answered, savagely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute let go of my sleeve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;you&mdash;By time, you're stark loony!&rdquo; he gasped; and
+      collapsed against the gate post.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I went into the house, up the back stairs to my room, and shut the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      So she was his daughter. I might have guessed it; would have guessed it if
+      I had possessed the commonest of common-sense. I might have known that the
+      auto was Colton's. No other machine was likely to be traveling on the
+      Lower Road at that season of the year. She was the pretty daughter of whom
+      Dorinda had spoken to Mother. Well, she was pretty enough; even I had to
+      admit that. But I admitted it grudgingly. I hated her for her beauty and
+      fine clothes and haughty arrogance. She was the incarnation of
+      snobbishness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But to be made twice ridiculous even by the incarnation of snobbishness
+      was galling. She was to be my next-door neighbor; we were likely to meet
+      almost anywhere at any time. When I thought of this and of the two
+      meetings which had already taken place I swore at the blue and white
+      water-pitcher on my bureau because it did not contain water enough to
+      drown me. Not that I would commit suicide on her account. She would not
+      care if I did and certainly I did not care whether she would care or not;
+      but if I were satisfactorily dead I probably should not remember what a
+      fool I had made of myself, or Fate had made of me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why had I not got out of that library before she came? Oh, if not, why
+      hadn't I stayed and told her father, in her hearing, and with dignity,
+      just what I thought of him and his remarks to me? But no; I had run away.
+      She&mdash;or that Victor&mdash;would tell of the meeting at the bridge,
+      and all my independence and the rest of it would be regarded as of a piece
+      with that, just the big-headed &ldquo;smartness&rdquo; of a country boor. In their
+      eyes I was a nuisance, that was all. A disagreeable one, perhaps, like the
+      Shore Lane, but a nuisance, one to laugh at and forget&mdash;if it could
+      not be gotten rid of.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why had I gone with Colton at all? Why hadn't I remained at the boathouse
+      and there told the King of New York to go to the mischief? or words to
+      that effect. But I had, at all events, told him that. In spite of my
+      chagrin I could not help chuckling as I thought of it. To tell Big Jim
+      Colton to go to the devil was, in its way, I imagined, a privilege enjoyed
+      by few. It must have shaken his self-satisfaction a trifle. Well, after
+      all, what did I care? He, and his whole family&mdash;including Victor&mdash;had
+      my permission to migrate in that direction and I wished Old Nick joy of
+      their company.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having derived this much satisfaction from my reflections, I went
+      downstairs. Dorinda was setting the table for supper. She looked at me as
+      I came in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Been visitin', I hear,&rdquo; she observed, wiping an imaginary speck from the
+      corner of a plate with her &ldquo;afternoon&rdquo; apron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said I.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm,&rdquo; said Dorinda. &ldquo;Have a good time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I smiled. &ldquo;I had an interesting one,&rdquo; I told her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm, I judged so, from what Lute said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is Lute?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out in the barn, beddin' down the horse. That is, I told him to do that,
+      but his head was so full of you and what you told him you said to Mr.
+      Colton that I shouldn't be surprised if he's bedded down the hens and was
+      huntin' in the manger for eggs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lute thinks I've gone crazy,&rdquo; I observed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. He was all for fetchin' the doctor right off, but I told him I
+      cal'lated we could bear with your ravin's for a spell. Did you say what he
+      said you said?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. Well, it didn't do any good, did it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good? What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean he didn't obey orders&mdash;Colton, that is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He hadn't when I left.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought not. I never saw any good come from profane language yet; and,
+      besides, judgin' from what I hear about the way that Colton man lives, and
+      what he does on Sundays and all, he'll make the port you sent him to when
+      his time comes. All you need is patience.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I laughed, and she began sorting the plated spoons. We had silver ones,
+      but Dorinda insisted on keeping those to use when we had company. In
+      consequence we used them about twice a year, when the minister came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I ain't askin' you what happened over there or why
+      he wanted to see you. But I give you fair warnin' that, if I don't, Lute
+      will. Lute's so stuffed with curiosity that he's li'ble to bust the
+      stitches any minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell you both, at supper,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm,&rdquo; said Dorinda. &ldquo;Well, I can wait, and Lute'll have to. By the
+      way,&rdquo; she added, seeing me about to enter Mother's room, &ldquo;if it's anything
+      too unpleasant I wouldn't worry Comfort with it. She'll want to know, of
+      course, but I'd sort of smooth the edges.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother did want to know, and I told her, &ldquo;smoothing the edges&rdquo; all I
+      could. I omitted my final order to &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; and I said nothing whatever
+      about his daughter. Mother seemed to think I had done right in refusing to
+      sell, though, as usual, she was ready to make allowances for the other
+      side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor woman,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I suppose the noise of the wagons and all that
+      are annoying to any one with weak nerves. It must be dreadful to be in
+      that condition. I am so sorry for her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She meant it, too. But I, remembering the Colton mansion, what I had seen
+      of it, and contrasting its splendor with the bare necessity of that
+      darkened bedroom, found it hard to spare pity for the sufferer from
+      &ldquo;nerves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You needn't be,&rdquo; I said, bitterly. &ldquo;I imagine she wouldn't think of you,
+      if the conditions were reversed. I doubt if she thinks of any one but
+      herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You shouldn't say that, Roscoe. You don't know. You have never met her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have met the rest of the family. No, Mother, I think you needn't be
+      sorry for that woman. She has everything under the sun. Whereas you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush! hush! There is one thing she hasn't got. She hasn't a son like you,
+      Boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! That must be a terrible deprivation. There! there! Mother, I won't
+      be disagreeable. Let's change the subject. Did Matilda Dean come to see
+      you this afternoon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I presume she was too busy. But, Roscoe, it is plain enough why
+      Captain Dean spoke to you about the Lane at the office this morning. He
+      must have heard, somehow, that Mr. Colton wished to buy it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Or, if he didn't hear just that, he heard enough to make him guess
+      the rest. He is pretty shrewd.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You promised him you wouldn't sell without telling him beforehand. Shall
+      you tell him of Mr. Colton's offer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he asks me, I shall, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder what he will do then. Do you suppose he will try to persuade the
+      Selectmen to buy the Lane for the town?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. I shouldn't wonder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It will be harder to refuse the town's offer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Although the town can't afford to pay Colton's prices. I believe
+      that man would have raised his bid to a thousand, if I had let him. As a
+      matter of business and nothing else, I suppose I am foolish not to push
+      the price as high as possible and then sell. The land is worthless to us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know. But this isn't just a matter of business, is it? And we DON'T
+      need the money. We're not rich, but we aren't poor, are we, Boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. No, of course not. But, Mother, just see what I could do&mdash;for
+      you&mdash;with a thousand dollars. Why, there are so many little things,
+      little luxuries, that you need.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had rather not get them that way. No, Roscoe, I wouldn't sell to Mr.
+      Colton. And I think I wouldn't sell to the town either.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, because we don't have to sell, and selling to either party would
+      make ill-feeling. I should&mdash;of course I'm only a woman; you are a man
+      and know much more about such things than I&mdash;but why not let matters
+      stay just as they are? The townspeople can use the Lane, just as they have
+      always done, and, as I told you before, every one has been so kind to us
+      that I like to feel we are doing a little in return. Let them use the
+      Lane, without cost. Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you think the Coltons would say to that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps they don't understand the real situation. The next time you see
+      Mr. Colton you could explain more fully; tell him what the Lane means to
+      the town, and so on. I'm sure he would understand, if you told him that.
+      And then, if the sight of the wagons was too annoying, he could put up
+      some kind of a screen, or plant a row of fir trees by the fence. Don't you
+      think so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I imagined the great man's reply to such a suggestion. However, I did not
+      express my thoughts. I told Mother not to worry, I was sure everything
+      would be all right, and, as Dorinda called me to supper, I went into the
+      dining-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute was waiting for me at the table, and Dorinda, after taking the tray
+      into Mother's room, joined us. Lute was so full of excitement and
+      curiosity that he almost forgot to eat, a miracle of itself and made
+      greater by the fact that he did not ask a single question until his wife
+      asked one first. Then he asked three in succession. Dorinda, who was quite
+      as curious as he but would not have shown it for the world, stopped him at
+      the beginning of the fourth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! there!&rdquo; she said, sharply, &ldquo;this is supposed to be a meal, not a
+      parrot shop, and we're humans, not a passel of birds on a telegraph wire
+      all hollerin' at once. Drink your tea and stop your cawin', Lute Rogers.
+      Ros'll tell us when he gets ready. What DID Mr. Colton want of you,
+      Roscoe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I told them as much of the interview at the Coltons' as I thought
+      necessary they should know. Lute kept remarkably quiet, for him, until I
+      named the figure offered by the millionaire. Then he could hold in no
+      longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five hundred!&rdquo; he repeated &ldquo;Five hundred DOLLARS for the Shore Lane! Five&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He raised it to six hundred and fifty before I left,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;SIX hundred! Six hundred&mdash;and FIFTY! For the Shore Lane! Six hun&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sshh! shh!&rdquo; cut in Dorinda. &ldquo;You sound like Sim Eldredge sellin'
+      somethin' at auction. DO be quiet! And you told him, Roscoe&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told you what I told him,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. I ain't forgot it. Be quiet, Lute. Well, Roscoe, I cal'late you
+      know your own affairs best, but, judgin' from some hints Matildy Dean hove
+      out when she was here this afternoon, I don't believe you've heard the
+      last from that Shore Lane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Matilda Dean!&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;Why, Mother said Matilda wasn't here to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. Well, she was here, though Comfort didn't know it. I took pains
+      she shouldn't. Matildy come about three o'clock, in the buggy, along with
+      Nellie. Nellie was doin' the drivin', of course, and her mother was
+      tellin' her how, as usual. I don't wonder that girl is such a meek,
+      soft-spoken kind of thing. Between her pa's bullyin' and her ma's tongue,
+      it's a wonder she's got any spirit left. It would be a mercy if George
+      Taylor should marry her and take her out of that house. Matildy had a new
+      book on Spiritu'lism and she was figgerin' to read some of it out loud to
+      Comfort, but I headed her off. I know <i>I</i> wouldn't want to be all
+      stirred up about 'tests' and 'materializations' and such, and so I told
+      her Comfort was asleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She wasn't asleep, neither,&rdquo; declared Lute. &ldquo;What did you tell such a
+      whopper as that for? You're always sailin' into me if I stretch a yarn the
+      least mite. Why, last April Fool Day you give me Hail Columby for jokin'
+      you about a mouse under the kitchen table. Called me all kinds of names,
+      you did&mdash;after you got down off the table.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife regarded him scornfully. &ldquo;It's pretty hard to remember which IS
+      that partic'lar day with you around,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I'd told Comfort she'd
+      ought to take a nap and if she wan't takin' it 'twan't my fault. I wan't
+      goin' to have her seein' her granddad's ghost in every corner. But,
+      anyhow, Matildy made a little call on me, and, amongst the million other
+      things she said, was somethin' about Cap'n Jed hearin' that Mr. Colton was
+      cal'latin' to shut off that Lane. Matildy hinted that her husband and the
+      Selectmen might have a little to say afore 'twas closed. If that's so I
+      guess you may hear from him as well as the Colton man, Roscoe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; I said. I could see no use in repeating my conversation with
+      Captain Jed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goin' to tell the town to go&mdash;where you sent the other one?&rdquo; she
+      asked, dryly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well,&rdquo; with some sarcasm, &ldquo;it must be fine to be in a position
+      where money's no object. I never tried it, myself, but it sounds good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Well, anyhow it looks to me&mdash;Lute, you keep still&mdash;as
+      if there was goin' to be two parties in Denboro afore this Lane business
+      is over. One for the Coltons and one against 'em. You'll have to take one
+      side or the other, won't you, Roscoe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not necessarily.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goin' to set on the fence, hey?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a good place TO sit, isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda smiled, grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If it's the right kind of a fence, maybe 'tis,&rdquo; she observed. &ldquo;Otherwise
+      the pickets are liable to make you uncomf'table after a spell, I presume
+      likely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I went out soon after this, for my evening smoke and walk by the bluff. As
+      I left the dining-room I heard Lute reiterating his belief that I had gone
+      crazy. Colton had said the same thing. I wondered what Captain Jed's
+      opinion would be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whether it was another phase of my insanity or not, I don't know, but I
+      woke the next morning in pretty good spirits. Remembrance of the previous
+      day's humiliations troubled me surprisingly little. They did not seem
+      nearly so great in the retrospect. What difference did it make to me what
+      that crowd of snobs did or said or thought?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      However, there was just enough bitterness in my morning's review of
+      yesterday's happenings to make me a little more careful in my dress. I did
+      not expect to meet my aristocratic neighbors&mdash;I devoutly wished it
+      might be my good luck never to meet any of them again&mdash;but in making
+      selections from my limited wardrobe I chose with more thought than usual.
+      Dorinda noticed the result when I came down to breakfast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Got your other suit on, ain't you,&rdquo; she observed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said I.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goin' anywheres special?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Down to the boathouse, that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! I don't see what you put those blue pants on for. They're awful
+      things to show water spots. Did you leave your brown ones upstairs? Um-hm.
+      Well, I'll get at 'em some time to-day. I noticed they was wearin' a
+      little, sort of, on the bottoms of the legs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had noticed it, too, and this reminder confirmed my suspicions that
+      others had made the same observations.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll try and mend 'em this afternoon,&rdquo; went on Dorinda, &ldquo;if I can find
+      time. But, for mercy's sake, don't spot those all up, for I may not get
+      time, and then you'd have to wear your Sunday ones.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I promised, curtly, to be careful, and, after saying good morning to
+      Mother, I went down to the boathouse and set to work on the engine. It was
+      the only thing in the nature of work that I had to do, but, somehow or
+      other, I did not feel like doing it any more than I had the day before. A
+      little of my good spirits were wearing off, like the legs of my &ldquo;other&rdquo;
+       trousers, and after an hour of intermittent tinkering I threw down the
+      wrench and decided to go for a row. The sun was shining brightly, but the
+      breeze was fresh, and, as my skiff was low in the gunwale and there was
+      likely to be some water flying, I put on an old oilskin &ldquo;slicker&rdquo; and
+      sou-wester before starting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had determined to row across the bay over to the lighthouse, and ask Ben
+      Small, the keeper, if there were any signs of fish alongshore. The pull
+      was a long one, but I enjoyed every stroke of it. The tide was almost
+      full, just beginning to ebb, so there was scarcely any current and I could
+      make a straight cut across, instead of following the tortuous channel. My
+      skiff was a flat bottomed affair, drawing very little, but in Denboro bay,
+      at low tide, even a flat-bottomed skiff has to beware of sand and
+      eel-grass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Small was busy whitewashing, but he was glad to see me. If you keep a
+      lighthouse, the average lighthouse, you are glad to see anybody. He put
+      his brush into the pail and insisted on my coming to the house, because
+      &ldquo;the old woman,&rdquo; his wife, would want to hear &ldquo;all the sewin' circle
+      news.&rdquo; &ldquo;It's the biggest hardship of her life,&rdquo; said Ben, &ldquo;that she has to
+      miss sewin' circle when the bay ices in. Soon's it clears she's at me to
+      row her acrost to the meetin's. I've took her to two this spring, but she
+      missed the last one, on account of this whitewashin', and she's crazy to
+      know who's been talked about now. If anything disgraceful has happened for
+      the land sakes tell her; then she'll he more reconciled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had nothing disgraceful to tell, but Mrs. Small was glad to see me,
+      nevertheless. She brought out doughnuts and beach-plum jelly and insisted
+      on my sampling both, the doughnuts because they were just made and she
+      &ldquo;mistrusted&rdquo; there was too much flour in them, and the jelly because it
+      was some she had left over and she wanted to see if I thought it was
+      &ldquo;keepin'&rdquo; all right. After this, Ben took me out to see his hens, and then
+      we walked to the back of the beach and talked fish. The forenoon was
+      almost gone when I got back to the skiff. The tide had ebbed so far that
+      the lightkeeper and I had to pull the little boat twenty feet to launch
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; said Ben, &ldquo;now you're afloat, ain't you. Cal'late you'll have to
+      go way 'round Robin Hood's barn to keep off the flats. I forgot about the
+      tide or I wouldn't have talked so much. Hello! there's another craft about
+      your size off yonder. Somebody else out rowin'. Two somebodys. My eyes
+      ain't as good for pickin' em out as they used to be, but one of 'em IS a
+      female, ain't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked over my shoulder, as I sat in the skiff and saw, out in the
+      middle of the bay, another rowboat with two people in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That ain't a dory or a skiff,&rdquo; shouted Ben, raising his voice as I pulled
+      away from him. &ldquo;Way she sets out of water I'd call her a lap-streak dingy.
+      If that feller's takin' his girl out rowin' he'll have to work his passage
+      home against this tide . . . Well, so long, Ros. Come again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I nodded a goodby, and settled down for my long row, a good deal longer
+      this time on account of the ebb. There was water enough on this side of
+      the bay, but on the village side the channel made a wide detour and I
+      should be obliged to follow it for nearly a mile up the bay, before
+      turning in behind the long sand bar which made out from the point beyond
+      my boathouse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The breeze had gone down, which made rowing easier, but the pull of the
+      tide more than offset this advantage. However, I had mastered that tide
+      many times before and, except that the delay might make me late for
+      dinner, the prospect did not trouble me. I swung into the channel and set
+      the skiff's bow against the current. Then from the beach I had just left I
+      heard a faint hail. Turning my head, I saw Ben Small waving his arms. He
+      was shouting something, too, but I was too far away to catch the words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The lightkeeper continued to shout and wave. I lifted an oar to show that
+      he had my attention. He recognized the signal, and began pointing out over
+      the water astern of me. I looked where he was pointing. I could not see
+      anything out of the ordinary. Except for my own skiff and the gulls, and
+      the row boat with the two persons in it there was nothing astir on the
+      bay. But Ben kept on waving and pointing. At last I decided that it must
+      be the row boat he was pointing at. I stopped rowing and looked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The row boat was a good distance off and its occupants were but specks.
+      Now one of the specks stood up and waved its arms. So far as I could see,
+      the boat was drifting; there were no flashes of sunlight on wet blades to
+      show that the oars were in use. No, it was drifting, and, as I looked, it
+      swung broadside on. The standing figure continued to wave its arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those people must be in trouble of some sort, I decided, and it was
+      evident that Small thought so, too. There could no imminent danger
+      threaten for, on a day like this, with no sea running, there was nothing
+      to fear in the bay. If, however, they should drift out of the bay it might
+      be unpleasant. And they certainly were drifting. I resigned myself to the
+      indefinite postponement of my dinner, swung the skiff about, and pulled as
+      hard as I could in the direction of the row boat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the tide to help me I made good progress, but, even at that, it took
+      me some time to overtake the drifting craft. She was, as Ben had said, a
+      lap-streaked, keel-bottomed dingy&mdash;good enough as a yacht's tender or
+      in deep water, but the worst boat in the world to row about Denboro bay at
+      low tide. Her high rail caught what breeze there was blowing and this
+      helped to push her along. However, I got within easy hailing distance
+      after a while and called, over my shoulder, to ask what was the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A man's voice answered me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've lost an oar,&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;We're drifting out to sea. Lend us a
+      hand, will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I'll be there in a minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Within the minute I was almost alongside. Then I turned, intending to
+      speak again; but I did not. The two persons in the dingy were Victor&mdash;I
+      did not know his other name&mdash;and Mabel Colton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was wearing the oilskin slicker and had pulled down the brim of my
+      sou'wester to keep the sun from my eyes; therefore they had not recognized
+      me before. And I, busy at the oars and looking over my shoulder only
+      occasionally, had not recognized them. Now the recognition was mutual.
+      Miss Colton spoke first.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Victor!&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;it is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo; asked her companion. Then, looking at me, &ldquo;Oh! it's you, is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. Luck was certainly against me. No matter where I went,
+      on land or water, I was fated to meet these two.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Victor, apparently, was thinking the same thing. &ldquo;By Jove!&rdquo; he observed;
+      &ldquo;Mabel, we seem destined to . . . Humph! Well? Will you give us a hand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The most provoking part of it was that, if I had known who was in that
+      rowboat, I could have avoided the encounter. Ben Small could have gone to
+      their rescue just as well as I. However, here I was, and here they were.
+      And I could not very well go away and leave them, under the circumstances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Victor's patience was giving way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you waiting for?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;Aren't you going to help us?
+      We'll pay you for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I pulled the skiff a little closer and, drawing in my oars, turned and
+      picked up the slack of my anchor rope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here,&rdquo; I said, brusquely; &ldquo;catch this line and I'll tow you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I tossed him the loop of rope and he caught it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What shall I do with it?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold it, just as it is, for the present. What became of your other oar?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lost it overboard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why didn't you throw over your anchor and wait where you were?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I think he had not thought of the anchor, but he did not deign to explain.
+      Instead he began pulling on the rope and the two boats drew together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't do that,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I untied the rope, where it was made fast to the skiff's bow, and with it
+      and the anchor in my hands, scrambled aft and wedged the anchor under the
+      stern thwart of the little craft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;you can pull in the slack until you get to the end. Then
+      make it fast to your bow somewhere.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I suppose he did his best to follow instructions, but the rope was a short
+      one, the end jerked loose suddenly and he went backward in a heap. I
+      thought, for an instant, that he was going overboard and that mine would
+      be the mixed pleasure of fishing him out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Colton gave a little scream, which changed to a ripple of laughter. I
+      might have laughed, too, under different circumstances, but just now I did
+      not feel like it. Besides, the rope, having flown out of his hands, was in
+      the water again and the two boats were drifting apart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you do that for?&rdquo; demanded the fallen one, scrambling to his
+      knees. I heard a sound from the dingy's stern as if the young lady was
+      trying to stifle her merriment. Victor, doubtless, heard it, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are you going?&rdquo; he sputtered, angrily. &ldquo;Give me that rope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I gave it to him, literally gave it, for I pulled alongside and put the
+      end in his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tie it in the bow of your boat,&rdquo; I said. He did so. I drew in the slack
+      until a fair towing length remained and made it fast. While he was busy I
+      ventured to glance at Miss Colton. Her eyes were snapping with fun and she
+      seemed to be enjoying the situation. But, catching my look, her expression
+      changed. She turned away and looked indifferently out to sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I swung the skiff's bow around.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where do you want to go?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Victor answered. &ldquo;Back to Mr. Colton's landing,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Get as much of
+      a move on as you can, will you? I'll make it worth your while.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was as anxious to get there as he was. I did not care for a quarrel, and
+      I knew if he continued to use that tone in his remarks to me I should
+      answer as I felt. I pulled with all my strength, but against the tide
+      towing was hard work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Victor sat on the amidships thwart of the dingy, with his back to me. But
+      Miss Colton, seated in the stern, was facing me and I could not help
+      looking at her. She did not look at me, or, if she did, it was as if I
+      were merely a part of the view; nothing to be interested in, one way or
+      the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was beautiful; there was no doubt of that. Prettier even, in the blue
+      and white boating costume and rough-and-ready white felt hat, than she had
+      seemed when I saw her in the auto or her father's library. She represented
+      the world that I had lost. I had known girls like her. They had not as
+      much money as she, perhaps, but they were just as well-bred and refined,
+      and almost as pretty. I had associated with them as an equal. I wondered
+      what she would say, or think, if she knew that. Nothing, probably; she
+      would not care enough to think at all. It did not matter to me what she
+      thought; but I did wish I had not put on those fool oilskins. I must look
+      more like a country longshoreman than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If I had any doubts about it they were dispelled when I had rowed the two
+      boats up the bay until we were abreast the Colton mansion. Then Victor,
+      who had been talking in a low tone with his fellow passenger in the dingy,
+      looked at the distant shore and, over his shoulder, at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Where are you going? That's the landing over there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;But we shall have to go around that flat. We can't
+      cross here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why? What's the reason we can't?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because there isn't water enough. We should get aground.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood up to look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;There's plenty of water. I can't see any flat, or
+      whatever you call it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's there, though you can't see it. It is covered with eelgrass and
+      doesn't show. We shall have to go a half mile further before we turn in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A half mile! Why, confound it! it's past one o'clock now. We haven't any
+      time to waste.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sorry, but we can't cross yet. And, if I were you, I shouldn't stand
+      up in that boat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paid no attention to this suggestion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are half a dozen boats, bigger than these, by the landing,&rdquo; he
+      declared. &ldquo;There is water enough for them. What are you afraid of? We
+      haven't any time to waste, I tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. Silence, on my part, was the safest thing just then. I
+      continued rowing up the bay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Colton spoke to him and he sat down, a proceeding for which I was
+      thankful. They whispered together for a moment. Then he turned to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;this lady and I have an appointment. We must get
+      ashore. Go straight in. If you're afraid I'll take the risk. If there is
+      any danger I'll pay for that, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no question of risk. It was a certainty. I knew that channel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We can't cross here,&rdquo; I said, shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, confound you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Victor!&rdquo; cautioned Miss Colton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush, Mabel! This is ridiculous. You and I saw two boats go straight out
+      from the beach this morning. We went out that way ourselves. Here you&mdash;Paine,
+      or whatever your name is&mdash;we've had enough of this. I've hired you to
+      take us ashore, and I want to go there and not a half mile in another
+      direction. Will you do as I tell you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the dingy and the other boats crossed the flat the tide had been
+      hours higher, of course; but I was in no mood to explain&mdash;to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said, shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You won't? Then you give me an oar and I'll row the rest of the way
+      myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There were only two oars in the skiff, but I could get on perfectly well
+      with one. And it would serve him beautifully right to let him go. But
+      there was the girl. I hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me that oar,&rdquo; he repeated, angrily. &ldquo;You won't? Then, by Jove, I'll
+      do without it. Stop! Stop where you are! do you understand. We don't
+      require your services any longer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned and began untying the tow line. I stopped rowing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Colton looked troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Victor!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;What are you doing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know what I'm doing. Can't you see this fellow's game? The longer the
+      row the higher his price, that's all. He can't work me. I've seen his kind
+      before. Don't be frightened. If we can't do anything else we can anchor
+      and wait until they see us from the house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Idiot! At that point the channel was deep and the bottom soft mud. I
+      doubted if his anchor would touch and, if it did, I knew it would not
+      hold. I backed water and brought the skiff alongside the dingy, the rail
+      of which I seized and held.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep off!&rdquo; ordered Victor, still fumbling with the rope. &ldquo;We don't want
+      your help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I wasted no breath on him. I addressed my remarks to the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;will you listen to me, please. You can't anchor
+      here because your anchor will not hold. And you can't cross that flat at
+      this stage of the tide. I can give you an oar, of course, but it won't do
+      any good. My oars are too light and small for your boat. Unless you wish
+      to drift back where you were, or beyond, you must let me tow you around
+      the head of this flat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I don't know what answer she might have made. None, perhaps; although I am
+      sure she was listening. But Victor, who had succeeded in untying the tow
+      line, cut in ahead of her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mabel,&rdquo; he warned, &ldquo;don't pay any attention to him. Didn't your father
+      tell us what he was? There!&rdquo; throwing the end of the rope overboard and
+      addressing me; &ldquo;now, you may clear out. We've done with you. Understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at Miss Colton. But I might as well have looked at an iceberg. I
+      slid one of my oars over into the dingy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There you are,&rdquo; I said, grimly. &ldquo;But I warn you that you're in for
+      trouble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I let go of the rail and the boats fell apart. Victor seized the borrowed
+      oar with a triumphant laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your bluff wouldn't work, would it, Reuben,&rdquo; he sneered. &ldquo;I'll send you
+      the oar and your pay later. Now, Mabel, sit tight. I'll have you ashore in
+      fifteen minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He began rowing toward the weed-covered flat. I said nothing. I was
+      furiously angry and it was some moments before I recovered self-possession
+      sufficiently to get my remaining oar over the skiff's stern and, by
+      sculling, hold her against the tide. Then I watched and waited.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not a long wait. Victor was in difficulties almost from the
+      beginning. The oar belonging to the dingy was a foot longer than the one I
+      had given him and he zig-zagged wildly. Soon he was in the edge of the
+      eelgrass and &ldquo;catching crabs,&rdquo; first on one side, then on the other. The
+      dingy's bow slid up on the mud. He stood up to push it off, and the stern
+      swung around. Getting clear, he took a fresh start and succeeded only in
+      fouling again. This time he got further into the tangle before he
+      grounded. The bow rose and the stern settled. There was a mighty
+      splashing, as Victor pushed and tugged, but the dingy stuck fast. And
+      there she would continue to stick for four hours unless I, or some one
+      else, helped her off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not want to help. In fact, I looked all up and down the bay before I
+      made a move. But it was dinner time and there was not another soul afloat.
+      More than that, I noticed, as I had not noticed before, that brown clouds&mdash;wind
+      clouds&mdash;were piling up in the west, and, if I was anything of a
+      prophet, we would have squalls and dirty weather long before those four
+      hours were over. And the dingy, in that position, was not safe to face a
+      blow. No, as the small boys say, it was &ldquo;up to me.&rdquo; I wished it was not,
+      but it was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So again I went to the rescue, but this time in an entirely different
+      frame of mind. My anger and resentment had settled to a cold
+      determination, and this trip was purely business. I was not at a
+      disadvantage now, as I had been when I first met that girl and her friend,
+      in &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; Colton's library. I was master of this situation and master I
+      intended to be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I sculled the skiff straight in to the edge of the flat, at a point where
+      the bank sloped sharply to deep water. I threw over my anchor, shortened
+      the rope and made it fast. Then I stepped out into water above my shoe
+      tops and waded toward the dingy. The water was icy cold, but I did not
+      know it at the time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I splashed through the eelgrass. Victor saw me coming and roared an angry
+      protest. He was still trying to push the boat off with an oar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;You keep away. We don't want you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not care what he wanted. I splashed alongside the dingy and looked
+      at her and the position she was in. My mind was made up instantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll never get her off if you both stay aboard,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Let the lady
+      move amidships and you get out and wade.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He glared at me as if I were as crazy as Colton or Lute had declared me to
+      be. Then he laughed contemptuously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You go back where you came from,&rdquo; he ordered. &ldquo;I'm running this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I've noticed that. Now I'll state the facts as plainly as I can.
+      This boat is fast aground in the mud, the tide is still going out, and
+      there are squalls coming. She must be got off or there may be danger. You
+      can't get her off until she is lightened. Will you get out and wade?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not answer; instead he continued to push with the oar. I turned to
+      the girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I must ask you to stand up. Be careful when you
+      rise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She made no move, nor did she reply. The look she gave me was enough.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must stand up,&rdquo; I repeated, firmly. &ldquo;Either your&mdash;this gentleman&mdash;must
+      get out, as I tell him to, or I shall have to carry you to my skiff. We
+      haven't any time to spare.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gazed at me in blank astonishment. Then the color flamed in her cheeks
+      and her eyes flashed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We don't wish your help,&rdquo; she said, icily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sorry, but that makes no difference. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Victor whirled on me, the oar in his hands. I thought for an instant he
+      was going to strike me with it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You blackguard!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Will you go away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at him and then at her. It had to be done, and my mind was made
+      up to do it. I waded in until the water was almost to my knees, and I was
+      abreast the stern of the stranded boat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I am going to carry you to my skiff. Are you
+      ready?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;Why!&mdash;&rdquo; she breathed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I stooped, lifted her in my arms, and ploughed through the weeds and
+      water. The mud was soft and my feet sank into it. She struggled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must keep still,&rdquo; I said, sharply, &ldquo;or I shall drop you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gasped, but she stopped struggling. From behind me I heard a roar of
+      rage from Victor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I carried her to the anchored skiff and, plunging in still deeper, seated
+      her on the stern thwart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit there, please, and don't move,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I shall be back as soon as
+      I've got your boat afloat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I waded back to the dingy. Victor was frantic, but he did not disturb me.
+      The worst of my unpleasant job was over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now sit down,&rdquo; I ordered. &ldquo;Do you hear me? Sit down and sit still.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;you&mdash;&rdquo; he stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because if you don't sit down,&rdquo; I continued serenely, &ldquo;you're likely to
+      tumble overboard. I'm going to push this boat off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The first push helped to make up his mind. He sat, involuntarily. I pushed
+      with all my might and, slowly and jerkily, the dingy slid off the shoal.
+      But there were others all about. With one hand on the bow I guided her
+      between them and to the edge of the channel. Then, wading along the
+      slippery bank, I brought her to the skiff. My passenger had been making
+      remarks in transit, but I paid no attention to them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I made the rope fast for towing, took my oar from the dingy, pulled up the
+      skiff's anchor and climbed aboard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit where you are,&rdquo; I said to Victor. &ldquo;Miss Colton, please keep as still
+      as possible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I ventured to look at her as I said this, but I looked but once. All the
+      way home I kept my gaze fixed on the bottom boards of the skiff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I made the landing just in time. In fact, the squall struck before I was
+      abreast the Colton place. The channel beyond the flat, which we had so
+      lately left, was whipped to whitecaps in a moment and miniature breakers
+      were beating against the mud bank where the dingy had grounded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Under the high bluff it was calm enough. The tide was too low to make use
+      of the little wharf, so I beached the skiff and drew the towed boat in by
+      the line. I offered to assist Miss Colton ashore, but she, apparently, did
+      not see my proffered hand. Victor scrambled out by himself. No one said
+      anything. I untied the rope and pulled it in. Then I prepared to push off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; growled Victor. &ldquo;Wait a minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked up. He was standing at the edge of the water, with one hand in
+      his pocket. Miss Colton was behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't paid you yet,&rdquo; he said, sullenly. &ldquo;How much?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; I asked. I knew, of course, but it pleased me to make
+      him say it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, how much for towing us in? What's your price? Come, hurry up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't any price. I'm not in the salvage business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not&mdash;Say, don't bargain. What's your price, I ask you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, of course. Very glad to have been of assistance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I took up my oars.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Stop! hold on! Confound you! do you suppose we don't
+      intend to pay you for this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook my head. &ldquo;It has been a pleasure,&rdquo; I said, sweetly. &ldquo;Good day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I rowed off, but all the way down to my boathouse I smiled contentedly. I
+      had seen the look on Mabel Colton's face. I rather thought I had evened
+      the account between us; at least I had reduced the balance a trifle. This
+      time it was not I who appeared ridiculous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda saw me when I entered the kitchen. Her hands were upraised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My soul and body!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;LOOK at them pants! LOOK at 'em! And I
+      ain't had time to put a needle to your other ones yet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The rain, which I expected would follow the squall, did not come until
+      late that night, and it was still falling heavily the next morning. It was
+      a warm rain, however, and, after breakfast, I walked up to the village. I
+      said nothing, even to Mother, about the happenings in the bay, and
+      Dorinda, who had asked many sarcastic questions concerning the state of my
+      blue trousers&mdash;if I had &ldquo;mistook 'em for a bathin' suit&rdquo; and the like&mdash;seemed
+      satisfied with my hurried explanation that I had gotten overboard. &ldquo;Though
+      how you fell in feet fust,&rdquo; she observed, &ldquo;I don't see.&rdquo; She had mended my
+      brown pair, sitting up until after two to do so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute informed me that he had been up to the post-office. &ldquo;Everybody's
+      talkin' about them Coltons,&rdquo; he declared. &ldquo;I see their automobile last
+      night, myself. The Colton girl, she come into the store. My! she's a
+      stunner, ain't she! Sim waited on her, himself, and gave her the mail. She
+      wanted to buy some cheese&mdash;for a rabbit, she said. I never heard of
+      feeding a rabbit on cheese, did you, Ros?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I replied, laughing. It was not worth while to explain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor nobody else, but her! I guess,&rdquo; continued Lute, &ldquo;likely she was just
+      jokin'. Anyhow, Sim was all out of cheese, but he had some nice print
+      butter, just in. She didn't want no butter, though.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; sniffed Dorinda. &ldquo;Did Sim Eldredge cal'late she wanted to feed
+      the rabbit butter? Was the Colton girl alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. There was a young feller with her; the one that's visitin' 'em.
+      Carver his name is&mdash;Victor Carver. Did you ever hear such a name in
+      your life? Afore I'd name a child of mine Victor!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. Well, I wouldn't waste time worryin' about that, if I was you.
+      Look here, Lute Rogers, you didn't say anything about Roscoe's talk with
+      Mr. Colton, did you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no! no, no! Course I didn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You sure?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. 'Taint likely I would, would I? Cap'n Jed was on hand, as usual, and
+      he was full of questions, but he didn't get anything out of me. 'What did
+      Colton say to Ros?' he says. 'How do I know what he said?' says I. 'I
+      wan't there, was I?' 'Where was you that forenoon?' he says. 'Forenoon!'
+      says I, 'that shows how much you know about it. 'Twas three o'clock in the
+      afternoon.' Oh, I had the laugh on him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda looked at me and shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's too bad, Roscoe,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;But I was afraid of it as soon as I
+      found he'd sneaked off to the post-office. I cal'late it's all over town
+      by now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean by that?&rdquo; Lute's dignity was outraged. &ldquo;All over town! I
+      never told him nothin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Only that Ros and Mr. Colton were together and 'twas three o'clock in
+      the afternoon. And goodness knows how much more! DO be quiet! Seems
+      sometimes as if I should lose patience with you altogether. Is this Carver
+      the Colton girl's young man? Are they engaged?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. I guess he's keepin' company with her, by the looks. I got
+      as nigh to 'em as I could, but I didn't hear much they said. Only, just as
+      they was goin' out, he said somethin' about goin' for a little spin in the
+      car. She said no, her father would want his letters. Carver, he said, why
+      not send Oscar home&mdash;that's the chauffeur, you know&mdash;with the
+      letters, and he'd run the car himself. She kind of laughed, and said she
+      guessed not, she'd taken one trip with him already that day and she didn't
+      believe she cared for another. He seemed kind of put out about it, I
+      thought.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had been feeling rather provoked at Lute for giving Captain Jed the
+      information concerning my interview with Colton; but, somehow, this other
+      bit of news restored my good humor. When I started for the village I did
+      not take the short cut across the fields, but followed my regular route,
+      the path by the bluff and the Shore Lane. I was no longer fearful of
+      meeting my new neighbors. The memory of the happenings in the bay was a
+      delightful solace to my wounded self-respect. I chuckled over it as I
+      walked through the dripping pines of the little grove. No matter how
+      contemptuously indifferent that girl might pretend to be she would not
+      forget what had taken place; that she had been obliged to obey my orders;
+      that I had carried her to that skiff; that I had saved her from a danger&mdash;not
+      a great danger, and against her will, of course&mdash;but saved her
+      nevertheless. She was under an obligation to me; she could not help
+      herself. How that must gall her. I remembered the look on her face as I
+      rowed away. Sweet was revenge. And Victor&mdash;Victor was a joke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When I reached the Lane I looked over at the Colton mansion. The rain had
+      given the carpenters and painters an enforced holiday, and, except for the
+      chauffeur, whom I could see through the open door of the garage, there was
+      no one in sight. I think I was a little disappointed. If &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; had
+      appeared and hailed me with another offer for the land I should not have
+      dodged. I was ready for him. But neither he, or any one else, appeared and
+      I walked on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the Corners, Sim Eldredge shouted to me from the platform of his store.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hi, Ros!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;You! Ros Paine! come here a minute, will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not want to see him. I had intended avoiding the post-office
+      altogether. But I crossed to the platform.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Ros,&rdquo; he asked eagerly, &ldquo;what's this about you and Mr. Colton?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was annoyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, you know, don't you? He come to see you and you went to see him over
+      to his house. You had a reg'lar argument, I understand. About the Shore
+      Lane, wan't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who told you that?&rdquo; I inquired, sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, nobody told me, exactly. Lute Rogers and Cap'n Jed was here last
+      night and they got a-goin' as usual. The Cap'n does love to stir up Lute,
+      and he commenced hintin' about somethin' of the kind. I don't know as they
+      was hints, either, but Lute thought they was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He grinned. I understood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Well, what did Lute say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose he'd say he never said a word, but after he'd gone there was a
+      kind of general sentiment that Colton wanted to buy the Shore Lane land
+      off you, and that you and he had some words about it. Anyhow, you didn't
+      sell the land, did you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose I did, or didn't; what of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, nothin', nothin'. Only, I tell you, Ros&mdash;&rdquo; he looked carefully
+      about to make sure no one was listening; &ldquo;I tell you; it's just this way.
+      I can understand how you feel about it. You know Dean and some of the
+      others are sore on Mr. Colton 'cause he's got more money than they have,
+      and they want to make all the trouble for him they can. Jed's got an idea
+      that he's after that Lane, to close it off, and he's stirrin' up sentiment
+      against its bein' closed. He's talkin' about the town buyin' it. Now of
+      course I know your position. You want to get just as high a price as you
+      can afore you sell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's my position, is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would be the position of any sensible man, wouldn't it? I don't blame
+      you. Now, what I wanted to say was this.&rdquo; He bent forward and lowered his
+      voice to a whisper. &ldquo;Why don't you let me handle this thing for you? I can
+      do it better'n you. I see Cap'n Jed every night, you might say. And I see
+      consider'ble of Mr. Colton. He knows I'm postmaster in this town and sort
+      of prominent. All the smart folks ain't in the Board of Selectmen. I'll
+      keep you posted; see? You just set back and pretend you don't want to sell
+      at all. Colton, he'll bid and Jed and his gang'll bid. I'll tell each what
+      the other bids, and we'll keep her jumpin'. When we get to the last jump,
+      we'll sell&mdash;and not afore. Of course Mr. Colton 'll get it, in the
+      end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, he will! What makes you think so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What makes me think so? Don't be foolish. Ain't he a millionaire? How can
+      Denboro stand up against a millionaire? I tell you, Ros, it's money counts
+      in this world, and it pays to stand in with them that's got it. I'm goin'
+      to stand in with Mr. Colton. But I'll pretend to stand in with Dean just
+      as much. I can help a whole lot. Why, I shouldn't wonder if, between us,
+      we could get&mdash;er&mdash;er&mdash;I don't know how much, for that land.
+      What do you say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I smiled. &ldquo;It's very kind of you, Sim, to be willing to go to so much
+      trouble on my account,&rdquo; I observed. &ldquo;I didn't know there was such
+      disinterested kindness in Denboro.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sim seemed a bit put out. &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; he stammered, &ldquo;I&mdash;I&mdash;of course
+      I presumed likely you'd be willin' to pay me a little commission&mdash;or&mdash;or&mdash;somethin'.
+      I thought I might be a sort of&mdash;er&mdash;agent for you. I've handled
+      consider'ble real estate in my time&mdash;and&mdash;you see what I mean,
+      don't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I said, drily; &ldquo;I see. Well, Sim, if I decide to engage an agent
+      I'll let you know. Good morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, hold on, Ros! I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not &ldquo;hold on.&rdquo; I walked across the road and entered the bank. Alvin
+      Baker met me in the vestibule. He seized my hand and shook it violently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I declare,&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;it does me good to shake hands with a feller
+      that's got the grit you have. It does so! We're all proud of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Much obliged, Alvin, I'm sure. But why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He winked and nudged me with his elbow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know why, all right,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Wouldn't sell him the land,
+      would you? Tell me: Did he make you a real bid for it? Lute as much as
+      said he did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a person who had told nothing, Lute seemed to have &ldquo;as much as said&rdquo; a
+      good many things. I shook my head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you think I shouldn't sell the land?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Course you shouldn't&mdash;not to him. Ain't there such things as public
+      spirit and independence? But I'll tell you somethin' more, Ros,&rdquo;
+       mysteriously. &ldquo;You may have a chance to sell it somewhere else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir-ee! indeed! There's other public-spirited folks in Denboro as
+      well as you. I know who they be and I stand in with 'em pretty close, too.
+      I'm goin' to help you all I can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's very kind of you, Alvin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no. I'm glad to do it. Shan't charge you nothin', neither.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's kinder still.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, 'tain't. . . Hold on a minute, Ros. Don't go. As I say, I'm goin' to
+      work tooth and nail to get the town to buy that Lane property of yours.
+      I'll stick out for you're gettin' a good price for it. I'll use all my
+      influence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You needn't thank me. It's a matter of principle. We'll show these city
+      folks they ain't the whole ship, cargo and all. . . . Hold on a second
+      more. Ros, I&mdash;er&mdash;I wonder if you'd do a little favor for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it, Alvin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, it's this way. I've got a note here in the bank; put it there when I
+      bought the power engine for my cat-boat. Hundred and fifty dollars, 'tis.
+      You're a pretty good friend of George Taylor, cashier here, and I was
+      wonderin' if you'd mind puttin' in a word with him about my gettin' it
+      renewed when it comes due. Just tell him you think I'm all right, and a
+      good risk, or somethin' like that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could not help smiling. Alvin seemed to find encouragement in the smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George thinks consider'ble of you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And Captain Jed&mdash;he's
+      one of the directors&mdash;he will, too, now that you've stood up to
+      Colton. Just put in a word for me, will you? And don't forget I'm a friend
+      of yours, and I'm strong for your gettin' a good, fair price from the
+      town. Remember that, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I won't forget, Alvin. Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I left him and went into the bank. Henry Small, the bookkeeper, was at his
+      desk. I walked over to speak to him, but he, looking up from his figures,
+      spoke first. There was, or so it seemed to me, a different note in his
+      greeting. It was more hearty, I thought. Certainly he regarded me with a
+      new and curious interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Morning, Ros,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Well, how are you these days?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I answered that I was well, and was moving on but he detained me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lively times ahead, hey,&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What sort of times?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He winked. &ldquo;I guess you know, if anybody does,&rdquo; he observed. &ldquo;All right,
+      you'll have good friends on your side. I ain't saying anything, of course,
+      but I'm on, all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He winked again. I walked back to the cashier's window. Taylor had,
+      evidently, seen me talking with the bookkeeper, for he was standing by the
+      little gate, waiting for me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Ros,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Glad to see you. Come in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      George Taylor was a type of smart country boy grown to manhood in the
+      country. His tone, like his manner, was sharp and quick and businesslike,
+      but he spoke with the Down-East twang and used the Cape phrases and
+      metaphors. He was younger than I, but he looked older, and, of late, it
+      had seemed to me that he was growing more nervous. We shook hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Glad to see you,&rdquo; he said again. &ldquo;I was hoping you'd drift in. I presumed
+      likely you might. Sit down.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I took the proffered chair. He looked at me with much the same curious
+      interest that Small had shown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've been hearing about you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You've been getting yourself
+      talked about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I mentally cussed Lute once more for his loquacity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll break the fellow's neck,&rdquo; I declared, with emphasis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed. &ldquo;Don't do that yet awhile,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The market is in bad
+      enough shape as it is. If his neck was broke the whole of Wall Street
+      would go to pot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wall Street? What in the world has Lute got to do with Wall Street?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lute! Oh, I see! Yes, Lute's been doing considerable talking, but it
+      ain't his neck I mean. Say, Ros, what did you do to him, anyway? You
+      stirred him up some, judging by what he said to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who said? What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Colton. He was in here yesterday. Opened what he called a household
+      account; that was his main business. But he asked about you, along with
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This explained some things. It was clear now why Small had appeared so
+      interested. &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You bet he did. Wanted to know if I knew you, and what you were, and so
+      on. I told him I knew you pretty well. 'What sort of a fellow is he? A
+      damn fool?' he asked. I strained the truth enough to say you were a pretty
+      good fellow and a long ways from that kind of a fool, according to my
+      reckoning. 'Umph!' says he. 'Is he rich?' I told him I guessed you wan't
+      so rich that you got round-shouldered lugging your money. 'Why?' says I,
+      getting curious. 'Have you met him, Mr. Colton? If you have you ought to
+      have sized him up yourself. I always heard you were a pretty fair judge.'
+      He looked at me kind of funny. 'I thought I was,' says he, 'but you seem
+      to raise a new variety down here.' Then I guess he thought he'd said
+      enough. At any rate, he walked off. What did you and he say to each other,
+      Ros?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer immediately. When I did the answer was non-committal.
+      &ldquo;Oh, we had a business interview,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He nodded. &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he observed, &ldquo;I suppose it's your affair and not mine.
+      But, I tell you this, Ros: if it's what I suppose it is, it'll be
+      everybody's affair pretty soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think so, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know so. Cap'n Jed's a fighter and he is on the war path. The two sides
+      are lining up already. Whichever way you decide you'll make enemies, of
+      course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shrugged my shoulders. The prospect of enemies, more or less, in
+      Denboro, did not trouble me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you'll have to decide,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;who you'll sell to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or not sell at all,&rdquo; I suggested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you afford to do that? There'll be money&mdash;a whole lot of money&mdash;in
+      this before it's over, if I know the leaders on both sides. You've got the
+      whip-hand. There'll be money in it. Can you afford to let it slip?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. Suddenly his expression changed. He looked haggard and
+      care-worn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the Almighty,&rdquo; he said, between his teeth, and without looking at me,
+      &ldquo;I wish I had your chance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, nothing, nothing. . . . How's your mother nowadays?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I told him that my mother was much as usual, and we talked of various
+      things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the way,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I've got some news for you. Nothing surprising. I
+      guess all hands have seen it coming. I'm engaged to be married.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good!&rdquo; said I, with as much heartiness as I could answer; marriage did
+      not interest me. &ldquo;Congratulations, George. Nellie Dean, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm glad for you. And for her. She'll make you a good wife, I'm sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He drew a long breath. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said slowly, &ldquo;Nellie's a good girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When is the&mdash;what do they call it? the happy event to take place?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the fall some time, if all goes well. I hope it will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Yes, I should think you might hope as much as that. Why shouldn't
+      it go well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hey? Oh, of course it will!&rdquo; He laughed and rose from his chair as
+      several men came into the bank. &ldquo;I'll have to leave you, Ros,&rdquo; he said.
+      &ldquo;There's a directors' meeting this morning. They're coming now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As I passed out of the gate and through the group of directors I noticed
+      that they also regarded me with interest. Two, men from neighboring towns
+      whom I scarcely knew, whispered to each other. Captain Elisha Warren shook
+      hands with me and inquired concerning Mother. The last of the group was
+      Captain Jedediah Dean, and he touched me on the shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros,&rdquo; he whispered, &ldquo;you're all right. Understand? I say you're all
+      right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; I answered, briefly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I heard about it,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Ase Peters said the Grand Panjandrum
+      was cranky as a shark with the toothache all day yesterday. You must tell
+      me the yarn when we get together. I missed you when I called just now, but
+      I'll be down again pretty soon. You won't lose nothin' by this. So long.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As I came down the bank steps Sim Eldredge called across the road.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-by, Ros,&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Come in again next time you're up street.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In all my period of residence in Denboro I had never before been treated
+      like this. People had never before gone out of their way to shake hands
+      with me. No one had considered it worth while to ask favors of me. Sim and
+      Alvin were not to be taken seriously, of course, and both were looking
+      after their own pocketbooks, but their actions were straws proving the
+      wind to be blowing in my direction. I thought, and smiled scornfully, that
+      I, all at once, seemed to have become a person of some importance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But my scorn was not entirely sincere. There was a certain gratification
+      in the thought. I might pretend&mdash;I had pretended&mdash;that Denboro
+      opinion, good or bad, was a matter of complete indifference to me. I had
+      assumed myself a philosopher, to whom, in the consciousness of right, such
+      trifles were of no consequence. But, philosophy or not, the fact remained
+      that I was pleased. People might dislike me&mdash;as that lofty Colton
+      girl and her father disliked me, though they could dislike me no more than
+      I did them&mdash;but I could compel them to respect me. They already must
+      think of me as a man. And so on&mdash;as I walked home through the wet
+      grass. It was all as foolish and childish and ridiculous as it well could
+      be. I deserved what was coming to me&mdash;and I got it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For, as I came down the Lane, I met Oscar, the chauffeur, and a companion,
+      whom I judged to be a fellow servant&mdash;the coachman, I learned
+      afterwards&mdash;walking in the direction of the village. The rain had
+      ceased, but they wore natty raincoats and caps and had the city air of
+      smartness which I recognized and envied, even in them. The footpath was
+      narrow, but they apparently had no intention of stepping to one side, so I
+      made way for them. They whispered together as they approached and looked
+      at me curiously as we passed. A few steps further on I heard them both
+      burst out laughing. I caught the words, from Oscar, &ldquo;fool Rube&rdquo; and &ldquo;the
+      old man'll make him look&mdash;&rdquo; I heard no more, but as I turned into the
+      grove I saw them both looking after me with broad grins on their faces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Somebody has said that there is nothing harder to bear than the contempt
+      and ridicule of servants. For one thing, you cannot resent it without a
+      loss of dignity, and, for another, you may be perfectly sure that theirs
+      is but the reflection of their employers' frame of mind. This encounter
+      shook my self-satisfaction more than a little. It angered me, but it did
+      more than that; it brought back the feeling I had when I left the Colton
+      library, that my defiance was not, after all, taken seriously. That I was
+      regarded by Colton as just what Oscar had termed me, a &ldquo;fool Rube.&rdquo; When
+      George Taylor told me of the great man's questions concerning my
+      foolishness, I accepted the question as a tribute to my independence. Now
+      I was not so sure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda met me at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've had two callers,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So? Who were they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One of 'em was Cap'n Jed. He drove down just after you left. He come to
+      see you about that land, I cal'late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes. I remember he told me he missed me this morning. So he came
+      here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. Him and me had a little talk. He seemed to know consider'ble about
+      your rumpus with Mr. Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did he know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He wouldn't say, but I wouldn't wonder if he got a lot from Ase Peters.
+      Ase and he are pretty thick; he's got a mortgage on Ase's house, you know.
+      And Ase, bein' as he's doin' the carpenterin' over to Colton's, hears a
+      lot from the servants, I s'pose likely. Leastways, if they don't tell all
+      their bosses' affairs they're a new breed of hired help, that's all I've
+      got to say. Cap'n Jed says Mr. Colton cal'lates you're a fool.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. So I've heard. What did the Captain say to that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seemed to think 'twas a pretty good joke. He said he didn't care how big
+      a fool you was so long's you was feeble-minded on the right side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So there it was again. My imagined importance in the eyes of the
+      townspeople simmered down to about that. I was an imbecile, but they must
+      pretend to believe me something else because I owned something they
+      wanted. Well, I still owned it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; continued Dorinda, &ldquo;I didn't tell him you was figgerin' not
+      to sell the land at all. If I had, I s'pose he'd have thought&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped short.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You suppose what?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, nothin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had said enough. I could guess the rest. I walked to the window and
+      stood, looking out. The clouds were breaking and, as I stood there, a ray
+      of sunlight streamed through a rift and struck the bay just at the spot
+      where the dingy had grounded. The shallow water above the flat flashed
+      into fire. I am not superstitious, as a general thing, but the sight
+      comforted me. It seemed like an omen. There was the one bright spot in the
+      outlook. There, at least, I had not behaved like a &ldquo;fool Rube.&rdquo; There I
+      had compelled respect and been taken seriously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda spoke again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You ain't asked who your other caller was,&rdquo; she observed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was there another?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. I told you there was two. After Cap'n Jed left that chauffeur
+      feller from the big house come here. He fetched a note for you. Here
+      'tis.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I took the note. It was addressed to me in a man's handwriting, not that
+      of &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; Colton. I opened the envelope and read:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Roscoe Paine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir: The enclosed is in payment for your work. No receipt is necessary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yours truly,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      B. VICTOR CARVER.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The &ldquo;enclosed&rdquo; was a five-dollar bill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I stood staring at the note. Then I began to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the joke?&rdquo; asked Dorinda, who had not taken her eyes from my face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This,&rdquo; said I, handing her the money. She looked at it in astonishment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm,&rdquo; she said, drily. &ldquo;Well, I&mdash;well, a five-dollar bill may be a
+      joke to you, but <i>I</i> ain't familiar enough with one to laugh at it.
+      You don't laugh as if 'twas awful funny, either. Who's the joke on?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's on me, just now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. I'd be willin' to be joked ten times a day, at that price. And I'd
+      undertake to laugh heartier than you're doin', too. What's it for? the
+      money, I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's for some 'work' I did yesterday.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was more astonished than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Work! You?&rdquo; she exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. But don't worry; I shan't do it again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Land! THAT wouldn't worry me. What sort of work was it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I&mdash;I picked up something adrift in the bay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. I see. Somethin' belongin' to the Coltons, I s'pose likely. Why
+      won't you do it again? Ain't they paid you enough?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again I laughed. &ldquo;They have paid me too much,&rdquo; I said, bitterly. &ldquo;What I
+      picked up wasn't worth the money.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      And that, in the end, was the answer I sent to Carver with his five
+      dollars. I spent an hour in my room trying to compose and write a
+      sarcastic reply to his note, but I finally gave it up. Then I put the
+      money in an envelope, addressed the latter, and sent it to the big house
+      by Lute. Lute was delighted with the errand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll explain to Dorindy, will you?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;She cal'lates I'm goin'
+      to clean the henhouse. But I can do that some other time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can&mdash;yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know&mdash;&rdquo; Lute leaned against the clothes post and prepared to
+      philosophize. &ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; he observed, &ldquo;that I don't take no stock in
+      cleanin' henhouses and such?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you? I'm surprised.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're surprised 'cause you ain't thought it out. That's my way; I always
+      think things out. Most folks are selfish. They want to do what they want
+      to do, and they want others to want the same thing. If the others don't
+      want it, then they like to make 'em have it; anyhow. Dorindy is crazy on
+      cleanin'. She wouldn't live in a dirty house no more'n she'd live in a
+      lobster pot. It's the way she's made. But a hen ain't made that way. A hen
+      LIKES dirt; she scratches in it and digs holes in it to waller in, and
+      heaves it over herself all day long. If you left it to the hens would THEY
+      clean their house? I guess not! So, I say what's the use of cruelizin' 'em
+      by makin' 'em live clean when they don't want to? I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait a minute,&rdquo; I interrupted. &ldquo;Lute, you're wasting your breath. It is
+      Dorinda you should explain all this to, not to me. And you're wasting my
+      time. I want you to take that envelope to Mr. Carver; and I want you to go
+      now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm goin', ain't I? I was only just sayin'&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say it when you come back. And if Mr. Carver asks you why I sent that
+      envelope to him be sure and give him the message I gave you. Do you
+      remember it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sartin. That what you done wan't wuth so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not exactly. That what I saved wasn't worth it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. I'll remember. But what did you save, Ros? Dorindy says 'twas
+      somethin' you found afloat in the bay. If it was somethin' belongin' to
+      them Coltons I'd have took the money, no matter what the thing was wuth.
+      They can afford to pay and, if I was you, I'd take the reward.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have my reward. Now go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had my reward and I believed it worth much more than five dollars. I had
+      learned my lesson. I knew now exactly how I was regarded by the occupants
+      of the big house and by the townspeople as well. I should cherish no more
+      illusions as to my importance in their eyes. I meant to be really
+      independent from that time on. I did not care&mdash;really did not care&mdash;for
+      anything or anybody outside my immediate household. I was back in the
+      position I had occupied for years, but with one difference: I had an
+      ambition now. It was to make both sides in the Shore Lane controversy
+      realize that George Taylor was right when he said I had the whip-hand. By
+      the Almighty, they should dance when I cracked that whip!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My first opportunity to crack it came a day or two later, when Captain
+      Dean called upon me. He had a definite proposition to make, although his
+      Yankee shrewdness and caution prevented his making it until he had
+      discussed the weather and other unimportant trifles. Then he leaned
+      against the edge of my work-bench&mdash;we were in the boathouse&mdash;and
+      began to beat up to windward of his proposal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you remember I told you you was all right, when I met you
+      at the bank t'other day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I remember,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Well, I cal'late you know what I meant by that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not pretend ignorance of his meaning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I presume,&rdquo; I replied, &ldquo;that you meant I was right in not selling that
+      strip of land to Mr. Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what I meant. You kept your promise to me and I shan't forget it.
+      Nor the town won't forget it, neither. Would you mind tellin' me just what
+      happened between you and His Majesty?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all. He said he wanted to buy the Shore Lane strip and I refused
+      to sell it to him. He said I was crazy and an infernal robber and I told
+      him to go to the devil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;WHAT! you didn't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Captain Jed slapped his knee and shouted in delight. He insisted on
+      shaking hands with me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the great and everlastin'!&rdquo; he declared, between laughs, &ldquo;you're all
+      right, Ros Paine! I said you was and now I'll swear to it. Told old Colton
+      to go to the devil! If that ain't&mdash;oh, I wish I'd been there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I went on sand-papering a valve plug. He walked up and down the floor,
+      chuckling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, at last, &ldquo;you've made yourself solid in Denboro, anyhow.
+      And I told you you shouldn't lose nothin' by it. The Selectmen held a
+      meetin' last night and they feel, same as me, that that Shore Lane shan't
+      be shut off. You understand what that means to you, don't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at him, coolly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't! It means the town's decided to buy that strip of land of
+      yours. Definitely decided, practically speakin'. Now what'll you sell it
+      to us for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I put down the valve plug. &ldquo;Captain,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;that land is not for sale.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not for SALE? What do you mean by that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that I have decided not to sell it, for the present, at least.
+      Neither to Colton nor any one else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He could not believe it. Of course I would not sell it to Colton. Colton
+      was a stuck-up, selfish city aristocrat who thought all creation ought to
+      belong to him. But the town was different. Did I realize that it was the
+      town I lived in that was asking to buy now? The town of which I was a
+      citizen? Think of what the town had done for me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I'm willing to think. What has it done for me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It had&mdash;it had&mdash;well, it had done a whole lot. As a citizen of
+      that town I owed it a&mdash;a&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Captain Dean,&rdquo; I interrupted, &ldquo;there's no use in our arguing
+      the matter. I have decided not to sell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't talk so foolish. Course you'll sell if you get money enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So Colton said, but I shan't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros, I ain't got any authority to do it, but I shouldn't wonder if I
+      could get you three hundred dollars for that strip.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn't a question of price.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rubbish! Anything's a question of price.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This isn't. If it was I probably should have accepted Mr. Colton's offer
+      of six hundred and fifty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Six hun&mdash;! Do you mean to say he offered you six hundred and fifty
+      dollars for that little mite of land, and you never took him up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you must be a . . . Humph! Six hundred and fifty! The town can't
+      meet no such bid as that, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't expect it to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He regarded me in silence. He was chagrined and angry; his florid face was
+      redder than ever; but, more than all, he was puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he observed, after a moment, &ldquo;this beats me, this does! Last time
+      we talked you was willin' to consider sellin'. What's changed you? What's
+      the reason you won't sell? What business reason have you got for not doin'
+      it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had no business reason at all. Except for Mother's counsel not to sell,
+      which was based upon sentiment and nothing else, and my own stubbornness,
+      I had no reason at all. Yet I was, if anything, more firm in my resolve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about the Lane?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;You know what that Lane means to
+      Denboro?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know what you say it means. The townspeople can continue to use the
+      Lane, just as they always have, so long as they behave themselves. There
+      is no use of our talking further, Captain. I've made up my mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He went away, soon after, but he asked another question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you do this much for me?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Will you promise me not to sell
+      the land to Colton?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I will make no promise of any kind, to anybody.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; with a scornful sniff, &ldquo;I see. I'm on to you. You're just hangin'
+      out for a big price. I might have known it. You're on Colton's side, after
+      all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I rose. I was angry now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told you price had nothing to do with it,&rdquo; I said, sharply. &ldquo;I am on no
+      one's side. The town is welcome to use the Lane; that I have told you
+      already. There is nothing more to be said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't make many mistakes,&rdquo; he observed, slowly; &ldquo;but I guess I've made
+      one. You're a whole lot deeper'n I thought you was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So much for the proletariat. I heard from the plutocrats next day. Sim
+      Eldredge dropped in on me. After much wriggling about the bush he
+      intimated that he knew of Captain Jedediah's call and what had taken
+      place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You done just right, Ros,&rdquo; he whispered. He had a habit of whispering as
+      the Captain had of shouting. &ldquo;You done just right. Keep 'em guessin'; keep
+      em guessin'. Jed's all upsot. He don't know whether he's keel down or on
+      his beam ends. He'll be makin' a higher bid pretty soon. Say,&rdquo; with a
+      wink, &ldquo;I see Colton last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yup. Oh, I give him a jolt. I hinted that the town had made you a fine
+      offer and you was considerin' it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you do that for? Who gave you the right to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sshh! Don't holler. Somebody might be listenin'. I come through the woods
+      and round the beach so's I wouldn't be seen. What do you s'pose Colton
+      said?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't care what he said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will when I tell you. He as much as offered a thousand dollars for
+      that land. My crimps! a thousand! think of that! I presume likely you
+      wouldn't take that, would you, Ros?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sim, I'll tell you, as I told Captain Jed, that land is not for sale.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I tried to make that statement firm and sharp enough to penetrate even his
+      wooden head; but he merely winked again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; he whispered, hastily, &ldquo;all right. I guess perhaps you're
+      correct in hangin' on. Still, a thousand is a lot of money, even after you
+      take out my little commission. But you know best. You put your trust in
+      me. I'll keep her jumpin'. I understand. Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He went out hurriedly, and, though I shouted after him, he only waved and
+      ducked behind a beach-plum bush. He did not believe me serious in my
+      refusal to sell; neither did Dean, or Colton, or, apparently, any one
+      else. They all thought me merely shrewd, a sharp trader driving a hard
+      bargain, as they would have done in my place. They might think so, if they
+      wished; I should not explain. As a matter of fact, I could not have
+      explained my attitude, even to myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet this very attitude made a difference, a perceptible difference, in my
+      position in Denboro. I noticed it each time I went up to the village. I
+      saw the groups at the post-office and at the depot turn to watch me as I
+      approached and as I went away. Captain Jedediah did not mention the Lane
+      again&mdash;at least for some time&mdash;but he always hailed me cordially
+      when we met and seemed anxious to be seen in my company. Eldredge, of
+      course, was effusive; so was Alvin Baker. And other people, citizens of
+      consequence in the town, who had heretofore merely bowed, now stopped to
+      speak with me on the street. Members of the sewing circle called on Mother
+      more frequently, and Matilda Dean, Captain Jed's wife, came regularly once
+      a week. Sometimes she saw Mother and sometimes she did not, depending upon
+      Dorinda's state of mind at the time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute, always a sort of social barometer, noticed the change in the
+      weather.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everybody's talkin' about you, Ros,&rdquo; he declared. &ldquo;They cal'late you're a
+      pretty smart feller. They don't just understand what you're up to, but
+      they think you're pretty smart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No?&rdquo; I commented, ironically. &ldquo;Lute, you astonish me. Why am I smart?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, they don't know exactly, but they cal'late you must be. Oh, I hear
+      things. Cap'n Jed said t'other night you'd make a pretty good Selectman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>I</i> would? A Selectman?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yup. He as much as hinted that to me; wondered if you'd take the
+      nomination provided he could fix it for you. Sim Eldredge and Alvin and
+      some more all said they'd vote for you if they got a chance. ARE you
+      figgerin' to charge toll on the Lane?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Toll? What put that idea in your head?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothin', only some of the fellers wondered if you was. You see, you won't
+      sell, and so&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see. That's a brilliant suggestion, Lute. When I adopt it I'll appoint
+      you toll-keeper.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By time! I wish you would. I'd make Thoph Newcomb pay up. He owes me ten
+      cents; bet it one time and never settled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, my position in Denboro had changed. But I took no pride in the
+      change, as I had at first; I knew the reason for this sudden burst of
+      popularity. The knowledge made me more cynical than ever&mdash;cynical,
+      and lonely. For the first time since I came to the Cape I longed for a
+      real friend, not a relative or an acquaintance, but a friend to trust and
+      confide in. Some one, with no string of his own to pull, who cared for me
+      because I was myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And all the time I had such a friend and did not realize it. The knowledge
+      came to me in this way. Mother had one of her seizures, one of the now
+      infrequent &ldquo;sinking spells,&rdquo; as the doctor called them, on an evening when
+      I was alone with her. Dorinda and Lute had gone, with the horse and buggy,
+      to visit a cousin in Bayport. They were to stay over night and return
+      before breakfast the next morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was alone in the dining-room when Mother called my name. There was
+      something in her tone which alarmed me and I hastened to her bedside. One
+      glance at her face was enough.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boy,&rdquo; she said, weakly, &ldquo;I am afraid I am going to be ill. I have tried
+      not to alarm you, but I feel faint and I am&mdash;you won't be alarmed,
+      will you? I know it is nothing serious.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I told her not to worry and not to talk. I hurried out to the kitchen, got
+      the hot water and the brandy, made her swallow a little of the mixture,
+      and bathed her forehead and wrists with vinegar, an old-fashioned
+      restorative which Dorinda always used. She said she felt better, but I was
+      anxious and, as soon as it was safe to leave her, hurried out to bring the
+      doctor. She begged me not to go, because it was beginning to rain and I
+      might get wet, but I assured her it was not raining hard, and went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not raining hard when I started, but there was every sign of a
+      severe storm close at hand. It was pitch dark and I was weary from
+      stumbling through the bushes and over the rough path when I reached the
+      corner of the Lane and the Lower Road. Then a carriage came down that
+      road. It was an open wagon and George Taylor was the driver. He had been
+      up to the Deans' and was on his way home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I hailed the vehicle, intending to ask for a ride, but when Taylor
+      discovered who his hailer was he insisted on my going back to the house.
+      He would get the doctor, he said, and bring him down at once. I was afraid
+      he would be caught in the storm, and hesitated in accepting the offer, but
+      he insisted. I did go back to the house, found Mother in much the same
+      condition as when I left her, and had scarcely gotten into the kitchen
+      again when Taylor once more appeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I brought Nellie along to stay with your mother,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The Cap'n and
+      the old lady&rdquo;&mdash;meaning Matilda&mdash;&ldquo;were up at the meeting-house
+      and we just left a note saying where we'd gone. Nellie's all right.
+      Between you and me, she don't talk you deaf, dumb and blind like her ma,
+      and she's good company for sick folks. Now I'll fetch the doctor and be
+      right back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it's raining pitchforks,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;You'll be wet through.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I won't. I'll have Doc Quimby here in no time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He drove off and Nellie Dean went into Mother's room. I had always
+      considered Nellie a milk-and-watery young female, but somehow her quiet
+      ways and soft voice seemed just what were needed in a sick room. I left
+      the two together and came out to wait for Taylor and the doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But they did not come. The storm was under full headway now, and the wind
+      was dashing the rain in sheets against the windows. I waited nearly an
+      hour and still no sign of the doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nellie came out of Mother's room and closed the door softly behind her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's quiet now,&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;I think she's asleep. Where do you
+      suppose George is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodness knows!&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I shouldn't have let him go, a night like
+      this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid you couldn't stop him if his mind was made up. He's dreadful
+      determined when he sets out to be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's a good fellow,&rdquo; I said, to please her. She worshipped the cashier, a
+      fact of which all Denboro was aware, and which caused gossip to report
+      that she did the courting for the two.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She blushed and smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He thinks a lot of you,&rdquo; she observed. &ldquo;He's always talking to me about
+      you. It's a good thing you're a man or I should be jealous.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I smiled. &ldquo;I seem to be talked about generally, just now,&rdquo; said I.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you? Oh, you mean about the Shore Lane. Yes, Pa can't make you out
+      about that. He says you've got something up your sleeve and he hasn't
+      decided what it is. I asked George what Pa meant and he just laughed. He
+      said whatever you had in your sleeve was your affair and, if he was any
+      judge of character, it would stay there till you got ready to shake it
+      out. He always stood up for you, even before the Shore Lane business
+      happened. I think he likes you better than any one else in Denboro.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Present company excepted, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, of course. If that wasn't excepted I should REALLY be jealous. Then,&rdquo;
+       more seriously, &ldquo;Roscoe, does it seem to you that George is worried or
+      troubled about something lately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I thought of Taylor's sudden change of expression that day in the bank,
+      and of his remark that he wished he had my chance. But I concealed my
+      thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The prospect of marriage is enough to make any man worried, isn't it?&rdquo; I
+      asked. &ldquo;I imagine he realizes that he isn't good enough for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was sarcasm in this remark, sarcasm of which I should have been
+      ashamed. But she took it literally and as a compliment. She looked at me
+      reproachfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good enough for me!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;He! Sometimes I wonder if it is
+      right for me to be so happy. I feel almost as if it was wrong. As if
+      something must happen to punish me for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. To tell the truth, I was envious. There was real
+      happiness in the world. This country girl had found it; that Mabel Colton
+      would, no doubt, find it some day&mdash;unless she married her Victor, in
+      which case I had my doubts. But what happiness was in store for me?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nellie did most of the talking thereafter; principally about George, and
+      why he did not come. At last she went in to see if Mother needed her, and,
+      twenty minutes later, when I looked into the bedroom, I saw that she had
+      fallen asleep on the couch. Mother, too, seemed to be sleeping, and I left
+      them thus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was almost eleven o'clock when the sound of carriage wheels in the yard
+      brought me to the window and then to the door. Doctor Quimby had come at
+      last and Taylor was with him. The doctor, in his mackintosh and overshoes,
+      was dry enough, but his companion was wet to the skin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sorry I'm so late, Ros,&rdquo; said the doctor. &ldquo;I was way up to Ebenezer
+      Cahoon's in West Denboro. There's a new edition of Ebenezer, made port
+      this morning, and I was a little bit concerned about the missus. She's all
+      right, though. How's your mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better, I think. She's asleep now. So is Nellie. I suppose George told
+      you she was with her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. George had a rough passage over that West Denboro road. It's bad
+      enough in daylight, but on a night like this&mdash;whew! I carried away a
+      wheel turning into Ebenezer's yard, and if George hadn't had his team
+      along I don't know how I'd have got here. I'll go right in and see Mrs.
+      Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He left us and I turned to Taylor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're soaked through,&rdquo; I declared. &ldquo;Come out to the kitchen stove. What
+      in the world made you drive way up to that forsaken place? It's a good
+      seven miles. Come out to the kitchen. Quick!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He sat down by the stove and put his wet boots on the hearth. I mixed him
+      a glass of the brandy and hot water and handed him a cigar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why did you do it, George?&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I never would have thought of asking
+      such a thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Course you wouldn't ask it. There's plenty in this
+      town that would, but you wouldn't. Maybe that's one reason I was so glad
+      to do it for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am almost sorry you did. It is too great a kindness altogether. I'm
+      afraid I shouldn't have done as much for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on! Yes, you would. I know you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook my head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you don't,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;Captain Jed&mdash;your prospective
+      father-in-law&mdash;said the other day that he had been mistaken; he
+      thought he knew me, but he was beginning to find he did not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he say that? What did he mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I imagine he meant he wasn't sure whether I was the fool he had believed
+      me to be, or just a sharp rascal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Taylor looked at me over the edge of his glass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think that's what he meant, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He put the glass on the floor beside him and laid a hand on my knee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I don't know for sure what the Cap'n meant, though if he
+      thinks you're either one of the two he's the fool. But <i>I</i> know you&mdash;better,
+      maybe, than you know yourself. At least I believe I know you better than
+      any one else in the town.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That wouldn't be saying much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wouldn't it? Well, maybe not. But whose fault is it? It's yours, the way
+      I look at it. Ros, I've been meaning to have a talk with you some day;
+      perhaps this is as good a time as any. You make a big mistake in the way
+      you treat Denboro and the folks in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean just that. Your whole attitude is wrong, has been wrong ever since
+      you first came here to live. You never gave any of us a chance to know you
+      and like you&mdash;anybody but me, I mean, and even I never had but half a
+      chance. You make a mistake, I tell you. There's lots of good folks in this
+      town, lots of 'em. Cap'n Elisha Warren's one of 'em and there's plenty
+      more. They're countrymen, same as I am, but they're good, plain, sensible
+      folks, and they'd like to like you if they had a chance. You belong to the
+      Town Improvement Society, but you never go to a meeting. You ought to get
+      out and mix more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shrugged my shoulders. &ldquo;I guess my mixing wouldn't be very welcome,&rdquo; I
+      said. &ldquo;And, besides, I don't care to mix.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know you don't, but you ought to, just the same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! George, I'm not blind, or deaf. Don't you suppose I know what
+      Warren and Dean and the rest think of me? They consider me a loafer and no
+      good. I've heard what they say. I've noticed how they treat me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How you treat them, you mean. You are as cold and freezing as a cake of
+      ice. They was willing to be friends but you wouldn't have it. And, as for
+      their calling you a loafer&mdash;well, that's your own fault, too. You
+      OUGHT to do something; not work, perhaps, but you'd be a whole lot better
+      off if you got really interested in something. Get into politics; get into
+      town affairs; get out and know the people you're living with.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't care to know them; and I'm sure they don't care to know me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, they do. I understand how you feel. In this Shore Lane matter now:
+      you think Cap'n Jed and Colton, because they pretend to call you a fool,
+      don't respect you for taking the stand you have. They do. They don't
+      understand you, maybe, but they can't help respecting you and, if they
+      knew you even as well as I do, they'd like you. Come! I ain't throwin' any
+      bouquets, but why do you suppose I'd be willing to drive to West Denboro
+      forty times over, on forty times worse nights than this, for you? Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heaven knows! Would you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would. I like you, Ros. I took a shine to you the first time I met you.
+      I don't know why exactly. Why does anybody like anybody else? But I think
+      a whole lot of you. I know this sounds foolish, and you don't feel that
+      way towards me, but it's the truth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was amazed. I had always liked George Taylor, but I never felt any
+      strong affection for him. I was a little less indifferent to him than to
+      others in Denboro, that was all. And I had taken it for granted that his
+      liking for me was of the same casual, lukewarm variety. To hear him
+      declare himself in this way was astonishing&mdash;he, the dry, keen,
+      Yankee banker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why, George?&rdquo; I repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know why; I told you that. It's because I can't help it, I
+      suppose. Or because, as I said, I know you better than any one else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I sighed. &ldquo;Nobody knows me here,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One knows you, Ros. I know you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may think you do, but you don't. You can thank God for your
+      ignorance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe I ain't so ignorant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at him. He was looking me straight in the eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you know?&rdquo; I asked, slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, for one thing, that your name ain't Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could not answer. I am not certain whether I attempted to speak or move.
+      I do remember that the pressure of his hand on my knee tightened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all right, Ros,&rdquo; he said, earnestly. &ldquo;Nobody knows but me, and
+      nobody ever shall know if I can help it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How&mdash;how much do you know?&rdquo; I stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, pretty much all, I guess. I've known ever since your mother was
+      taken sick. Some things I read in the paper, and the pictures of&mdash;of
+      your father, put me on, and afterwards I got more certain of it. But it's
+      all right. Nobody but me knows or shall know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I leaned my head on my hand. He patted my knee, gently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are&mdash;are you sure no one else knows?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certain sure. There was one time when it might have all come out. A
+      reporter fellow from one of the Boston papers got on the track somehow and
+      came down here to investigate. Luckily I was the first man he tackled, and
+      I steered him away. I presume likely I lied some, but my conscience is
+      easy so far as that goes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you have told no one? Not even Nellie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I tell Nellie most things, but not all&mdash;not all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I remembered afterwards that he sighed as he said this and took his hand
+      from my knee; but then my agitation was too great to do more than casually
+      notice it. I rose to my feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George! George!&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;I&mdash;I can't say to you what I should like.
+      But why&mdash;WHY did you shield me? And lie for me? Why did you do it? I
+      was hardly more than a stranger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He sighed. &ldquo;Don't know,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;I never could quite see why a man's
+      sins should be visited on the widows and fatherless. And, of course, I
+      realized that you and your mother changed your name and came down here to
+      get away from gossip and talk. But I guess the real reason was that I
+      liked you, Ros. Love at first sight, same as we read about; hey?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked up and smiled. I seized his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George,&rdquo; I said, chokingly, &ldquo;I did not believe I had a real friend in the
+      world, except Mother and Dorinda and Lute, of course. I can't thank you
+      enough for shielding us all these years; there's no use in my trying. But
+      if ever I can do anything to help YOU&mdash;anything&mdash;I'll do it.
+      I'll swear to that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook my hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know you will, Ros,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I told you I knew you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If ever I can do anything&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He interrupted me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's one thing you can do right now,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That's get out and
+      mix. That'll please me as much as anything. And begin right off. Why, see
+      here, the Methodist society is going to give a strawberry festival on the
+      meeting-house lawn next Thursday night. About everybody's going, Nellie
+      and I included. You come, will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hesitated. I had heard about the festival, but I certainly had not
+      contemplated attending.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come!&rdquo; he urged. &ldquo;You won't say no to the first favor I ask you. Promise
+      me you'll be on hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before I could answer, we heard the door of Mother's room open. George and
+      I hastened into the dining-room. Doctor Quimby and Nellie Dean were there.
+      Nellie rushed over to her lover's side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You bad boy,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You're wet through.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Doctor Quimby turned to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your ma's getting on all right,&rdquo; he declared. &ldquo;About all that ails her
+      now is that she wants to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      George was assisting Nellie to put on her wraps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Got to leave you now, Ros,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Cap'n Jed and Matildy'll think
+      we've eloped ahead of time. Good-night. Oh, say, will you promise me to
+      take in the strawberry festival?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;I suppose&mdash;Yes, Mother, I'm coming&mdash;Why, yes,
+      George, I'll promise, to please you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I have often wondered since what my life story would have been if I had
+      not made that promise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The Methodist church stood on the slope of a little hill, back from the
+      Main Road, and the parsonage was next door. Between the church and the
+      parsonage was a stretch of lawn, dotted with shrubs and cedars and shaded
+      by two big silver-leaf poplars. It was on this lawn that, provided the
+      night was fair, the strawberry festival was to be held. If the weather
+      should be unpropitious the festival was to be in the church vestry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that day Dorinda was busy baking and icing cake. She was not going to
+      the festival&mdash;partly because I was going and she could not leave
+      Mother&mdash;but principally because such affairs were altogether too
+      frivolous to fit in her scheme of orthodoxy. &ldquo;I don't recollect,&rdquo; she
+      said, &ldquo;that the apostles did much strawberry festivalin'; they had other
+      things to attend to.&rdquo; Lute, however, was going and if he had been invited
+      to a Presidential reception he could not have been much more excited. He
+      was dressed and ready at supper time, although the festival did not begin
+      until seven-thirty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think I'm all right, Dorindy, do you?&rdquo; he queried, anxiously turning
+      himself about for his wife's inspection. &ldquo;How about these new pants? Fur
+      enough down on my boots, be they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda looked him over with a critical eye. &ldquo;Um-hm,&rdquo; she observed, &ldquo;that
+      end of 'em seems to be all right. But I cal'late the upper end ain't been
+      introduced to your vest yet. Anyhow, the two don't seem to be well enough
+      acquainted to associate close.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute bent forward to inspect the hiatus between trousers and waistcoat.
+      &ldquo;By time!&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;I told Sim Eldredge they was too short in the
+      waist. He said if they was any longer they'd wrinkle under the arms. I
+      don't know what to do. If I hist 'em up they'll be what the fellers call
+      high-water, won't them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! I'd ruther have 'em high-water than shoal in the middle of the
+      channel. You'll have to average up somehow. I ought to have known better
+      than to trust you to buy anything all by yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She condescended to approve of my appearance when, an hour later, I came
+      downstairs, garbed in my best.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; she vouchsafed, after a long look. &ldquo;I declare! I'd hardly know
+      you, Roscoe. You look more as you used to when you fust come here to
+      live.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; I answered, drily. &ldquo;I'm glad to see that you respect old age.
+      This suit is venerable enough to command that kind of respect.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tain't the suit, though that's all right enough. It's the way you wear
+      it, I guess. You look BETTER than you used to. You're browned up and
+      broadened out and it's real becomin'. But,&rdquo; she added, with characteristic
+      caution, &ldquo;you must remember that good looks don't count for much. My
+      father used to say to me that handsome is that handsome does. Not that I
+      was so homely I'd scare the crows, but he didn't want me to be vain. Now
+      don't fall overboard in THAT suit, will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother noticed my unwonted grandeur when I went in to say good-night to
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Roscoe!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;You must consider this strawberry festival
+      very important.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because you've taken such pains to dress for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It did not require a great deal of pains. I merely put on what Dorinda
+      calls my Sunday clothes. I don't know why I did, either. I certainly don't
+      consider the festival important.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad you did. I have been a little troubled about you of late, Boy.
+      It has seemed to me that you were growing&mdash;well, not careless,
+      exactly, but indifferent. As if you were losing interest in life. I don't
+      blame you. Compelled to waste your time here in the country, a companion
+      to a bedridden old woman like me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush, Mother. You're not old; and as to wasting my time&mdash;why,
+      Mother, you know&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, Boy, I know what you would say. But it does trouble me,
+      nevertheless. I ought to bid you go back into the world, and take your
+      place among men. A hundred times I have been upon the point of telling you
+      to leave me, but&mdash;but&mdash;I am SO selfish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush, Mother, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I AM selfish and I know it. I am growing stronger every day; I am
+      sure of it. Just a little longer, Roscoe, just a little longer, and then&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother, I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there!&rdquo; she stroked my hand. &ldquo;We won't be sad, will we. It pleases
+      me to see you taking an interest in affairs. I think this Shore Lane
+      matter may be a good thing, after all. Dorinda says that Luther tells her
+      you are becoming very popular in town because of your independent stand.
+      Everyone recognizes your public spirit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did she tell you that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not in those words. You know Dorinda. But what amounts to that. I am sure
+      the Denboro people are very proud of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I thought of my &ldquo;popularity&rdquo; and the admiration of my &ldquo;public spirit&rdquo; as
+      manifested in the attentions of Captain Jed and Eldredge and their
+      followers, and I turned my head away so that she might not see my face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I am glad you are going to the strawberry festival. I can't remember
+      when you attended such a function before. Boy&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There isn't any reason, any special reason, for your going, is there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, what do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean&mdash;well, you are young and I did not know but, perhaps, some
+      one else was going, some one you were interested in, and&mdash;and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I laughed aloud. &ldquo;Mother!&rdquo; I said, reproachfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? I am very proud of my handsome boy, and I know that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! there! I haven't noticed that my beauty is so fascinating as to be
+      dangerous. No, Mother, there is no 'special reason' for my going to-night.
+      I promised George Taylor, that was all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I am sure you will have a good time. Kiss me, Boy. Good-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was by no means so sure of the good time. In fact, I loitered on my way
+      to the village and it was well past eight o'clock when I paid my fifteen
+      cents admission fee to Elnathan Mullet at the gate of the church grounds
+      and sauntered up the slope toward the lights and gaiety of the strawberry
+      festival.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The ladies of the Methodist society, under whose management the affair was
+      given, were fortunate in their choice of an evening. The early risen moon
+      shone from a cloudless sky and there was so little breeze that the
+      Japanese lanterns, hung above the tables, went out only occasionally. The
+      &ldquo;beauty and elite of Denboro&rdquo;&mdash;see next week's Cape Cod Item&mdash;were
+      present in force and, mingling with them, or, if not mingling, at least
+      inspecting them with interest, were some of the early arrivals among the
+      cottagers from South Denboro and Bayport. I saw Lute, proudly conscious of
+      his new lavender trousers, in conversation with Matilda Dean, and I
+      wondered who was the winner in that wordy race. Captain Jedediah strutted
+      arm in arm with the minister. Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker were there
+      with their wives. Simeon Eldredge had not yet put in an appearance but I
+      knew that he would as soon as the evening mail was sorted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I found Nellie Dean in charge of a table, and George Taylor seated at that
+      table. I walked over and joined them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good evening, Nellie,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Well, George, here I am, you see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook my hand heartily. &ldquo;I see you are,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Good boy! How does
+      it seem to splash into society?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't splashed yet. I have only just arrived.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, trying the feel of the water, hey? Guess you won't find it very
+      chilly. As a preparatory tonic I'd recommend strawberries and cream.
+      Nellie, get Ros a saucer of those genuine home-raised berries, why don't
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Nellie laughed. &ldquo;Roscoe,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;isn't he dreadful! He knows we bought
+      these berries in Boston. It's much too early for the native ones. But they
+      really are very nice, though he does make such fun of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She went into the vestry to get the berries and I sat down at the table
+      beside Taylor and looked about me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Most everybody's here,&rdquo; he observed. &ldquo;And they'll be glad to see you,
+      Ros. Get out and shake hands and be sociable, after you've done your duty
+      by the fruit. How are things at home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother is herself again, I am glad to say. George, I have scarcely
+      thought of anything except what you told me the other night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it's time you did. That's one reason why I wanted you to come here.
+      You've been thinking too much about yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn't of myself, but of Mother. If you had dropped a hint when that
+      Boston reporter came&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, look here, Ros, would YOU have dropped hints if things had been the
+      other way around?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know you wouldn't. What's the use of giving the Denboro gossip mill a
+      chance to run over time? Great heavens! it works twelve hours a day as
+      'tis.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was mighty good of you, just the same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it wasn't. The whole affair was your business and nobody else's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, as I said before, if ever I have an opportunity to do as much for
+      you&mdash;not that I ever will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you know you won't? Anybody's liable to be gossiped about some
+      time or other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not you. You are Denboro's shining light. The mothers and fathers here
+      point you out as an example of what industry and ambition and honest
+      effort may rise to. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shut up!&rdquo; He said it almost savagely. &ldquo;There!&rdquo; he added, quickly, &ldquo;let's
+      change the subject. Talk about something worth while. Humph! I guess they
+      must be opening another crate of those Boston 'homegrowns,' judgin' by the
+      time it takes Nellie to get your sample.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am in no hurry. How are affairs at the bank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, so, so. Don't know a good man who wants a job, do you? Henry Small's
+      going to leave the middle of next month.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Small, the bookkeeper? Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Got a better chance up to the city. I don't blame him. Don't tell anybody
+      yet; it's a secret. Say, Ros, DO you know of a good, sharp, experienced
+      fellow?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I smiled. &ldquo;Is it likely?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;How large is my acquaintance among
+      sharp, experienced fellows down here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so large as it ought to be, I'll give in to that. But you know one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do I, indeed? Who is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yourself. You wouldn't take Small's job, would you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I?&rdquo; I laughed aloud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's no joke. You've had a lot of banking experience. I've heard about it
+      among my city friends, who don't know I know you. Course I realize the
+      place is way beneath what you ought to have, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, don't be sarcastic. No, thank you, George.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, if you say so. But I meant it. You don't need the salary, I
+      know. But&mdash;Ros, do you mind if I talk plain for a moment?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I wondered what was coming now. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;Go ahead and talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well then, I tell you, as a friend, that 'twould be a good thing for you
+      if you did take that job, or some other one. Don't make much matter what
+      it is, but you ought to do something. You're too clever a fellow to be
+      hanging around, shooting and fishing. You're wasting your life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was wasted long ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it wasn't. But it will be if you don't change pretty soon. I tell you
+      you ought to get interested in something that counts. You might make a big
+      name for yourself yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's enough of that. I have a name already. You know it, and you know
+      what was made of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;YOU didn't make it that kind of a name, did you? And you're young enough
+      to make it something altogether different. You ought to. You owe it to
+      your mother and you owe it to yourself. As it is, if you keep on, you'll&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George, you've said enough. No one but you would have been permitted to
+      say as much. You don't understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe not, but, Ros, I don't like to have people around here call you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't care a continental what they call me. I don't want them to know
+      who I am, but for public opinion generally I care nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He leaned back in his chair. His face was in shadow and I could not see
+      it, but his tone was grave enough.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think you don't,&rdquo; he said, slowly, &ldquo;but there may come a time when
+      you will. There may come a time when you get so interested in something,
+      or some person, that the thought of what folks would say if&mdash;if
+      anything went wrong would keep you awake night after night. Oh, I tell
+      you, Ros&mdash;Hello, Nellie! thought you'd gone South to pick those
+      berries yourself. Two saucers full! Well, I suppose I must eat the other
+      to save it&mdash;unless Ros here wants both.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I said one would be quite sufficient for the present, and we three chatted
+      until Mrs. Dean came over and monopolized the chat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't go, Roscoe,&rdquo; protested the matron. &ldquo;The Cap'n's here and he'll want
+      to talk to you. He's dreadful interested in you just now. Don't talk about
+      nobody else, scurcely. You set still and I'll go fetch him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But I refused to &ldquo;set.&rdquo; I knew the cause of Captain Jedediah's interest,
+      and what he wished to talk about. I rose and announced that I would stroll
+      about a bit. Taylor spoke to me as I was leaving.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros,&rdquo; he said, earnestly, &ldquo;you think of what I told you, will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I saw a group of people hurrying toward the entrance of the grounds and I
+      followed them, curious as to the cause of the excitement. An automobile
+      had stopped by the gate. Sim Eldredge came hastening up and seized me by
+      the arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gosh! it's Ros,&rdquo; he exclaimed, in his mysterious whisper. &ldquo;I hadn't seen
+      you afore; just got here myself. But I'm glad you ARE here. I'll see that
+      you and him get a chance to talk private.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who?&rdquo; I asked, trying to pull my arm free.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Mr. Colton. Didn't you know? Yes, sir, that's his car. He's come and
+      so's his daughter and that young Carver feller. I believe they've come to
+      take in the sociable. There they be! See 'em! See 'em!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I saw them. Colton and Victor had already alighted and Miss Colton was
+      descending from the tonneau. There were two other men in the car, beside
+      Oscar, the chauffeur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are those other people?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know,&rdquo; whispered Sim, excitedly. &ldquo;Stay where you be and I'll find
+      out. I'll be right back, now. Don't you move.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not move, not because he had ordered me to stay where I was, but
+      because I was curious. The spot where I stood was in shadow and I knew
+      they could not see me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Colton and his daughter were talking with Victor, who remained by the step
+      of the auto.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Mabel,&rdquo; observed &ldquo;Big Jim,&rdquo; &ldquo;here we are, though why I don't know.
+      I hope you enjoy this thing more than I am likely to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I shall enjoy it, Father. Look at the decorations. Aren't they
+      perfectly WONDERFUL!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Especially the color scheme,&rdquo; drawled Victor. &ldquo;Mabel, I call your
+      attention to the red, blue and purple lanterns. Some class? Yes? Well, I
+      must go. I'll be back in a very short time. If Parker wasn't starting for
+      Europe to-morrow I shouldn't think of leaving, but I'm sure you'll forgive
+      me, under the circumstances.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I forgive you, Victor,&rdquo; replied the girl, carelessly. &ldquo;But don't be too
+      long.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, don't,&rdquo; added her father. &ldquo;I promised Mrs. Colton that I should not
+      be away more than an hour. She's very nervous to-night and I may be sent
+      for any time. So don't keep us waiting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No fear of that. I'll be back long before you are ready to go. I wouldn't
+      miss this&mdash;er&mdash;affair myself for something. Ah, our combination
+      friend, the undertaking postmaster.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sim's hat was in his hand and he was greeting Mr. Colton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Proud to see you amongst us, sir,&rdquo; said Sim, with unction. &ldquo;The Methodist
+      folks are havin' quite a time to-night, ain't they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How d'ye do, Eldredge,&rdquo; was the great man's salutation, not at all
+      effusive. &ldquo;Where does all this crowd come from? Didn't know there were so
+      many people in the neighborhood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Most everybody's out to-night. Church'll make consider'ble money. Good
+      evenin', Miss Colton. Mr. Carver, pleased to meet you again, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The young lady merely nodded. Victor, whose foot was on the step of the
+      car, did not deign to turn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; he drawled. &ldquo;I am&mdash;er&mdash;embalmed, I'm sure. All ready,
+      Phil. Let her go, Oscar.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The auto moved off. Mr. Colton gave his arm to his daughter and they moved
+      through the crowd, Eldredge acting as master of ceremonies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all right, Elnathan,&rdquo; ordered Sim, addressing the gate-keeper.
+      &ldquo;Don't bother Mr. Colton about the admission now. I'll settle with you,
+      myself, later. Now, Mr. Colton, you and the lady come right along with me.
+      Ain't met the minister yet, have you? He said you wan't to home when he
+      called. And you let me get you some strawberries. They're fust-rate, if I
+      do say it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He led the way toward the tables. I watched the progress from where I
+      stood. It was interesting to see how the visitors were treated by the
+      different groups. Some, like Sim, were gushing and obsequious. A few,
+      Captain Jed among them, walked stubbornly by, either nodding coldly or
+      paying no attention. Others, like George Taylor and Doctor Quimby, were
+      neither obsequious nor cold, merely bowing pleasantly and saying, &ldquo;Good
+      evening,&rdquo; as though greeting acquaintances and equals. Yes, there WERE
+      good people in Denboro, quiet, unassuming, self-respecting citizens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of them came up to me and spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Ros,&rdquo; said Captain Elisha Warren, &ldquo;Sim's havin' the time of his
+      life, isn't he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He seems to be,&rdquo; I replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Well, there's some satisfaction in havin' a thick shell; then you
+      don't mind bein' stepped on. Yet, I don't know; sometimes I think fellers
+      of Sim's kind enjoy bein' stepped on, provided the boot that does it is
+      patent leather.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder why they came here,&rdquo; I mused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who? the Coltons? Why, for the same reason children go to the circus, I
+      shouldn't wonder&mdash;to laugh at the clowns. I laugh myself sometimes&mdash;though
+      'tain't always at their kind of clowns. Speakin' of that, young Carver's
+      in good company this evenin', ain't he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who were those fellows in the auto?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't you recognize them? One was Phil Somers&mdash;son of the rich
+      widow who owns the big cottage at Harniss. 'Tother is a bird of the same
+      flock down visitin' em. Carver's takin' 'em over to Ostable to say good-by
+      to another specimen, a college mate, who is migratin' to Europe tomorrow.
+      The chauffeur told Dan, my man, about it this afternoon. The chauffeur
+      figgered that, knowin' the crowd, 'twas likely to be a lively farewell.
+      Hello! there's Abbie hailin' me. See you later, Ros.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I knew young Somers by reputation. He and his friends were a wild set, if
+      report was true.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eldredge had hinted that he intended arranging an interview between Colton
+      and myself. The prospect did not appeal to me. At first I decided to go
+      home at once, but something akin to Captain Dean's resentful stubbornness
+      came over me. I would not be driven home by those people. I found an
+      unoccupied camp chair&mdash;one of Sim's, which he rented for funerals&mdash;and
+      carried it to a dark spot in the shrubbery near the border of the
+      parsonage lawn and not far from the gate. There I seated myself, lit a
+      cigar and smoked in solitude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Elnathan Mullet, evidently considering his labors as door-keeper over, was
+      counting his takings by lantern light. The moon was low in the west and a
+      little breeze was now stirring the shrubbery. It was very warm for the
+      season and I mentally prophesied thunder showers before morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had smoked my cigar perhaps half through when a carriage came down the
+      road and stopped before the gate. The driver leaned forward and called to
+      Mullet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hi, Uncle!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;You, by the gate! Is Mr. Colton here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elnathan, who was, apparently, half asleep, looked up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hey?&rdquo; he queried. &ldquo;Mr. Colton? Yes, he's here. Want him, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Where is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up yonder somewheres. There he is, by Sarah Burgess's table. Mr. Colton!
+      Mr. Col&mdash;ton! Somebody wants ye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What in blazes did you yell like that for?&rdquo; protested the coachman,
+      springing from the carriage. &ldquo;Stop it, d'ye hear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You said you wanted him, didn't you? Mr. Colton! Hi! Come here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Colton came hurrying down to the gate, his daughter following more slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the matter?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The coachman touched his hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon, sir,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;this man started yelling before I
+      could stop him. I was coming to tell you. Mrs. Colton says she's very
+      nervous, sir, and please come home at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Colton turned with a shrug to his daughter. &ldquo;We might have expected it,
+      Mabel,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the young lady seemed to hesitate. &ldquo;I believe I won't go yet, Father,&rdquo;
+       she said. &ldquo;Mother doesn't need both of us. Victor will be here very soon,
+      and we promised to wait for him, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We can leave word. You'd better come, Mabel. Heavens and earth! you don't
+      want any MORE of this, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was evident that he had had quite enough of the festival. She laughed
+      lightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm finding it very entertaining,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I never saw so many quaint
+      people. There is one girl, a Miss Dean, whom I am really getting
+      acquainted with. She's as country as can be, but she's very interesting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! she must be. Dean, hey? Daughter of my particular friend, the
+      ancient mariner, I suppose. I don't like to leave you here. What shall I
+      tell your mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell her I am quite safe and in perfectly respectable company.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! I can imagine how respectable she'll think it is. Well, I know
+      it's useless to urge if you have made up your mind. I don't see where you
+      get your stubbornness from.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you? I can guess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn't from your dad. Now do be careful, won't you? If Victor doesn't
+      come soon I shall send the carriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, he will come. It's all right, Father, dear. I am quite able to take
+      care of myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her father shook his head. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he observed, &ldquo;I guess you are. All
+      right, Jenkins.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He got into the carriage and was driven off. Miss Colton turned and walked
+      back to the tables. I relit my cigar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another half-hour passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mullet finished his counting, took up his money box and lantern and left
+      the gate unguarded. Groups of home-going people began to come down the
+      hill. Horses, which had been standing under the church sheds or hitched in
+      neighboring yards, appeared and the various buggies and two-seaters to
+      which they were attached were filled and driven away. Captain Warren and
+      Miss Abbie Baker, his housekeeper, were among the first to leave. Abijah
+      Hammond, the sexton, began taking down the lanterns. The strawberry
+      festival was almost over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I rose from my camp chair and prepared to start for home. As I stepped
+      from behind the shrubbery the moonlight suddenly went out, as if it had
+      been turned off like a gas jet. Except for the few remaining lanterns and
+      the gleams from the church windows and door the darkness was complete. I
+      looked at the western sky. It was black, and low down along the horizon
+      flashes of lightning were playing. My prophecy of showers was to be
+      fulfilled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The ladies of the Methodist Society, assisted by their husbands and male
+      friends, were hurrying the tables and chairs indoors. I picked up and
+      folded the chair I had been occupying and joined the busy group. It was so
+      dark that faces were almost invisible, but I recognized Sim Eldredge by
+      his voice, and George Taylor and I bumped into each other as we seized the
+      same table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Ros!&rdquo; exclaimed the cashier. &ldquo;Thought you'd gone. Going to have a
+      tempest, ain't we.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tempest&rdquo; is Cape Cod for thunderstorm. I agreed that one was imminent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on till I get this stuff into the vestry,&rdquo; continued Taylor, &ldquo;and
+      I'll drive you home. I'll be ready pretty soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I declined the invitation. &ldquo;I'll walk,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;You have Nellie to
+      look after. If you have a spare umbrella I'll borrow that. Where is
+      Nellie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, she's over yonder with Miss Colton. They have been making each
+      other's acquaintance. Say, Ros, she's a good deal of a girl, that Colton
+      one, did you know it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I know you're down on the whole lot of 'em,&rdquo; he added, laughing; &ldquo;but
+      she is, just the same. Kind of top-lofty and condescending, but that's the
+      fault of her bringing-up. She's all right underneath. Too good for that
+      Carver cub. By the way, if he doesn't come pretty soon I'll phone her pa
+      to send the carriage for her. If I was Colton I wouldn't put much
+      confidence in Carver's showing up in a hurry. You saw the gang he was
+      with, didn't you? They don't get home till morning, till daylight doth
+      appear, as a usual thing. Hello! that's the carriage now, ain't it? Guess
+      papa wasn't taking any chances.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sure enough, there were the lights of a carriage at the gate, and I heard
+      the voice of Jenkins, the coachman, shouting. Nellie Dean called Taylor's
+      name and he hurried away. A few moments later he returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's off, safe and sound,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I judged she wasn't any too well
+      pleased with her Victor for not showing up to look out for her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A sharp flash of lightning cut the sky and a rattling peal of thunder
+      followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right on top of us, ain't it!&rdquo; exclaimed George. &ldquo;Sure you don't want me
+      to drive you home? All right; just as you say. Hold on till I get you that
+      umbrella.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He borrowed an umbrella from the parsonage. I took it, thanked him, and
+      hastened out of the church grounds. I looked up the road as I passed
+      through the gate. I could have seen an auto's lamps for a long distance,
+      but there were none in sight. With a malicious chuckle I thought that my
+      particular friend Victor was not taking the surest way of making himself
+      popular with his fiancee, if that was what she was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The storm overtook me before I was half-way down the Lower Road. A few
+      drops of rain splashed the leaves. A lightning stroke so near and sharp
+      that I fancied I could hear the hiss was accompanied by a savage
+      thunder-clap. Then came the roar of wind in the trees by the roadside and
+      down came the rain. I put up my umbrella and began to run. We have few
+      &ldquo;tempests&rdquo; in Denboro, those we do have are almost worthy of the name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had reached the grove of birches perhaps two hundred yards from the
+      Shore Lane when out of the wet darkness before me came plunging a horse
+      drawing a covered carriage. I had sprung to one side to let it go by when
+      I heard a man's voice shouting, &ldquo;Whoa!&rdquo; The voice did not come from the
+      carriage but from the road behind it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whoa! Stop him!&rdquo; it shouted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I jumped back into the road. The horse saw me appear directly in front of
+      him, shied and reared. The carriage lamps were lighted and by their light
+      I saw the reins dragging. I seized them and held on. It was all
+      involuntary. I was used to horses and this one was frightened, that was
+      all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whoa, boy!&rdquo; I ordered. &ldquo;Whoa! Stand still!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The horse had no intention of standing still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He continued to rear and plunge. I, clinging to the reins, found myself
+      running alongside. I had to run to avoid the wheels. But I ran as slowly
+      as I could, and my one hundred and ninety pounds made running, on the
+      animal's part, a much less easy exercise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The voice from the rear continued to shout and, in another moment, a man
+      seized the reins beside me. Together we managed to pull the horse into a
+      walk. Then the man, whom I recognized as the Colton coachman, vented his
+      feelings in a comprehensive burst of profanity. I interrupted the service.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, this blessed&rdquo;&mdash;or words to that effect&mdash;&ldquo;horse is scared of
+      thunder; that's all. He's a new one; we just bought him before we came
+      down here and I hadn't learned his little tricks. Whoa! stand still, or
+      I'll break your dumb neck! Say,&rdquo; turning to me, &ldquo;go back, will you, and
+      see if she's all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton&mdash;the old man's daughter. She got out when he began to
+      dance and I was holding him by the bridle. Then came that big flash and he
+      broke loose. Go back and see to her, will you? I can't leave this horse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For just a moment I hesitated. I am ashamed of my hesitation now, but this
+      is supposed to be a truthful chronicle. Then I went back down the road. By
+      another flash of lightning I saw the minister's umbrella upside down in
+      the bushes where I had dropped it, and I took it with me. I was about as
+      wet as I well could be but I am glad to say I remembered that the umbrella
+      was a borrowed one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After I had walked, or stumbled, or waded a little way I stopped and
+      called.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I called. &ldquo;Where are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here,&rdquo; came the answer from just ahead. &ldquo;Is that you, Jenkins?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not reply until I reached her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are not hurt?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not at all. But who is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am&mdash;er&mdash;your neighbor. Paine is my name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; the tone was not enthusiastic. &ldquo;Where is Jenkins?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is attending to the horse. Pardon me, Miss Colton, but won't you take
+      this umbrella?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This seemed to strike her as a trifle absurd. &ldquo;Why, thank you,&rdquo; she said,
+      &ldquo;but I am afraid an umbrella would be useless in this storm. Is the horse
+      all right?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, though he is very much frightened. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was interrupted by another flash and terrific report from directly
+      overhead. The young lady came closer to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had an idea. The flash had made our surroundings as light as day for an
+      instant and across the road I saw Sylvanus Snow's old house, untenanted,
+      abandoned and falling to decay. I took Miss Colton's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come!&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She hung back. &ldquo;Where are you going?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just across the road to that old house. On the porch we shall be out of
+      the rain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She made no further objections and together we stumbled through the wet
+      grass and over Sylvanus's weed-grown flower beds. I presume I shall never
+      again smell the spicy fragrance of &ldquo;old maids' pinks&rdquo; without thinking of
+      that night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I found the edge of the piazza by the direct process of barking my shins
+      against it, and helped her up on to the creaking boards. My sanguine
+      statement that we should be out of the rain proved not quite true. There
+      was a roof above us, but it leaked. I unfurled the wet umbrella and held
+      it over her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For some moments after we reached the piazza neither of us spoke. The roar
+      of the rain on the shingles of the porch and the splash and gurgle all
+      about us would have made conversation difficult, even if we had wished to
+      talk. I, for one, did not. At last she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you see or hear anything of Jenkins?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I listened, or tried to. I was wondering myself what had become of the
+      coachman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;I don't hear him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where do you suppose he is? He could not have been far away when you met
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was not. And I know he intended to come back at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't suppose Caesar&mdash;the horse&mdash;ran away again? When that
+      second crack came?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was wondering that very thing. That particular thunder clap was louder
+      and more terrifying than those preceding it. However, there was no use in
+      alarming her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess not,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;He'll be here soon, I am sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But he did not come. The storm seemed to be passing over. The flashes were
+      just as frequent, but there was a longer interval between each flash and
+      its thunder peal. The rain was still a steady downpour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Colton was plainly growing more anxious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where can he be?&rdquo; she murmured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be frightened,&rdquo; I urged. &ldquo;He is all right. I'll go and look him up,
+      if you don't mind being left alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't&mdash;can't we go together?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We could, of course, but there is no use in your getting wetter than you
+      are. If you are willing to stay here I will run up the road and see if I
+      can find him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. But you will get wet yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I am wet already. Take the umbrella. I'll be back in a minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I pressed the handle of the umbrella into her hand&mdash;it was as steady
+      as mine&mdash;and darted out into the flood. I think she called me to come
+      back, but I did not obey. I ran up the road until I was some distance
+      beyond the point where I had stopped the runaway, but there were no signs
+      of horse, carriage or coachman. I called repeatedly, but got no reply.
+      Then, reluctantly, I gave it up and returned to the porch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave a little gasp of relief when I reached her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she exclaimed, &ldquo;did you find him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;He seems to have gone on. He cannot have gone far. It
+      is only a little way to the Corners.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is&mdash;isn't there a house, a house with people living in it, near this
+      place?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No nearer than your house, Miss Colton. We seem to have chosen the most
+      forsaken spot in Denboro to be cast away in. I am very sorry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not frightened for myself. But I know my father and mother will be
+      alarmed if I don't come soon. I am sure Caesar must have run away again,
+      and I am afraid Jenkins must be hurt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had thought of that, too. Only an accident could explain the coachman's
+      non-appearance or, at least, his not sending help to his mistress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you are really not afraid to remain here, Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I
+      will go to your house myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh no! Some one will come soon. I can't understand where Victor&mdash;Mr.
+      Carver&mdash;can be. He was to have joined me at the church.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. Knowing Mr. Carver's associates and the errand upon
+      which he had gone, I imagined I could guess the cause of his delay. But I
+      did not speak my guess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The storm is not as severe just now,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I can get to your house in
+      a little while, if you are willing I should leave you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She put her hand on my arm. &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Shall we start now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you must not go. You couldn't get there on foot, such a night as
+      this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I can. I mean to. Please come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I still hesitated. She took her hand from my arm and stepped out into the
+      rain. &ldquo;Are you coming?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I joined her, still protesting. We splashed on through the mud and water,
+      she clinging lightly to my arm and I holding the perfectly useless
+      umbrella over her head. The rain was descending steadily and the sky
+      overhead was just black, but along the western horizon, as I caught a
+      glimpse of it between the trees, I fancied the blackness was a little less
+      opaque. The storm was passing over, sure enough.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But before it passed it gave us one goodby salute. We had about reached
+      the point on the Shore Lane where I first met her and Carver in the auto.
+      The shaky bridge over Mullet's cranberry brook was just ahead. Then,
+      without warning, the black night split wide open, a jagged streak of fire
+      shot from heaven to earth and seemed to explode almost in our faces. I was
+      almost knocked off my feet and my fingers tingled as if I had been holding
+      the handles of an electric battery. The umbrella flew out of my hands and,
+      so far as I was concerned, vanished utterly. I believe Elnathan picked up
+      the ruin next day, but just then I neither knew nor cared what had become
+      of it. I had other things to think of.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But for a moment I could not think at all. I was conscious of a great
+      crashing and rustling and splintering directly in front of me and then I
+      realized that the young lady was no longer clinging to my arm. I looked
+      about and up through the darkness. Then down. She was lying at my feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I bent over her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton!&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;Miss Colton! Are you hurt?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She neither answered nor moved. My brain was still numb from the electric
+      shock and I had a dazed fear that she might be dead. I shook her gently
+      and she moaned. I spoke again and again, but she did not answer, nor try
+      to rise. The rain was pouring down upon us and I knew she must not lie
+      there. So once more, just as I had done in the dingy, but now under quite
+      different circumstances and with entirely different feelings, I stooped
+      and lifted her in my arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My years of outdoor life in Denboro had had one good effect at least; they
+      had made me strong. I carried her with little effort to the bridge. And
+      there I stopped. The bridge was blocked, covered with a mass of wet leafy
+      branches and splintered wood. The lightning bolt had missed us by just
+      that much. It had overthrown and demolished the big willow tree by the
+      brook and to get through or over the tangle was impossible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So again history repeated itself. I descended the bank at the side of the
+      bridge and waded through the waters with Mabel Colton in my arms. I
+      staggered up the opposite bank and hurried on. She lay quiet, her head
+      against my shoulder. Her hat had fallen off and a wet, fragrant strand of
+      her hair brushed my cheek. Once I stopped and bent my head to listen, to
+      make sure that she was breathing. She was, I felt her breath upon my face.
+      Afterwards I remembered all this; just then I was merely thankful that she
+      was alive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had gone but a little way further when she stirred in my arms and spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; I answered, with a sigh of relief. &ldquo;It is all right. We shall
+      be there soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what is the matter? Why are you&mdash;let me walk, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You had better stay as you are. You are almost home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why are you carrying me? What is the matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;you fainted, I think. The lightning&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh yes, I remember. Did I faint? How ridiculous! Please let me walk now.
+      I am all right. Really I am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I think&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please. I insist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I set her gently on her feet. She staggered a little, but she was plucky
+      and, after a moment, was able to stand and walk, though slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are sure you can manage it?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course! But why did I faint? I never did such a thing before in my
+      life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That flash was close to us. It struck the big willow by the brook.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did it! As near as that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Don't try to talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am all right . . . I am not hurt at all. Are we almost home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Those are the lights of your house ahead there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      We moved on more rapidly. As we turned in at the Colton walk she said,
+      &ldquo;Why; it has stopped raining.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It had, though I had not noticed it. The flash which smashed the willow
+      had been the accompaniment of what Lute would call the &ldquo;clearing-up
+      shower.&rdquo; The storm was really over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We stepped up on the portico of the big house and I rang the bell. The
+      butler opened the door. His face, as he saw the pair of dripping,
+      bedraggled outcasts before him, was worth looking at. He was shocked out
+      of his dignity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why! Why, Miss Mabel!&rdquo; he stammered, with almost human agitation. &ldquo;What&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A voice, a petulant female voice, called from the head of the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Johnson,&rdquo; it quavered, &ldquo;who is it? Mabel, is that you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The library door flew open and Mr. Colton himself appeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? What?&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;By George! Mabel, where have you been? I have
+      been raising heaven and earth to locate you. The 'phone seems to be out of
+      order and&mdash;Great Scott, girl! you're wet through. Jenkins, what&mdash;?
+      Hey? Why, it isn't Jenkins!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The fact that his daughter's escort was not the coachman had just dawned
+      upon him. He stared at me in irate bewilderment. Before he could ask a
+      question or his daughter could speak or explain there came a little shriek
+      from the stairs, a rustle of silken skirts, and a plump, white-faced woman
+      in an elaborate house gown rushed across the hall with both white arms
+      outstretched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mabel!&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;where HAVE you been. You poor child! I have been
+      almost beside myself, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Colton laughingly avoided the rush. &ldquo;Take care, Mother,&rdquo; she warned.
+      &ldquo;I am very wet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wet? Why! you're absolutely drenched! Jenkins&mdash;Mabel, where is
+      Jenkins? And who is this&mdash;er&mdash;person?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I thought it quite time for me to withdraw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good night, Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, and stepped toward the door. But &ldquo;Big
+      Jim&rdquo; roared my name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's that&mdash;it's Paine!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Here! what does this mean,
+      anyway?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I think his daughter was about to explain, when there came another
+      interruption. From the driveway sounded the blare of an auto horn. Johnson
+      threw open the door just as the big car whirled up to the porch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here we are!&rdquo; laughed Carver, emerging from behind the drawn curtains of
+      the machine. &ldquo;Home again from a foreign shore. Come in, fellows, and have
+      a drink. We've had water enough for one night. Come in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stumbled as he crossed the sill, recovered his balance, laughed, and
+      then all at once seemed to become aware of the group in the hall. He
+      looked about him, swaying a little as he did so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Mabel!&rdquo; he exclaimed, genially. &ldquo;Got here first, didn't you? Sorry I
+      was late, but it was all old Parker's fault. Wouldn't let us say goodby.
+      But we came some when we did come. The bridge is down and we made Oscar
+      run her right through the water. Great ex-experience. Hello! Why, what's
+      matter? Who's this? What? it's Reuben, isn't it! Mabel, what on earth&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She paid no attention to him. I was at the door when she overtook me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Paine,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I am very grateful for your kindness. Both for
+      what you have done tonight and for your help the other afternoon. Thank
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She held out her hand. I took it, scarcely knowing that I did so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; she said, again. I murmured something or other and went out.
+      As I stepped from the porch I heard Victor's voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, by Jove!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Mabel!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked back. He was standing by the door. She went past him without
+      replying or even looking at him. From the automobile I heard smothered
+      chuckles and exclamations. The butler closed the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I walked home as fast as I could. Dorinda was waiting up for me. What she
+      said when she saw the ruin of my Sunday suit had better not be repeated.
+      She was still saying it when I took my lamp and went up to bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The strawberry festival and the &ldquo;tempest&rdquo; were, of course, the subjects
+      most discussed at the breakfast table next morning. Lute monopolized the
+      conversation, a fact for which I was thankful, for it enabled me to dodge
+      Dorinda's questions as to my own adventures. I did not care to talk about
+      the latter. My feelings concerning them were curiously mixed. Was I glad
+      or sorry that Fate had chosen me to play once more the role of rescuer of
+      a young female in distress? That my playing of the role had altered my
+      standing in Mabel Colton's mind I felt reasonably sure. Her words at
+      parting with me rang true. She was grateful, and she had shaken hands with
+      me. Doubtless she would tell her father the whole story and he, too, in
+      common decency, would be grateful to me for helping his daughter. But,
+      after all, did I care for gratitude from that family? And what form would
+      that gratitude take? Would Colton, like Victor Carver, offer to pay me for
+      my services? No, hardly that, I thought. He was a man of wide experience
+      and, if he did offer payment, it would be in some less crude form than a
+      five dollar bill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But I did not want payment in any form. I did not want condescension and
+      patronizing thanks. I did not want anything&mdash;that was it. Up to now,
+      the occupants of the big house and I had been enemies, open and confessed.
+      I had, so far as possible, kept out of their way and hoped they would keep
+      out of mine. But now the situation was more complicated. I did not know
+      what to expect. Of course there was no chance of our becoming friends. The
+      difference in social position, as they reckoned it, made that too
+      ridiculous to consider as a possibility, even if I wished it, which I
+      distinctly did not. But something, an interview, awkward and disagreeable
+      for both sides, or a patronizing note of thanks, was, at the very least,
+      certain to follow the happenings of the previous night. I wished I had
+      gone home when the Coltons first came to the festival. I wished I had not
+      promised Taylor that I would attend that festival. I wished&mdash;I wished
+      a great many things. The thought of young Carver's public snubbing before
+      his friends was my one unmixed satisfaction. I rather imagined that he was
+      more uncomfortable than I was or could be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute crowed vaingloriously over his own good judgment in leaving for home
+      early.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know how 'twas,&rdquo; he declared. &ldquo;Somethin' seemed to tell me we was
+      in for a turrible tempest. I was settin' talkin' with Alvin Baker and
+      eatin' my second sasser of berries, when&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;SECOND sasser?&rdquo; interrupted Dorinda, sharply. &ldquo;Where'd you get money for
+      two sassers? I gave you thirty cents when you started for that festival.
+      It cost you fifteen to get inside the gate, and Matildy Dean told me the
+      church folks was cal'latin' to charge fifteen for a helpin' of berries and
+      cream. And you had two sassers, you say. Who paid for the second one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her husband swallowed half a cup of coffee before replying. Then his reply
+      had nothing to do with the question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know how 'twas,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;I just had the feelin', that's all.
+      Sort of a present&mdash;presentuary, I guess, come over me. I looked up at
+      the sky and 'twas gettin' black, and then I looked to the west-ard and I
+      see a flash of lightnin'. 'Nothin' but heat lightnin',' says Alvin. 'Heat
+      lightnin' nothin'!' says I, 'I tell you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who paid for that second sasser of berries?&rdquo; repeated his wife,
+      relentlessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why now, Dorindy&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who paid for 'em? If 'twas Alvin Baker you ought to be ashamed of
+      yourself, spongin' on him for your vittles.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alvin! Good land! did you ever know him to pay for anything he didn't
+      have to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind what I know. Did you get trusted for 'em? How many times have
+      I told you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never got trusted. I ain't that kind. And I didn't sponge 'em, neither.
+      I paid cash, right out of my own pocket, like a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You did! Um-hm. I want to know! Well then&mdash;MAN, where did the cash
+      in that pocket come from?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute squirmed. &ldquo;I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo; he stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where did it come from? Answer me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well&mdash;well, Dorindy, you see&mdash;when you sent me up to the store
+      t'other day after the brown sugar and&mdash;and number 50 spool cotton you
+      give me seventy-five cents. You remember you did, yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and I remember you said there was a hole in your pocket and you lost
+      the change. I ain't likely to forget it, and I shouldn't think you'd be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't forget. By time! my ears ain't done singin' yet. But that shows
+      how reckless you talk to me. I never lost that change at all. I found it
+      afterwards in my vest, so all your jawin' was just for nothin'. Ros, she
+      ought to beg my pardon, hadn't she? Hadn't she now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda saved me the trouble of answering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm!&rdquo; she observed, dryly. &ldquo;Well, I'll beg my own pardon instead, for
+      bein' so dumb as not to go through your vest myself. So THAT'S where the
+      other fifteen cents come from! I see. Well, you march out to the woodpile
+      and chop till I tell you to quit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Dorindy, I've got one of my dyspepsy spells. I don't feel real good
+      this mornin'. I told you I didn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Folks that make pigs of themselves on stolen berries hadn't ought to feel
+      good. Exercise is fine for dyspepsy. You march.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute marched, and I marched with him as far as the back yard. There I left
+      him, groaning before the woodpile, and went down to the boat house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Comfort's overhauling was complete and I had launched her the week
+      before. Now she lay anchored at the edge of the channel. For the want of
+      something more important to do I took down my shot gun and began to polish
+      its already glittering barrels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Try as I might I could not get the memory of my adventure in the &ldquo;tempest&rdquo;
+       out of my head. I reviewed it from end to end, thinking of many things I
+      might have done which, in the light of what followed, would have been
+      better and more sensible. If, instead of leaving the coachman, I had
+      remained to help him with the frightened horse, I should have been better
+      employed. Between us we could have subdued the animal and Miss Colton
+      might have ridden home. I wondered what had become of Jenkins and the
+      horse. I wondered if the girl knew I carried her through the brook. Victor
+      had said the bridge was down; she must know. I wondered what she thought
+      of the proceeding; probably that splashing about with young ladies in my
+      arms was a habit of mine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I told myself that I did not care what she thought. I resolved to forget
+      the whole affair and to focus my attention upon cleaning the gun. But I
+      could not forget. I waded that brook a dozen times as I sat there. I
+      remembered every detail; how still she lay in my arms; how white her face
+      looked as the distant lightning flashes revealed it to me; how her hair
+      brushed my cheek as I bent over her. I was using a wad of cotton waste to
+      polish the gun barrel, and I threw it into a corner, having the insane
+      notion that, in some way, the association of ideas came from that bunch of
+      waste. It&mdash;the waste&mdash;was grimy and anything but fragrant, as
+      different from the dark lock which the wind had blown against my face as
+      anything well could be, but the hurry with which I discarded it proves my
+      imbecility at that time. Confound the girl! she was a nuisance. I wanted
+      to forget her and her family, and the sulphurous personage to whose care I
+      had once consigned the head of the family apparently took a characteristic
+      delight in arranging matters so that I could not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The shot gun was, at last, so spotless that even a pretense of further
+      cleaning was ridiculous. I held it level with my eye and squinted through
+      the barrels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't shoot,&rdquo; said a voice from the doorway; &ldquo;I'll come down.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I lowered the gun, turned and looked. &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; Colton was standing there,
+      cigar in mouth, cap on the back of his head and both hands in his pockets,
+      exactly as he had appeared in that same doorway when he and I first met.
+      The expected had happened, part of it at least. He had come to see me; the
+      disagreeable interview I had foreseen was at hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He nodded and entered without waiting for an invitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Morning,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning,&rdquo; said I, guardedly. I wondered how he would begin the
+      conversation. Our previous meeting had ended almost in a fight. We had
+      been fighting by proxy ever since. I was prepared for more trouble, for
+      haughty condescension, for perfunctory apology, for almost anything except
+      what happened. His next remark might have been addressed to an
+      acquaintance upon whom he had casually dropped in for a friendly call.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a good looking gun you've got there,&rdquo; he observed. &ldquo;Let's see it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was too astonished to answer. &ldquo;Let's look at it,&rdquo; he repeated, holding
+      out his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mechanically I passed him the gun. He examined it as if he was used to
+      such things, broke it, snapped it shut, tried the locks with his thumb and
+      handed it back to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anything worth shooting around here?&rdquo; he asked, pulling the armchair
+      toward him and sitting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I think I did not let him see how astonished I was at his attitude. I
+      tried not to.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why yes,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;in the season. Plenty of coots, some black duck,
+      and quail and partridge in the woods.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That so! Peters, that carpenter of mine, said something of the sort, I
+      remember, but I wouldn't believe him under oath. I could shoot HIM with
+      more or less pleasure, but there seems to be no open session for his
+      species. Where's your launch?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Out yonder.&rdquo; I pointed to the Comfort at her moorings. He looked, but
+      made no comment. I rose and put the gun in the rack. Then I returned to my
+      chair. He swung around in his seat and looked at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, grimly, but with a twinkle in his eye, &ldquo;the last time you
+      and I chatted together you told me to go to the devil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was quite true and I might have added that I was glad of it. But what
+      would be the use? I did not answer at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't gone there yet,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;Came over here instead. Got dry
+      yet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. You were anything but dry when I saw you last night. Have many such
+      cloudbursts as that in these parts?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not many. No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope not. I don't want another until I sell that horse of mine. The
+      chap who stuck me with him is a friend of mine. He warranted the beast
+      perfectly safe for an infant in arms to drive and not afraid of anything
+      short of an earthquake. He is a lovely liar. I admire his qualifications
+      in that respect, and hope to trade with him again. He bucks the stock
+      market occasionally.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled as he said it. There was not the slightest malice in his tone,
+      but, if I had been the &ldquo;friend,&rdquo; I should have kept clear of stocks for
+      awhile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What became of the horse?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ran away again. Jenkins had just got back into the carriage when another
+      one of those thunder claps started more trouble. The horse ran four miles,
+      more or less, and stopped only when the wheels got jammed between two
+      trees. I paid nine hundred dollars for that carriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the coachman?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, he lit on his head, fortunately, and wasn't hurt. Spent half the
+      night trying to find a phone not out of commission but failed. Got home
+      about four o'clock, leading the horse. Paine&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you know what I've come here for. I'm much obliged to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's all right. You're welcome.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe I am, but I am obliged, just the same. Not only for the help you
+      gave Mabel&mdash;my daughter&mdash;last night, but for that business in
+      the bay the other afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So she had told him the whole story. Remembering her last words, as I left
+      her in the hall, I had rather imagined she would.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That didn't amount to anything,&rdquo; I said, shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, it did. It might have amounted to a whole lot. I asked Peters
+      some questions about the tides out here and, from what he said, I judge
+      that being stuck on the shoals in a squall might not be altogether a joke.
+      Mabel says you handled the affair mighty well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. He chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did young Carver enjoy playing second fiddle?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;From what
+      I've seen of him he generally expects to lead the band. Happy, was he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I remained silent. He smiled broadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He isn't any too happy this morning,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;That young man won't
+      do. I never quoted him within twenty points of par, but Mabel seemed to
+      like him and her mother thought he was the real thing. Mrs. C. couldn't
+      forget that his family is one of the oldest on the list. Personally I
+      don't gamble much on families; know a little about my own and that little
+      is enough. But women are different. However, family or not, he won't do. I
+      should tell him so myself, but I guess Mabel will save me the trouble.
+      She's got a surprising amount of common-sense, considering that she's an
+      only child&mdash;and who her parents are. By the way, Paine, what did
+      Carver say when you put him ashore?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&mdash;he said&mdash;oh, nothing of importance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know that. I listened to his explanations last night. But did he
+      say anything?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, he offered to pay me for my work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he? How much?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not wait to find out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you haven't heard from him since?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you?&rdquo; he repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I&mdash;I received a note from him next day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Offering apologies?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sent you money, didn't he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at him in surprise. &ldquo;Did he tell you?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, nobody told me. I'm only trying to find out whether or not I have
+      lost all my judgment of human nature since I struck this sand heap. He did
+      send you money then. How much?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton, I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come now! How much?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well&mdash;he sent me five dollars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! he didn't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am telling you the truth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; slowly, &ldquo;I know you are. I've got that much judgment left. Sent you
+      five dollars, did he. And you sent it back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any message with it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was tired of being catechized. I had not meant to tell him anything. Now
+      I decided to tell him all. If it angered him, so much the better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I sent him word that what I saved wasn't worth the money.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To my amazement he was not angry. Instead he slapped his knee and laughed
+      aloud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho! ho!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Humph! Well, that was. . . . I'd like to have seen
+      his face when he got that message. No, that young man won't do. He won't
+      do at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not for me to dispute this conclusion, even if I had disagreed with
+      him, which I did not. I said nothing. He rubbed his knee for a moment and
+      then changed the subject.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you happen to be on the Lower Road at that time of the night?&rdquo; he
+      asked. &ldquo;I'm mighty glad you were there, of course, but where did you come
+      from?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I left the festival rather late and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Festival? Oh, that thing up at the church. I didn't see you there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had taken pains that he should not see me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean to tell me,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;that you enjoy a thing like that?
+      What in blazes made Mabel want to go I don't see! She and Carver were set
+      on going; and it would be the treat of a lifetime, or words to that
+      effect. I can't see it myself. Of all the wooden headed jays I ever laid
+      eyes on this town holds the finest collection. Narrow and stubborn and
+      blind to their own interests!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was more like what I expected from him and I resented it. It may seem
+      odd that I, of all persons, should have taken upon myself the defense of
+      Denboro and its inhabitants, but that is what I did.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are no more narrow and stubborn in their way than city people are in
+      theirs,&rdquo; I declared. &ldquo;They resent being ordered about as if their opinions
+      and wishes counted for nothing, and I honor them for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do, hey?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I do. Mr. Colton, I tell you that you are all wrong. Simply because
+      a man lives in the country it does not follow that he is a blockhead. No
+      one in Denboro is rich, as you would count riches, but plenty of them are
+      independent and ask no help from any one. You can't drive them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you can't. And if you want favors from men here you must ask for
+      them, not try to bully.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't want favors. I want to be treated decently, that's all. When I
+      came here I intended doing things to help the town. I should have enjoyed
+      doing it. I told some of them so. Look at the money I've spent. Look at
+      the taxes I'll pay. Why, they ought to be glad to have me here. They ought
+      to welcome me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So they would if you had not behaved as if you were what some of them
+      call you&mdash;'Emperor of New York'. I tell you, Mr. Colton, you're all
+      wrong. I know the people here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So? Well, from what I've been able to learn about you, you haven't
+      associated with many of them. You've been playing a little at the high and
+      mighty yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Chickens do come home to roost. My attitude of indifference and coldness
+      toward my fellow citizens had been misinterpreted, as it deserved to be.
+      George Taylor was right when he said I had made a mistake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been foolish,&rdquo; I said, hotly, &ldquo;but not for the reason you suppose.
+      I don't consider myself any better than the people here&mdash;no, nor even
+      the equal of some of them. And, from what I have seen of you, Mr. Colton,
+      I don't consider you that, either.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Even this did not make him angry. He looked at me as if I puzzled him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Paine,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;what in the world are you doing down in a place
+      like this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just that. You upset my calculations. I thought I spotted you and put you
+      in the class where you belonged when you and I first met. I can usually
+      size up a man. You've got me guessing. What are you doing down here?
+      You're no Rube.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If he intended this as a compliment I was not in the mood to accept it as
+      such. I should have told him that what I was or was not was no business of
+      his. But he went on without giving me the opportunity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've got me guessing,&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;You talk like a man. The way you
+      looked out for my daughter last night and the way, according to her story,
+      you handled her and Victor the other afternoon was a man's job. Why are
+      you wasting your life down here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton, I don't consider&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind. You're right; that's your affair, of course. But I hate to
+      quit till I have the answer, and nobody around here seems to have the
+      answer to you. Ready to sell me that land yet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Going to sell to the public-spirited bunch? Dean and the rest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean that? All right&mdash;all right. Say, Paine, I admire your nerve
+      a good deal more than I do your judgment. You must understand that I am
+      going to close that fool Lane of yours some time or other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your understanding and mine differ on that point.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Possibly, but they'll agree before I'm through. I am going to close that
+      Lane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm going to close it for two reasons. First, because it's a condemned
+      nuisance and ought to be closed. Second, because I make it a point to get
+      what I go after. I can't afford not to. It is doing that very thing that
+      has put me where I am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was nothing to be said in answer to a statement like that. I did not
+      try to answer it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where you're holding down a job like mine,&rdquo; he continued, crossing his
+      knees and looking out across the bay, &ldquo;you have to get what you go after.
+      I'm down here and I mean to stay here as long as I want to, but I haven't
+      let go of my job by a good deal. I've got private wires&mdash;telegraph
+      and telephone&mdash;in my house and I keep in touch with things in the
+      Street as much as I ever did. If anybody tries to get ahead of the old man
+      because they think he's turned farmer they'll find out their mistake in a
+      hurry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This seemed to be a soliloquy. I could not see how it applied to me. He
+      went on talking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sounds like bragging, doesn't it?&rdquo; he said, reading my thoughts as if I
+      had spoken them. &ldquo;It isn't. I'm just trying to show you why I can't afford
+      not to have my own way. If I miss a trick, big or little, somebody else
+      wins. When I was younger, just butting into the game, there was another
+      fellow trying to get hold of a lead mine out West that I was after. He
+      beat me to it at first. He was a big toad in the puddle and I was a little
+      one. But I didn't quit. I waited round the corner. By and by I saw my
+      chance. He was in a hole and I had the cover to the hole. Before I let him
+      out I owned that mine. It cost me more than it was worth; I lost money on
+      it. But I had my way and he and the rest had found out that I intended to
+      have it. That was worth a lot more than I lost in the mine. Now this Lane
+      proposition is a little bit of a thing; it's picayune; I should live right
+      along if I didn't get it. But because I want it, because I've made up my
+      mind to have it, I'm going to have it, one way or another. See?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shrugged my shoulders. &ldquo;This seems to me like wasting time, Mr. Colton,&rdquo;
+       I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then your seeing is away off. Look here, Paine, I'm through fiddling with
+      the deal. I'm through with that undertaker postmaster or any other
+      go-between. I just wanted you to understand my position; that's why I've
+      told you all this. Now we'll talk figures. I might go on bidding, and
+      you'd go on saying no, of course. But I shan't bid. I'll just say this:
+      When you are ready to sell&mdash;and I'll put you where you will be some
+      day&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I rose. &ldquo;Mr. Colton,&rdquo; I said, sharply, &ldquo;you had better not say any more.
+      I'm not afraid of you, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! there! there! who said anything about your being afraid? Don't get
+      mad. I'm not&mdash;not now. This is a business matter between friends and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friends!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure. Business friends. I'm talking to you as I would to any other chap I
+      intended to beat in a deal; there's nothing personal about it. When I get
+      you so you're ready to sell I'll give you five thousand dollars for that
+      strip of land.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I actually staggered. I said what Lute had said to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're crazy!&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;Five thousand dollars for that land!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Oh, I know what it's worth. Five hundred is for the land itself. The
+      other forty-five hundred is payment for the privilege of having my own
+      way. Want to close with me now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It took me some time to answer. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; is a short and simple word, but I
+      found it tremendously difficult to pronounce. Yet I did pronounce it, I am
+      glad to say. After all that I had said before I would have been ashamed to
+      do anything else.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not appear surprised at my refusal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I'm not going to coax you. Just remember that the
+      offer holds good and when you get ready to accept it, sing out. Well!&rdquo;
+       looking at his watch, &ldquo;I must be going. My wife will think I've fallen
+      into the bay, or been murdered by the hostile natives. Nerves are mean
+      things to have in the house; you can take my word for that. Good-by,
+      Paine. Thank you again for last night and the rest of it. Mabel will thank
+      you herself when she sees you, I presume.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was on his way to the door when I recovered presence of mind sufficient
+      to remember ordinary politeness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your daughter&mdash;er&mdash;Miss Colton is well?&rdquo; I stammered. &ldquo;No ill
+      effects from her wetting&mdash;and the shock?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a bit. She's one of the kind of girls they turn out nowadays.
+      Athletics and all that. Her grandmother would have died probably, after
+      such an upset, but she's as right as I am. Oh . . . er&mdash;Paine, next
+      time you go shooting let me know. Maybe I'd like to go along. I used to be
+      able to hit a barn door occasionally.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped long enough to bite the end from a cigar and strolled away,
+      smoking. I sat down in the armchair. &ldquo;Five thousand dollars!&rdquo; . . .
+      &ldquo;Carver won't do.&rdquo; . . . &ldquo;I will have the Lane some time or other.&rdquo; . . .
+      &ldquo;Five thousand dollars!&rdquo; . . . &ldquo;Next time you go shooting.&rdquo; . . .
+      &ldquo;Friends!&rdquo; . . . &ldquo;Five thousand dollars!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, this was a nightmare! I must wake up before it got any worse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Mother was the only one to whom I told the whole story of my experience in
+      the &ldquo;tempest&rdquo; and of Colton's call. She and I had a long talk. She was as
+      surprised to hear of the five thousand dollar offer as I had been, but
+      that I had refused it did not surprise her. She seemed to take my refusal
+      as a matter of course, whereas I was more and more doubtful of my sanity
+      at the time. I knew well enough what the opinion of others would be
+      concerning that sanity and I wondered whether or not they might be right.
+      In fact, I rather resented her calm certainty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;you speak as if the offer had been five cents instead
+      of five thousand dollars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What difference does it make, Boy?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;If it had been only a
+      matter of price you would have sold for six hundred and fifty. That is a
+      good deal more than the land is worth, isn't it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose so. But five thousand is a small fortune to us. I am not sure
+      that we have the right to refuse it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe, if you were alone in this matter&mdash;if I were not here to be
+      considered at all&mdash;would you have sold the land, no matter what he
+      offered?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, Mother. I think, perhaps, I should.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know you would not. And I know the only reason you feel the refusal may
+      be wrong is because you are thinking what the money might do for me. Do
+      you suppose I will permit you to sacrifice a principle you know is right
+      simply that I may have a few more luxuries which I don't need?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you do need them. Why, there are so many things you need.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't need one. So long as I have you I am perfectly happy. And it
+      would not make me more happy to know that you accepted a bribe&mdash;that
+      is what it is, a bribe&mdash;because of me. No, Boy, you did exactly right
+      and I am proud of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not particularly proud of myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should be. Can't you see how differently Mr. Colton regards you
+      already? He does not condescend or patronize now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! he is grateful because I helped his daughter out of a scrape,
+      that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is more than that. He respects you because you are what he called you,
+      a man. I fancy it is a new experience to him to find some one, down here
+      at any rate, to whom his millions make absolutely no difference.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad of it. It may do him good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think it will. And what you told him about the townspeople may do
+      him good, too. He will find, as you and I have found, that there are no
+      kinder, better people anywhere. You remember I warned you against
+      misjudging the Coltons, Roscoe. They, too, I am sure, are good people at
+      heart, in spite of their wealth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother, you are too charitable for this earth&mdash;too unworldly
+      altogether.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven't you and I reason to be charitable? There! there! let us forget
+      the land and the money. Roscoe, I should like to meet this Miss Colton.
+      She must be a brave girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is brave enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose poor Mr. Carver is in disgrace. Perhaps it was not his fault
+      altogether.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was a trifle too much. I refused to be charitable to Victor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard from him, or of him, next day. I met Captain Jed Dean at the bank,
+      where I had called to see Taylor and inquire concerning how he and Nellie
+      got home from the festival. They had had a damp, though safe, journey, I
+      learned, and the Methodist ladies had cleared seventy-four dollars and
+      eighty-five cents from the entertainment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Captain Jed entered the door as I left the cashier's gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ship ahoy, Ros!&rdquo; hailed the captain, genially. &ldquo;Make port safe and sound
+      after the flood? I'd have swapped my horse and buggy for Noah's Ark that
+      night and wouldn't have asked any boot neither. Did you see Mullet's
+      bridge? Elnathan says he cal'lates he's got willow kindlin' enough to last
+      him all summer. Ready split too&mdash;the lightnin' attended to that. Lute
+      Rogers don't talk about nothin' else. I cal'late he wishes lightnin' would
+      strike your woodpile; then he'd be saved consider'ble labor, hey?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed and I laughed with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understood Princess Colton was out in the wust of it,&rdquo; went on Captain
+      Jed. &ldquo;Did you hear how her horse ran away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I answered, shortly; &ldquo;I heard about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never stopped till it got half way to West Bayport. The coachman hangin'
+      onto the reins and swearin' at the top of his lungs all the time. 'Bije
+      Ellis, who lives up that way, says the road smells like a match factory
+      even yet&mdash;so much brimstone in the air. The girl got home somehow or
+      other, they tell me. I cal'late her fine duds got their never-get-over.
+      Nellie says the hat she was wearin' come from Paris, or some such foreign
+      place. Well, the rain falls on the just and unjust, so scriptur tells us,
+      and it's true enough. Only the unjust in this case can afford new hats
+      better'n the just, a consider'ble sight. Denboro's lost a promisin' new
+      citizen; did you know it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whom do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hadn't you heard? That young Carver feller shook the dust&mdash;the mud,
+      I mean&mdash;of our roads off his shoes this mornin'. He went away on the
+      up train.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here was news. &ldquo;The up train?&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;You mean he has gone for
+      good?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should call it for good, for our good, anyhow. Yes, he's gone. Went to
+      the depot in Colton's automobile. His majesty went with him fur's the
+      platform. The gang that saw the proceedin's said the good-bys wan't
+      affectin'. Colton didn't shed any tears and young Carver seemed to be
+      pretty down at the mouth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what makes you think he has gone for good?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Alvin Baker was there, same as he usually is, and he managed to be
+      nigh enough to hear the last words&mdash;if there had been any.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And there were not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothin' to amount to much. Nothin' about comin' back, anyhow. Colton said
+      somethin' about bein' remembered to the young feller's ma, and Carver
+      said, 'Thanks,' and that was all. Alvin said 'twas pretty chilly. They've
+      got it all figgered out at the post-office; you see, Carver was to come
+      back to the meetin' house and pick up his princess, and he never come. She
+      started without him and got run away with. Some of the folks paddlin' home
+      from the festival saw the auto go by and heard the crowd inside singin'
+      and laughin' and hollerin'. Nobody's goin' to sing a night like that
+      unless they've got cargo enough below decks to make 'em forget the wet
+      outside. And Beriah Doane was over to Ostable yesterday and he says it's
+      town talk there that young Parker&mdash;the boy the auto crowd was sayin'
+      good-by to at the hotel&mdash;had to be helped up to his room. No, I guess
+      likely the Colton girl objected to her feller's gettin' tight and
+      forgettin' her, so he and she had a row and her dad, the emperor, give him
+      his discharge papers. Sounds reasonable; don't you think so, yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I imagined that the surmise was close to the truth. I nodded and turned
+      away. I did not like Carver, I detested him, but somehow I no longer felt
+      triumph at his discomfiture. I wondered if he really cared for the girl he
+      had lost. It was difficult to think of him as really caring for any one
+      except himself, but if I had been in his place and had, through my own
+      foolishness, thrown away the respect and friendship of such a girl. . . .
+      Yes, I was beginning to feel a little of Mother's charity for the young
+      idiot, now that he could no longer insult and patronize me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Captain Jed followed me to the bank door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Ros,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;changed your mind about sellin' that Lane land yet?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I answered, impatiently. &ldquo;There's no use talking about that, Captain
+      Dean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, all right. Humph! the fellers are gettin' consider'ble fun out
+      of that Lane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In what way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed. &ldquo;Oh, nothin',&rdquo; he observed, with a wink, &ldquo;only. . . . Heard
+      any extry hurrahin' over to your place lately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Captain, what do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't mean nothin'. But I shouldn't wonder if the Great Panjandrum and
+      his folks was reminded that that Lane was still open, that's all. Ho! ho!
+      So long, Ros.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not catch his meaning at the time. A few days later I discovered it
+      by accident. I had been up to the village and was on my way home by the
+      short cut. As I crossed the field behind Sylvanus Snow's abandoned house,
+      the spot where Miss Colton and I had waited on the porch the night of the
+      thunder shower, I heard the rattle of a cart going down the Lane. There
+      was nothing unusual in this, of itself, but with it I heard the sound of
+      loud voices. One of these voices was so loud that I caught the words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, boys, start her up! Three cheers for the Star Spangled Banner and
+      make 'em loud. Let her go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cheers followed, uproarious ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Try it again,&rdquo; commanded the voice. &ldquo;And keep her up all the way along.
+      We'll shake up the 'nerves' I guess. Hooray!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was enough. I understood now what Dean had meant by the Coltons
+      realizing that the Lane was still open. I ran at full speed through the
+      scrub and bushes, through the grove, and emerged upon the Lane directly
+      opposite the Colton estate. The wagon&mdash;Zeb Kendrick's weir cart&mdash;was
+      approaching. Zeb was driving and behind him in the body of the cart were
+      four or five young fellows whom I recognized as belonging to the &ldquo;billiard
+      room gang,&rdquo; an unorganized society whose members worked only occasionally
+      but were responsible for most of the mischief and disorder in our village.
+      Tim Hallet, a sort of leader in that society, with the reputation of
+      having been expelled from school three times and never keeping a job
+      longer than a fortnight, was on the seat beside Kendrick, his back to the
+      horse. Zeb was grinning broadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wagon came nearer, the horse barely moving. Tim Hallet waved his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, boys,&rdquo; he shouted, &ldquo;let's have some music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;'Everybody works but father,
+       And he sets around all day.'&mdash;
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      Whoop her up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They whooped her up. I stepped out into the road.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here!&rdquo; I shouted. &ldquo;Stop that! Stop it, do you hear! Kendrick, what is all
+      this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The song stopped in the middle of the verse. Zeb jerked the reins and
+      shouted &ldquo;Whoa!&rdquo; Hallet and his chorus turned. They had been gazing at the
+      big house, but now they turned and looked at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Ros!&rdquo; said Kendrick, still grinning, but rather sheepishly. &ldquo;How
+      be you? Got quite a band aboard, ain't I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello!&rdquo; cried Hallet. &ldquo;It's Ros himself! Ros, you're all RIGHT! Hi, boys!
+      let's give three cheers for the feller that don't toady to nobody&mdash;millionaires
+      nor nobody else&mdash;hooray for Ros Paine!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cheering that followed was not quite as loud as the previous outburst&mdash;some
+      of the &ldquo;gang&rdquo; may have noticed my attitude and expression&mdash;but it was
+      loud enough. Involuntarily I glanced toward the Colton mansion. I saw no
+      one at the windows or on the veranda, and I was thankful for that. The
+      blood rushed to my face. I was so angry that, for the moment, I could not
+      speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tim Hallet appeared to consider my silence and my crimson cheeks as
+      acknowledgments of the compliment just paid me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cal'late they heard that over yonder,&rdquo; he crowed. &ldquo;Don't you think so,
+      Ros. We've showed 'em what we think of you; now let's give our opinion of
+      them. Three groans for old Colton! Come on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Even Zeb seemed to consider this as going too far, for he protested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on, Tim!&rdquo; he cautioned. &ldquo;A joke's a joke, but that's a little too
+      much; ain't it, Ros.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too much be darned!&rdquo; scoffed Hallet. &ldquo;We'll show 'em! Now, boys!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The groans were not given. I sprang into the road, seized the horse by the
+      bridle and backed the wagon into the bank. Tim, insecurely balanced, fell
+      off the seat and joined his comrades on the cart floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hi!&rdquo; shouted the startled driver. &ldquo;What you doin', Ros? What's that for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You go back where you come from,&rdquo; I ordered. &ldquo;Turn around. Get out of
+      here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I saved him the trouble by completing the turn. When I dropped the bridle
+      the horse's head was pointing toward the Lower Road.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now get out of here!&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;Go back where you come from.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but, Ros,&rdquo; protested Zeb, &ldquo;I don't want to go back. I'm goin'
+      to the shore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you'll have to go some other way. You can't cross my property.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hallet, on his knees, looked out over the seat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the matter with you?&rdquo; he asked, angrily. &ldquo;Didn't you say the town
+      could use this Lane?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Any one may use it as long as he behaves himself. When he doesn't
+      behave he forfeits the privilege. Kendrick, you hear me! Go back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I don't want to go back, Ros. If I do I'll have to go clear round by
+      Myrick's, two mile out of my way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should have thought of that before you brought that crowd with you. I
+      won't have this Lane made a public nuisance by any one. Zeb, I'm ashamed
+      of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zeb turned to his passengers. &ldquo;There!&rdquo; he whined, &ldquo;I told you so, Tim. I
+      said you hadn't ought to act that way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, what are you givin' us!&rdquo; sneered Hallet. &ldquo;You thought 'twas as funny
+      as anybody, Zeb Kendrick. Look here, Ros Paine! I thought you was down on
+      them Coltons. We fellers are only havin' a little fun with 'em for bein'
+      so stuck-up and hoggish. Can't you take a joke?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not your kind. Go back, Zeb.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but can't I use the Lane NO more?&rdquo; pleaded the driver. &ldquo;I won't
+      fetch 'em here agin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll see about that. You can't use it this time. Now go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zeb reluctantly spoke to his horse and the wagon began to move. Hallet
+      swore a string of oaths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm on to you, Paine!&rdquo; he yelled. &ldquo;You're standin' in with 'em, after
+      all. You wait till I see Captain Jed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In three strides I was abreast the cart-tail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See him then,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;And tell him that if any one uses this Lane for
+      the purpose of wilfully annoying those living near it I'll not only forbid
+      his using it, but I'll prosecute him for trespass. I mean that. Stop! I
+      advise you not to say another word.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not intend to prosecute Jim, he was not worth it, but I should have
+      thoroughly enjoyed dragging him out of that wagon and silencing him by
+      primitive methods. My anger had not cooled to any extent. He did not speak
+      to me again, though I heard him muttering as the cart moved off. I
+      remained where I was until I saw it turn into the Lower Road. Then I once
+      more started for home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was very much annoyed and disturbed. Evidently this sort of thing had
+      been going on for some time and I had just discovered it. It placed me in
+      a miserable light. When Colton had declared, as he had in both our
+      interviews, that the Lane was a nuisance I had loftily denied the
+      assertion. Now those idiots in the village were doing their best to prove
+      me a liar. I should have expected such behavior from Hallet and his
+      friends, but for Captain Dean to tacitly approve their conduct was
+      unexpected and provoking. Well, I had made my position plain, at all
+      events. But I knew that Tim would distort my words and that the idea of my
+      &ldquo;standing in&rdquo; with the Coltons, while professing independence, would be
+      revived. I was destined to be detested and misunderstood by both sides.
+      Yes, Dorinda was right in saying that I might find sitting on the fence
+      uncomfortable. It was all of that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I entered the grove and was striding on, head down, busy with these and
+      similar reflections, when some one said: &ldquo;Good morning, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I stopped short, came out of the day dream in which I had been giving
+      Captain Jed my opinion of his followers' behavior, looked up, and saw Miss
+      Colton in the path before me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was dressed in white, a light, simple summer gown. Her straw hat was
+      simple also, expensive simplicity doubtless, but without a trace of the
+      horticultural exhibits with which Olinda Cahoon, our Denboro milliner, was
+      wont to deck the creations she prepared for customers. Matilda Dean would
+      have sniffed at the hat and gown; they were not nearly as elaborate as
+      those Nellie, her daughter, wore on Sundays. But Matilda or Nellie at
+      their grandest could not have appeared as well dressed as this girl, no
+      matter what she wore. Just now she looked, as Lute or Dorinda might have
+      said, &ldquo;as if she came out of a band box.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning,&rdquo; she said, again. She was perfectly self-possessed.
+      Remembrance of our transit of Mullet's cranberry brook did not seem to
+      embarrass her in the least. Nellie Dean would have giggled and blushed,
+      but she did not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>I</i> was embarrassed, I admit it, but I had sufficient presence of
+      mind to remove my hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning,&rdquo; said I. There flashed through my mind the thought that if
+      she had been in that grove for any length of time she must have overheard
+      my lively interview with Kendrick and Tim Hallet. I wondered if she had.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her next remark settled that question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose,&rdquo; she said, soberly, but with the same twinkle in her eye which
+      I had observed once or twice in her father's, &ldquo;that I should apologize for
+      being here, on your property, Mr. Paine. I judge that you don't like
+      trespassers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was more nettled at Zeb and his crowd than ever. &ldquo;So you saw that
+      performance,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I'm sorry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I saw a little of it, and I'm afraid I heard the rest. I was walking here
+      by the bluff and I could not help seeing and hearing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well, I hope you understand, Miss Colton, that I did not know,
+      until just now, this sort of thing was going on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She smiled. &ldquo;Oh, I understand that,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You made that quite plain.
+      Even those people in the wagon understood it, I should imagine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope they did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not know you could be so fierce, Mr. Paine. I had not expected it.
+      You almost frightened me. You were so very&mdash;well, mild and
+      long-suffering on the other occasions when we met.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not always so mild, Miss Colton. However, if I had known you were
+      within hearing I might not have been quite so emphatic.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I am glad you didn't know. I think those ruffians were treated as
+      they deserved.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not half as they deserved. I shall watch from now on and if there are any
+      more attempts at annoying you or your people I shall do more than talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. They have been troublesome&mdash;of late. I am sure we are
+      very much obliged to you, all of us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh yes, we are. Not only for this, but for&mdash;all the rest. For your
+      help the other night especially; I want to thank you for that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was nothing,&rdquo; I answered, awkwardly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing! You are not very complimentary, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean&mdash;that is, I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may consider rescuing shipwrecked young ladies, afloat and ashore,
+      nothing&mdash;perhaps you do it so often that it is of little consequence
+      to you; but I am not so modest. I estimate my safety as worth something,
+      even if you do not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not mean that, of course, Miss Colton. You know I did not. I meant
+      that&mdash;that what I did was no more than any one else would have done
+      under the same circumstances. You were in no danger; you would have been
+      safe enough even if I had not happened along. Please don't say anything
+      more about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well. But I am very glad you happened along, nevertheless. You seem
+      to have the faculty of happening along just at the right time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This sounded like a reference to the episode in the bay, and I did not
+      care to discuss that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;I believe your father said you were not ill after your
+      experience,&rdquo; I observed hastily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not in the least, thank you. And you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I was all right. Rather wet, but I did not mind that. I sail and fish
+      a good deal, and water, fresh or salt, doesn't trouble me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was an unlucky remark, for it led directly to the subject I was
+      trying to avoid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I should imagine,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;And that reminds me that I owe you
+      another debt of thanks for helping me&mdash;helping us out of our
+      difficulty in the boat. I am obliged to you for that also. Even though
+      what you saved was NOT worth five dollars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked up at her quickly. She was biting her lips and there was a smile
+      at the corners of her mouth. I could not answer immediately for the life
+      of me. I would have given something if I had not told Colton of Victor's
+      message and my reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your father misrepresented my meaning, I'm afraid,&rdquo; I stammered. &ldquo;I was
+      angry when I sent that message. It was not intended to include you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. Father seemed inclined to agree with your estimate&mdash;part
+      of it, at least. He is very much interested in you, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I answered, dryly. &ldquo;I can understand that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her smile broke into a ripple of laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are quite distinctive, in your way,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You may not be aware
+      of it, but I have never known father to be so disturbed and puzzled about
+      any one as he is about you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he is, indeed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry that I am the cause of so much mental strain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you are not. From what I have learned about you, from him, I think
+      you enjoy it. You must. It is great fun.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fun! Well, perhaps. Does your&mdash;does Mrs. Colton find it funny?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She hesitated. &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; she answered, more slowly, &ldquo;to be perfectly frank&mdash;I
+      presume that is what you want me to be&mdash;I think Mother blames you
+      somewhat. She is not well, Mr. Paine, and this Lane of yours is her pet
+      bugbear just now. She&mdash;like the rest of us&mdash;cannot understand
+      why you will not sell, and, because you will not, she is rather&mdash;rather&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see. I'm not sure that I blame her. I presume she has blamed me for
+      these outrageous disturbances in the Lane such as you have just
+      witnessed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She hesitated again. &ldquo;Why yes,&rdquo; she said, more slowly still; &ldquo;a little, I
+      think. She is not well, as I said, and she may have thought you were, if
+      not instigating them, at least aware of what was going on. But I am sure
+      father does not think so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you, Miss Colton; did you believe me responsible for them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because, from what I have seen of you, you did not seem to me like that
+      kind of a man. You kept your temper that day in the boat, though you had a
+      good reason for losing it. All this,&rdquo; with a gesture toward the Lane, &ldquo;the
+      shouting and noise and petty insults, was so little and mean and common. I
+      did not believe you would permit it, if you knew. And, from what I have
+      learned about you, I was sure you would not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From what you learned about me? From your father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then from whom, pray?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From your friends. From that Mr. Taylor and Miss Dean and the others.
+      They spoke of you so highly, and of your mother and your care of her. They
+      described you as a gentleman, and no gentleman would countenance THAT.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was so astonished that I blurted out my next question without thinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were speaking to them about ME?&rdquo; I cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her manner changed. Possibly she thought I was presuming on our chance
+      acquaintance, or that she made a mistake in admitting even a casual
+      interest; I might consider that interest to be real, instead of merely
+      perfunctory. At any rate, I noticed a difference in her tone. It was as if
+      she had suddenly withdrawn behind the fence which marked the border of our
+      social line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; she said, carelessly, &ldquo;I did not cross-question, of course. Puzzles
+      are always interesting, more or less. And a puzzle which perplexed my
+      father was certainly unique. So I was a trifle curious, that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I came to earth with a thud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; I said, curtly. &ldquo;Well, I presume I should thank my friends for
+      the testimonials to my character. And I promise you that you shall not be
+      annoyed again. Good morning, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was turning away when she spoke my name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Paine,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have not explained why I was here, on your land, this morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is all right. You are quite welcome to be here at any time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. I told you I was walking by the bluff; that is true, but it
+      isn't the whole truth. I was trying to muster courage to call on your
+      mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at her in amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Call on Mother!&rdquo; I repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I have heard a great deal about your mother, and nothing except the
+      very best. I think I should like to know her. Do you think she would
+      consider me presuming and intrusive if I did call?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Miss Colton, I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please be frank about it, Mr. Paine. And please believe that my call
+      would not be from idle curiosity. I should like to know her. Of course, if
+      this disagreement about the land makes a difference, if she feels
+      resentful toward us, I will not think of such a thing. Does she? Why do
+      you smile? I am in earnest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not mean to smile, Miss Colton. The idea of Mother's feeling
+      resentment toward any one seemed absurd to me, that was all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then may I call on her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly. That is, if&mdash;if you think it wise. If your mother&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Mother has long ago given up trying to solve me. I am a greater
+      puzzle to her than you seem to be to everyone, Mr. Paine. I have spoken to
+      my father about it and he is quite willing. His difference with you is
+      purely a business one, as you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Some of the &ldquo;business&rdquo; had been oddly conducted, but I did not raise the
+      point. I could not reason just then. That this spoiled, city-bred daughter
+      of &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; Colton should wish to know my mother was beyond reasoning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She said good morning and we parted. I walked home, racking my brains to
+      find the answer to this new conundrum. It was a whim on her part, of
+      course, inspired by something George or Nellie had told her. I did not
+      know whether to resent the whim or not, whether to be angry or
+      indifferent. If she intended to inspect Mother as a possible object of
+      future charity I should be angry and the first call would be the last. But
+      Mother herself would settle all questions of charity; I knew that. And the
+      girl had not spoken in a patronizing way. She had declared that idle
+      curiosity had no part in her wish. She seemed in earnest. What would
+      Mother say when I told her?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute was just coming through the gate as I approached it. He was in high
+      good humor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm goin' up street,&rdquo; he declared. &ldquo;Anything you want me to fetch you
+      from the store, Ros?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at my watch. It was only eleven o'clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up street?&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;I thought you were slated to wash windows this
+      forenoon. I heard Dorinda give you your orders to that effect. You haven't
+      finished washing them already?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; with a broad grin, &ldquo;I ain't finished 'em. Fact is, I ain't begun 'em
+      yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So! Does Dorinda know that you are going up street?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. She knows. Anyhow, she knows I'm goin' somewheres. She told me to
+      go herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She did! Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't ask ME. I was all ready to wash the windows; had the bucket pumped
+      full and everything. But when I come into the dinin'-room she sung out to
+      know what I was doin' with all that water on her clean floor. 'Why,
+      Dorindy!' I says, 'I'm a-goin' to wash them windows same's you told me
+      to.' 'No, you ain't,' says she. 'But what will I do?' says I. 'I don't
+      care,' says she. 'Clear out of here, that's all.' 'But where'll I clear
+      out to?' I wanted to know. 'I don't care!' she snaps again, savage as a
+      settin' hen, 'so long's you clear out of my sight.' So here I be. Don't
+      ask me why she changed her mind: <i>I</i> don't know. Nothin' you want to
+      the store?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Ros, you know what I think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Far be it from me to presume to guess your thoughts, Lute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I think this is a strange world and the strangest thing in it is a
+      woman. You never can tell what they'll do ten minutes at a stretch. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, Lute. I'll hear the rest of the philosophy later.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Philosophy or not, it's the livin' truth. And when you're as old as I be
+      you'll know it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I went in through the dining-room, steering clear of Dorinda, who scarcely
+      looked up from her floor scrubbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother,&rdquo; said I, entering the darkened bedroom, &ldquo;I just met the Colton
+      girl and what do you suppose she told me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That she was very grateful to you for coming to her rescue the other
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That, of course. But she told me something else. She said she was coming
+      to call on you. On YOU, Mother!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I don't know what answer I expected. I flung the announcement like a
+      bombshell and was ready for almost any sort of explosion at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did she?&rdquo; observed Mother, placidly. &ldquo;I am very glad. I have no doubt I
+      shall like her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My next remark had nothing to do with Miss Colton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, by George!&rdquo; I exclaimed, with emphasis. &ldquo;Lute IS a philosopher,
+      after all. I take off my hat to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      I met Mabel Colton several times during the following week. Once, at the
+      place where I had met her before, in the grove by the edge of the bluff,
+      and again walking up the Lane in company with her father. Once also on the
+      Lower Road, though that could scarcely be called a meeting, for I was
+      afoot and she and her father and mother were in the automobile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only at the meeting in the grove were words exchanged between us. She
+      bowed pleasantly and commented on the wonderful view.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am trespassing again, you see,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Taking advantage of your
+      good-nature, Mr. Paine. This spot is the most attractive I have found in
+      Denboro.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I observed that the view from her verandas must be almost the same.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Almost, but not quite,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;These pines shut off the inlet below,
+      and all the little fishing boats. One of them is yours, I suppose. Which?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is my launch there,&rdquo; I replied, pointing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The little white one? You built it yourself, I think Father said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was mistaken, if he said that. I am not clever enough to build a boat,
+      Miss Colton. I bought the Comfort, second-hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I don't know why I added the &ldquo;second-hand.&rdquo; Probably because I had not yet
+      freed my mind from the bitterness&mdash;yes, and envy&mdash;which the
+      sight of this girl and her people always brought with it. It is
+      comparatively easy to be free from envy if one is what George Taylor
+      termed a &ldquo;never-was&rdquo;; for a &ldquo;has been&rdquo; it is harder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boat's name was the only portion of my remark which attracted her
+      attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Comfort?&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;That is a jolly name for a pleasure boat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is my mother's name,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it? Why, I remember now. Miss Dean told me. I beg your pardon, Mr.
+      Paine. It is a pretty name, at all events.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must have misunderstood Father. I was sure he said that boat building
+      was your business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. He saw me overhauling the engine, and perhaps that gave him the
+      impression that I was a builder. I told him I was not, but no doubt he
+      forgot. I have no business, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I think she was surprised. She glanced at me curiously and her lips opened
+      as if to ask another question. She did not ask it however, and, except for
+      a casual remark or two about the view and the blueness of the water in the
+      bay, she said nothing more. I rather expected she would refer to her
+      intention of calling on Mother, but she did not mention the subject. I
+      inferred that she had thought better of her whim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the other occasions when we met she merely bowed. &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; nodded
+      carelessly. Mrs. Colton, from her seat in the auto, nodded also, though
+      her majestic bow could scarcely be termed a nod. It was more like the
+      acknowledgment, by a queen in her chariot, of the applauding citizen on
+      the sidewalk. She saw me, and she deigned to let me know that I was seen,
+      that was all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But when I inferred that her daughter had forgotten, or had decided not to
+      make the call at our house, I misjudged the young lady. I returned, one
+      afternoon, from a cruise up and down the bay in the Comfort, to find our
+      small establishment&mdash;the Rogers portion of it, at least&mdash;in a
+      high state of excitement. Lute and Dorinda were in the kitchen and before
+      I reached the back door, which was open, I heard their voices in animated
+      discussion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why wouldn't I say it, Dorinda?&rdquo; pleaded Lute. &ldquo;You can't blame me none.
+      There I was, with my sleeves rolled up and just settin' in the chair,
+      restin' my arms a jiffy and thinkin' which window I'd wash next, when
+      there come that knock at the door. Thinks I, 'It's Asa Peters' daughter's
+      young-one peddlin' clams.' That's what come to my mind fust. That idee
+      popped right into my head, it did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Found plenty of room when it got there, I cal'late,&rdquo; snapped Dorinda.
+      &ldquo;Must have felt lonesome.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's it! keep on pitchin' into me. I swan to man! sometimes I get so
+      discouraged and wore out and reckless&mdash;hello! here's Ros. You ask him
+      now! Ros, she's layin' into me because I didn't understand what&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe,&rdquo; broke in his wife, &ldquo;I never was more mortified in all my born
+      days. He&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me tell you all about it, Ros. I went to the door&mdash;thinkin'
+      'twas a peddler, you know; had this old suit on, all sloshed up with
+      soapsuds and water, and a wet rag in my hand; and there she stood, styled
+      up like the Queen of Sheby. Well, sir! I'll leave it to you if 'tain't
+      enough to surprise anybody. HER! comin' HERE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That wan't any reason why you should behave like a natural born&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on! you let me finish tellin' Roscoe. 'Good afternoon,' says she.
+      'Is Mrs. Paine in?' Said it just like that, she did. I was so flustered up
+      from the sight of her that I didn't sense it right off and I says, 'What
+      ma'am?' 'Is Mrs. Paine in?' says she. 'In?' says I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just like a poll parrot,&rdquo; interjected Dorinda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you goin' to let me tell this or ain't you? 'In?' says I; hadn't
+      sensed it yet, you see. 'Is Mrs. Paine to home?' she says. Now your ma,
+      Ros, ain't never been nowheres else BUT home sence land knows when, so I
+      supposed she must mean somebody else. 'Who?' says I, again. 'Mrs. Comfort
+      Paine,' says she. She raised her voice a little; guessed I was deef,
+      probably.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If she'd guessed you was dumb she wouldn't have been fur off,&rdquo; commented
+      Dorinda. I had not seen her so disturbed for many a day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her husband disdained to notice this interruption.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Mrs. Comfort Paine,' says she,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;'She is in? And I says
+      'In?'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you didn't. You said, 'In where?' And she had all she could do to
+      keep from laughin'. I see her face as I got to the door, and it's a mercy
+      I got there when I did. Land knows what you'd have said next!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Dorindy, I tell you I thought&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;YOU thought! I know what SHE must have thought. That she'd made a mistake
+      and run afoul of an asylum for the feeble-minded.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Umph! I should have GOT feeble-minded if I'd had any more of that kind of
+      talk. What made her ask if a sick woman like Comfort was 'in' and 'to
+      home'? Couldn't be nowheres else, could she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rubbish! she meant could Mrs. Paine see folks, that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See 'em! How you talk! She ain't blind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my soul and body! She was tryin' to ask if she might make a call on
+      Comfort.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well then, why didn't she ask it; 'stead of wantin' to know if she was
+      in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's the high-toned way TO ask, and you'd ought to have known it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Do tell! Well, I ain't tony, myself. Don't have no chance to be in
+      this house. Nothin' but work, work, work! tongue, tongue, tongue! for me
+      around here. I'm disgusted, that's what I am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;YOU'RE disgusted! What about, me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had listened to as much of this little domestic disagreement as I cared
+      to hear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait a minute,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;What is all this? Who has been here to see
+      Mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Both answered at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That Colton girl,&rdquo; cried Lute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That Mabel Colton,&rdquo; said Dorinda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton? She has been here? this afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm,&rdquo; Dorinda nodded emphatically. &ldquo;She stayed in your ma's room 'most
+      an hour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas fifty-three minutes,&rdquo; declared Lute. &ldquo;I timed her by the clock. And
+      she fetched a great, big bouquet. Comfort says she&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I waited to hear no more, but went into Mother's room. The little bed
+      chamber was fragrant with the perfume of flowers. A cluster of big
+      Jacqueminot roses drooped their velvety petaled heads over the sides of
+      the blue and white pitcher on the bureau. Mother loved flowers and I
+      frequently brought her the old fashioned posies from Dorinda's little
+      garden or wild blossoms from the woods and fields. But roses such as these
+      were beyond my reach now-a-days. They grew in greenhouses, not in the
+      gardens of country people.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother did not move as I entered and I thought she was asleep. But as I
+      bent over the roses she turned on the pillow and spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren't they beautiful, Roscoe?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;They are beautiful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know who brought them to me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Mother. Lute told me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She did call, you see. She kept her word. It was kind of her, wasn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I sat down in the rocking chair by the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; I asked, after a moment, &ldquo;what did she say? Did she condescend to
+      pity her pauper neighbors?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did she express horrified sympathy and offer to call your case to the
+      attention of her cousin in charge of the Poor Ward in the City General
+      Hospital, like that woman from the Harniss hotel last summer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boy! How can you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well; I am a jealous beast, Mother; I admit it. But I have not been
+      able to bring you flowers like that and it galls me to think that others
+      can. They don't deserve to have all the beautiful things in life, while
+      the rest of us have none.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it isn't her fault that she has them, is it? And it was kind to share
+      them with us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose so. Well, what did she say to you? Dorinda says she was with
+      you nearly an hour. What did you and she talk about? She did not offer
+      charity, did she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think I should have accepted it, if she had? Roscoe, I have never
+      seen you so prejudiced as you are against our new neighbors. It doesn't
+      seem like you, at all. And if her father and mother are like Miss Mabel,
+      you are very wrong. I like her very much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You would try to like any one, Mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not have to try to like her. And I was a little prejudiced, too, at
+      first. She was so wealthy, and an only child; I feared she might be
+      conceited and spoiled. But she isn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not conceited! Humph!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not really. At first she seemed a trifle distant, and I thought her
+      haughty; but, afterward, when her strangeness and constraint had worn
+      away, she was simple and unaffected and delightful. And she is very
+      pretty, isn't she.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She told me a great deal about herself. She has been through Vassar and
+      has traveled a great deal. This is the first summer since her graduation
+      which she has not spent abroad. She and I talked of Rome and Florence. I&mdash;I
+      told her of the month I spent in Italy when you were a baby, Roscoe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You did not tell her anything more, Mother? Anything she should not
+      know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boy!&rdquo; reproachfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me, Mother. Of course you didn't. Did she tell you why she called
+      on us&mdash;on you, I mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, in a way. I imagine&mdash;though she did not say so&mdash;that you
+      are responsible for that. She and Nellie Dean seem to be well acquainted,
+      almost friendly, which is odd, for I can scarcely think of two girls more
+      different. But she likes Nellie, that is evident, and Nellie and George
+      have told her about you and me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see. And so she was curious concerning the interesting invalid.
+      Probably anything even mildly interesting is a godsend to her, down here.
+      Did she mention the Shore Lane rumpus?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Although I mentioned it first. It was plain that she could not
+      understand your position in the matter, Roscoe, and I explained it as well
+      as I could. I told her that you felt the Lane was a necessity to the
+      townspeople, and that, under the circumstances, you could not sell. I told
+      her how deeply you sympathized with her mother&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you tell her that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes. It is true, isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Mildly so, maybe. What more did she say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She said she thought she understood better now. I told her about you,
+      Boy, and what a good son you had been to me. How you had sacrificed your
+      future and your career for my sake. Of course I could not go into
+      particulars, at all, but we talked a great deal about you, Roscoe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That must have been deliriously interesting&mdash;to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think it was. She told me of your helping her home through the storm,
+      and of something else you had not told me, Boy: of your bringing her and
+      Mr. Carver off the flat in the boat that day. Why did you keep that a
+      secret?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was not worth telling.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She thought it was. She laughed about it; said you handled the affair in
+      a most businesslike and unsentimental way; she never felt more like a
+      bundle of dry-goods in her life, but that that appeared to be your manner
+      of handling people. It was a somewhat startling manner, but very
+      effective, she said. I don't know what she meant by that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I knew, but I did not explain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean to say, Mother, that you glorified me to her for an hour?&rdquo;
+       I demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, indeed. We talked of ever so many things. Of books, and pictures, and
+      music. I'm afraid I was rather wearisome. It seemed so good to have some
+      one&mdash;except you, of course, dear&mdash;to discuss such subjects with.
+      Most of my callers are not interested in them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is coming again, she says,&rdquo; continued Mother. &ldquo;She has some new books
+      she is going to lend me. You must read them to me. And aren't those roses
+      wonderful? She picked them, herself, in their conservatory. I told her how
+      fond you were of flowers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I judged that the young lady must have gone away with the idea that I was
+      a combination of longshore lout and effeminate dilettante, with the
+      financial resources of the former. She might as well have that idea as any
+      other, I supposed, but, in her eyes, I must be more of a freak than ever.
+      I should take care to keep out of the sight of those eyes as much as
+      possible. But that the millionaire's daughter had made a hit on the
+      occasion of her first call was plain. Not only had Mother been favorably
+      impressed, but even the practical and unromantic Dorinda's shell was
+      dented. She deigned to observe that the young lady seemed to have
+      &ldquo;consider'ble common-sense, considerin' her bringin' up.&rdquo; This, from
+      Dorinda, was high praise, and I wondered what the caller had said or done
+      to win such a triumph. Lute made the matter clear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By time!&rdquo; he said, when he and I were together, &ldquo;that girl's a smart one.
+      I'd give somethin' to have her kind of smartness. Dorindy was terrible
+      cranky all the time she was in your ma's room and I didn't know what would
+      happen when she come out. But the fust thing she done when she come out
+      was to look around the dinin' room and say, 'Oh! what a pleasant, homey
+      place! And so clean! Why, it is perfectly spotless!' Land sakes! the old
+      lady thawed out like a cranberry bog in April. After that they talked
+      about housekeepin' and cookin' and such, sociable as could be. Dorindy's
+      goin' to give her her receipt for doughnuts next time she comes. And I bet
+      that girl never cooked a doughnut in her life or ever will. If I could
+      think of the right thing to say, like that, 'twould save me more'n one
+      ear-ache. But I never do think of it till the next day, and then it's too
+      late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He borrowed my tobacco, filled his pipe, and continued:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Ros,&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;what's your idea of what made her come here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To see Mother, of course,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's your notion, is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly. What else?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! There's other sick folks in town. Why don't she go to see them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps she does. I don't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I bet you ten cents she don't. No, I've been reasonin' of it out, same as
+      I gen'rally do, and I've got some notions of my own. You don't cal'late
+      her pa sent her so's to sort of soft soap around toward his gettin' the
+      Shore Lane? You don't cal'late 'twas part of that game, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That supposition had crossed my mind more than once. I was ashamed of it
+      and now I denied it, indignantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I don't think so, myself. But if 'tain't that it's another reason.
+      She may be interested in Comfort; I don't say she ain't; but that ain't
+      all she's interested in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind. I ain't said nothin'. I'm just waitin' to see, that's all. I
+      have had some experience in this world, I have. There's different times
+      comin' for this family, you set that down in your log-book, Ros Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Lute; if you are hinting that Miss Colton or her people intend
+      offering us charity&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who said anything about charity? No; if she had that idee in her head,
+      her talk with your ma would drive it out. 'Tain't charity, I ain't sayin'
+      what 'tis. . . . I wonder how 'twould seem to be rich.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lute, you're growing more foolish every day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So Dorindy says; but she nor you ain't offered no proof yet. All right,
+      you wait and see. And say, Ros, don't mention our talk to Dorindy. She's
+      more'n extry down on me just now, and if I breathe that Mabel Colton's
+      name she hops right up in the air. How'd I know that askin' if a woman
+      who's been sick in bed six year or more was 'in' meant could she have
+      folks come to see her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother would have discussed the Coltons with me frequently, but I avoided
+      the subject as much as possible. The promised books arrived&mdash;brought
+      over by Johnson, the butler, who viewed our humble quarters with lofty
+      disdain&mdash;and I read one of them aloud to Mother, a chapter each
+      evening. More flowers came also and the darkened bedroom became a bower of
+      beauty and perfume. If I had yielded to my own wishes I should have
+      returned both roses and books. It was better, as I saw it, that we and our
+      wealthy neighbors had nothing to do with each other. Real friendship was
+      out of the question; the memory of Mrs. Colton's frigid bow and her
+      reference to me as a &ldquo;person&rdquo; proved that. Her daughter might think
+      otherwise, or might think that she thought so, but I knew better. However,
+      I did not like to pain Mother by refusing offerings which, to her, were
+      expressions of sympathy and regard, so I had no protest and tried to
+      enthuse over the gifts and loans. After all, what did they amount to? One
+      tea-rose bred from Dorinda's carefully tended bush, or one gushful story
+      book selected by Almena Doane from the new additions to the town library
+      and sent because she thought &ldquo;Mrs. Comfort might find it sort of soothin'
+      and distractin',&rdquo; meant more real unselfish thought and kindly feeling
+      than all the conservatory exotics and new novels which the rich girl's
+      whim supplied from her overflowing store. I was surprised only that the
+      whim lasted so long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind all this, I think, and confirming my feeling, was the fact that
+      Miss Colton did not repeat her call. A week or more passed and she did not
+      come. I caught glimpses of her occasionally in the auto, or at the
+      post-office, but I took care that she should not see me. I did not wish to
+      be seen, though precisely why I could not have explained even to myself.
+      The memory of that night in the rain, and of our meetings in the grove,
+      troubled me because I could not keep them from my mind. They kept
+      recurring, no matter what I did or where I went. No, I did not want to
+      meet her again. Somehow, the sight and memory of her made me more
+      dissatisfied and discontented than ever. I found myself moodily wishing
+      for things beyond my reach, longing to be something more than I was&mdash;more
+      than the nobody which I knew I must always be. I remembered my feelings on
+      the morning of the day when I first saw her. Now they seemed almost like
+      premonitions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I kept away; not only from her, but from George Taylor and Captain Dean
+      and the townspeople. I went to the village scarcely at all. Sim Eldredge,
+      who had evidently received orders from headquarters to drop the Lane
+      &ldquo;agency,&rdquo; troubled me no more, merely glowering reproachfully when we met;
+      and Alvin Baker, whose note had been renewed, although he hailed me with
+      effusive cordiality, did not press his society upon me, having no axe to
+      grind at present. Zeb Kendrick was using the Lane again, but he took care
+      to bring no more &ldquo;billiard roomers&rdquo; as passengers. I had as yet heard
+      nothing from my quarrel with Tim Hallet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I spent a good deal of my time in the Comfort, or wandering about the
+      shore and in the woods. One warm, cloudy morning the notion seized me to
+      go up to the ponds and try for black bass. There are bass in some of the
+      larger ponds&mdash;lakes they would be called anywhere else except on Cape
+      Cod&mdash;and, if one is lucky, and the weather is right, and the bait
+      tempting, they may be caught. This particular morning promised to furnish
+      the proper brand of weather, and a short excursion on the flats provided a
+      supply of shrimps and minnows for bait. Dorinda, who happened to be in
+      good humor, put up a lunch for me and, at seven o'clock, with my rod and
+      landing net in their cases, strapped, with my fishing boots and coffee
+      pot, to my back, and my bait pail in one hand and lunch basket in the
+      other, I started on my tramp. It was a long four miles to Seabury's Pond,
+      my destination, and Lute, to whom, like most country people, the idea of a
+      four-mile walk was sheer lunacy, urged my harnessing the horse and driving
+      there. But I knew the overgrown wood roads and the difficulty of piloting
+      a vehicle through them, and, moreover, I really preferred to go afoot. So
+      I marched off and left him protesting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very few summer people&mdash;and only summer people or irresponsible
+      persons like myself waste time in freshwater fishing on the Cape&mdash;knew
+      where Seabury's Pond was. It lay far from macadam roads and automobile
+      thoroughfares and its sandy shores were bordered with verdure-clad hills
+      shutting it in like the sides of a bowl. To reach it from Denboro one left
+      the Bayport road at &ldquo;Beriah Holt's place,&rdquo; followed Beriah's cow path to
+      the pasture, plunged into the oak and birch grove at the southern edge of
+      that pasture, emerged on a grass-grown and bush-encumbered track which had
+      once been the way to some early settler's home, and had been forsaken for
+      years, and followed that track, in all its windings, until he saw the
+      gleam of water between the upper fringe of brush and the lower limbs of
+      the trees. Then he left the track and clambered down the steep slope to
+      the pond.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am a good walker, but I was tired long before I reached the slope. The
+      bait pail, which I refilled with fresh water at Beriah's pump, grew
+      heavier as I went on, and I began to think Lute knew what he was talking
+      about when he declared me to be &ldquo;plumb crazy, hoofin' it four mile loaded
+      down with all that dunnage.&rdquo; However, when the long &ldquo;hoof&rdquo; was over, and I
+      sat down in a patch of &ldquo;hog-cranberry&rdquo; vines for a smoke, with the pond
+      before me, I was measurably happy. This was the sort of thing I liked.
+      Here there were no Shore Lane controversies, but real independence and
+      peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After my smoke was finished and I had rested, I carried my &ldquo;dunnage&rdquo;
+       around to the point where I intended to begin my fishing, put the lunch
+      basket in a shady place beneath the bushes, and the bait pail in the water
+      nearby, changed my shoes for the fishing boots, rigged my rod and was
+      ready.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At first the fishing was rather poor. The pond was full of perch and they
+      were troublesome. By and by, however, I hooked a four-pound pickerel and
+      he stirred my lagging ambition. I waded on, casting and playing beyond the
+      lily pads and sedge. At last I got my first bass, a small one, and had
+      scarcely landed him than a big fellow struck, fought, rose and broke away.
+      That was spur sufficient. All the forenoon I waded about the shores of
+      that pond. When at half-past eleven the sun came out and I knew my sport
+      was over, for the time at least, I had four bass&mdash;two of them fine
+      ones&mdash;and two, pickerel. Then I remembered my appetite and Dorinda's
+      luncheon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I went back to the point and inspected the contents of the basket.
+      Sandwiches, cold chicken, eggs, doughnuts and apple puffs. They looked
+      good to me. Also there were pepper and salt in one paper, sugar in
+      another, coffee in a third, and milk in a bottle. I collected some dry
+      chips and branches and prepared to kindle a fire. As I bent over the heap
+      of sticks and chips I heard the sound of horses' hoofs in the woods near
+      by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was surprised and annoyed. The principal charm of Seabury Pond was that
+      so few people visited it. Also fewer still knew how good the fishing was
+      there. I was not more than ordinarily selfish, but I did not care to have
+      the place overrun with excursionists from the city, who had no scruples as
+      to number and size of fish caught and would ruin the sport as they had
+      ruined it at other and better known ponds. The passerby, whoever he was&mdash;a
+      native probably&mdash;would, if he saw me, ask questions concerning my
+      luck, and be almost sure to tell every one he met. I left my fire
+      unkindled, stepped back to the shade of the bushes and waited in silence,
+      hoping the driver would go on without stopping. There was no real road on
+      this side of the pond, but there was an abandoned wood track, like that by
+      which I had come. The horse was approaching along the track; the sounds of
+      hoofs and crackling branches grew plainer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The odd part of it was that I heard no rattle of wheels. It was almost as
+      if the person was on horseback. This seemed impossible, because no one in
+      Denboro or Bayport&mdash;no one I could think of, at least&mdash;owned or
+      rode a saddle horse. Yet the hoof beats grew louder and there was no
+      squeak, or jolt, or rattle to bear them company. They came to a point in
+      the woods directly opposite where I sat in the shade of the bushes and
+      there they stopped. Then they recommenced and the crackle of branches was
+      louder than ever. The rider, whoever he was, was coming down the bank to
+      the pond.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A moment more and the tall swamp-huckleberry bushes at the edge of the
+      sandy beach parted and between them stepped gingerly a clean-cut, handsome
+      brown horse, which threw up its head at the sight of the water and then
+      trotted lightly toward it. The rider, who sat so easily in the saddle, was
+      a girl. And the girl was Mabel Colton!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not notice me at first, but gave her attention to the horse. The
+      animal waded into the water to its knees and, in obedience to a pull on
+      the reins, stopped, bent its head, and began to drink. Then the rider
+      turned in her seat, looked about her, saw the heap of wood for the fire,
+      the open lunch basket, the rods and landing-net, and&mdash;me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had stepped from the bushes when she first appeared and was standing
+      motionless, staring, I imagine, like what Dorinda sometimes called her
+      husband&mdash;a &ldquo;born gump.&rdquo; There was Fate in this! no doubt about it.
+      The further I went to avoid this girl, and the more outlandish and
+      forsaken the spot to which I fled, the greater the certainty of our
+      meeting. A feeling of helplessness came over me, as if I were in the
+      clutch of destiny and no effort of mine could break that clutch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment she looked as if she might be thinking the same thing. She
+      started when she saw me and her lips parted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she exclaimed, softly. Then we gazed at each other without speaking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was the first to recover from the surprise. Her expression changed.
+      The look of alarm caused by my sudden appearance left her face, but the
+      wonder remained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why! Why, Mr. Paine!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Is it you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I stepped forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Miss Colton!&rdquo; said I.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She drew a breath of relief. &ldquo;It IS you!&rdquo; she declared. &ldquo;I was beginning
+      to believe in hallucinations. How you startled me! What are you doing
+      here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is exactly what I was going to ask you,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;I am here for a
+      fishing excursion. But what brought you to this out-of-the-way place?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She smiled and patted the horse's shoulder. &ldquo;Don here brought me,&rdquo; she
+      answered. &ldquo;He saw the water and I knew he was thirsty, so I came straight
+      down the bank. But I didn't expect to find any one here. I haven't seen a
+      horse or a human being for an hour. What a pretty little lake this is.
+      What is its name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is called Seabury's Pond. How did you find it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't. Don found it. He and I came for a gallop in the woods and I let
+      him choose his own paths. I have been in his charge all the morning. I
+      haven't the least idea where we are. There, Don! you have had enough and
+      you are splashing us dreadfully. Come back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She backed the horse out of the water and turned his head toward the
+      woods.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is great fun to be lost,&rdquo; she observed. &ldquo;I didn't suppose any one
+      could be lost in Denboro.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But this isn't Denboro. Seabury's Pond is in Bayport township.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it, really? In Bayport? Then I must be a long way from home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are; four miles and a half, at least. More than that over the road.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at her watch and frowned slightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;And it is after twelve already. I am perfectly sure
+      I can't find the way back in time for luncheon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall be glad to go with you and show you the way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, indeed! Don and I will get home safely. This isn't the first time we
+      have been lost together, though not on Cape Cod. Of course I shouldn't
+      think of taking you from your fishing. Have you had good luck?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pretty fair. Some bass and two good-sized pickerel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really! Bass? I didn't know there were any about here. May I see them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly. They are over there in the bushes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She swung lightly down from the saddle and, taking her horse by the
+      bridle, led him toward the spot where my catch lay, covered with leaves
+      and wet grass. I removed the covering and she bent over the fish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, splendid!&rdquo; she exclaimed, with enthusiasm. &ldquo;That big one must be a
+      three-pounder. I envy you. Bass fishing is great sport. Did you get these
+      on a fly&mdash;the bass, I mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I use a fly in the spring and fall, but seldom in June or July, here.
+      Those were taken with live bait-shrimp. The pickerel with minnows. Are you
+      fond of fishing, Miss Colton?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, indeed. Whoa, Don! steady! Yes, I fish a good deal in September,
+      when we are at our lodge in the Adirondacks. Trout there, principally. But
+      I have caught bass in Maine. I thought I must give it up this year. I did
+      not know there were fish, in fresh water, on the Cape.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are, a few. The people about here pay no attention to them. They
+      scorn such small fry. Cod and pollock are more in their line.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose so. But that is all the better for you, isn't it? Were you
+      fishing when I interrupted you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I was just getting ready for lunch. My fire was ready to kindle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fire? Why did you need a fire?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For my coffee.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coffee! You are a luxurious picnicer, Mr. Paine. Hot coffee on a fishing
+      trip! and without a guide. And you are unfeeling, besides, for you remind
+      me that I am very hungry. I must go at once. How far am I from home? Four
+      miles, did you say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Four and a half, or more, by road. And the roads are like those you have
+      been traveling this morning. I doubt if you could find the way, even with
+      your horse's help. I must insist upon going with you as far as the main
+      road between Denboro and Bayport.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall not permit it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I insist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her answer was a little laugh. She put her foot in the stirrup and vaulted
+      to the saddle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your insisting is useless, you see,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You are on foot and I
+      have the advantage. No, Don and I will go alone, thank you. Now, will you
+      please tell me the way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shrugged my shoulders. &ldquo;Go back along the road you came,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;until
+      you reach the second, no, the third, path to the right. Follow that to the
+      second on the left. Then follow that for two hundred yards or so until&mdash;well,
+      until you reach a clump of bushes, high bushes. Behind these is another
+      path, a blind one, and you must take care to pick the right clump, because
+      there is another one with a path behind it and that path joins the road to
+      Harniss. If you should take the Harniss road you would go miles out of
+      your way. Take the blind path I speak of and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She interrupted me. &ldquo;Stop! stop!&rdquo; she exclaimed; &ldquo;please don't. I am
+      absolutely bewildered already. I had no idea I was in such a maze. Let me
+      see! Second to the right; third to the left&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, third to the right and second to the left.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then the bushes and the choice of blind paths. Don, I see plainly
+      that you and I must trust to Providence. Well, it is fortunate that the
+      family are accustomed to my ways. They won't be alarmed, no matter how
+      late I may be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton, I am not going to allow you to go alone. Of course I am not.
+      I can set you on the right road and get back here in plenty of time for
+      fishing. The fish are not hungry in the middle of the day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, but you are. I know you must be, because&mdash;no, good day, Mr.
+      Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She spoke to the horse and he began to move. I took my courage between my
+      teeth, ran after the animal and seized the bridle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are not going alone,&rdquo; I said, decidedly. I was smiling, but
+      determined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at me in surprised indignation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I merely smiled. Her chin lifted and her brows drew together. I recognized
+      that look; I had seen it before, on that afternoon when I announced my
+      intention of carrying her from the dingy to the skiff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you be good enough to let go of my rein?&rdquo; she asked. Every word was
+      a sort of verbal icicle. I felt the chill and my smile was rather forced;
+      but I held the bridle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said, serenely as I could. For a minute&mdash;I suppose it was not
+      longer than that, it seemed an hour to me&mdash;we remained as we were.
+      Then her lips began to curl upward at the corners, and, to my surprise,
+      she burst out laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really, Mr. Paine,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you are the most impossible person I ever
+      met. Do you always order people about this way? I feel as if I were about
+      five years old and you were my nurse. Are we to stand here the rest of the
+      afternoon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; unless you permit me to go with you and show you the way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I can't. I'm not going to spoil your picnic. I know you want your
+      lunch. You must. Or, if you don't, I want mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you go alone, there are nine chances in ten that you will not get home
+      in time for dinner, to say nothing of lunch.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at me oddly, I thought, and started to speak. Whatever it was
+      she was going to say she evidently thought better of it, for she remained
+      silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then I had a new idea. Whether or not it was her look which inspired it I
+      do not know. I think it must have been; I never would have dared such a
+      thing without inspiration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, hesitatingly, &ldquo;if you really are not&mdash;if you
+      are sure your people will not worry about you&mdash;I&mdash;I should be
+      glad to share my lunch with you. Then we could go home together
+      afterward.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not look at me now. Instead she turned her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are&mdash;are you sure there is enough for two?&rdquo; she asked, in a
+      curiously choked tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By way of answer I led the horse to the bushes, drew the lunch basket from
+      the shade, and threw back the cover. Dorinda's picnic lunches were
+      triumphs and she had never put up a more tempting one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Colton looked down into the basket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There appears to be enough, doesn't there?&rdquo; I observed, drily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but I couldn't think of . . . Are you sure I won't be . . .
+      Thank you. Yes, I'll stay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before I could offer my hand to help her from the saddle she sprang to the
+      ground. Her eyes were sparkling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Paine,&rdquo; she said, in a burst of confidence, &ldquo;it is shameless to tell
+      you so, I know, but I was dreadfully afraid you weren't going to ask me. I
+      am absolutely STARVED.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; continued Miss Colton, after an interval during which, I
+      presume, she had been waiting for some reply to her frank declaration
+      concerning mind and appetite, &ldquo;what must I do to help? Shall I unpack the
+      basket?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was struggling, as we say in Denboro, to get the ship under control. I
+      had been taken aback so suddenly that I had lost steerage way. My slight
+      experience with the vagaries of the feminine mind had not prepared me for
+      the lightning changes of this kind. Not two minutes before she had, if one
+      might judge by her look and tone, been deeply offended, almost insulted,
+      because I refused to permit her wandering off alone into the woods. My
+      invitation to lunch had been given on the spur of the moment and with no
+      idea that it would be accepted. And she not only accepted, but had
+      expected me to invite her, had been fearful that I might not do so. She
+      told me so, herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I unpack the basket?&rdquo; she repeated. She was looking at me intently
+      and the toe of her riding boot was patting the leaves. &ldquo;What is the
+      matter? Are you sorry I am going to stay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was high time for me to get under way. There were squalls on the
+      horizon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, no!&rdquo; I exclaimed, hastily. &ldquo;Of course not. I am delighted. But
+      you need not trouble to help. Just let me attend to your horse and I will
+      have lunch ready in a jiffy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I led Don over to the little green belt of meadow between the trees and
+      the sand of the beach, unbuckled the reins and made him fast to a stout
+      birch. He bent his head and began to pull big mouthfuls of the rich grass.
+      He, too, was evidently glad to accept my invitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When I returned to my camping ground I found the basket unpacked and the
+      young lady arranging the eatables.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You shouldn't have done that,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I am the host here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not look up. &ldquo;Don't bother the table maid,&rdquo; she observed, briskly.
+      &ldquo;That fire is not kindled yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I lit the fire and, going over to the bushes, selected two of the fish, a
+      bass and a pickerel. I carried them down to the shore of the pond and
+      began cleaning them, using my jacknife and a flat stone. I was nearing the
+      end of the operation when she came over to watch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you doing that?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;You are not going to cook them&mdash;now&mdash;are
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going to try,&rdquo; I replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how? You haven't anything to cook them in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't need it. You don't appreciate the conveniences of this hotel,
+      Miss Colton. There! now we're ready.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I rose, washed my hands in the pond, and picked up two other flat stones,
+      large ones, which I had previously put aside. These I carried to the fire
+      and, raking aside the burning logs with a stick, laid the stones in a bed
+      of hot coals.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Those are our frying pans,&rdquo; I informed her. &ldquo;When they are hot enough
+      they will cook the fish. At least, I hope they will. Now for the coffee.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But she waved me aside. &ldquo;The coffee is my affair,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I insist
+      upon making the coffee. Oh, you need not look at me like that. I am not
+      altogether useless. I studied Domestic Science&mdash;a little&mdash;in my
+      prep school course. As much as I studied anything else,&rdquo; laughingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Paine, I am not on horseback now and you can't hold my bridle as you
+      did Don's. If you will fill the coffee pot and put it on to boil. Thank
+      you. I am glad to see that even you obey orders, sometimes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had cooked fish in out-of-door fashion often before, but I am quite sure
+      I never took such pains as I did with these. They were not culinary
+      triumphs, even at that, but my guest was kind enough to pronounce them
+      delicious. The lunch basket contained two plates, but only one knife and
+      fork. These I insisted upon her using and I got on very well with
+      sharpened sticks and a spoon. The coffee was&mdash;well, it had one
+      qualification, strength.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We conversed but little during the meal. The young lady said she was too
+      hungry to talk and I was so confounded with the strangeness of the whole
+      affair that I was glad to be silent. Sitting opposite me, eating Dorinda's
+      doughnuts and apple puffs and the fish that I&mdash;<i>I</i> had cooked,
+      was &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; Colton's daughter, the automobile girl, the heiress, the
+      &ldquo;incarnation of snobbery,&rdquo; the young lady whose father I had bidden go to
+      the devil and to whom, in company with the rest of the family, I had many
+      times mentally extended the same invitation. And now we were picnicing
+      together as if we were friends of long standing. Why, Nellie Dean could
+      not appear more unpretentious and unconscious of social differences than
+      this girl to-day! What would her parents say if they saw us like this?
+      What would Captain Jed, and the rest of those in rebellion against the
+      Emperor of New York, say? That I was a traitor, hand and glove with the
+      enemy. Well, I was not; and I did not intend to be. But for her to&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She interrupted my meditations.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Paine,&rdquo; she observed, suddenly, &ldquo;you will excuse my mentioning it,
+      but you are distinctly not entertaining. You have not spoken a word for
+      five minutes. And you are not attending to my needs. The apple puffs are
+      on your side of the&mdash;table.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hastened to pass the paper containing the puffs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; I said, hurriedly. &ldquo;I&mdash;I was daydreaming, I
+      guess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I imagined. I forgive you; this lunch would tempt me to forgive
+      greater sins than yours. Did that delightful old housekeeper of yours cook
+      all these nice things?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She did. So you think Dorinda delightful, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. She is so sincere and good-hearted. And so odd and bright and funny.
+      I could listen to her for hours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well, if you were a member of her household you would have that
+      privilege often. I doubt if her husband considers it such a privilege.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her husband? Oh, yes! I met him. He is a character, too, isn't he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; a weak one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She put down her coffee cup and sighed, contentedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I never tasted anything so good as this lunch,&rdquo; she observed.
+      &ldquo;And I'm quite sure I never ate so much at one sitting. I am going to help
+      you clear away, but please don't ask me to do it just now. Have you
+      finished? You may smoke, if you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had been longing for a smoke and now I filled my pipe and lighted it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now we can talk, can't we?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I want you to tell me about your
+      mother. How is she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just as she was when you saw her,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;Mother is always the
+      same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is a dear. I had heard so many nice things about her and I was not
+      disappointed. I intended to make only a short call and I stayed and
+      stayed. I hope I did not tire her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all. Mother enjoyed your call exceedingly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did she? I am so glad. I really am. I went to your house with a good deal
+      of misgiving, Mr. Paine. I feared that my coming might be considered an
+      intrusion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told you that it would not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know. But, under the circumstances&mdash;Father's disagreement with&mdash;considering
+      all the&mdash;the&mdash;Oh, what shall I call it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The late unpleasantness,&rdquo; I suggested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again came the twinkle in her eye. She nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;That is a quotation, but it was clever of you to
+      think of it. Yes, considering the late unpleasantness, I was afraid my
+      visit might be misunderstood. I was fearful that your mother or&mdash;someone&mdash;might
+      think I came there with an ulterior motive, something connected with that
+      troublesome Lane dispute. Of course no one did think such a thing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She asked the question quickly and with intense seriousness. I remembered
+      Lute's hint and my own secret suspicions, but I answered promptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You did not think that, did you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; unblushingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I came because from what I had heard of your mother I was sure she must
+      be a wonderful woman. I wanted to meet her. And she IS wonderful; and so
+      patient and sweet and good. I fell in love with her. Everyone must love
+      her. You should be proud of your mother, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am,&rdquo; I answered, simply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have reason. And she is very proud of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Without the reason, I'm afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not speak. Her silence hurt. I felt that I knew what she was
+      thinking and I determined to make her say it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Without the reason,&rdquo; I repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not say that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you thought it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My stubborn persistence was a mistake. Again, as at our meeting in the
+      grove, I had gone too far. Her answer was as completely indifferent as
+      speech and tone could be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed?&rdquo; she said, coldly. &ldquo;It is barely possible that I did not think
+      about it at all. . . . Now, Mr. Paine, if you are ready shall we clear
+      away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The clearing, most of it, was done silently. I washed the plates, the
+      coffee pot and other things, in the pond and she packed them in the
+      basket. As I returned with the knife and forks I found her looking at the
+      coffee pot and smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo; I asked, sulkily. I was provoked with myself for
+      forgetting who and what I was, and with her for making me forget. &ldquo;Isn't
+      it clean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;surprisingly so. Did they teach Domestic
+      Science at your college, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I started. &ldquo;MY college!&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;How did you know I had been at
+      college? Did Mother tell you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laughed gleefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did Mother tell you?&rdquo; I demanded. &ldquo;If she did&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what if she did? However, she did not. But you have told me now.
+      Harvard, was it? or Yale?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I tossed the knife and fork into the basket and turned away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Princeton, perhaps,&rdquo; suggested Miss Colton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I walked over and began to unjoint my rod. I was a fool to be trapped like
+      this. No one in Denboro except Mother and George Taylor knew of my brief
+      college career, and now I had, practically, told this girl of it. She
+      might&mdash;if she were sufficiently interested to remember, which was
+      fortunately not probable&mdash;tell her father and he might ask other
+      questions concerning my history. Where would those questions lead?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was angrily tugging at the rod when I heard her step behind me. I did
+      not turn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I pretended not to hear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon, Mr. Paine,&rdquo; she said again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all right,&rdquo; I muttered. &ldquo;No apologies are necessary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I said it like a sullen schoolboy. There was another moment of silence.
+      Then I heard her move away. I looked over my shoulder. She was walking
+      toward the meadow where Don, the horse, was picketed. There was offended
+      dignity in every line of her figure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment I fought with my pride and injured self-respect. Then I
+      hurried after her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; she neither turned nor stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton, I should not have answered like that. I was rude.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped. &ldquo;You were,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it. I am sorry. I apologize.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No apologies are necessary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here was tit for tat. I did not know what more to say, so I said nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do I understand that you ask my pardon?&rdquo; she inquired, still without
+      turning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do. If you will permit me, I will explain. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She whirled about and faced me. To my astonishment she was smiling once
+      more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you won't explain,&rdquo; she declared. &ldquo;I had no right to ask you
+      about your college. But I couldn't help guessing. I told you that I liked
+      puzzles. We'll say no more about it. I have enjoyed this picnic and I
+      won't have it spoiled. Now why are you taking your rod apart?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I know you want to go home and I am going with you to show you
+      the way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I don't have to go yet, do I? It is not late. And I thought perhaps
+      you would let me see you catch another bass. Won't you? Please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Once more she had me at a disadvantage. I had no desire for more fishing,
+      and I was fearful of further questions, but what could I do? And it was
+      not late&mdash;but a little past two o'clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So I rigged the rod again and led the way down the shore to the spot where
+      the sedge extended out into the pond, with the lily pads beyond it. She
+      walked beside me. Then she seated herself on a fallen tree and I baited
+      the hook with a lively minnow and cast. For some time I got not even a
+      nibble. As I waited she and I talked. But now it was I who questioned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you like Denboro?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am beginning to like it very much. At first I thought it very dull, but
+      now I am getting acquainted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are few cottagers and summer people here. But in Harniss there is a
+      large colony. Very nice people, I believe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I have met some of them. But it was not the summer people I meant. I
+      am beginning to know the townspeople and to like some of them. I met that
+      delightful old Captain Warren the other day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is as good as they make.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed he is. And I had an interview with another captain, Miss Dean's
+      father, yesterday. We had an interesting encounter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I should imagine. Captain Jed! Whew! It MUST have been interesting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was. Oh, we were very fierce at first&mdash;at least he was, and I
+      fought for my side as hard as I could. He said Father was a selfish pig
+      for wanting to close the Lane, and I said it was because of its use by the
+      pigs that he wished to close it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha! ha! How did it end?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, we agreed to disagree. I respect Captain Dean for his fight; but
+      Father will win, of course. He always does.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He won't win this time, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? Oh, I actually forgot I was talking to the head and front of the
+      opposition. So you think he will not win, Mr. Paine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sure of it. He cannot close that Lane until I sell it, and I shall
+      not sell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She regarded me thoughtfully, her chin upon her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would be odd if he should not, after all,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;He prides
+      himself on having his own way. It would be strange if he should be beaten
+      down here, after winning so often in New York. Your mother told me
+      something of your feeling in the matter, Mr. Paine. Father has offered you
+      a good price for the land, hasn't he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has offered me a dozen times what it is worth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. He does not count money when he has set his heart upon anything. And
+      you refused?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Nellie Dean says the town also wished to buy and you refused its
+      offer, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't seem to care for money, either, Mr. Paine. Are all Cape Cod
+      people so unmercenary? Or is it that you all have money enough&mdash;. . .
+      Pardon me. That was impolite. I spoke without thinking.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, never mind. I am not sensitive&mdash;on that point, at least.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I do mind. And I am sorry I said it. And I should like to understand.
+      I see why the townspeople do not want the Lane closed. But you have not
+      lived here always. Only a few years, so Miss Dean says. She said, too,
+      that that Mr. Taylor, the cashier, was almost the only intimate friend you
+      have made since you came. Others would like to be friendly, but you will
+      not permit them to be. And, yet for these people, mere acquaintances, you
+      are sacrificing what Father would call a profitable deal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not altogether for them. I can't explain my feeling exactly. I know only
+      that to sell them out and make money&mdash;and heaven knows I need money&mdash;at
+      their expense seems to me dead wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why don't you sell to THEM?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. Unless it was because to refuse your father's offer and
+      accept a lower one seemed a mean trick, too. And I won't be bullied into
+      selling to anyone. I guess that is it, as much as anything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My! how stubborn you must be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know why I have preached this sermon to you, Miss Colton, your
+      sympathies in the fight are with your father, naturally.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, they are not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I almost dropped the rod.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not&mdash;with&mdash;&rdquo; I repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not altogether. They are with you, just at present. If you had sold&mdash;if
+      you had given in to Father, feeling as you do, I should not have any
+      sympathy with you at all. As it is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As it is?&rdquo; I asked eagerly&mdash;too eagerly. I should have done better
+      to pretend indifference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As it is,&rdquo; she answered, lightly, &ldquo;I respect you as I would any sincere
+      fighter for a losing cause. And I shall probably feel some sympathy for
+      you after the cause is lost. Excuse my breaking in on your sermon,
+      provided it is not finished, but&mdash;I think you have a bite, Mr.
+      Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had, very much of a bite. The minnow on my hook had been forgotten and
+      allowed to sink to the bottom, and a big pout had swallowed it, along with
+      the hook and a section of line. I dragged the creature out of the water
+      and performed a surgical operation, resulting in the recovery of my
+      tackle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; I exclaimed, in disgust. &ldquo;I think I have had enough fishing for
+      one day. Suppose we call it off. Unless you would like to try, Miss
+      Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I made the offer by way of a joke. She accepted it instantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I?&rdquo; she cried, eagerly. &ldquo;I have been dying to ever since I came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but you will get wet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No matter. This is an old suit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It did not look old to my countrified eyes, but I protested no more. There
+      was a rock a little below where we then were, one of the typical glacial
+      boulders of the Cape&mdash;lying just at the edge of the water and
+      projecting out into it. I helped her up on to this rock and baited her
+      hook with shrimp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I cast for you?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No indeed. I can do it, thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did, and did it well. Moreover, the line had scarcely straightened out
+      in the water when it was savagely jerked, the pole bent into a
+      half-circle, and out of the foaming eddy beneath its tip leaped the
+      biggest bass I had seen that day, or in that pond on any day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By George!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;Can you handle him? Shall I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not look at me, but I received my orders, nevertheless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please don't! Keep away!&rdquo; she said sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For nearly fifteen minutes she fought that fish, in and out among the
+      pads, keeping the line tight, handling him at least as well as I could
+      have done. I ran for the landing net and, as she brought her captive up
+      beside the rock, reached forward to use it. But she stopped me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said, breathlessly, &ldquo;I want to do this all myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It took her several more minutes to do it, and she was pretty well
+      splashed, when at last, with the heavy net dragging from one hand and the
+      rod in the other, she sprang down from the rock. Together we bent over the
+      fish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A four-pounder, if he is an ounce,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I congratulate you, Miss
+      Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor thing,&rdquo; she mused. &ldquo;I am almost sorry he did not get away. He IS a
+      beauty, isn't he! Now I am ready to go home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That journey home was a strange experience to me. She rode Don and bore
+      the lunch basket and the net before her on the saddle. I walked alongside,
+      carrying the rod, boots, and the fish in the otherwise empty bait pail.
+      The sunshine, streaming through the leaves of the arching boughs overhead,
+      dappled the narrow, overgrown paths with shifting blotches of light and
+      shadow. Around us was the deep, living green of the woods, the songs of
+      birds, the chatter of red squirrels, and the scent of wild honeysuckle.
+      And as we moved onward we talked&mdash;that is, she did most of the
+      talking and I listened. Yet I must have talked more than I knew, because I
+      remember expressing opinions concerning books and operas and pictures,
+      subjects I had not discussed for years except occasionally with Mother,
+      and then only because she was still interested in them. I seemed, somehow,
+      to have become a different, a younger man, under the influence of these
+      few hours with the girl I had professed to hate so cordially. Our
+      companionship&mdash;perfectly meaningless as it was, the mere caprice of
+      an idle day on her part&mdash;had rejuvenated me. During that homeward
+      walk I forgot myself entirely, forgot that I was Ros Paine, the country
+      loafer; forgot, too, that she was the only child of the city millionaire,
+      that we had, or could have, nothing in common. She, also, seemed to
+      forget, and we chatted together as unconsciously and easily as if we had
+      known each other all our lives.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet it may be that her part in the conversation was not altogether without
+      a purpose. She led me to speak of Denboro and its people, of how they
+      lived, and of the old days of sailing ships and deep sea skippers. George
+      Taylor's name was mentioned and I praised him highly, telling of his rise
+      from poor boy to successful man, as we rated success locally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He manages that bank well,&rdquo; I declared. &ldquo;Everyone says so. And, from what
+      I have seen of his management, I know it to be true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you know?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I have had some experience in banking myself. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I stopped short. My tongue was running away with me. She did not ask the
+      question which I dreaded and expected. Instead she said, looking down at
+      me:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a loyal friend, aren't you, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have reason to be loyal to George,&rdquo; I answered, with feeling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you as loyal to yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked up at her in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been trying to understand you, Mr. Paine. Trying to get the answer
+      to the puzzle. In one way I think I have it. I understand your attitude in
+      the Lane affair and I think I know why you came to Denboro and are staying
+      here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I stopped short. &ldquo;You&mdash;you know THAT?&rdquo; I cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I do. You believe that your mother needs you and you will not
+      leave her. That is your reason for living here, I think. But, in another
+      way, I cannot understand you at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She spoke to the horse and we moved on again. I waited for her to
+      continue, but she was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How? What is the other way! The way in which you cannot understand me?&rdquo; I
+      asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I tell you? Do you wish me to be perfectly frank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot understand how a man such as you seem to be, young, educated,
+      and with life before him, can be content to do as you do, spend your time
+      in fishing, or sailing, or shooting. To have no ambition at all. My father
+      was a poor country boy, like your friend, Mr. Taylor, but he worked night
+      and day until he became what he is now. And even now he works, and works
+      hard. Oh, I am proud of him! Not because he is what he is, but because he
+      has done it all himself. If I were a man I would have some purpose in
+      life; I would do SOMETHING worth while if it were only to sell fish from a
+      cart, like that old fellow with the queer name&mdash;what is it?&mdash;Oh,
+      yes! Theophilus Newcomb.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. She had said all that was necessary, and more. It was
+      quite enough for me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; she observed, after a moment. &ldquo;You asked me to tell you and I
+      did. If you never speak to me again it will be exactly what I deserve. But
+      I thought it and so I said it. Expressing my thoughts is one of my bad
+      habits. . . . Oh, why, we are almost home, aren't we!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      We had come to the edge of the grove bordering Beriah Holt's pasture. The
+      grove was on the west side of a little hill. Before us the pasture sloped
+      away to Beriah's house and barn, with the road beyond it. And beyond that,
+      in the distance, were the steeples and roofs of Denboro. Among them the
+      gables and tower of the Colton mansion rose, conspicuous and costly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned in the saddle. &ldquo;I presume I may leave you now, Mr. Paine,&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;Even you must admit that the rest of the way is plain sailing.
+      Thank you for your hospitality and for your services as guide. I will send
+      the basket and net over by one of the servants.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will take them now,&rdquo; I said, shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, if you prefer. Here they are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I took them from her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good afternoon,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;And thanks once more for a very pleasant
+      picnic.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are quite welcome, I'm sure. Thank you for your frank opinion of my&mdash;worthlessness.
+      It was kind of you to express it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sarcasm was not lost upon her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I meant it as a kindness,&rdquo; she replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. And it was true enough, probably. Doubtless I shall derive great
+      benefit from your&mdash;words of wisdom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her patience, evidently, was exhausted. She turned away. &ldquo;Oh, that,&rdquo; she
+      said, indifferently, &ldquo;is your affair. I told you what I believed to be the
+      truth, that was all. What you do is not likely to be of vast importance to
+      me, one way or the other. Come, Don!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Don cantered down the slope. I watched him and his rider disappear beyond
+      the trees in the distance. Then I picked up my pail and other burdens and
+      followed in their wake. The sun was behind a cloud. It had been a strange
+      day with a miserable ending. I was furiously angry with her, but I was
+      more angry with myself. For what she had told me WAS the truth, and I knew
+      it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I strode on, head down, through the village. People spoke to me, asking
+      what luck I had had and where I had been, but I scarcely noticed them. As
+      I reached the Corners and was passing the bank someone called my name. I
+      glanced up and saw George Taylor descending the steps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on, Ros,&rdquo; he hailed. &ldquo;Wait a minute. What's your rush? Hold on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I halted reluctantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fishing again, I see,&rdquo; he observed, as he reached my side. &ldquo;Any luck?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fair,&rdquo; I told him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What pond?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seabury's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; That I had not been alone since was no business of his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! You ain't exactly what a fellow'd call talkative this afternoon,
+      seems to me. Anything wrong?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tuckered out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, so am I, but I ain't had your fun getting that way. Small and I
+      have been at it night and day getting things in shape so he could leave.
+      He's gone. Went this noon. And that ain't the worst of it; I haven't got
+      anybody yet to take his place. I'll have to be cashier and bookkeeper too
+      for a spell. There's applicants enough; but they don't suit. Guess likely
+      you'll have to help me out, after all, Ros. The job is yours if you say
+      the word.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed as he said it. Even to him the idea of my working was a joke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the joke did not seem funny to me, just then. I walked on for some
+      distance without a word. Then I asked a question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is expected of a man in that position?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Expected? Why, plain bank bookkeeping&mdash;not much else at first. Yet
+      there's a good chance for a likely fellow to be considerable more, in
+      time. I need help in my part of the work. That's why I haven't hired any
+      of the dozen or so who are after the place. What makes you ask? You don't
+      know of a good man for me, do you, Ros?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When do you want him to begin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To-morrow morning, if he satisfies me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would I satisfy you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You! Humph! Try me and see, that's all I'd ask.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. I'll be on hand in the morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped, looked at me, and then seized me by the arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I'm lost in the fog, I guess likely. What do you
+      mean by that? Is it time to laugh&mdash;or what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It may be; I don't know. But I take the bookkeeper's position in your
+      bank. Now, good-by. Don't talk to me. I don't feel like talking.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but, Ros.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I walked on. I had taken but a few steps when he overtook me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I ain't going to say but just one thing. If you meant
+      what you said I'm the most tickled man on the Cape. But you ain't asked a
+      word about the salary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it. I haven't asked because I don't care. I'll be on hand in the
+      morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I left him standing there, and hurried down the Lower Road. As I had said
+      to him, I did not feel like talking. I did not want even to see any one. I
+      wanted to be let alone. But it was fated that I should not be, not yet.
+      Sim Eldredge was waiting for me around the corner. He stepped out from
+      behind the fence where he had been hidden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros!&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Ros Paine! Wait. It's me, Sim. I want to ask you
+      somethin'. Wan't that George Taylor you was speakin' to just now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I answered, impatiently. &ldquo;What of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Ros, you and me ain't pulled that Colton trade off, but it ain't my
+      fault. You ain't got no hard feelin's against me, I know. And I want you
+      to do a little mite of favor for me. Will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it? If it has anything to do with the Lane, I tell you now that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It ain't&mdash;it ain't. It's about that bookkeepin' job in the bank,
+      Henry Small's place, the one he's just quit. I've got a third cousin, name
+      of Josiah Badger, over to South Harniss. He's a smart young chap, and an
+      A-1 accountant at figgers. He's been keepin' books down at the fish wharf&mdash;see?
+      Now, he'd like that job and, bein' as you and George are so thick, I
+      cal'lated maybe you'd sort of use your influence along of George, and&mdash;and
+      get it for him. There ain't nothin' in it for me&mdash;that is, nothin'
+      much. But I feel friendly toward Josiah and you know I like to do little
+      kindnesses for folks. So&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! there!&rdquo; I interrupted. &ldquo;It's no use, Sim. I can't help you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why! yes you can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I can't. I don't know your cousin, and besides&mdash;well, you are
+      too late. The place is filled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sim's expression changed. He looked surprised and crestfallen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Filled?&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Why, no, 'tain't! If 'twas I'd have known it,
+      wouldn't I? Who'd you hear had got it? Whoever you heard, 'tain't so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you know? Who is it, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hesitated. Before noon of the next day every soul in Denboro would have
+      heard the news. Eldredge might as well hear it now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've taken the place myself,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You?&rdquo; Sim actually forgot to whisper; he shouted the word. &ldquo;YOU! Ha! ha!
+      ha! Ros, quit your foolin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not fooling. I go to work in the bank to-morrow morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;Oh, my soul! You! Aw, I know better! Say, Ros, don't let's
+      waste time like this. Fun's all right, but . . . My heavens to Betsy! YOU
+      work for a livin'! If I believed that I'd believe anything. Tell me, now.
+      Who has got that job? . . . Why don't you answer me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I answered him. &ldquo;Shut up!&rdquo; I said, fiercely. Then I vaulted the fence and
+      set out for home across lots.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard the next day that Sim went back to the post-office and informed
+      the gathering there that Ros Paine had taken to drinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was tight as a biled owl,&rdquo; declared Sim; &ldquo;and ugly&mdash;don't talk!
+      Wanted to fight me because I wouldn't believe he was goin' to work. Him!
+      What in the everlastin' would HE want to work for? My heavens to Betsy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      I think Taylor was almost as surprised as Eldredge had been, when, at
+      half-past eight the following morning, I appeared at the bank. He was
+      already at his desk and, when he looked up and saw me, he whistled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whew!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;So. I didn't dream it, after all. You're here,
+      ain't you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am here,&rdquo; I answered, opening the gate and stepping in behind the rail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Going to take it back and say you never said it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come to go to work? Really?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is my intention, unless you have changed your mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not me. It ain't likely. But, Ros, I&mdash;sit down a minute and let's
+      talk. What are you doing this for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a question I had been asking myself at intervals during a restless
+      night. Now I gave the only truthful answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't know!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. And I don't seem to care. Suppose we don't talk about it. I am here,
+      and I am ready to begin work. That's enough, isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, no; not quite. You're not doing it just to help me out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't need to work. You've got money enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I haven't. But money isn't my reason. I haven't any reason. Now show
+      me the books, will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be in a hurry. What does your mother think about it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't told her yet. Time enough for that when I know that I really
+      mean it and you know that I am competent to fill the position. George, if
+      you keep on cross-examining me I am likely to quit before I begin. I don't
+      know why I am doing this, but just now I think I am going to do it if I
+      can. However, I am not sure. So you had better be careful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! What did you catch up at that pond yesterday? I never saw a day's
+      fishing make such a difference in a man in my life. . . . All right, Ros.
+      All right. I won't pester you. Too glad to have you here for that. Now
+      about the salary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Before we speak of that there is one more point. How about your
+      directors? Dean and the rest? Do they know you offered me the position?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure thing! They put the whole affair in my hands. They'll be satisfied.
+      And as for Cap'n Jed&mdash;why, he was the one that suggested hiring you
+      in the first place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Captain Jed! Captain Jed Dean! HE suggested it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yup. In a way, he did. You may not know it, Ros, but you've made a good
+      deal of a hit with the old man. He ain't been used to having anybody stand
+      up to him as you have. As a general thing Denboro jumps when he snaps the
+      whip. You didn't, and he couldn't understand why. He is the kind that
+      respects anything they can't understand. Then, too, Nellie likes you, and
+      she's his idol, you know. Ah hum!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He sighed and, for a moment, seemed to forget me altogether. I reminded
+      him by another question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why should the captain think of me for this place?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;Why
+      should he dream that I would take it? I gave you no encouragement.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know as he did dream it. But he and I were speaking of you and he
+      said he'd like to do something to show you what the town thought of your
+      holding out against Colton. That tickled him down to the keel. I said
+      you'd be a first-class helper to me in this bank, that I heard you knew
+      something about banking&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all right. I only mentioned that I heard rumors that you were in a
+      city bank somewhere at one time. He didn't ask any more and I shouldn't
+      have told him if he had. But the idea pleased him, I could see that. 'Why
+      don't you try to get him?' says he. 'Maybe the days of miracles ain't
+      past. Perhaps even he'd condescend to work, if the right job came his
+      way.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So that's what you call his suggesting me, do you? Humph!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I told him about it last night, when I was up to see Nellie, and he
+      was pleased as Punch. Surprised, of course, but pleased. He's practically
+      the whole board, as far as settling things is concerned, so it is all
+      right. He ain't the worst friend you've got, by a long shot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I imagined that I understood what Captain Jed's &ldquo;friendship&rdquo; meant. My
+      accepting the bank position was one more bond binding me to his side in
+      the Shore Lane battle. And, so long as I was under Taylor's eye and his
+      own, I could not be subject to the Colton influence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      George and I discussed the question of salary, if his offer and my prompt
+      acceptance might be called a discussion. The pay was not large to begin
+      with, but it was more than I had a right to expect. And I was perfectly
+      honest when I said that money was not the consideration which led me to
+      make the sudden change in my habit of life. I was sick of idleness; I had
+      longed for something to occupy my life and time; I might as well be doing
+      this as anything; Taylor's offer had appealed to me when he first made it;
+      these were the excuses I evolved for my own satisfaction and I tried to
+      believe them real. But one reason I would not admit, even in my thoughts,
+      as a possibility. It was not that girl, or anything she had said, which
+      influenced me. No! over and over again&mdash;no.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sam Wheeler, the young fellow who acted as assistant bookkeeper and
+      messenger, came in, and Taylor, after showing me the books and giving me a
+      few hints as to what my duties would be, turned me over to him for further
+      instruction. I found I needed but little. The pages, with their rows of
+      figures, seemed like old friends. I almost enjoyed poring over them. Was
+      it possible that I was going to like this new venture of mine?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before noon I was fairly certain of it. The work in a country bank is
+      different from that in the large city institutions, in that it is by no
+      means as specialized. I found that, later on, I should be expected to
+      combine the work of teller with that of bookkeeper. And this, too, seemed
+      natural. I worked as steadily as I could, considering interruptions, and
+      the forenoon was over almost before I knew it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The interruptions, however, were numerous and annoying; some of them, too,
+      were amusing. Depositors came, saw me behind the bars of the window, and,
+      after expressing their astonishment, demanded to know what I was doing
+      there. If I had answered all the questions put to me by the curious
+      Denboroites I should have found time for little else. But Taylor helped me
+      by shooing the curious ones away. &ldquo;Don't bother the new hand,&rdquo; he said.
+      &ldquo;If you want to know particulars ask me. Anything I don't tell you you can
+      read in next week's Item. This is a bank, not a question box.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Captain Elisha Warren came in and was as surprised as the rest. After an
+      interview with the cashier he returned to my window and requested me to
+      open up. When I did so he reached in a big hand and seized mine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shake, Ros,&rdquo; he said, heartily. &ldquo;I'm glad for the bank and I'm gladder
+      still for you. Come hard at fust, does it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A little,&rdquo; I confessed. &ldquo;Not as hard as I expected, though.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fust day or two out of port is always the toughest. You'll get your sea
+      legs on pretty soon. Then you'll be glad you shipped, I cal'late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope so,&rdquo; I answered, rather dubiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know you will. There's nothin' so tiresome as doin' nothin'. I know,
+      because that's been my job for quite a spell. Seems sometimes as if I'd
+      have a fit, I get so sick of loafin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His idea of a &ldquo;loaf&rdquo; was rising at six and weeding his garden,
+      superintending the labor on his cranberry swamps or about his barns and
+      grounds, attending bank and Selectmen's meetings, and generally keeping
+      busy until sunset.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell Abbie, my housekeeper,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;that if 'twan't for my age
+      I believe I'd go to sea again just to keep from fallin' apart with dry
+      rot. I asked her if she'd noticed how my timbers creaked, and she said I
+      didn't keep still long enough for her to notice anything. Ho! ho! Nothin'
+      makes her more provoked than for me to mention gettin' old or goin' to
+      sea. All the same, I envy you your youth, Ros. You've got your life afore
+      you, and I'm glad to see that you're goin' to make somethin' of it. I
+      always said you'd wake up if somebody give you a punch. Who punched you,
+      Ros?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My reply was non-committal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better mind my own business, hadn't I,&rdquo; he observed. &ldquo;All right, I will.
+      No offense meant, you understand. But, you see, I've never believed that
+      work was the cuss of mankind, like some folks, and no matter how much
+      money a young feller's got I think he's better off doin' somethin'. That's
+      the gospel accordin' to Elisha. Well, good luck and a pleasant v'yage. See
+      you again soon. Say,&rdquo; turning back, &ldquo;keep an eye on George, will you?
+      Folks in love are l'ble to be absent-minded, they tell me, and I should
+      not want him to be absent with any of my money. Hear that, do you,
+      George?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Taylor, who was standing near, laughed and walked away. A moment later I
+      saw him looking out of the window with the same strange expression on his
+      face which I had noticed several times before when his approaching
+      marriage was hinted at. Something was troubling him, that was plain. He
+      loved Nellie devotedly, I knew; yet he obviously did not like to hear the
+      marriage mentioned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sim Eldredge was one of the first visitors to the bank, but his visit was
+      a short one. He entered the door, walked straight to the teller's window
+      and peered through the bars. I heard him catch his breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning, Sim,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;What can I do for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do?&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;Do for me? Nothin'&mdash;nothin', 'special. You&mdash;you
+      meant it, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told you I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My soul!&rdquo; was all the answer he made. Then he turned and walked out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At about eleven o'clock I was half-way through the addition of a column of
+      figures when I heard some one say, &ldquo;Well, by time!&rdquo; with such anguished
+      fervor that it was almost like a prayer for help. I looked up. Lute Rogers
+      was staring in at me, open-mouthed and horror-stricken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Lute!&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute swallowed hard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They told me 'twas so,&rdquo; he stammered. &ldquo;They said so and&mdash;and I
+      laughed at 'em. Ros, you ain't, be you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goin' to stay in there and&mdash;and take Henry's job?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You be! And you never said nothin' to nobody? To Dorinda? Or even
+      Comfort?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; not yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor to me. To ME, by time! You let them fellers at the store make a fool
+      of me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one could do that, Lute. I have told you so often.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you let them know it afore I did. And me livin' right in the house
+      with you! By time! I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, Lute! don't cry. I'll tell you all about it when I come
+      home for dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I should think you might do that much. Treatin' your own family like&mdash;why
+      did you tell Sim Eldredge?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sim asked me and so I told him, that was all. Don't stand there
+      fidgeting. Run along home, there's a good fellow. Mr. Taylor has his eye
+      on you already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute glanced apprehensively toward the cashier's desk and turned to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;I've said you was crazy more'n once, that's some
+      satisfaction. Say! can I tell 'em to home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hesitated. &ldquo;You may tell Dorinda if you like,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;But I prefer
+      to tell Mother, myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      George rose from his desk just then and Lute hurried to the door. I
+      smiled. I imagined his arrival in our kitchen and how he would explode the
+      sensational news upon his unsuspecting wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But I was not altogether calm, though I did my best to appear so, when I
+      entered that kitchen at a quarter past twelve. Lute was seated in a chair
+      by the window, evidently watching and waiting. He sprang up as I entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Set down,&rdquo; ordered Dorinda, who was taking a clam pie from the oven. She
+      merely nodded when I came in. Dorinda often spoke in meeting against
+      &ldquo;sinful pride&rdquo;; yet she had her share of pride, sinful or not. She would
+      not ask questions or deign to appear excited, not she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Dorinda,&rdquo; cried her husband, &ldquo;it's Ros. Don't you see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You set down, Lute Rogers. Well,&rdquo; turning to me, &ldquo;dinner's ready, if you
+      are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall be in a few minutes,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I want to see Mother first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Breaking the news to Mother was a duty which I dreaded. But it turned out
+      to be not dreadful at all. Mother was surprised, of course, but she did
+      not offer a single objection. Her principal feeling seemed to be curiosity
+      as to my reasons for the sudden change.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, Roscoe, if you are happier I shall be, too,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I know
+      it must have been very dull for you here. My conscience has troubled me
+      not a little all these years. I realize that a man, a young man like you,
+      needs an interest in life; he wants something more than the care and
+      companionship of a useless creature like me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother, how often have I told you not to speak like that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But he does. Many times, when you and I have been here together, I have
+      been on the point of urging you to leave me and go back to the world and
+      take your place in it. More than once, you remember, dear, I have hinted
+      at such a thing, but you have always chosen not to understand the hints,
+      and I have been so weak and selfish that I have not pressed them. I am
+      glad you have done this, if it seems right to you. But does it? Are you
+      sure?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think so, Mother. I confess I am not sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This country bank is a pretty small place, isn't it? Not big enough for
+      my boy to prove his worth in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is quite big enough for that. That doesn't require a Rothschild's
+      establishment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But your decision must have been a very sudden one. You did not mention
+      that you thought of such a thing. Not even to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was sudden,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I took the position on the spur of the
+      moment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why? What led you to do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, Mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What influenced you? Has any one urged you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George Taylor offered me the place some time ago. He urged me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one else?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I avoided the issue. &ldquo;You don't mind, then, Mother,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;You are
+      willing that I should try the experiment?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad, if it pleases you. And you must let me say this now, Roscoe,
+      because it is true and I mean it. If another and better opportunity comes
+      to you, one that might take you away from Denboro&mdash;and from me&mdash;for
+      a time, of course, I want you to promise me that you will not refuse it on
+      my account. Will you promise?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Of course I shan't promise any such thing. Is it likely that I would
+      leave you, Mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know that you would not leave me unless I were willing for you to go. I
+      know that, Roscoe. But I am much better and stronger than I was. I shall
+      never be well&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't say that,&rdquo; I interrupted, hastily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I must say it, because it is true. I shall never be well, but I am
+      strong enough now to bear the thought of your leaving me and when the time
+      comes I shall insist upon your doing so. I am glad we have had this talk,
+      dear. I am glad, too, that you are going to be busy once more in the way
+      you like and ought to be. You must tell me about your work every day. Now
+      go, because your dinner is ready and, of course, you must be getting back
+      to the bank. Kiss me, Boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And as I bent over her she put her arms about my neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Boy,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;I know there is some reason for your doing this, a
+      reason which you have not told me. You will tell me some day, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I straightened hurriedly and tried to laugh. &ldquo;Of course I'll tell you,
+      Mother,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;If there is anything to tell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The clam pie was on the table in the dining-room and Dorinda was seated
+      majestically before it. Lute was fidgeting in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here he is,&rdquo; he exclaimed, as I joined the pair at the table. &ldquo;Ros, how
+      did you ever come to do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife squelched him, as usual. &ldquo;If Roscoe's got anything to tell,&rdquo; she
+      observed, with dignity, &ldquo;he'll tell it without your help or anybody
+      else's. If he ain't, he won't. This pie's colder than it ought to be, but
+      that isn't my fault.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As I ate I told them of my sudden determination to become a laboring man.
+      I gave the reasons that I had given Mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm,&rdquo; said Dorinda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I can't understand,&rdquo; pleaded Lute. &ldquo;You don't need to work, and I've
+      sort of took a pride in your not doin' it. If I was well-off, same as you
+      be, I bet George Taylor'd have to whistle afore I wore out MY brains in
+      his old bank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He wouldn't have time to whistle more'n once,&rdquo; was Dorinda's comment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Dorinda, what kind of talk is that? Wouldn't have time to whistle?
+      You do say more things without any sense to 'em! Just talk to hear
+      yourself, I cal'late. What are you grinnin' at, Roscoe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't imagine, Lute. This clam pie is a triumph. May I have another
+      helping, Dorinda?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda did not answer, but the second helping was a liberal one. She was
+      so quiet and the glances she gave me from time to time were so odd that I
+      began to feel uneasy. I was fairly sure that she approved of my new
+      venture, but why did she look at me like that?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said I, looking at my watch and rising, &ldquo;what do you think of it?
+      Am I doing right?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute leaned back in his chair. &ldquo;There's consider'ble to be said on that
+      subject,&rdquo; he announced. &ldquo;Work, as a general thing, I consider all right;
+      I've told you that afore. But when it comes to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you think, Dorinda?&rdquo; I interrupted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda stirred her tea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think?&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;I think . . . When's that Colton girl comin' to
+      call on Comfort again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had taken my hat from the hook. Now, with it in my hand, I turned and
+      faced her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How should I know that?&rdquo; I demanded. &ldquo;That's a trifle off the subject,
+      isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm,&rdquo; said Dorinda. &ldquo;Maybe 'tis.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I went out hurriedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Within the week I was at home in my new position. The strangeness of
+      regular hours and regular employment wore away with surprising rapidity.
+      There were, of course, mornings when sea and sky and the freshness of
+      outdoors tempted me and I wondered whether or not I had been foolish to
+      give up my fine and easy life. But these periods of temptation were
+      shorter and less frequent as I became more and more familiar with my
+      duties and with the routine of the bank. I found myself taking a greater
+      interest in the institution and, to my astonishment, I was actually sorry
+      when Saturday came. It seemed odd enough to once more have money in my
+      pocket which I had earned. It was not a great amount, of course, but I
+      felt it to be mine. Yes, there was no doubt about it, I had done the right
+      thing, and was glad. I was grateful to Taylor for having given me the
+      opportunity. Perhaps I should have been grateful to the person whose
+      brutal and impertinent frankness had piqued me into grasping that
+      opportunity, but I was not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She made her second call upon Mother two days after our impromptu picnic
+      at Seabury's Pond. I heard all about it when I came home that afternoon.
+      It appeared that she had brought more flowers and a fresh supply of books.
+      She had remained even longer than on her first visit and she and Mother
+      had talked about almost everything under the sun. One topic, however, had
+      not been discussed, a fact which my guarded questions made certain. She,
+      like myself, had said nothing concerning the day in the woods.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told her of your consenting to help Mr. Taylor in his dilemma,&rdquo; said
+      Mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you?&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;It was kind of you to put it in that way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was the truthful way of putting it, wasn't it? She seemed very much
+      interested.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed. And surprised, I presume.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, I think so. She seemed surprised at first; then she laughed; I
+      could not understand why. She has a very pleasant laugh, hasn't she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have never noticed.&rdquo; This was untrue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She has. She is a charming girl. I am sorry you were not here when she
+      called. I told her you would be home soon and asked her to wait, but she
+      would not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad she didn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am, Mother. That young lady comes here to see you merely because she
+      has nothing else to do just now. I shouldn't accept too many favors from
+      her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother said I was unreasonable and prejudiced and I did not argue the
+      point. Lute and Dorinda discussed the caller at the supper table until I
+      was constrained to leave the room. Mabel Colton might amuse herself with
+      Mother and the two members of our household whom she had described as
+      &ldquo;characters,&rdquo; she might delude them into believing her thoughtful and
+      sympathetic and without false pride, but I knew better. She had insulted
+      me. She had, in so many words, told me that I was lazy and worthless, just
+      as she might have told her chauffeur or one of the servants. That it was
+      true made no difference. Would she have spoken in that way to&mdash;to
+      Victor Carver, for instance? Hardly. She was just what I had thought her
+      at first, a feminine edition of Victor, with more brains than he
+      possessed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Captain Jed Dean came into the bank the third day after my installation as
+      bookkeeper and teller. I was alone in the director's room, going over some
+      papers, and he entered and shook hands with me. The old fellow professed
+      delight at my presence there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George tells me you're takin' hold fust-rate,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That's good. I'm
+      glad to hear it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; I asked. There was a trace of his old pomposity in the speech&mdash;or
+      I imagined there was&mdash;and I chose to resent it. These were the days
+      when I was in the mood to resent almost anything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; he repeated, in surprise. &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you glad?&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I can't see what difference it makes to you
+      whether I succeed or not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He regarded me with a puzzled expression, but, instead of taking offense,
+      he laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've got a chip on your shoulder, ain't you, Ros?&rdquo; he observed.
+      &ldquo;Workin' you too hard at the start, are we?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I answered, curtly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what is the matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, nothing, unless it is that everyone I meet seems to take such a
+      great interest in my being here. I believe all of Denboro talks of nothing
+      else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much else, I shouldn't wonder. But that's to be expected, ain't it?
+      Everybody's glad you're makin' good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! They all seem to regard that as the eighth wonder of the world.
+      The position doesn't require a marvel of intelligence; almost any one with
+      a teaspoonful of brains could fill it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why no, they couldn't. But that's nothin' to do with it. I see what's the
+      matter with you, Ros. You think all hands are knocked on their beam ends
+      because you've gone to work. Some of 'em are, that's a fact, and you can't
+      blame 'em much, considerin' how long you've lived here without doin'
+      anything. But all of 'em that amount to a three-cent piece are glad, and
+      the rest don't count anyway. You've made a good many friends in this town
+      lately, son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I smiled bitterly. &ldquo;Friends,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, friends. And friends are worth havin', especially if you make
+      'em without beggin' for their friendship. I give in that you've surprised
+      some of us. We didn't know that you had it in you. But your standin' up to
+      old Colton was a fine thing, and we appreciated it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is because you were against his grabbing the Lane.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What of it? And 'twan't that altogether. I, for one, ain't complainin'
+      because you stood up to me and wouldn't sell to the town. By the way, Tim
+      Hallet's gang haven't bothered you lately, have they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. And I advise them not to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He chuckled. &ldquo;I heard you advised 'em to that effect,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I ain't
+      complainin' at that, either, even though I knew what they was up to and
+      thought 'twas more or less of a joke. But I liked the way you fired 'em
+      out of there, not carin' a tinker's darn who was behind 'em. So long as a
+      man stands square in his boots and don't knuckle to anybody he won't lose
+      anything with Jed Dean. That's me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You ought to like Colton, then,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;He hasn't knuckled, much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Captain Jed grinned. &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, slowly, &ldquo;I don't object to that in
+      him. He seems to be a fighter and that's all right. Maybe if I was one of
+      his tribe in New York I should like him. But I ain't. And you ain't, Ros.
+      We're both of us country folks, livin' here, and he's a city shark buttin'
+      into the feedin' grounds. He wants to hog the whole place and you and I
+      say he shan't. I'm thankful to him for one thing: his comin' here has
+      waked you up, and it's goin' to make a man of you, or I miss my guess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mustn't get mad because I talk this way,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;I'm old enough
+      to be your dad, Ros Paine, and I know what I'm talkin' about. I never took
+      much of a shine to you in the old days. You was too much of what the story
+      books call a 'gentleman' to suit me. I've had to scratch all my life for
+      what I've got, but I've got it. When a young, able feller like you was
+      contented to loaf around as you did and take no interest in nothin', I,
+      naturally, figgered he was no-account. I see now I was wrong. All you
+      needed was somethin' to stir you up and set you goin'. KEEP goin', that's
+      my advice to you. And so long as you do, and don't bend when the pressure
+      gets hard, you'll be somebody afore you die. And the friends you've
+      made'll stand back of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about the enemies I have made?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enemies? I suppose likely you have made some enemies, but what of it?
+      I've made enemies all my life. It ain't because I'm popular here in
+      Denboro that I'm what I am. Now is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The truthful answer would have been no. Captain Dean was not popular, but
+      he was respected even by the many who disliked and disagreed with him. I
+      hesitated, trying to think what to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know 'tain't that,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Popularity I never had, though it's a
+      pleasant enough thing and sometimes I wish&mdash;But there, this ain't
+      experience meetin'. I'm glad you're here in this bank. You're smart, and
+      George says you are worth more than Henry Small ever was, even so early.
+      If you really are what it begins to look as if you are I'm glad for
+      Denboro. Maybe there'll be somebody besides George fit to run this town
+      after I'm gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I smiled. The last remark was so characteristic that it was funny. He was
+      turning away, but he noticed the smile and turned back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a joke, hey?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Captain,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;you are not consistent. When you and I first talked
+      about the Lane you said that you would not blame me if I closed it. If it
+      was yours you wouldn't have Tom, Dick, and Harry driving fish carts
+      through it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did I say that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. And you said, on another occasion, that anyone would sell anything
+      if they were offered money enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Well, sometimes I say 'most anything but my prayers. Matildy says
+      I forget them pretty often, but I tell her her Friday night speeches are
+      long enough to make up. Maybe I meant what I said to you at those times,
+      Ros. I shouldn't wonder if I did. But 'twas a lie just the same. There are
+      things I wouldn't sell, of course. Nellie, my daughter's one of 'em. She's
+      goin' to get a good husband in George here, but her happiness means more
+      to me than money. She's one of the things I wouldn't sell. And my
+      Selectman's job is another. I fought for that, not so much for the honor,
+      or whatever you call it, but because&mdash;well, because I wanted to show
+      'em that I could get it if I set out to. I don't presume likely you can
+      understand that feelin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I can,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;Mr. Colton gave about the same reason for
+      his determination to close the Lane. You and he seem to be a good deal
+      alike, after all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at me from beneath his bushy brows. His mouth twisted in a grim
+      smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, son,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if I hadn't been so free with my proclamations about
+      bein' your friend you and me would have a settlement for that little bit
+      of talk. The Emperor and me alike! Ugh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The next afternoon he came in again and asked me to step outside the
+      railing. He had something to say to me, he declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We sat down together on the settee by the wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros,&rdquo; he said, in a low tone, &ldquo;have you had any new offer for your
+      property? Not from Colton or the town, but from anybody else?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You ain't heard anything from a Boston firm claimin' to represent the Bay
+      Shore Development Company, or some such?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. What sort of a company is that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know; that is, I don't know much about it. But there's talk
+      driftin' 'round that a Boston syndicate is cal'latin' to buy up all the
+      shore front land from South Ostable to the Bayport line and open it up for
+      summer house lots. The name is the Bay Shore Development Company, or
+      somethin' like that. You ain't heard from 'em, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a word. Where did your information come from?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From nobody in particular. It just seems to be in the air. Alvin Baker
+      heard it over to Ostable. The feller that told him got it from somebody
+      else, who got it from another somebody, and so on. There's talk about good
+      prices bein' offered and, accordin' to Alvin, Ostable folks are pretty
+      excited. Elnathan Mullet, who owns that strip below your house, knows
+      somethin' about it, I think. I shouldn't wonder if he'd had an offer, or a
+      hint, or somethin'. But Elnathan's mouth shuts tighter than a muskrat trap
+      and I couldn't get nothin' out of him. He just looked knowin' and that was
+      all. But, if it's so, it may mean a heap to Denboro.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was considering the news when he spoke again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It might mean a lot to you, Ros,&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, this way: If this concern offered you enough money you might sell
+      out to them, mightn't you? Sell all your place, I mean; you could get
+      another one easy enough. You ain't particular about livin' by the shore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;you urge me to SELL!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;Sell the Shore Lane with
+      the rest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? You wouldn't be sellin' to Colton. And, if this development
+      scheme is what they say it is, there'll be roads cut through all along
+      shore. The town could use any of 'em; at least that arrangement might be
+      made. Think it over, Ros. If they do offer and offer enough, I'd sell, if
+      I was you. Say! that would be a reef under His Majesty's bows, hey? Jolt
+      him some, I cal'late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. This was a new possibility. Of course his reason for
+      advising my selling was plain enough, but, leaving the Coltons entirely
+      aside, the idea was not without allurement. The town's convenience in the
+      matter of a road might be considered, just as he said. And my scruples
+      against selling at a profit were, after all, based upon that feature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think it over,&rdquo; he counseled. &ldquo;Don't say nothin' to nobody, but just
+      think&mdash;and wait. I'll keep my eye to wind'ard and see what I can find
+      out. I tell you honest, Ros, I'll feel safer when I know old Imperial's
+      game's blocked for good and all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Imperial himself made his appearance before closing hours. I looked up
+      from my work to see him standing by the window. He had not expected to see
+      me there&mdash;evidently his daughter had not considered Mother's news of
+      sufficient importance to repeat&mdash;and, at first, he did not recognize
+      me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good afternoon, Mr. Colton,&rdquo; said I.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He nodded. &ldquo;Cash this for me, will you,&rdquo; he said, pushing a check through
+      the opening. &ldquo;What? Hello! What in blazes are you doing in there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am employed here now,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! how long since?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ten days, or such matter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you doing in a bank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Banking was my business, at one time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thought you hadn't any business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't had any, for some years. Now I have. How do you wish this
+      money? In tens and fives?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Nothing bigger. Down here it restricts the circulation if you spring
+      a twenty dollar bill on them. So you've taken to banking? I was thinking
+      of corraling you for a gunning trip one of these days. Now it's all off, I
+      suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It looks that way. Sorry I am to be deprived of the pleasure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; Then, with one of his sudden changes, &ldquo;How big a business does
+      this concern do? What do your deposits amount to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I gave him the figures, as printed in the yearly statement. He made no
+      comment. Instead he observed, &ldquo;You haven't been around to accept that
+      offer of mine yet, Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose I ought to raise it, now that you're a financier yourself.
+      However, I shan't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't asked you to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled. &ldquo;No, you haven't,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Well, it is open&mdash;for a
+      while. If I were you I'd accept it pretty soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Possibly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Meaning that I am not you, hey? I'm not. I haven't your high principles,
+      Paine. Can't afford 'em. You're what they call a 'Progressive' in
+      politics, too, aren't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here is your money,&rdquo; I said, ignoring the question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll bet you are!&rdquo; he declared, taking the bills. &ldquo;I never saw one of you
+      high-principled chaps yet that wasn't&mdash;until he got rich enough to be
+      something else. Progress is all right, maybe, but I notice that you
+      fellows pay for it and the rest of us get it. Just as I am going to get
+      that land of yours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You haven't got it yet,&rdquo; I said, serenely. I had made up my mind that
+      this time he should not provoke me into losing my temper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He seemed to divine my determination. His eye twinkled. &ldquo;You're improving,
+      Paine,&rdquo; he observed. &ldquo;I'll give you a piece of advice; it has cost me a
+      good deal to learn, but I'll give it to you: Don't ever let the other
+      fellow make you mad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I remembered our first interview and I could not resist the temptation to
+      retort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If my recollection is correct,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;you forgot that the first time
+      we met.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed aloud. &ldquo;So I did,&rdquo; he admitted. &ldquo;Maybe if I hadn't it would not
+      cost me so much to get my own way in your case.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked out of the building. I heard one exclamation from behind and,
+      turning, saw Sam Wheeler, my youthful assistant, staring at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My&mdash;gosh!&rdquo; exclaimed Sam, his tone a mixture of wonder and
+      admiration, &ldquo;I don't see how you dast to talk back to him like that, Ros.
+      He'll sic the&mdash;the 'System' onto you, won't he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was evident that Sam had been reading the magazines.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard no more from Captain Jed and nothing from the mysterious
+      &ldquo;Development Company&rdquo; for the remainder of that week. But on Sunday, as I
+      sat in the boat house, smoking my after dinner pipe and reading, Lute
+      excitedly entered, followed by a well-dressed, smooth-shaven man of middle
+      age, whom he introduced as Mr. Keene of Boston, &ldquo;who's driven all the way
+      from Ostable a-purpose to see you, Ros.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Keene shook hands with me cordially and apologized for intruding upon
+      my day of rest. He intended returning to the city in the morning, he said,
+      and, as he had a little matter to discuss with me, had taken the liberty
+      of calling. &ldquo;I shan't take more than half an hour of your time, Mr.
+      Paine,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;At least I feel certain that you and I can reach an
+      agreement in that period. If I might be alone with you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This hint, evidently intended for Lute's benefit, was quite lost upon the
+      last named individual, who had seated himself on the edge of the work
+      bench and was listening with both ears. I was obliged to tell him that his
+      presence was superfluous and request his returning to the house, which he
+      reluctantly did, moving slowly and looking back with an expression of
+      grieved disappointment. After he had gone I asked Mr. Keene what his
+      &ldquo;little matter&rdquo; might be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His reply was prompt and to the point. He gave me his card. He was, it
+      seemed, junior partner in the firm of Barclay and Keene, real estate
+      brokers and promoters, Milk Street, Boston. And, just now, he was acting
+      as representative of the Bay Shore Development Company. &ldquo;A concern of
+      which, in spite of all our precautions and attempts at secrecy, you may,
+      perhaps, have heard, Mr. Paine,&rdquo; he added, smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I admitted that I had heard rumors concerning the company's existence.
+      But, except for these very vague rumors, I knew nothing about it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He expected that, he said, and was glad to give me further and complete
+      information. In fact, that was his reason for coming so many miles to see
+      me. If I would be good enough to listen he would tell me just what the Bay
+      Shore Company was and what it contemplated doing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I listened and he talked. According to him the Bay Shore syndicate&mdash;that
+      is what it was, a syndicate of capitalists&mdash;represented one of the
+      biggest real estate propositions ever conceived. Those behind it were
+      awake to the possibilities of the Cape as a summer resort. Shore land,
+      water front property in the vicinity, was destined to increase in value,
+      provided it was properly exploited and developed. The company's idea was
+      to do just that&mdash;exploit and develop.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've been quietly looking about,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;and are all ready for
+      the preliminaries. And naturally, the first preliminary is to secure the
+      land to develop. You have some of that land, Mr. Paine. We know just how
+      much, as we do the holdings of every other party we have approached or
+      intend to approach. I am here to get your figures and, if possible,
+      conclude the purchase of your property this afternoon. It is Sunday, of
+      course,&rdquo; he added, with a good-humored laugh, &ldquo;and contracts signed to-day
+      are not legal; but we can make a verbal contract and the papers may be
+      signed later. I will defer my departure until the afternoon train
+      to-morrow for that purpose. Now name your figure, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course I had guessed what was coming. If I intended to sell at all here
+      was my opportunity to do so&mdash;to, as Captain Jed expressed it, &ldquo;block
+      Colton's game&rdquo; without sacrificing the principle for which I had fought,
+      and make a good bit of money for myself. Another home near by could be
+      secured, I had no doubt, and to it Mother might be safely and easily
+      moved. Yet I hesitated to express even a qualified willingness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You appear to be certain that I will sell,&rdquo; I observed. &ldquo;Isn't that
+      taking a good deal for granted, Mr. Keene?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled&mdash;in fact he smiled almost too often to please me. There is
+      such a thing as being too cordial and good-natured; and he was so very
+      friendly on short acquaintance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have heard about you, Mr. Paine. This,
+      however, is a different matter. We are not hogs, Mr. Paine, but business
+      men. If our plans go through, Denboro will be grateful to us and to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;IF they go through? I thought you were certain of their going through.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly, certainly. There is, of course, an 'if' in all human plans,
+      but our particular 'if' is a small one. I hope you will name your figure
+      now, at once. Don't be afraid. We are disposed to be liberal. And,
+      understand, this is entirely a cash transaction. You shall have the money
+      in one hand as you sign the contract with the other. Ha! ha! What is the
+      price to be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But I would not name a price. I seemed to feel as unreasonably reluctant
+      to close with the Bay Shore Development Company as I had been with Captain
+      Jed or Colton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I make a bid?&rdquo; asked Keene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not yet at any rate. Tell me, this: Whose land have you already
+      bought?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head. &ldquo;That, of course,&rdquo; he said, with the same gracious
+      smile, &ldquo;I can hardly tell even to you. Some of the deals are not yet
+      closed, and, as a business man yourself, Mr. Paine, you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not a business man,&rdquo; I interrupted, impatiently. &ldquo;At least, not much
+      of a one. You say there are capitalists behind your scheme. Who are they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laid his hand on my knee. &ldquo;Why, that,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;is a secret no one is
+      supposed to know. Men&mdash;financiers such as we are proud to serve&mdash;permit
+      their names to be known only when the corporation is ready to begin actual
+      operations. That is natural enough. If I were to mention names&mdash;well,
+      some of your Yankee neighbors would want to become millionaires before
+      selling.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was truth in this. I imagine that he guessed he had made an
+      impression, for he went on to shout his praises of the company and the
+      greatness of its plan. He talked and talked; in fact he talked too much. I
+      did not like to hear him. I did not like HIM, that was the trouble. He was
+      too smooth and voluble altogether. And he made a mistake in patting my
+      knee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said I, rising from my chair; &ldquo;I'll think it over.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was plainly disappointed. &ldquo;I don't wish to hurry you, of course,&rdquo; he
+      said, not moving from his chair, &ldquo;but we are anxious to close. This is to
+      be cash, remember, and I stand ready to make an offer. I am sure we can
+      reach an agreement, satisfactory to both sides, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps, but I prefer to think the matter over before naming a price or
+      hearing your offer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As a matter of fact I did not intend to sell, or consider selling, until I
+      had discussed the whole affair with Mother. But there was no need to tell
+      him that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry, I confess,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I hoped this particular deal might be
+      closed. We have so many of these little details, Mr. Paine, and time is
+      money. However, if you insist upon it, I presume the company will be
+      willing to wait a few days.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid it will have to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, very well. I shall be down again in a day or two. Of course,
+      waiting may have some effect upon the price. To-day I was empowered to . .
+      . You don't care to hear? Very well. So glad to have met you, Mr. Paine.
+      Of course you will not mention the subject of our interview to anyone.
+      Business secrets, you know. Thank you, thank you. And I will see you again&mdash;Thursday,
+      shall we say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I refused to say Thursday, principally because he had said it first. I
+      suggested Saturday instead. He agreed, shook hands as if I were an old
+      friend from whom he parted with regret, and left me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No, I did not like Mr. Keene. He was too polite and too familiar. And, as
+      I thought over his words, the whole prospectus of the Bay Shore
+      Development Company seemed singularly vague. The proposal to buy my land
+      was definite enough, but the rest of it was, apparently, very much in the
+      air. There was too much secrecy about it. No one was to tell anyone
+      anything. I was glad I had insisted upon time for consideration. I
+      intended to consider thoroughly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When I left the boat house I did not go directly home, but wandered along
+      the beach. I had puzzled my brain with Mr. Keene and his errand until I
+      determined not to puzzle it any longer that day. If my suspicions were
+      unfounded and existed merely because of my dislike of the Bay Shore
+      Company's representative, then they were not worth worry. If they were
+      well founded I had almost a week in which to discover the fact. I would
+      dismiss the whole matter from my thoughts. The question as to whether or
+      not I would sell the land at all to anybody, which was, after all, the
+      real question, I resolved to put off answering until I had had my talk
+      with Mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I walked on by the water's edge until I reached the Lane; turning into
+      that much coveted strip of territory I continued until I came opposite the
+      Colton mansion, where, turning again, I strolled homeward by the path
+      through the grove. Unconsciously my wandering thoughts strayed to Mabel
+      Colton. It was here that I had met her on two occasions. I had an odd
+      feeling that I should meet her here again, that she was here now. I had no
+      reason for thinking such a thing, certainly the wish was not father to the
+      thought, but at every bend in the path, as the undergrowth hid the way, I
+      expected, as I turned the corner, to see her coming toward me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the path was, save for myself, untenanted. I was almost at its end,
+      where the pines and bushes were scattering and the field of daisies, now
+      in full bloom, began, when I heard a slight sound at my left. I looked in
+      the direction of the sound and saw her. She was standing beneath a
+      gnarled, moss-draped old pine by the bluff edge, looking out over the bay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I stopped, involuntarily. Then I moved on again, as noiselessly as I
+      could. But at my first step she turned and saw me. I raised my hat. She
+      bowed, coldly, so it seemed to my supersensitive imagination, and I
+      replaced the hat and continued my walk. I thought I heard the bushes near
+      which she stood rustle as if she had moved, but I did not look back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, close behind me, I heard her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Paine,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I turned. She had followed me and was standing in the path, a bit out of
+      breath, as if she had hurried. I waited for her to speak, but she did not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good afternoon, Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, awkwardly. Some one had to speak,
+      we could not stand staring at each other like that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She said &ldquo;Good afternoon,&rdquo; also. Then there was another interval of
+      silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;you wished to speak to me?&rdquo; I stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I DID speak to you,&rdquo; with significant emphasis on the &ldquo;did.&rdquo; &ldquo;I thought
+      you might, possibly, be interested to know that Don and I reached home
+      safely the other day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Considering that she had called upon Mother since, it seemed to me that my
+      knowledge of her reaching home safely might have been taken for granted;
+      but I said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am very glad to hear it, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We had no difficulty in finding the way after you left us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The way being almost straight, and over the main traveled roads, this,
+      too, was fairly obvious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I felt sure you would have no trouble&mdash;after I left you,&rdquo; I
+      answered, with a significant emphasis of my own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not reply and, as I had nothing further to say, I waited for her
+      to continue, or to break off the interview. She did neither, but stood, as
+      if irresolute, looking down and stirring with her foot the leaves at the
+      edge of the path. Suddenly she looked up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Paine,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you are making it hard for me to say what I
+      intended. But I think I should say it, and so I will. I beg your pardon
+      for speaking as I did when I last saw you. I had no right to judge or
+      criticize you, none whatever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do not need to apologize, Miss Colton. What you told me was probably
+      true enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The conventional answer to this would have been a half-hearted denial of
+      my statement. I presume I expected something of the sort. But this girl
+      was not conventional.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, thoughtfully, &ldquo;I think it was. If I had not thought so I
+      should not have said it. But that makes no difference. You and I are
+      strangers, almost, and I had no right to speak as I did. I am impulsive, I
+      know it, and I often do and say things on impulse which I am sorry for
+      afterward. I offended you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh no, no,&rdquo; I put in, hurriedly. She had offended me, but this frank
+      confession touched me more than the offense had hurt. She was doing a hard
+      thing and doing it handsomely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I offended you,&rdquo; she repeated, firmly. &ldquo;I have considered the matter
+      a good deal since then, and it seems to me that you were right to feel
+      offended. You had been very kind to me on several occasions and I had been
+      your&rdquo;&mdash;with a half smile&mdash;&ldquo;your guest that day. I should not
+      have hurt your feelings. Will you accept my apology?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, of course, since you insist, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was turning to go; and I could not let her go thus. Although she had
+      apologized for speaking her thought she had not retracted the thought
+      itself. I was seized with a desire for justification in her eyes. I wanted
+      to explain; forgetting for the moment that explanations were impossible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, impulsively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I&mdash;may I say a word?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly, if you wish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned again and faced me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton, I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo; I began, and paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; she said, patiently, &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I blundered on, &ldquo;you should not have apologized. You were
+      right. Your estimate of me was pretty nearly correct. I realized that when
+      you gave it and I have been realizing it ever since. I deserved what I got&mdash;perhaps.
+      But I should not wish you to think&mdash;that is, I&mdash;well, I had
+      reasons, they seemed to me reasons, for being what I was&mdash;what I am.
+      I doubt if they were altogether good reasons; I am inclined now to think
+      they were not. But I had come to think them good. You see, I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I stopped, face to face with the fact that I could not give those reasons
+      to her or any one else. She was looking at me expectantly, and with, so it
+      seemed to me, an expression of real, almost eager interest. I faltered,
+      tried to go on, and then surrendered, absolutely, to the hopelessness of
+      the situation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is no use,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I can't tell you what those reasons were.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I turned as I said it. I did not care to see her expression change. I knew
+      what she must be thinking and I had no desire to read the thought in her
+      eyes. I stood there, waiting for her to leave in disgust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't tell you,&rdquo; I repeated, stubbornly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well.&rdquo; Her tone was as coldly indifferent as I had anticipated. &ldquo;Was
+      that all you wished to say to me, Mr. Paine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton, I should like to explain if I could. But I cannot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray don't trouble yourself. I assure you I had no intentions of asking
+      for your&mdash;reasons. Good afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard her skirts brush the leaves at the border of the path. She was
+      going; and the contemptuous slur at my &ldquo;reasons&rdquo; proved that she did not
+      believe them existent. She believed me to be a liar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, sharply; &ldquo;wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She kept on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait,&rdquo; I said again. &ldquo;Listen to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She seemed to hesitate and then turned her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am listening,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have no right to disbelieve me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I disbelieve you? Why should you think I disbelieve you? I am not
+      sufficiently interested to believe or disbelieve, I assure you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you do. You judge me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>I</i> judge you! You flatter yourself, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you do. You apologized just now for judging me without a hearing the
+      other day. You acknowledged that you should not have done it. You are
+      doing the same thing now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I apologized for presuming to offer advice to a stranger. I did not
+      apologize for the advice itself. I think it good. I do not care to argue
+      the matter further.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are not asked to argue. But your sneer at my reasons proves that you
+      believe that I have none and am merely trying to justify myself with
+      trumped up and lying excuses. You are wrong, and since you presumed to
+      judge me then you must listen to me now. I have&mdash;or had&mdash;reasons
+      for living as I have done, for being the idler and good-for-nothing you
+      believe me to be. I can't tell you what they are; I can tell no one. But I
+      do ask you to believe that I have them, that they are real, and that my
+      being what you termed ambitionless and a country loafer is not my
+      condition from choice. It is my right to insist upon your believing that.
+      Do you believe it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At last I had made an impression. My earnestness seemed to have shaken her
+      contemptuous indifference. She looked at me steadily, frowning a little,
+      but regarding me less as if I were a clod and more and more as if I were
+      the puzzle she had once declared me to be. I did not shun her look now,
+      but met it eye to eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you believe me?&rdquo; I demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly her frown was disappearing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you believe me?&rdquo; I said, again. &ldquo;You must.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Must?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you must. I shall make you. If not now, at some other time. You must
+      believe me, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The frown disappeared altogether and she smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you order me to I suppose I must,&rdquo; she said, with a shrug of mock
+      resignation. &ldquo;I should have learned by this time that it is useless to say
+      no when you say yes, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned altogether and faced me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am very glad to believe you,&rdquo; she said, with simple directness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I stammered a &ldquo;Thank you&rdquo; and was silent. I dared not trust myself to
+      speak at the moment. Somehow the sincerity of her words moved me far more
+      than their trifling import warranted. She had declared her belief that I
+      was not a liar, that was all; and yet I stood there fighting down all
+      sorts of ridiculous emotions. The situation was decidedly strained, but,
+      as usual, she saved it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems to me,&rdquo; she said, with the twinkle which I had learned to
+      recognize as a forerunner of mischief on her part, &ldquo;that you are inclined
+      to make mountains out of mole-hills, Mr. Paine. Was there any need to be
+      quite so fiercely tragic? And, besides, I think that even now you have not
+      told the whole truth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The whole truth? Why, Miss Colton, I have just explained that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, not that truth! Your mysterious 'reasons' are not my affair. And I
+      have told you that I was willing to take those on trust. But you have not
+      been quite truthful in another particular. You intimated that you were an
+      idler. I have been given to understand that you are far from being an
+      idler just now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was relieved. &ldquo;Oh, I see!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;You mean&mdash;some one has
+      told you of my employment at the bank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A number of persons have told me. Surely you did not expect to keep THAT
+      a secret&mdash;in Denboro?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, scarcely,&rdquo; I admitted, with a laugh. &ldquo;That was known almost before
+      I was sure of it myself. You should have seen Eldredge's face when I
+      announced my intention. And Lute&mdash;Mrs. Rogers' husband&mdash;hasn't
+      completely recovered yet. The sight of me, actually trying to earn a
+      living, was too much for him. You see what a miracle worker you are, Miss
+      Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you really accept the position simply because of what I said to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. The chance had been offered me before, but it was your frankness
+      that shocked me into taking it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not really? You are joking.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I'm not. You are responsible. Are you sorry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her answer was a question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. At first it seemed ridiculous and strange, even to myself; but now I
+      like the work. It is like old times.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Old times?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was forgetting myself again; talking too much was a dangerous train&mdash;for
+      me. I laughed, with pretended carelessness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes; I was employed in a bank at one time. I think I told you that.
+      Have you been motoring much of late, Miss Colton?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Tell me, please: You really like your work?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I will answer your question. I am not a bit sorry. I am glad I was
+      impertinent and intrusive, especially now that I have apologized and you
+      have accepted the apology. I am very glad I told you you should do
+      something worth while.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even if it were nothing more than to follow Thoph Newcomb's example and
+      sell fish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; laughingly, &ldquo;even that. I WAS impertinent, wasn't I! I don't wonder
+      you were offended.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I needed the impertinence, I guess. But frankly, Miss Colton, I can't see
+      why you should be glad because I have gone to work. I can't see what
+      difference my working or idling can possibly make to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it doesn't, of course&mdash;except on general principles. I am a
+      dreadful idler myself; but then, I am a woman, and idleness is a woman's
+      right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I thought of Dorinda and of the other housewives of Denboro and how little
+      of that particular &ldquo;right&rdquo; they enjoyed; which thought brought again and
+      forcibly to my mind the difference between this girl's life and theirs&mdash;and
+      Mother's&mdash;and my own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A man,&rdquo; continued Miss Colton, sagely, &ldquo;should not idle. He should work
+      and work hard&mdash;so that the rest of us may be as good for nothing as
+      we please. That is philosophy, isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were good enough not to say what sort of philosophy. Thank you. But
+      seriously, Mr. Paine, I am fond of your mother&mdash;very fond,
+      considering our short acquaintance&mdash;and when I saw her lying there,
+      so patient, and deprived of the little luxuries and conveniences which she
+      needs, and which a little more money might bring to her, it seemed to me .
+      . . Gracious! what a lot of nonsense I am talking! What is the matter with
+      me this afternoon? Do let's change the subject. Have you sold your land
+      yet, Mr. Paine? Of course you haven't! That is more nonsense, isn't it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I think she had again spoken merely on the impulse of the moment;
+      doubtless there was no deliberate intention on her part to bring me to a
+      realization of my position, the position I occupied in her thoughts; but
+      if she had had such an intent she could not have done it more effectively.
+      She believed me to have been neglecting Mother, and her interest in my
+      &ldquo;doing something worth while&rdquo; was inspired merely because she wished
+      Mother to be supplied with those &ldquo;luxuries and conveniences&rdquo; she had
+      mentioned. Well, my question was answered; this was the difference my
+      working or idling made to her. And, for a minute or two, I had been
+      foolish enough to fancy her interested, as a friend, in my success or
+      failure in life. I might have known better. And yet, because of the
+      novelty of the thing, because I had so few friends, I felt a pang of
+      disappointment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But I resolved she should not know she had disappointed me. I might have
+      been a fool, but I would keep my foolishness a secret.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, with a smile, &ldquo;I haven't sold yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father said he saw you at the bank. Did he say anything about the land?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He said his offer was still open, that was all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are resolved not to sell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To him? Yes, I am resolved. I think he knows it. I tried to make it
+      plain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You say to him. Are you thinking of selling to any one else? To the
+      town?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Probably not to any one. Certainly not to your father or the town.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at me, with an odd expression, and seemed to hesitate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Paine,&rdquo; she said, slowly, &ldquo;would you resent my giving you another bit
+      of&mdash;advice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all. What is it this time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, nothing. I must not give you any advice at all. I won't. Instead
+      I'll give you one of Father's pet proverbs. It isn't an elegant one, but
+      he is very fond of repeating it. 'There are more ways of killing a cat
+      than choking it to death with butter.' There! you will admit it is not
+      elegant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Miss Colton! Killing a cat! What in the world?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mustn't ask me. I shouldn't have said even that. But remember, it is
+      father's pet proverb. I must go. Please give my love to your mother and
+      tell her I shall call again soon. Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She walked briskly away and did not look back. I went home. I thought a
+      great deal during the evening and until late that night. When, at last, I
+      did go to bed I had not made much progress in the problem of the cat, but
+      I did believe that there was a rat in the vicinity. I was beginning to
+      scent one. If I was not mistaken it called itself the Bay Shore
+      Development Company.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I said nothing to Mother of the new proposal to buy our land, but next
+      morning at the bank I wrote a letter to the cashier of a bank in Boston,
+      one of our correspondents, and with which our little institution was on
+      very friendly terms. I asked the cashier to make some guarded inquiries
+      concerning the Bay Shore Company, to find out, if possible, who was behind
+      it and also to inquire concerning Barclay and Keene, the real estate
+      brokers of Milk Street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The reply to my letter reached me on Friday. It was satisfactory,
+      eminently so. And when, on Saturday afternoon, Mr. Keene, bland and
+      smiling as ever, made his appearance at the house, I was ready for him. I
+      stood on the step and made no move to invite him within. &ldquo;Well, Mr.
+      Paine,&rdquo; he said, cordially, &ldquo;are you ready to talk business?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite ready,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He beamed with satisfaction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Then what is your figure?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My figure is a naught,&rdquo; I replied, with emphasis. &ldquo;You may tell your
+      employer that I do not care to sell the land to him, no matter whether he
+      calls himself James Colton or the Bay Shore Development Company. Oh yes;
+      and, if you like, you may add that this particular cat declines to be
+      choked.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Keene showed signs of choking, himself, and I shut the door and left
+      him outside. Lute, who had been listening at the dining-room window and
+      had heard only fragments of the brief interview, was in a state of added
+      incoherence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, by time!&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;What&mdash;what sort of talk was that?
+      Chokin' a cat! A cat!! We ain't got no cat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven't we?&rdquo; I observed. &ldquo;Why, no, so we haven't! Perhaps you had better
+      explain that to Mr. Keene, Lute. It may help him to understand the
+      situation. And add that I suggest his telling the person who sent him here
+      that soft-soap is no improvement on butter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I think Lute did tell him just that, doubtless with all sorts of excuses
+      for my insanity, for the next day, Sunday, as I walked along the beach, a
+      big body came ploughing down the sandy slope and joined me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello!&rdquo; said Colton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning,&rdquo; said I.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How are independence and public spirit these days?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, thank you. How are Development Companies developing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He put back his head and laughed. He did not seem a bit chagrined or
+      discomfited. The joke was on him, but he could enjoy it, nevertheless. In
+      spite of my antagonism toward this man I could not help admiring certain
+      traits of his character. He was big, in every way. Little repulses or
+      setbacks did not trouble him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;how did you know about that cat?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Saw his footprints,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;They were all over the scheme. And your
+      friend Keene purred too loud.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't mean that. Keene was a fool; that was plain enough for anyone to
+      see. I had to use him; if Barclay hadn't been sick it might have been
+      different. But how did you come to send me that message about the butter?
+      Man, that is one of my favorite sayings&mdash;the choking the cat thing!
+      How did you know that? I never said it to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it is an old saying. I have heard it often; and it did seem to fit in
+      this case. I imagined you would understand and appreciate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um&mdash;yes,&rdquo; dryly. &ldquo;I appreciated all right. As to understanding&mdash;well,
+      I'll understand later on. That's another little conundrum for me to work
+      out. Somebody's been talking, of course. Here! hold on!&rdquo; as I was walking
+      away: &ldquo;Don't go. I want to talk to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He characteristically did not ask whether or not I wanted to talk to him,
+      but, as I happened to be in no hurry, I stopped and waited for him to
+      continue. He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked me over, very
+      much as he might have looked over a horse he was thinking of buying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Paine,&rdquo; he said, suddenly, &ldquo;do you want to go to work?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Work?&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;I am at work already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've got a job, such as it is. It might be work for the average jay,
+      but it isn't for you. I'll give you something to work at&mdash;yes, and
+      work for.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I stared at him in wondering suspicion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is this; another Development Company?&rdquo; I demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha! ha! not this time. No, this is straight. If you'll say that you'll
+      work for me I'll make an opening for you in my New York office.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. I was trying to fathom the motive behind this new move.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll put you to work in my office,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;It may not be much to
+      begin with, but you can make it anything you like; that'll be up to you.
+      As to salary&mdash;well, I don't know what you're getting in that
+      one-horse bank, but I'll double it, whatever it is. That will be the
+      start, of course. After that it is up to you, as I said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton this may be a good joke, but I don't see it&mdash;yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't joke often in business; can't afford to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are really serious? You mean what you say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why? You don't know anything about me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know all that is necessary. And I have found out that you are all
+      right, so far as bank work goes. That fellow Taylor and some others told
+      me that. But I didn't need their telling. Why, man, it is part of my trade
+      to know men when I see them. I have to know 'em. I said a while ago that
+      you didn't belong in this forsaken hole of a town. God knows it IS
+      forsaken! Even my wife is beginning to admit that, and she was the keenest
+      to come here. Some day I shall get sick of it and sell out, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sell out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, not yet. Mabel&mdash;my daughter&mdash;seems to like it here, for
+      some unknown reason, and wants to stay. And I don't intend to sell until
+      I've bought&mdash;what I set out to buy. But I'm not the subject we're
+      talking about just now. You are. Come! here's your chance to be somebody.
+      More chance than I had, I'll tell you that. You can go to work in my
+      office next week, if you want to. Will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I laughed at the idea. I believed I had found the motive I was seeking.
+      &ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;You can't close the Lane by that kind of
+      bribery, Mr. Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bribery be hanged! Come, come, Paine! Wake up, or I shall think your
+      brains aren't up to standard, after all. When I bribe I bribe. When I ask
+      a man to work for me there are no strings tied to the offer. Forget your
+      picayune land for a minute. Time enough to remember that when I've got it,
+      which will be some day or other, of course. I'm making you this offer
+      because I want you. You're sharp; you saw through that Development game.
+      You're clever&mdash;your sending me that 'cat' message proves it. And your
+      not telling me where the idea for the message came from proves that you
+      can keep your mouth shut. I could use a dozen fellows like you, if I could
+      get them. You interested me right at the start. A chap with sand enough to
+      tell Jim Colton to go to the devil is always interesting. I'm offering you
+      this chance because I think it is a good chance for both of us. Yes, and
+      because I like you, I suppose, in spite of your pig-headedness. Will you
+      take it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, thank you,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why? Because you can't leave your sick mother? She'll be all right. I was
+      talking with the doctor&mdash;Quimby, his name is, isn't it&mdash;and he
+      happened to mention that he was encouraged about her. Said she had been
+      distinctly better for the last month.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could not believe it. Doctor Quimby had said nothing of the sort to me.
+      It was impossible. Mother BETTER!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That doesn't mean she is going to be well and strong again, of course,&rdquo;
+       he added, not unkindly. &ldquo;But I think Quimby believes she may be well
+      enough to&mdash;perhaps&mdash;sit up one of these days. Be wheeled about
+      in a chair, or something of that sort . . . Why! what is the matter? You
+      looked as if I had knocked you out. Hasn't the doctor said anything to
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I stammered. I WAS knocked out. I could not believe it. Mother, the
+      bed-ridden invalid of six long years, to be well enough to sit up! to use
+      a wheeled chair! It could not be true. It was too good to be true.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So, you see, you could leave her all right,&rdquo; went on Colton. &ldquo;If it was
+      necessary you could get a nurse down here to look after her while you were
+      away. And you might get home every fortnight or so. Better take my offer,
+      Paine. Come!&rdquo; with a grunt of impatient amusement, &ldquo;don't keep me waiting
+      too long. I am not used to coaxing people to work for me; it is usually
+      the other way around. This offer of mine happens to be pretty nearly a
+      disinterested one, and,&rdquo; with one of his dry smiles, &ldquo;all my offers are
+      not that kind, as you ought to know. Will you say yes now? Or do you want
+      till to-morrow to think it over?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The news concerning Mother had upset me greatly, but my common-sense was
+      not all gone. That there was something behind his offer I believed, but,
+      even if there were not&mdash;if it was disinterested and made simply
+      because my unearthing of the Bay Shore &ldquo;cat&rdquo; had caught his fancy&mdash;I
+      did not consider for a moment accepting it. Not if Mother was like other
+      women, well and strong, would I have accepted it. In Denboro I was Roscoe
+      Paine, and my life story was my own secret. In New York how long would it
+      be before that secret and my real name were known, and all the old
+      disgrace and scandal resurrected?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you say?&rdquo; asked Colton, again. &ldquo;Want more time to think about it,
+      do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook my head. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I have had time enough. I am obliged
+      for the offer and I appreciate your kindness, but I cannot accept.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I expected him to express impatience or, perhaps, anger; at least to ask
+      my reasons for declining. But his only utterance was a &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; For a
+      moment he regarded me keenly. Then he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven't got the answer yet, have I? All right. Well,&rdquo; briskly, &ldquo;when are
+      you and I going on that shooting trip?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no shooting at present,&rdquo; I answered, as soon as I could adjust
+      my mind to this new switch in the conversation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That so? Any fishing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe the squiteague are running outside. I heard they were.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? Squit&mdash;which?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Squiteague. Weakfish some people call them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are pretty fair sport, aren't they?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, fair. Nothing like bluefish, however.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. What is the matter with our going squint&mdash;squint&mdash;something
+      or othering one of these days? Will you go? Or are you as pig-headed about
+      that as you are about other things?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I laughed. &ldquo;Not quite,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I should be glad of your company, Mr.
+      Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Next Saturday suit you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. After bank hours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. I'll look after the boat. You provide the bait and tackle.
+      That's fair, isn't it? Right. Be on hand at my dock at one o'clock.
+      Morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked off. Neither of us had thought of the tide&mdash;he, probably,
+      not realizing that high water was an important factor, and I being too
+      much agitated by what he had said about Mother, and the suddenness with
+      which the fishing trip was planned, to think calmly of anything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That week was a strange one to me, and the first of many strange ones. My
+      manner of life was changing, although I did not realize it and although
+      the change came through no effort of my own. Our house, which had been so
+      long almost a hermitage, if a home containing four persons might be called
+      that, was gradually becoming a social center. Matilda Dean had called once
+      a week regularly for some time and this particular week Captain Jed came
+      with her. Captain Elisha Warren and his cousin and housekeeper, Miss Abbie
+      Baker, drove down for a half-hour's stay. George Taylor and Nellie spent
+      an evening with us. I feared the unaccustomed rush of company might have a
+      bad effect upon Mother, but she seemed actually the better for it. She
+      professed to believe that Denboro was awakening to the fact of my merits
+      as a man and a citizen. &ldquo;They are finding you out at last, Boy,&rdquo; she said.
+      I laughed at her. I knew better. It was because of my position in the bank
+      that these people came. I was making good there, apparently, and the
+      surprise at this caused Captain Warren and the rest to take a new, and no
+      doubt transitory interest in me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I thought I knew Captain Jed's reason for coming. An interview between
+      us gave me the inkling. Matilda was in Mother's room and Dean and I were
+      together in the dining-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros,&rdquo; said the captain, suddenly, &ldquo;you ain't backin' water, are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Backing water? What do you mean by that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In this Lane business. You ain't cal'latin' to sell out to Colton, after
+      all?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, hardly. Why do you say that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothin', maybe. But they tell me you're kind of thick with the R'yal
+      family lately. Beriah Holt says he see you and the Colton girl come out of
+      the woods back of his place one afternoon a spell ago. She was on
+      horseback and you was walkin', but Beriah says you and she was mighty
+      friendly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I might have expected this. In Denboro one does few things unnoticed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She had lost her way in the woods and I helped her to find the road
+      home,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;that was all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hum! You helped her to find the road the night of the strawberry
+      festival, too, didn't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How in the world did you find that out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it just sort of drifted around. I've got pretty big ears&mdash;maybe
+      you've noticed 'em&mdash;and they gen'rally catch some of what's blowin'
+      past. There was a coachman mixed up in that night's work and he talked
+      some, I shouldn't wonder; most of his kind do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what of it?&rdquo; I asked, sharply. &ldquo;I helped her as I would your
+      daughter if she had been caught alone in a storm like that. I should have
+      been ashamed not to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sartin! Needn't get mad about it. What's this about your takin' his
+      Majesty off fishin' next Saturday?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All of my personal affairs seemed to be common property. I was losing my
+      temper in spite of my recent good resolutions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Captain Dean,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I have a right to take any one
+      fishing, if I choose. Mr. Colton asked me to do it and I saw no reason for
+      saying no.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Funny he should ask you. He ain't asked anybody else in town.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know that and I don't care. I shall do as I please. I have no
+      grievance against the Coltons. I shall not sell them my land, but I
+      reserve the right to meet them&mdash;yes, and to associate with them&mdash;if
+      I choose. You and your friends may as well understand that, Captain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! there! don't get huffy. I ain't got the right to say what your
+      rights are, Ros. And I don't think for a minute you'd back water on the
+      Lane business a-purpose. But I do think you're takin' chances. I tell you,
+      honest, I'm scart of old Colton, in a way, and I ain't scart of many
+      folks. He's a fighter and he's smart. He and I have had some talks&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have?&rdquo; I interrupted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yup. Lively squabbles they was, too. Each of us expressin' our opinion of
+      t'other and not holdin' back anything to speak of. I don't know how he
+      felt when we quit, but I know I respected him&mdash;for his out and open
+      cussedness and grit, if nothin' else. And I think he felt the same way
+      about me. But he's smart&mdash;consarn him, he is! And HE never backs
+      water. That's why I think you're takin' chances in bein' too friendly with
+      him. He's layin' low and, if you get off your guard just once he'll grab.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hesitated; then I made up my mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Captain Dean,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;his smartness hasn't caught me yet. I'm going to
+      tell you something, but first you must promise not to tell anyone else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He promised and I told him of Mr. Keene and the Bay Shore Company. He
+      listened, interrupting with chuckles and exclamations. When I had finished
+      he seized my hand and wrung it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the everlastin'!&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;that was great! I say again, you're
+      all right, Ros Paine. Even <i>I</i> swallered that Development Company,
+      hook, line, and sinker. But YOU saw through it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you this,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;so that you will understand I have no
+      intention of backing water.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know you ain't. Knew it afore and now I know it better. But I can't
+      understand what the Colton game is&mdash;and there is a game, sure. That
+      daughter of his, now&mdash;she may be in it or she may not. She's pretty
+      and I will give in that she's folksy and sociable with us natives; it's
+      surprisin', considerin' her bringin' up. Nellie and Matildy like her,
+      Nellie especial. They're real chummy, as you might say. Talk and talk,
+      just as easy and common as you and I this minute. I've heard 'em two or
+      three times at my house when they thought I wasn't listenin' and twice out
+      of the three they was talkin' about you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About ME?&rdquo; I repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I don't wonder you're surprised. I was myself. Asked Nellie about it
+      and she just laughed. Said you was the principal object of interest in
+      town just now, which is more or less true. But it makes me suspicious, all
+      the same. Why should a girl like that Colton one talk about a feller like
+      you? You're as fur apart, fur's anything in common is concerned, as
+      molasses is from vinegar. Ain't that so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was so, of course, but he need not have been so brutally frank in
+      telling me. However, I nodded and admitted that he was right.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;A blind horse could see there was no sensible, open and
+      above-board reason for HER bein' interested in YOU. So there's another
+      reason, the way I look at it, and that's why I'd be mighty careful, mighty
+      careful, Ros. Her pa's got a new trick up his sleeve and she's helpin' him
+      play it, that's my notion. So be careful, won't you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll be careful,&rdquo; said I. I knew, as well as I knew my real name&mdash;which
+      he did not&mdash;that Mabel Colton was not helping her father play any
+      tricks. I had seen enough of her to be certain she was not tricky. And,
+      besides, if she were in sympathy with her parent, why had she given me the
+      hint which put me on the trail of the Development Company? Why had she
+      given me the hint at all? That was the real riddle, and I had not, as yet,
+      hit upon a plausible answer. Those I had hit upon were ridiculous and
+      impossible, and I put them from my mind. But she was not tricky, that I
+      knew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Captain Jed changed the subject and we talked of Nellie's wedding, which
+      was to take place in a month. The captain was full of various emotions,
+      regret at losing his daughter and joy because of her getting such a good
+      husband. His last words were these:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;be careful, for my sake full as much as yours. This Lane
+      business and Nellie's gettin' married have sort of possessed me, same as
+      the evil spirits did the swine, in scriptur'. I lay awake nights fussin'
+      for fear the marriage won't turn out happy or for fear you'll sell the
+      Lane after all. And one's just as likely to happen as t'other&mdash;which
+      means they're both impossible, I cal'late. But look out for that Colton
+      girl, whatever else you do. She's a good deal better lookin' than her dad,
+      but she's just as dangerous. You mark my words, son, the feller that plays
+      with fire takes chances. So don't be TOO sociable with any of the tribe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the very next afternoon the dangerous person herself called and she
+      and I spent an hour in Mother's room, where the three of us chatted like
+      old friends. She had the rare power of making one forget self and personal
+      worries and I could readily understand why Mother had been so completely
+      won by her. She was bright and cheery and sympathetic. Here there was no
+      trace of the pride of class and the arrogance which had caused me to hate
+      her so heartily at first. It seemed almost as if she had set herself the
+      task of making me like her in spite of my prejudices. My reason told me
+      that this could not be; it was merely her fancy for Mother which caused
+      her to notice me at all; she had as much as said so more than once. But I
+      did like her; I acknowledged it in my thoughts; and, after she had gone,
+      the room, with its drawn shades, seemed doubly dark and gloomy. Mother was
+      silent for a few minutes and I, too, said nothing. Then:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is a wonderful girl, isn't she, Roscoe,&rdquo; said Mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was altogether too wonderful, that was the trouble. A girl like her
+      had no place in our lives. I went out for a walk and a smoke by the bluff
+      edge; and, almost before I knew it, I found myself standing at the border
+      of the grove, looking at the great house and trying to guess which was her
+      room and if she was there and of what or whom she might be thinking just
+      then. &ldquo;Mark my words, son,&rdquo; Captain Jed had declared, &ldquo;the feller that
+      plays with fire takes chances.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I turned on my heel and set out for home. I would take no chances. I must
+      not play with fire, even though the flames had, for the moment, dazzled
+      me. I had called myself a fool many times in the past few years, but I
+      would not be so great a fool as that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      So I resolved, more resolutely than ever, to keep out of her way, to see
+      as little of her as possible! and, as had happened before to similar
+      resolutions of mine with which she was concerned, this one was rendered
+      non-effective, through no fault of my own, almost as soon as it was made.
+      For on Saturday afternoon, as I approached the Colton wharf, laden with
+      bait and rods for the fishing excursion in the Colton boat, I saw her
+      standing there beside her father, waiting for me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've got a passenger, Paine,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Big Jim.&rdquo; &ldquo;You've met her before, I
+      believe&mdash;on the water and in it. No objections to my daughter's going
+      along, have you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What could I say; except to announce delight at the addition to our party?
+      Perhaps I did not say it as heartily as I might, for, Miss Colton, who was
+      regarding me with a mischievous smile, observed demurely:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sure he must be delighted, Father. Mr. Paine knows I am very fond of
+      fishing; don't you, Mr. Paine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; oh, yes, of course,&rdquo; I stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He does, eh!&rdquo; Her father seemed surprised. &ldquo;How did he find that out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I thought the question was addressed to her, so I did not answer. She
+      seemed to think otherwise, for she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you hear, Mr. Paine? Father asks how you knew I was fond of fishing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;er&mdash;you told me so, Miss Colton,&rdquo; I replied. If she had
+      not related her Seabury Pond experience to her parents I did not propose
+      to be trapped into doing so. She laughed merrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did I?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;Yes, I believe I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Colton looked at us, each in turn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; he observed; &ldquo;I don't seem to be aboard this train. What's the
+      joke?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She saved me the problem of inventing a satisfactory answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it's a little joke of Mr. Paine's and my own,&rdquo; she explained. &ldquo;I'll
+      tell you about it by and by, Father. It would take too long to tell now.
+      He saved my life once more, that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! that's all! Humph! And you did not think a trifle like that worth
+      mentioning to me, I suppose. Would you mind telling me what it was he
+      saved you from this time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From starvation. I was a famished wayfarer and he took me in. There,
+      Daddy, don't puzzle your poor brain any longer. It is all right and I'll
+      tell you all about it when we get home. Now I am sure we should be
+      starting if we are to have any fishing at all. Shall we cast off, Mr.&mdash;that
+      is, Captain Paine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That fishing trip was not a huge success if judged solely by the size of
+      the catch. The weakfish were not hungry or we did not tempt them with bait
+      to their taste that day. We got a half dozen, of which I caught three,
+      Miss Colton two, and her father but one. His, however, was a big one, much
+      the biggest of the six, and he had a glorious time landing it. He fished
+      as he appeared to do everything else, with intense earnestness and
+      determination. He evidently considered the struggle a sort of personal
+      disagreement between the fish and himself and, as usual, intended to have
+      his way. He succeeded after a while, and announced that he had not enjoyed
+      anything as much since arriving in Denboro.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His daughter also seemed to be enjoying herself. She was quite as good a
+      fisher as her father, and, when the sport was over, and we reeled in our
+      lines preparatory to starting for home, rallied him not a little at having
+      been the least successful of the party. He took her teasing
+      good-naturedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think it is quite a feat to get the better of your old dad, don't
+      you, my lady,&rdquo; he observed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I do. It is, isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He chuckled. &ldquo;Well, maybe you're right,&rdquo; he admitted. &ldquo;You do it oftener
+      than any one else, that is certain. Paine, you might take lessons from
+      her, if you are still hoping to keep up your end in the little fight you
+      and I have on hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned to me and smiled. Her graceful head was silhouetted against the
+      red glow of the sunset and a loosened strand of her hair waved in the
+      light breeze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think Mr. Paine does not need lessons from any one,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;He
+      seems to be holding his own very well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But he's frightened, all the same. Come, Paine, own up now. You know you
+      are frightened, don't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not very,&rdquo; I answered, truthfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So? Then you aren't as sensible as you ought to be. A wise man knows when
+      to be scared. Let's make a little bet on it. I'll bet you two to one that
+      I'll own that land of yours inside of six months.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook my head. &ldquo;I never bet on certainties,&rdquo; I declared. &ldquo;I should be
+      ashamed to collect my winnings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This seemed to amuse them both, for they both laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father,&rdquo; said Miss Colton, &ldquo;I am afraid you don't learn by experience.
+      You have lost one bet already, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's so. And I haven't paid it yet, either. I must, or you'll be
+      telling every one that I am a poor sport. Paine, this young lady bet me a
+      new pipe against a box of gloves that you wouldn't&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father,&rdquo; broke in the young lady, herself, &ldquo;stop.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, all right, all right. Just as you say. But I tell you this, Paine;
+      SHE hasn't any scruples against betting on certainties.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was leaning against the cockpit rail, looking forward, and I could not
+      see her face. She spoke without turning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You thought yours was the certainty,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You warned me that I was
+      sure to lose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did I? Well, you may, even yet. On the whole, I think I'll wait a while
+      before buying those gloves. Remember, there was no time limit. When you
+      said that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father,&rdquo; more firmly, &ldquo;please be quiet. You have said quite enough. Mr.
+      Paine is not likely to be interested in the family gambling.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was interested in this particular &ldquo;gamble.&rdquo; The wager had, obviously,
+      something to do with me. I suppose I should have felt flattered at being
+      made the subject of a bet in such select circles, but I did not. I had not
+      been informed as to the details of that bet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was nothing more said about it at the time and my passengers talked
+      of other things as we sailed home before the fast dying breeze. It died
+      almost altogether as we passed the lighthouse at Crow Point and entered
+      the bay and, for an hour, we barely held our own against the tide. The sun
+      set, twilight came, and the stars appeared one by one. Colton, lying at
+      full length on the deck forward of the cockpit, smoked in lazy enjoyment.
+      His only remark in ten minutes was to the effect that his wife had
+      probably drowned us all, in her mind, a dozen times over by now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His daughter, sitting by the rail and looking out over the smooth, darkly
+      glimmering water, bade him be quiet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must not talk,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;This is the most wonderful night I ever
+      experienced. How still it is! You can hear every sound. Hark!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From the dusk, to port, came the clear strokes of a church bell striking
+      eight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is the clock at the Methodist Church, isn't it?&rdquo; asked Miss Colton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said I.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The church where the strawberry festival was held?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Colton struck a match to relight his cigar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shouldn't think that would be a pleasant reminder to either of you,&rdquo; he
+      observed. &ldquo;I am mighty sure it wasn't to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Colton did not answer, nor did I.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The breeze sprang up again soon after, from a different quarter this time,
+      but the tide had ebbed so far that I was obliged to make the detour around
+      the end of the flat upon which Victor had grounded the dingy. &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo;
+       raised himself on his elbow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello!&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;here's another joyful spot. Mabel, it was along
+      here somewhere that Paine acquired the habit of carrying you about like a
+      bundle. It must have been a picturesque performance. Wish I might have
+      seen it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed heartily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father,&rdquo; said the young lady, coldly, &ldquo;don't be silly&mdash;please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He chuckled and lay down again, and no one spoke during the rest of the
+      voyage. It was after nine when I brought the boat up to the wharf, made
+      her fast, and lowered and furled the sail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better come up to the house with us and have a bit to eat, Paine,&rdquo; urged
+      Colton. &ldquo;You must be hungry; I know I am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, thank you,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Supper will be waiting for me at home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Glad to have you, if you'll come. Tell him to come, Mabel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Colton's invitation was not over-cordial.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I presume Mr. Paine knows what is best for him to do,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Of
+      course we shall be glad to have him, if he will come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I declined, and, after thanking me for the sail and the pleasure of the
+      fishing trip, they left me, Colton carrying his big squiteague by the
+      gills, its tail slapping his leg as he climbed the bluff. A moment later I
+      followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The night was, as my feminine passenger had said, wonderfully quiet, and
+      sounds carried a long way. As I reached the juncture of the path and the
+      Lane I heard a voice which I recognized as Mrs. Colton's. She was
+      evidently standing on the veranda of the big house and I heard every word
+      distinctly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are so unthinking, James! You and Mabel have no regard for my
+      feelings at all. I have been worried almost to death. Do you realize the
+      time? I warned you against trusting yourself to the care of that common
+      FELLOW&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The &ldquo;fellow&rdquo; heard no more. He did not wish to. He was tramping heavily
+      through the dew-soaked undergrowth. He needed now no counsel against
+      &ldquo;playing with fire.&rdquo; The cutting contempt of Mrs. James W. Colton's remark
+      was fire-extinguisher sufficient for that night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Colton and I met again at the door of the bank a day or two later,
+      just at closing time. Sam Wheeler had already gone and I left George at
+      his desk, poring over papers and busily figuring. He was working over time
+      much of late and explained his industry by the fact of his approaching
+      marriage and his desire to make things easy for me to handle while he was
+      on his brief wedding trip. I was not much alarmed by the prospect. He was
+      to be gone but a week and I had become sufficiently familiar with the
+      routine to feel confident in assuming the responsibility. Small, my
+      predecessor, had a brother who had formerly been employed in the bank and
+      was now out of work, and he was coming in to help during the cashier's
+      absence. I was not worried by the prospect of being left in charge, but I
+      was worried about George. He, so it seemed to me, had grown pale and thin.
+      Also he was nervously irritable and not at all like his usual good-natured
+      self. I tried to joke him into better humor, but he did not respond to my
+      jokes. He seemed, too, to realize that his odd behavior was noticeable,
+      for he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't mind my crankiness, Ros. I've got so much on my mind that I'd be
+      mean to my old grandmother, if I had one, I guess likely. Don't let my
+      meanness trouble you; it isn't worth trouble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I laughed. &ldquo;George,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;if I ever dreamed of such a thing as getting
+      married myself, you would scare me out of it. You ought to be a happy man,
+      and act like one; instead you act as if you were about to be jailed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He caught his breath with a sort of gasp. Then, after a pause and without
+      looking up, he asked slowly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jailed? What in the world made you say that, Ros?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said it because you act as if you were bound for state's prison instead
+      of the matrimonial altar. George, what IS troubling you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Troubling me? Why&mdash;why, nothing special, of course. Catching up with
+      my work here makes me nervous and&mdash;and kind of absent-minded, I
+      guess. Act absent-minded, don't I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He did, there was no doubt of that, but I did not believe it was his work
+      which caused the absent-mindedness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If there is any trouble, George,&rdquo; I said, earnestly; &ldquo;if you're in any
+      difficulty, personally, I shall be very glad to help you, if I can. I mean
+      that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment I thought he hesitated. Then he shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know you mean it, Ros,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;I'm much obliged to you, too. But
+      there's nothing to help me with. I'm just nervous and tired, that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not believe it, but I felt that I had said all I could, considering
+      his attitude. I bade him good night and left the building. As I came down
+      the steps Miss Colton was just crossing the road from Eldredge's store, a
+      good sized brown paper parcel in her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ever since the day when Captain Jed had given me his warning I had been
+      strengthening my resolution. The remark of Mrs. Colton's which I had
+      overheard on the night of the fishing trip, although it revealed to me, as
+      I believed, my real standing in the minds of my neighbors, whatever they
+      might pretend when in my company, was, after all, only a minor detail. I
+      knew that I must break off my acquaintance with this girl. By all that was
+      sensible and sane it must be broken off. I must not, for my own sake,
+      continue to meet her, to see her and speak with her. No; I would avoid her
+      if I could, but, at all events, I would break off the association, even if
+      I were obliged to offend her, deliberately offend her, to accomplish my
+      purpose. I swore it; and then I swore at myself for being so weak-minded
+      as to need to swear. That I should be afraid of a girl, a mere girl, ten
+      years younger than I, who, as the casual pastime of an idle summer, had
+      chosen to pretend an interest in me! I was not afraid of her, of course; I
+      was afraid of myself. Not that I was in danger of falling in love with her&mdash;that
+      idea was too ridiculous to be even funny. But she was becoming a
+      disturbing influence in my life&mdash;that was it, a disturbing influence&mdash;and
+      I must not permit myself to be disturbed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So now, as I saw the disturbing influence crossing the road in my
+      direction, my first thought was to retreat to the bank. But it was too
+      late to retreat; she had seen me, and she bowed pleasantly as she
+      approached.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good afternoon,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I bowed and admitted that the afternoon was a good one, conscious as I did
+      so that Sim Eldredge had followed her to the door of his store and was
+      regarding us with marked interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She exhibited the package. &ldquo;I am acting as my own errand boy, you see,&rdquo;
+       she said, smiling. &ldquo;It was such a beautiful day that I refused to send any
+      one for this, or even to ride. I did not realize that a few yards of
+      muslin would make such a bundle. Now I must carry it, I suppose, in spite
+      of appearances.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I believed I saw an opportunity to escape.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going directly home,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Let me carry it down for you. I will
+      send it over to your house by Lute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no thank you. I could not think of troubling Mr. Rogers. But do you
+      really want to carry it? You may, for a while. We will take turns. I am
+      going directly home, too; and we will walk down together. Unless, of
+      course, you are in a hurry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I think it was the expression of my face which led her to add the last
+      sentence. If I had had time to think, to summon my resolution, it is
+      possible&mdash;yes, it is possible that I should have declared myself to
+      be in a hurry and gone on alone. But she had caught me unawares and
+      resolution was wanting. I announced that I was in no hurry at all, and
+      took the parcel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We walked on together, she chatting easily, and I pretending to listen,
+      although aware that our progress was watched by eager eyes and commented
+      upon and exclaimed over by many tongues. The drawn shades of parlor
+      windows moved significantly as we passed and, as we turned into the Lower
+      Road, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Sim Eldredge and his clerk and
+      Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker on the store platform, staring after us. As
+      if this audience was not sufficient, and to make the affair complete, we
+      met Captain Dean strutting importantly on his way to the post-office. He
+      bowed and said &ldquo;Afternoon,&rdquo; but the look he gave me was significant. There
+      was surprise in it, and distrust. I knew I should have to do more
+      explaining at our next meeting. And I knew, too, or could guess, what was
+      being said that very moment at the store, and of the surmising and
+      theorizing and strengthening of suspicions which would go on at a dozen
+      supper tables that evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My companion, however, appeared to be quite unconscious of all this. That
+      I might be suspected and misjudged because she had chanced to prefer my
+      company to a walk home alone did not, evidently, occur to her. There was
+      no reason why it should, of course; she was not in the position where the
+      opinion or suspicions of Denboro's inhabitants need concern her in the
+      least. But I, angry at Captain Jed for his look and with Sim Eldredge and
+      his companions for their impudent stares and the trouble I knew their
+      gossipy tongues would make for me, was gloomy and resentful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She did most of the talking and I walked beside her, putting in a word
+      occasionally and doing my best to appear as unconcerned as she really was.
+      We crossed Elnathan Mullet's bridge and continued down the Shore Lane.
+      Suddenly I was aware that she had not spoken for some minutes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? Yes, Miss Colton; what is it?&rdquo; I stammered. Then I realized that we
+      were standing beside the granite posts marking the entrance to the Colton
+      grounds. I had been so wrapped in my unpleasant thoughts and forebodings
+      that we had reached our journey's end without my noticing it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; I exclaimed, and then added the brilliant observation, &ldquo;We are
+      here, aren't we.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are,&rdquo; she said, dryly. &ldquo;Didn't you know it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I had not realized. The walk has seemed so short.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I'm sure it must. I think you have spoken exactly six words in the
+      last five minutes. Will you come in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh no; no, thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? Father is in and will be glad to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I must be getting on toward home. Supper will be ready.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She bit her lip. &ldquo;Far be it from me to criticize your domestic
+      arrangements, Mr. Paine,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;but it does seem to me that your
+      housekeeper serves meals at odd hours. It is only a few minutes after
+      four, by my watch.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had me at a disadvantage. I imagined I must have appeared embarrassed.
+      I know I felt that way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not realize . . . I thought it much later,&rdquo; I stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you will come in? Father will like to discuss the fishing with you,
+      I know. He has talked of little but his wonderful weakfish ever since he
+      caught it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, thank you, Miss Colton. Really, I must not stop.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She took the parcel from my hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; she said, indifferently; &ldquo;as you please. I thank you for your
+      kindness in walking down with me. Good afternoon, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned away. Here was the opportunity I had been waiting for, the
+      opportunity of breaking off our acquaintance. If I knew anything I knew
+      the tone of that &ldquo;Good afternoon&rdquo; meant that, for some reason or other,
+      she was offended, just as I had been certain I wished her to be. Here was
+      the opportunity, Heaven sent, to rid my life of its disturbing influence.
+      Just what I had prayed for had come to pass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so, to prove the sincerity of my prayers and the worth of my high
+      resolve, I&mdash;called her back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She, apparently, did not hear me, so I called again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I seem somehow or other to have offended you.&rdquo; And even as I said it I
+      realized the completeness of the back-down, realized it and blushed. I was
+      ashamed of my weakness. Yet when she asked me to repeat my words I did so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You spoke to me?&rdquo; she said, coldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I said I had not meant to offend you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should you imagine that I am offended, pray? You seem to think other
+      people must necessarily regard you as seriously as you do yourself. I am
+      not offended.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well; then I am. We won't argue the matter; it is scarcely worth
+      argument, is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This observation called for no answer in particular, at least I could not
+      think of one. While I was groping for a word she spoke again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't let me detain you, Mr. Paine,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I am sure your&mdash;supper,
+      was it?&mdash;must be waiting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton, you&mdash;you seem to resent my not accepting your
+      invitation to visit your father. I assure you I&mdash;I should be very
+      glad to call upon him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. I will tell him so. He will be grateful, doubtless. Your
+      condescension is overwhelming, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton, everything I say seems to be wrong this afternoon. I don't
+      know what I have done. Twice you have spoken of my condescension.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her foot was beginning to pat the grass. I recognized the battle signal,
+      but I kept on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't understand what you mean by condescension,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you, indeed? You are very dense all at once, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Possibly. But I don't understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For an instant she hesitated. Then she turned on me with a gust of fierce
+      impatience which took my breath away. Her eyes flashed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do,&rdquo; she declared. &ldquo;You do understand, I am not blind. Do you suppose
+      I could not see that you wished to avoid me when I met you at the bank
+      just now? That my company was neither welcome nor desired? That you
+      accepted my suggestion of walking down together merely because you could
+      think of no excuse for declining?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was a staggerer. And the worst of it was its truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I faltered, &ldquo;I can't understand what you mean. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do understand. And please,&rdquo; with a scornful laugh, &ldquo;oh, PLEASE
+      understand that I am not troubled because of THAT. Your charming and
+      cultivated society is not indispensable to my happiness, Mr. Paine,
+      strange as that may appear to you. Really,&rdquo; with cutting contempt, &ldquo;it is
+      not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That I quite understand, Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you are like every one else in this horrid, narrow, bigoted place.
+      Don't you suppose that I see it everywhere I go! Every one here hates us&mdash;every
+      one. We are intruders; we are not wanted here, and you all take pains to
+      make us feel as uncomfortable as you can. Oh, you are all snobs&mdash;all
+      of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I actually gasped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Snobs!&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;We&mdash;snobs?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. That is exactly what you are. When Father came here he meant to be a
+      citizen, a good citizen, of the town. He had intended to do all sorts of
+      things to help the village and the people in it. He and I discussed ever
+      so many plans for doing good here. And we wanted to be friendly with every
+      one. But how have you treated us! No one comes to see us. We are avoided
+      as if we had the small-pox. The majority of people scarcely speak to us on
+      the street. I am so lonely and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped. I had never seen her so agitated. As for me, astonishment is
+      much too mild a term to use in describing my feelings. That these people,
+      these millionaires and aristocrats should feel that they had been avoided
+      and slighted, that we Denboroites were the snobs, that THEY should be
+      lonely because no one, or almost no one, came to call upon them&mdash;this
+      was too much for my bewildered brain to grasp all at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The young lady went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;You are as bad as the rest. Father has called
+      upon you several times. I have called on your mother. Father and I have
+      tried to be friendly and neighborly. Not that we are lacking in friends.
+      We,&rdquo; haughtily, &ldquo;are not obliged to BEG for friendship. But we felt it our
+      duty to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I interrupted. There is a limit to forbearance and I considered that limit
+      reached.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I declared, &ldquo;you are talking nonsense. Considering the
+      manner in which your father treated me when we first met, I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you treat him? How did you treat Mr. Carver and me when you first
+      met us in the auto? You insulted us. It was plain enough then that you
+      hated us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;why, Miss Colton, I did not know who you were.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed! Would it have made any difference if you had known? I doubt it.
+      No, you are like the rest of the people here. Because we have come from
+      the city you have chosen to be as envious and petty and disagreeable as
+      you can. Even Nellie Dean, whom I know better than any one here, has never
+      returned my call. There is a concerted plan to make us feel we are neither
+      welcome nor wanted. Very well,&rdquo; disdainfully, &ldquo;we know it. I, for one,
+      shall not force my presence upon any one of you again. And it is probable
+      that I shall manage to exist even without the delights of Denboro society.
+      Good-by, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Miss Colton&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton, listen to me. You are wrong, all wrong, I tell you. There is
+      no plan or plot to make you feel uncomfortable. We are plain village
+      people here, and you are wealthy and have been used to associating with
+      those of your class. Every one in Denboro knew that when you came, and
+      they have been shy of intruding where they might not be welcome. Then
+      there was that matter of the Lane here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that precious Lane! I wish I had never seen it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have wished that a number of times in the past few months. But it is
+      here and the question overshadows everything else in the village just now.
+      It does not seem of much importance to you, perhaps; perhaps it is not so
+      very important to me; but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again she interrupted me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think it is important enough to make you forget&mdash;ordinary
+      courtesy,&rdquo; she declared. &ldquo;Yes, courtesy. DON'T look at me like that! You
+      know what I mean. As I told you before, I am not blind. Do credit me with
+      some intelligence. All the way during this cheerful walk of ours you
+      scarcely spoke a word. Did you suppose I did not know what was troubling
+      you? I saw how that Captain Dean looked at you. I saw those people staring
+      from the post-office door. I knew what you were afraid of their saying:
+      that you are altogether too companionable with Father and me; that you
+      intend selling the land to us, after all. That is what you thought they
+      would say and you were afraid&mdash;AFRAID of their gossip. Oh, it is
+      humiliating! And, for a time, I really thought you were different from the
+      rest and above such things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I began to feel as if I were once more a small boy receiving a lecture
+      from the governess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not at all afraid of them, Miss Colton,&rdquo; I protested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are. Why? Your conscience is clear, isn't it? You don't intend
+      selling out to my father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why should you care what people like that may think? Oh, you weary
+      me! I admired you for your independence. There are few persons with the
+      courage to face my father as you have done and I admired you for it. I
+      would not have had you sell us the land for ANYTHING.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You would not?&rdquo; I gasped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not! I have been on your side all the time. If you had sold I
+      should have thought you, like all the rest, holding back merely for a
+      higher price. I respected you for the fight you were making. You must have
+      known it. If I had not why do you suppose I gave you that hint about the
+      Development Company?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodness knows!&rdquo; I exclaimed, devoutly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I was sure you could not be bribed by an offer of a position in
+      Father's office. It was not really a bribe&mdash;Father has, for some
+      unexplainable reason, taken a fancy to you&mdash;but I knew you would
+      believe it to be bribery. That is why I was so positive in telling him
+      that you would not accept. And now you&mdash;oh, when I think of how I
+      have LOWERED myself! How I have stooped to . . . But there! I am sure that
+      supper of yours must be waiting. Pray condescend to convey my regrets to
+      the faithful&mdash;what is her name? Odd that I should forget a name like
+      THAT. Oh, yes! Dorinda!&mdash;Pray convey my regrets to the faithful
+      Dorinda for being unwittingly the cause of the delay, and assure her that
+      the offense will NOT be repeated. Good-by, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She walked off, between the granite posts and along the curved drive. This
+      time I made no attempt to call her back. The storm had burst so
+      unexpectedly and had developed into such a hurricane that I had had time
+      to do little more than bend my head before it. But I had had time enough
+      to grow angry. I would not have called her back then for the world. She
+      had insulted me, not once only, but again and again. I stood and watched
+      her go on her way, and then I turned and went on my own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The parting had come. The acquaintance was broken off; not precisely as I
+      had intended it to be broken, but broken, nevertheless, and ended for good
+      and all. I was glad of it. There would be no more fishing excursions, no
+      more gifts of flowers and books, no more charity calls. The &ldquo;common
+      fellow&rdquo; was free from the disturbing influence and he was glad of it&mdash;heartily
+      glad of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet his gladness was not as apparent to others as it should, by all that
+      was consistent, have been. Lute, evidently, observed no traces of
+      transcendent happiness, when I encountered him in the back yard, beside
+      the woodpile, sharpening the kindling hatchet with a whetstone, a process
+      peculiarly satisfying to his temperament because it took such a long time
+      to achieve a noticeable result.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Ros!&rdquo; he hailed. &ldquo;Why! what ails you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ails me?&rdquo; I repeated, crossly. &ldquo;Nothing ails me, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I'm glad to hear it. You look as if you'd lost your last friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't lost any friends. Far from it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody's dead, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Though I could find some who are half dead without trying very hard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      More perfectly good sarcasm wasted. Lute inquired eagerly if I meant old
+      Mrs. Lobelia Glover. &ldquo;I heard yesterday she was pretty feeble,&rdquo; he added.
+      &ldquo;'Tain't to be expected she'll last a long spell, at her age. Doctor
+      Quimby says she had a spine in her back for twenty years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I made no comment upon poor Mrs. Glover's surprising affliction. I merely
+      grunted and went into the house. Dorinda looked at me curiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the trouble?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Trouble! There isn't any trouble. You and Lute seem to be looking for
+      trouble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't have to look far to find it, in this world. Anything wrong at the
+      bank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. Settin' so long on the fence make you uneasy? I told you the
+      pickets would wear through if you roosted on 'em too long.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is nothing the matter, I tell you. How is Mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She ain't any wuss. If 'twan't an impossibility I'd say she was better
+      the last month than I'd seen her since she was took. Nellie Dean called on
+      her this afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! I should think a next week's bride would be too busy to call on
+      any one except possibly the dressmaker.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. Well, Nellie looks as if she'd been callin' on the dressmaker
+      pretty often. Anyhow she looked worried and Olindy Cahoon's dressmakin'
+      gabble is enough to worry anybody. She left a note for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who? Olinda?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Land sakes! no! What would Olindy be doin' down here? There ain't any
+      brides to dress in this house, or bridegrooms either unless you're
+      cal'latin' to be one, or Lute turns Mormon. That last notion ain't such a
+      bad one,&rdquo; with a dry smile. &ldquo;Another wife or two to help me take care of
+      him would come in handy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who did leave the note for me, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nellie, of course. She wanted me to be sure you got it. Somethin' about
+      that wonderful weddin', I s'pose. I left it upstairs on your bureau.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I found the note and put it in my pocket to read later on. I did not feel
+      like reading it then. I did not feel like doing anything or seeing any
+      one; yet least of all did I feel like being alone. For if I was alone I
+      should think, and I did not want to think. I prowled about my room for a
+      time and then went down and spent a short time with Mother. Her first
+      question was concerning my day at the bank, and her second if I had seen
+      any of the Coltons recently. &ldquo;I rather hoped Miss Mabel would come to see
+      me to-day,&rdquo; she added. &ldquo;I look forward to her visits so, I think she's a
+      real friend of ours, Roscoe. I know you don't, dear, or you try to believe
+      you do not; but she is&mdash;I am convinced of it. I wonder if she will
+      come to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could have put a stop to her wondering on that subject, but I was in no
+      mood to do it then. I went into the dining-room. Dorinda warned me not to
+      go far from the house because supper would be ready in a few minutes. The
+      word &ldquo;supper&rdquo; reminded me of my unfortunate choice of an excuse and the
+      sarcastic reference to our odd domestic arrangements; which reminded me,
+      in its turn, of other sarcasms which had followed it. My &ldquo;charming and
+      cultivated society&rdquo; was not necessary to her happiness . . . When she
+      thought of how she had lowered herself . . . Other people did not
+      necessarily regard me as seriously as I did myself . . . And so on . . .
+      until Dorinda called me in to sit at the table, and pretend to eat while
+      she and Lute commented on my lack of appetite and my absent-mindedness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was eight o'clock, and I had gone up to my room to escape from their
+      solicitude and pointed questioning, when I happened to think of Nellie's
+      note. I had not been curious concerning its contents, for, as I had agreed
+      to act as best man at the wedding, I assumed, as Dorinda had done, that
+      she had written on that, to her, all-important topic. I took the note from
+      my pocket and tore open the envelope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nellie had not written about the wedding. Her letter was a long one,
+      evidently written in great agitation and with words blotted and
+      underscored. Its subject was the man she loved, George Taylor. She was so
+      anxious about him. Did I remember, that night when my mother was ill, how
+      she had spoken of him to me and asked if I had noticed how troubled and
+      worried he seemed of late?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, Roscoe,&rdquo; she wrote, &ldquo;I have noticed it more and more since then. He
+      IS in trouble. There is something on his mind, something that he will not
+      tell me and that I can see is worrying him dreadfully. He is not like
+      himself at all. I KNOW something is wrong, and I cannot find out what it
+      is. I want to help him SO much. Oh, please, Roscoe, don't think this is
+      just a foolish girl's imagination, and does not amount to anything. It
+      does. I know it does. You are his best friend. Can't YOU find out what is
+      troubling him and help him, for my sake? I have meant to speak to you
+      about this ever so many times, but I seldom see you alone and I could not
+      speak while he was with me. So I decided to write this letter. If you will
+      try, just TRY to find out what ails him and help him I shall never, NEVER
+      forget your kindness. Perhaps he does not want to marry me. Perhaps he
+      does not care for me as much as he thought he did and will not tell me
+      because he does not want me to feel bad. If that is it tell him not to
+      mind my feelings at all. I want him to be happy. If it would make him
+      happier to have me give him up I will do it, even though I shall pray to
+      die right away. Oh can't you help him and me, Roscoe? Please, PLEASE try.
+      A girl ought to be perfectly happy who is going to be married. And I am so
+      miserable. I can't tell Mother and Father because they would not believe
+      me. They would think I just imagined it all. But YOU won't think that,
+      will you? You will see him and try to help him, for my sake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And so on, eight closely written pages, ending with another plea to me to
+      see &ldquo;poor George&rdquo; and help him, and begging me to &ldquo;burn this letter,
+      because I should be so ashamed to have any one else see it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a pitiful letter and, even in the frame of mind I was then in,
+      disgusted with humanity and hating the entire feminine sex, I could not
+      help feeling sorry for Nellie Dean. Of course I was surprised at receiving
+      such a letter and I believed, just as she begged me not to believe, that
+      the cause of her distress and anxiety was more imaginary than real. But
+      that something was troubling George Taylor I had felt certain for a good
+      while. The idea that he did not love Nellie I knew was preposterous. That
+      was not it. There was something else, but what I could not imagine. I
+      wanted to help the girl if I could, but how could I ask George to tell me
+      his secrets? I, with a secret of my own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After pondering for some time I decided to walk up to George's boarding
+      place and talk with him. Nothing would come of the interview, probably,
+      but I might as well do that as anything else. I must do something,
+      something besides sit in that room and see mocking faces in every corner,
+      faces with dark eyes and scornful lips which told me that my charming and
+      cultivated society was not necessary to their happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Taylor rented the upper floor of a house a quarter of a mile from the
+      bank. His housekeeper answered my ring and informed me that her employer
+      had not yet come home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He did not even come home for supper,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Stayed over to Nellie's
+      probably. You'll most likely find him there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But I was pretty certain he was not at the Deans', for as I passed their
+      house, I noticed the windows were dark, indicating that the family, like
+      most of respectable Denboro, had already retired. I walked on to the
+      Corners. Eldredge's store was closed, but the billiard room was radiant
+      and noisy. I could hear Tim Hallet's voice urging some one to take a new
+      cue, &ldquo;'cause that one ain't pocketed many balls yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked across at the bank. The front portion of it was black enough, but
+      the window of the directors' room was alight. I had located the object of
+      my search; the cashier was there, working overtime, as he did so often
+      nowadays.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had my key in my pocket and I unlocked the big door and entered quietly.
+      The door of the directors' room was open a little way and I tiptoed over
+      and peeped in through the crack. Taylor was seated in a chair beside the
+      big table, his elbows upon the table and his head in his hands. As I stood
+      there, watching him, he took his hands away and I saw his face. Upon it
+      was an expression of abject misery and utter despair. I opened the door
+      and entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He heard the sound of the opening door and leaped to his feet. His chair
+      fell backward on the floor with a clatter, but he paid no attention to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good God!&rdquo; he cried, wildly. &ldquo;Who's that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was deathly pale and trembling violently. His appearance startled and
+      alarmed me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all right,&rdquo; I said, hastily. &ldquo;It is I&mdash;Paine. I saw the light
+      and knew you must be here. What ails you? What IS the matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment he stood there staring. Then he turned and picked up the
+      fallen chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it's you, Ros, is it?&rdquo; he faltered. &ldquo;I&mdash;I&mdash;Lord, how you
+      scared me! I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George! what IS the matter with you? For heaven's sake! stand up, man!&rdquo;
+       He was swaying and I thought he was going to faint. &ldquo;George! George
+      Taylor! Are you ill? I am going for the doctor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no! Stay where you are. I ain't sick. I'll be all right in a minute.
+      You&mdash;you scared me, creeping in that way. Sit down, sit down.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He steadied himself with one hand on the table and with the other reached
+      to shut a drawer which had been open beside him. The drawer was almost
+      full of papers, and, lying upon those papers, was a revolver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Before he could close the drawer completely I caught his arm and held it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George,&rdquo; I cried, &ldquo;George, what is the matter? Tell me; you must tell
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He tried to pull his arm free. Finding that I would not let him do this he
+      gave up the attempt and, with a poor attempt at a laugh, answered,
+      &ldquo;Matter? Why, nothing is the matter. I am tired and nervous, same as I've
+      told you I've been for the last two or three months, and you scared me,
+      tiptoeing in like a sneak thief, this time of night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Time of night! It is but a little after nine. What is the matter with
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing is the matter, I tell you. Let go of my arm, Ros. What do you
+      mean by holding on to me like this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do YOU mean, George? What does THAT mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I pointed to the drawer. He looked and, with a sudden effort, jerked his
+      arm free and closed the drawer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That?&rdquo; with a forced laugh. &ldquo;Oh, that's nothing. It was late and I was
+      alone here, so&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know better. George, you're frightening us all. Don't you suppose we
+      can see that something is wrong with you? I have seen it ever since I came
+      here to work. You are worrying your friends. You worry me. Give us a
+      chance to help you. Give ME a chance. You owe me that. Tell me your
+      trouble and I'll pull you out of it; see if I don't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My confidence was, of course, only pretence, but my earnestness had some
+      effect. He looked at me wistfully, and shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody can pull me out,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You're a good fellow to want to help,
+      but you can't. There ain't any trouble. I'm just nervous&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know better. You're lying, George. Yes, you are; you're lying.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! You're pretty plain spoken, Ros Paine. There ain't many people I'd
+      take that from.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll take it from me, because you can't help it and because you know it
+      is true. Come, George; come. You have been a friend to me; the only real
+      friend I have had in years. I have been looking for a chance to get even
+      for what you have done for me. Maybe here is the chance. Let me help you.
+      I will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was wavering; I could see it. But again he shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody can help me,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George, for my sake&mdash;well, then, if not for my sake or your own,
+      then for Nellie's, give me a chance. You aren't treating her right,
+      George. You should think of her. You&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop! Damn you, Ros Paine! what right have you to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The right of a friend, her friend and yours. You're frightening the poor
+      girl to death. She is beginning to be afraid you don't care for her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? I don't care for HER? I don't&mdash;Oh, my God!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To my utter amazement he began to laugh. And then, all at once, his
+      laughter ceased, he swayed, choked, and, suddenly collapsing in the chair,
+      dropped his head upon his arms on the table and sobbed, sobs that shook
+      him from head to heel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For one strong, healthy, normal man to see another cry is a disconcerting
+      and uncomfortable experience. Masculine tears do not flow easily and poor
+      George, on the verge of hysterics, was a pitiful and distressing
+      spectacle. I was almost as completely disorganized as he. I felt ashamed
+      for him and ashamed of myself for having seen him in such a condition. I
+      wanted desperately to help him and I did not know what to do, so beyond
+      patting him on the back and begging him repeatedly to brace up and not
+      behave like that, I did nothing. At last his sobs ceased and he was
+      silent. I had risen from my chair and now I stood there with a hand on his
+      shoulder; the ticking of the ancient eight-sided clock on the wall sounded
+      loud in the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly he sat up and threw off my hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, bitterly, &ldquo;I'm a fine specimen of a man, ain't I. Ain't
+      you proud of me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am mighty sorry for you,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;And I mean to help you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I do know, Ros,&rdquo; he turned and looked me straight in the eye. &ldquo;I
+      am going to give you some good advice. Take it, for your own sake. Clear
+      out of here and leave me. Don't have anything more to do with me. Clear
+      out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not move.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you going to do as I tell you?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;Mind, I'm telling you
+      this for your own good. Will you clear out and leave me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I smiled. &ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be a fool. You can't afford to be my friend. Clear out and leave
+      me, do you hear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hear. Now, George, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His fingers tapped the table. I could see he was making up his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You want to know?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You won't be satisfied until you do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have made that fairly plain, I hope. At least I've tried to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His fist clenched and he struck the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, by the Almighty, I'll tell you!&rdquo; he cried, fiercely. &ldquo;It'll be all
+      over the county in a week. You might as well know it now. I'm a crook. I'm
+      a thief. I've stolen money from this bank and I can't pay it back because
+      I haven't got it and can't get it. I'm a crook, I tell you, and in a week
+      or so it'll be the county jail for mine. Unless&mdash;unless,&rdquo; with a
+      significant glance at the drawer, &ldquo;something else happens to me in the
+      meantime. There; now you know. Are you satisfied? Are you happy because
+      you've found out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. To tell the truth I was not entirely overcome by
+      surprise at the disclosure. I had begun to suspect something of the sort.
+      Yet, now that my suspicions were confirmed, I was too greatly shocked and
+      horrified to speak at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; he sneered. &ldquo;Now will you clear out and let me settle this my own
+      way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I pulled my chair forward and sat down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me all about it, George,&rdquo; I said, as calmly as I could. &ldquo;How much is
+      it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stared at me aghast. &ldquo;You won't go?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You&mdash;you are going
+      to stick by me even&mdash;even&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! there! pull yourself together, old fellow. We won't give up the
+      ship yet. How much is it? It can't be a great sum.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It ain't. But, Ros&mdash;you&mdash;you can't&mdash;you mustn't be mixed
+      up in this. I shan't let you. Don't you see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I argued and pleaded and reasoned with him for what seemed a long time
+      before he would consent to tell me the whole story. And when it was told
+      there was nothing new or novel in it. The old tale of an honest man who
+      had not meant to go wrong, but, tempted by one of those wiles of the
+      devil, an &ldquo;inside tip&rdquo; on the stock market, had bought heavily on margins,
+      expecting to clear a handsome profit in a short time. The stock was
+      Louisville and Transcontinental and the struggle for its control by
+      certain big interests had made copy for financial writers for nearly a
+      year. George had bought at a time when one syndicate had, so it believed,
+      secured the control.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then something went wrong in the deal and the shares began to decline in
+      value. He put up more margins and still more, but it continued to decline.
+      Finally under the spur of another &ldquo;tip,&rdquo; the last of his own savings
+      having gone to the insatiate brokers, he sent, to bolster his account and
+      to save him from utter ruin, some bonds belonging to the bank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much,&rdquo; he declared, &ldquo;only about thirty-five hundred dollars' worth,
+      that's all. I never would have done it, Ros, but I was wild, desperate,
+      you see. Here I was, getting ready to be married; Nellie and Cap'n Jed and
+      the rest believing me to be comfortably fixed. It's easy enough now to say
+      that I ought to have gone to her and told her. If I hadn't been certain
+      that the market would turn and I'd be all right in a week, I'd have done
+      it. But I was sure I'd be all right and I couldn't take the chance. I knew
+      what her father would say about her marrying a pauper, and I just couldn't
+      take the risk of losing her; I couldn't. She means more to me than&mdash;than&mdash;oh,
+      wait until your time comes! Wait until the girl comes along that you care
+      for more than the whole world. And then see what you'd do. See what it
+      would mean to give her up! Just wait&mdash;wait and see!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; I put in, hastily. &ldquo;I understand, George. But the stock,
+      Louisville and Transcontinental, how is it now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just the same. It is dead, practically speaking. It hasn't moved half a
+      point for six weeks. I've been expecting it would, but it hasn't. It's all
+      right; the value is there; I know it. If I could only hang on and wait I
+      could get my money back, part of it, anyhow. But I can't. I can't wait.
+      And the broker people have got those bonds. Ros, I've been fighting this
+      thing for weeks and weeks. I ain't slept a night for years, or so it
+      seems. And next week&mdash;next WEEK I was to be married. My God! think of
+      it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, here! Don't do that,&rdquo; I urged. &ldquo;Brace up. You and I must work this
+      out. Wasn't there any one you could go to? Anyone you could borrow the
+      money of? Thirty-five hundred isn't such a lot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whom could I go to? I tried. Lord knows I tried! I did borrow a thousand
+      of Cap'n Elisha Warren; trumped up some excuse or other and got that. But
+      that was all he could let me have. And I know he thought my asking for
+      that was queer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you consider going straight to Cap'n Dean and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dean? Cap'n Jed? Her father? Oh, Ros, don't be a fool altogether! I beg
+      your pardon, old man! I don't mean it. You mustn't mind. I ain't
+      responsible for what I say just now. But I couldn't go to Cap'n Jed. You
+      know him. He's as straight and square and honest as he is obstinate and
+      cranky. If I went to him I couldn't tell him the truth. And if I lied he'd
+      suspect and want to know why I needed to borrow money. And Nellie&mdash;don't
+      you see? There's the real awfulness of the whole thing. I couldn't go to
+      her and tell her I was a thief. I couldn't see her face when I told her.
+      And yet she's got to know it. She's got to know it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why? The stock may go up any day and then you could withdraw part of
+      your margin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He struck the table with another blow. &ldquo;The stock ain't moved for six
+      weeks, I tell you,&rdquo; he declared. &ldquo;And, Ros,&rdquo; he leaned forward, his
+      haggard face working with emotion, &ldquo;those bonds ain't in our safe here,
+      where they should be, and the bank examiner is due here within the next
+      four days. He's at Middleboro now. I 'phoned Bearse, the cashier there,
+      this very forenoon on a matter of business, and he happened to mention
+      that the examiner was in his bank and working his way down the Cape. It's
+      all up with me! All up! And Nellie! poor girl; I can't be here when she
+      finds it out. I know you think I'm a poor specimen of a man, Ros, but I
+      can't face the music. No,&rdquo; desperately, &ldquo;and I won't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was giving way again, but I seized his shoulder and shook him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop it!&rdquo; I commanded. &ldquo;Stop it, George! Let me think. Be quiet now and
+      let me think. There must be a way out somewhere. Let me think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He leaned back in his chair. &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; he said, hopelessly; &ldquo;think, if
+      you want to. Though why you should want to think about a thing like me I
+      don't see. And I used to despise a crook as much as any one! and a coward
+      still more! And now I'm both a crook and a coward.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I knew his cowardice was merely on Nellie's account. George Taylor was no
+      coward in the ordinary sense of the word, nor was he a crook. I rose and
+      paced up and down the room. He watched me listlessly; it was plain that he
+      felt no confidence whatever in my being able to help him. After a time he
+      spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's no use, Ros,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Don't worry your head about me; I ain't
+      worth it. If there was any way out, any way at all, I'd have sighted it
+      long ago. There ain't. Take my advice and leave me. You don't want to be
+      mixed up with an embezzler.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I turned on him, impatiently. &ldquo;I have been mixed up, as you call it, with
+      one before,&rdquo; I said, sharply. &ldquo;Is my own family record so clean that I
+      need to pretend&mdash;there, George! don't be an idiot. Let me think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The clock chimed ten. I stopped in my walk and turned to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;tell me this: If you had the money to buy back these
+      bonds belonging to the bank you would be all right, wouldn't you? If you
+      had it in your hands by to-morrow morning, I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; IF I had it&mdash;but I haven't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You could send the money to the brokers and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Send! I wouldn't send; I'd go myself and fetch the bonds back with me.
+      Once I had them in that safe again I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you would not take any more risks, even if the market dropped and
+      they had to sell out your account? Even if you lost every cent of your
+      investment?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The fierce earnestness of his answer satisfied even me. &ldquo;What do you think
+      I am?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;Investment be hanged! It's my name as an honest man
+      that I care about. Once let me get that back again and I'll face the
+      poorhouse. Yes, and I'll tell Nellie the truth, all except that I was a
+      thief; I can't tell her that. But I will tell her that I haven't got a
+      cent except my salary. Then if she wants to give me up, all right. I'll
+      bear it as best I can. Or, if she doesn't, and I lose my job here, I'll
+      get another one somewhere else; I'll work at anything. She and I can wait
+      and . . . But what is the use of talking like this? I've been over every
+      inch of the ground a thousand times. There ain't a ray of light anywhere.
+      The examiner will be here, the bonds will be missing, and I&mdash;I'll be
+      in jail, or in hell, one or the other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you won't,&rdquo; I said, firmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I won't! Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because there IS a ray of light. More than a ray. George, you go home and
+      go to bed. To-morrow morning I may have news for you, good news.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The blood rushed to his face. He seized the arm of his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good news!&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;Good news for ME! Ros&mdash;Ros, for the Lord's
+      sake, what do you mean? You don't mean you see a way to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind what I mean. But I should like to know what you mean by not
+      coming to me before? What are friends for, if not to help each other? Who
+      told you that I was dead broke?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You? Why, you ain't got . . . Have you? Ros Paine, you ain't got
+      thirty-five hundred to spare. Why, you told me yourself&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shut up! Get up from that chair and come with me. Yes, you; and now, this
+      minute. Give me that thing you've got in the drawer there. No, I'll take
+      it myself. You ought to be ashamed of its being there, George. I am
+      ashamed of you, and, if I thought you really meant to use it, I should be
+      still more ashamed. Come! don't keep me waiting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but Ros&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you do as I tell you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I dragged him, almost literally dragged him, from the chair. Then, after
+      extinguishing the lamp, I led him to the door of the bank and locked it,
+      putting the key in my pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;I want you to make me a promise. I want you to quit
+      behaving like a coward, because you are not one, and promise me that you
+      will go straight home and to bed. I'll see you again the first thing in
+      the morning. Then, I think&mdash;yes, I think your troubles, the worst
+      part of them, will be over.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Ros, PLEASE&mdash;I can't believe it! Won't you tell me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a word. Will you promise me to behave like a man and go home? Or must
+      I go with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I'll&mdash;I'll promise. I'll go straight home. But, oh Ros, I can't
+      understand&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I left him standing there, stammering incoherently like a man awakening
+      from a nightmare, and hurried away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I could not describe my progress down the dark Lower Road and along the
+      Shore Lane. I do not remember any portion of it. I think I ran most of the
+      way and if I met any one&mdash;which is not likely, considering the time&mdash;he
+      or she must have thought me crazy. My thoughts were centered upon one
+      fixed purpose. I had made up my mind to do a certain thing and, if
+      possible, to do it that very night. If I did not, if I had time in which
+      to reflect, to consider consequences, I might lose my nerve and it would
+      not be done at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was with a feeling of great relief that, as I came in sight of the
+      Colton house, I saw lights in the rooms on the lower floor. The family,
+      not being native born Denboroites, had not retired even though it was well
+      after ten. I hastened up the long drive, and stood before the big door, my
+      hand upraised to the knocker. And then, just for a moment, I hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If I lifted that knocker and let it fall; if I summoned the servant and
+      announced that I wished to speak with Mr. Colton; if I did what I had come
+      there to do, it would be all over with me in the village. My new born
+      popularity, the respect which Cap'n Warren and Cap'n Jed and the rest of
+      the townspeople had shown toward me of late, the cordial recognition which
+      had been mine during the past few weeks and which, in spite of pretended
+      indifference, I had come to expect and enjoy, all these would be lost if I
+      persisted in my purpose. My future in Denboro depended upon whether or not
+      I knocked at that door. And it was not too late to back out, even yet. I
+      had only to turn quietly away and tell George, when I saw him in the
+      morning, that I could not help him as I had hoped. And then I thought of
+      his face as I saw it when I entered the bank&mdash;and of Nellie's letter
+      to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I seized the knocker and rapped sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a few moments my knock was unanswered. Then I heard footsteps and the
+      door was opened. Johnson, the butler, opened it, and his clerical
+      countenance assumed a most astonished expression when he saw me standing
+      before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Mr. Colton in?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? What&mdash;sir?&rdquo; stammered Johnson. The &ldquo;sir&rdquo; was added under
+      protest. He did not wish to show more respect than was absolutely
+      necessary to a countryman, but he scarcely dared speak as disrespectfully
+      as he felt. Therefore he compromised by voicing the respect and looking
+      the other way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Mr. Colton in?&rdquo; I repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. I&mdash;I don't think so&mdash;sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The windows at my left were, I knew, those of the library, the room where
+      &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; and I had had our first lively discussion of the Shore Lane
+      matter. I glanced at them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think he is,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;In fact I know it; there is his shadow on the
+      curtain. Tell him Mr. Paine wishes to speak with him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Johnson looked as insolent as he dared, and still hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is very late,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Mr. Colton is not in the 'abit of receiving
+      callers at this time of night and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was interrupted. The door behind him, the door leading from the library
+      to the hall, opened and Colton himself appeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it, Johnson?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Anything wrong?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The butler hastened to explain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No sir,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;nothing wrong exactly, sir. There is a person 'ere to
+      see you, sir, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To see me, eh? Who is it? Why, hello, Paine! is that you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;I am sorry to disturb you at such a late hour, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come in, come in,&rdquo; he interrupted. &ldquo;What are you standing out there for?
+      Johnson, why didn't you ask Mr. Paine in? What do you mean by keeping him
+      out there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Johnson looked troubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was so late, sir,&rdquo; he stammered, &ldquo;I thought&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You thought! If I had wanted any one to think I never should have hired
+      you. Come in, Paine. Come into the library.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He led the way to the library and I followed him. It was my second visit
+      to the big, handsomely furnished room and again, as on the first occasion,
+      the sight of the books and all the other refinements and luxuries which
+      money brings to its possessor gave me a pang of envy and resentment. It
+      added increased bitterness to the humiliation of my errand. I had left
+      that room defiantly expressing my independence. I had come back to it&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down,&rdquo; ordered Colton, pulling forward the big, leather-covered
+      chair. &ldquo;Have a cigar?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! That's what you said when you were here before. You're young,
+      Paine. When you get to be as old as I am you'll never refuse a good cigar,
+      or anything else that is good, when it is offered you. Well, you're still
+      standing. Aren't going to refuse to sit down, are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That was exactly what I was going to do. I would not sit down in that
+      house. I would not accept the slightest courtesy from this man or any of
+      his people. I would get rid of the unpleasant task I had come to do and
+      then go away, never to return. They might make the most of the triumph
+      which was to be theirs, but I would compel them to understand that I was
+      not seeking their favor. I would not accept their patronage and they
+      should know it. This, as I look back at it now, seems silly and childish
+      enough, but I was not myself that night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton,&rdquo; said I, ignoring the proffered chair, &ldquo;I have come to see
+      you on a matter of business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Business, eh? Umph! I thought probably you were going to ask me to go
+      fishing with you again. I'm all ready for another tussle with those&mdash;what
+      do you call 'em&mdash;squid&mdash;squit&mdash;good Lord! what a name for a
+      decent fish! But I don't care a continental what you call 'em. I'm ready
+      to get at 'em when you say the word.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My business will not detain either of us long. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down, man, sit down. You make me nervous standing there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I won't sit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the matter with you?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;You haven't got a balky
+      digestion, have you? I've been fighting one for the last week. That fool
+      of a country doctor tells me if I'm not careful what I eat I'll keel over
+      pretty soon. I told him I'd eaten what I dashed please ever since I'd had
+      teeth and I wasn't going to quit now. But I do feel like the devil. Look
+      it, don't I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He did look ill, that was a fact, though I had not noticed it before and
+      was far from feeling pity for him then. In fact I was rather glad to know
+      that he was uncomfortable. I wanted him to be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the matter with you?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;You look as if you had seen
+      your grandmother's ghost.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I ignored the question. &ldquo;Mr. Colton,&rdquo; I began again. &ldquo;You made an offer
+      not long ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had caught his attention at last. He leaned back in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Ye-es, I did. Do you mean you are going to accept it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In a way&mdash;yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In a way? What do you mean by that? I tell you frankly, Paine, if you go
+      to work for me there must be no 'ifs' or 'buts' about it. You'll enter my
+      office and you'll do as I, or the men under me, tell you to do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was glad he said that, glad that he misunderstood me. It gave me an
+      opportunity to express my feelings toward him&mdash;as I was feeling then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't let that trouble you,&rdquo; I said, sarcastically. &ldquo;There will be no
+      'ifs' and 'buts' so far as that is concerned. I have no desire to work for
+      you, Mr. Colton, and I don't intend doing so. That was not the offer I
+      meant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was surprised, I am sure, but he did not express astonishment. He bent
+      forward and looked at me more keenly than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was only one other offer that I remember making you,&rdquo; he said,
+      slowly. &ldquo;That was for that land of yours. I offered you five thousand
+      dollars for it. Do you mean you accept that offer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not exactly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Paine, we're wasting a lot of time here, it seems to me. My time
+      is more or less valuable, and my digestion is, as I told you, pretty bad.
+      Come! get it over. What do you mean? Are you going to sell me that land?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He puffed deliberately at his cigar. His gaze did not leave my face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; he asked, after a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is my own affair. I will sell you the land, but not for five
+      thousand dollars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His expression changed. He knocked the ashes from his cigar and frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; he sneered. &ldquo;Humph! Well, I've tried to make it plain to you
+      fellows down here that I couldn't be held up. I thought I'd done it, but
+      evidently I haven't. Five hundred is a good price for that land. Five
+      thousand is ridiculous, but I gave you my reasons for being willing to be
+      robbed that much. That, however, is the limit. I'll give you five
+      thousand, but not another cent. You can take it or get out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was better. When he talked like that I could answer him and enjoy it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll get out very shortly,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;You are no more anxious to have that
+      happen than I am. I don't want your other cent. I don't want your five
+      thousand dollars. I'll sell you the land on one condition&mdash;no, on
+      two. The first is that you pay me thirty-five hundred dollars for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;WHAT?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had upset his composure this time. He forgot to sneer; he even forgot to
+      smoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo; he cried again. &ldquo;Thirty-five hundred! Why, I offered you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know your offer. This is mine: I will sell you the land for thirty-five
+      hundred, and not another cent. That, as you say, is the limit. You can
+      take it or&mdash;or I will follow your suggestion and get out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      We looked at each other. His fingers moved toward the match box on the
+      table. He took a match, scratched it, and held it to the end of his cigar.
+      Then he took the cigar from his lips, blew out the match and tossed the
+      latter into the fireplace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the second condition?&rdquo; he asked, abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That you pay me in cash, in money and not by check, at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At once? Now, do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, now. To-night if possible; if not, no later than nine o'clock
+      to-morrow morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Do you think I carry thirty-five hundred loose in my change
+      pocket?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. But that is the second condition.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! . . . Look here, Paine; what&mdash;? I offered you the five
+      thousand. That offer holds good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't accept it. I will sell for thirty-five hundred; no more and no
+      less.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why not more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. Yes, I do, too. You said once that you were willing to pay
+      forty-five hundred for the privilege of having your own way. Perhaps I am
+      willing to sacrifice fifteen hundred for the privilege of having mine. At
+      all events I mean what I say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why just thirty-five? Wouldn't you take thirty-six?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. It is useless to argue, Mr. Colton, and useless to ask my reasons. I
+      have them, and that is enough. Will you accept MY offer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He hesitated. The sneer had left his face and his tone when he addressed
+      me was respectful, though there was a curious note of chagrin or
+      dissatisfaction in it. I had expected him to be eager and, perhaps,
+      mockingly triumphant. He was not. He seemed reluctant, almost
+      disappointed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose I'll have to,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But, Paine, what is up? Why are you
+      doing this? You're not afraid of me? No, of course you're not. You're not
+      the kind to squeal and lie down because you think the odds are against you
+      . . . Confound you!&rdquo; with a sudden burst of impatience, &ldquo;you are enough to
+      upset all the self-conceit a man's got in him. Just as I think I'm
+      beginning to size you up you break loose in a new place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me,&rdquo; I put in, &ldquo;but I don't see that you are helping to save that
+      valuable time of yours. I understand that you accept. Will you pay me
+      now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose, threw away his cigar, and, with his hands in his pockets, stood
+      regarding me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your mind is made up, is it?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! Have you thought of what our mutual friend Dean and the rest of
+      the patriots may say when they find this out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had thought of little else all the way from the bank to his door. I was
+      thinking of it then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;that is not my affair, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're right; it isn't. Still&mdash;hang it all, Paine! I don't often
+      feel any compunctions when I beat a fellow in a game like this, and I did
+      intend to have my own way in this one&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you're having it, aren't you?&rdquo; I put in. &ldquo;Why talk so much about
+      it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I am not so sure I am having it. Of course I can see that, for
+      some reason or other, you need thirty-five hundred dollars. Anyone but
+      you, if they were going to sell, would get the last dime they could
+      squeeze. You won't, because you are as pig-headed as&mdash;as&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, do cut it short,&rdquo; I snapped. And then, a trifle ashamed of my
+      rudeness, &ldquo;Excuse me, Mr. Colton, but this isn't exactly pleasant for me
+      and I want to get it over. Will you pay me now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on; let me finish. I was going to say that, if you needed the
+      thirty-five, perhaps I could manage to let you have it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I stared at him. &ldquo;Let me have it!&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;Do you mean you'll lend it to
+      me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, maybe. You and I have had such a first-rate, square, stand up
+      fight that I rather hate to have it end. I want to lick you, not have you
+      quit before I've really begun to fight. There's no fool philanthropy in
+      this, understand; it is just for my own satisfaction.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was so taken aback by this totally unexpected offer from the man whom I
+      had insulted a dozen times since I entered his house, that I found it
+      almost impossible to answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you say?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I faltered. And then more firmly, &ldquo;No; certainly not. I&mdash;I am
+      much obliged to you, Mr. Colton, but&mdash;no.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. You know best. I'll take your offer and I will hand you the
+      money at the bank to-morrow morning. Will that do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at the bank, Mr. Colton. Send it over to the house, if you can
+      conveniently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll have it here before ten. My lawyer will draw up the papers and
+      arrange for transfer of title in a few days. What? Going, are you? Good
+      night. Oh&mdash;er&mdash;Paine, remember that my other offer, that of the
+      place in my office, is open when you're ready to take it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook my head. I had turned to go, but now I turned back, feeling that,
+      perhaps, I should apologize again for my rudeness. After all, he had been
+      kind, very kind, and I had scarcely thanked him. So I turned back to say
+      something, I hardly knew what.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My doing so was a mistake. The door behind me opened and a voice said
+      reproachfully, &ldquo;Father, are you still here? The doctor said . . . Oh, I
+      beg pardon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I recognized the voice. Of all voices in the world I wished least to hear
+      it just then. My back was toward the door and I kept it so. If she would
+      only go! If she would only shut that door and go away!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I think she would have gone but her father called her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mabel,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;Mabel, don't go. It's all right. Come in. Paine and I
+      have finished our talk. Nothing more you wished to say, was there, Paine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said I. I was obliged to turn now; I could not get out of that room
+      without doing it. So turn I did, and we faced each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good evening, Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, with all the calmness I could muster.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She said, &ldquo;Good evening,&rdquo; distantly and without any enthusiasm, but I saw
+      her glance at her father and then at me and I knew she was wondering what
+      our being together could possibly mean.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Paine has been making me a little call,&rdquo; explained Colton, his eye
+      twinkling. &ldquo;Mabel, I'll risk another bet that you can't guess why he
+      came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall not try,&rdquo; she said, disdainfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you'd better! No? You won't? Well, then, I'll tell you. He has just
+      sold me that land of his . . . Don't look at me like that; he has. We had
+      a little disagreement as to price, but,&rdquo; with a grin, &ldquo;I met his figures
+      and we closed the deal. Aren't you going to congratulate him on having
+      come to his senses at last? Come! he's waiting for congratulations.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was not true. I was waiting for nothing; I was on my way to the door.
+      But, to reach it I was obliged to pass her and our eyes met. My glance
+      wavered, I know, but hers did not. For a moment she looked at me. Then she
+      smiled. Whenever I am tempted to be vain, even now, I remember that smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I congratulate him,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Come, Father; you must go to bed now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      I am not going to attempt a description of my thoughts that night. It
+      would take too long and the description would be wearisome. Other people's
+      miseries are not interesting and I shall not catalog mine. Morning came at
+      last and I rose, bathed my hot face in cold water, and went down stairs.
+      Early as it was, not yet six, I heard Dorinda in the kitchen and, having
+      no desire for conversation, I went out and walked up and down the beach
+      until breakfast time. I had to pretend to eat, but I ate so little that
+      both Lute and Dorinda once more commented upon my lack of appetite. Lute,
+      who had never become fully reconciled to my becoming a member of the
+      working class, hastened to lay the blame for my condition upon my labors
+      at the bank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The trouble is,&rdquo; he announced, dogmatically, &ldquo;the trouble is, Roscoe,
+      that you ain't fitted for bein' shut up astern of a deck. Look at yourself
+      now! Just go into Comfort's room and stand in front of her lookin' glass
+      and look at yourself. There you be, pale and peaked and wore out. Look for
+      all the world just as I done when I had the tonsils two winters ago. Ain't
+      that so, Dorindy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife's answer was a contemptuous sniff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you mean to say that you looked peaked when you had sore throat,&rdquo; she
+      announced, &ldquo;then there's somethin' the matter with your mind or your
+      eyesight, one or t'other. You peaked? Why, your face was swelled up like a
+      young one's balloon Fourth of July Day. And as for bein' pale! My soul! I
+      give you my word I couldn't scurcely tell where your neck left off and the
+      strip of red flannel you made me tie 'round it begun.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't make no difference! I FELT pale, anyhow. And I didn't eat no more'n
+      Ros does. You'll have to give in to that, Dorindy. I didn't eat nothin'
+      but beef tea and gruel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You et enough of them to float a schooner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe I did,&rdquo; with grieved dignity; &ldquo;maybe I did. But that's no reason
+      why you should set there and heave my sufferin's in my face.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the man talkin' about now? I didn't heave 'em in your face. They
+      come there themselves, same as sore throat sufferin's generally do, and if
+      you hadn't waded around in the snow with leaky boots, because you was too
+      lazy to take 'em to the shoemaker's to be patched, they wouldn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute drew back from the table. &ldquo;It's no use!&rdquo; he declared, &ldquo;a man can't
+      even be sick in peace in this house. Some wives would have been sorry to
+      see their husbands with one foot in the grave.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your feet was in the cookstove oven most of the time. There! there! the
+      more you talk the further from home you get. You started in with Roscoe
+      and the bank and you're in the grave already. If I was you I'd quit afore
+      I went any further. Land knows where you might fetch up if you kept on! I
+      . . . Mercy on us! who's at the kitchen door this time in the mornin'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her husband, ever curious, was on his way to answer the knock already. He
+      came back, a moment later, sputtering with excitement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's that Mr. butler, the Johnson over to Mr. Colton's,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;I
+      mean it's that Jutler&mdash;that&mdash;There, Dorindy! you see what sort
+      of a state your hectorin' has worked me into! It's that parson critter who
+      opens Colton's door for him, that's who 'tis. And he wants to see Ros. I
+      tried to find out what for, but he wouldn't tell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Even Dorinda showed surprise. She looked at the clock, &ldquo;This hour of the
+      mornin'!&rdquo; she exclaimed; &ldquo;what in the world&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hastened to the kitchen, closing the dining-room door behind me just in
+      time to prevent Lute's following me. Johnson, the butler, was standing on
+      the mica slab at the threshold inspecting our humble premises with lofty
+      disdain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton sent this to you, sir,&rdquo; he said, handing me an envelope. &ldquo;He
+      wishes you to send a receipt by me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I took the envelope and, stepping back out of sight, tore it open. Inside
+      was a check on a New York bank for four thousand dollars. It was made
+      payable to &ldquo;Bearer.&rdquo; With it was this brief note:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dear Paine:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is the best I can do for you, as I haven't the money on hand. Cash it
+      yourself, take out your thirty-five hundred and hold the additional five
+      hundred until I, or one of the family, call for it. I made the thing
+      payable to Bearer because I imagined you would prefer it that way. Send me
+      some sort of receipt by Johnson; anything will do. I will see my lawyer in
+      a day or two. Meanwhile have your papers, deeds, etc., ready when he calls
+      for them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yours truly,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      JAMES W. COLTON.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a minute I considered. If I could cash the check at the bank without
+      Taylor's knowledge and get him off to Boston on the early train, I might
+      be able to cover my tracks. It was necessary that they should be covered.
+      Knowing George as I did I knew that he would never consent to my
+      sacrifice. He would not permit me to wreck my future in Denboro to save
+      him. The money must be turned over to the Boston bankers and the bank's
+      bonds once more in the vault where they belonged before he learned where
+      that money came from. Then it would be too late to refuse and too late to
+      undo what had been done. He would have to accept and I might be able to
+      prevail upon him to keep silent regarding the whole affair. I disliked the
+      check with Colton's name upon it; I should have much preferred the cash;
+      but cash, it seemed, could not be had without considerable delay, and with
+      that bank examiner's visit imminent every moment of time was valuable. I
+      folded the check, put it in my pocketbook, and, hastily scribbling a
+      receipt in pencil at the bottom of Colton's note, replaced the latter in
+      the envelope and handed it to Johnson, who departed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Entering the dining-room I found Dorinda and Lute at the window, peering
+      after the butler.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By time!&rdquo; exclaimed Lute, &ldquo;if I didn't know I should say he was a bigger
+      big-bug than old Colton himself. Look how he struts! He sartin is a
+      dignified lookin' man. I don't see how he ever come to be just hired
+      help.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm,&rdquo; sniffed the cynical Mrs. Rogers. &ldquo;Well; you can get an awful lot
+      of dignity for its board and lodgin'! There's nothin' much more dignified
+      or struts much better'n a rooster, but it's the hens that lay the eggs.
+      What did he want, Roscoe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I made some excuse or other for Mr. Johnson's early call and, taking my
+      cap from the rack, hurried from the house. I went &ldquo;across lots&rdquo; and,
+      running a good part of the way, reached the bank just as Sam Wheeler was
+      sweeping out. He expressed surprise at my early arrival and wished to know
+      what was up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ain't nothin' wrong, is there, Ros?&rdquo; asked Sam anxiously. &ldquo;I saw by the
+      paper that the market was feverish again yesterday.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sam was an ambitious youth and, being desirous of becoming a banker in the
+      shortest possible time, read the financial page with conscientious
+      thoroughness. I assured him that the market's fever was not contagious&mdash;at
+      least I had not contracted the disease&mdash;and sent him out to sweep the
+      front steps. As soon as he had gone I opened the safe, found, to my joy,
+      that we had an abundance of currency on hand, cashed the Colton check and
+      locked it securely in the drawer of my own desk. So far I was safe. Now to
+      secure George's safety.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He came in soon after, looking as if, as he had told me, he had not slept
+      for years. He bade Sam good morning and then walked over to my side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Ros?&rdquo; he asked, laying a shaking hand on the desk beside me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not here, George,&rdquo; I whispered. &ldquo;Come into the directors' room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I led the way and he followed me. I closed the door behind us, took the
+      thirty-five hundred dollars in notes from my pocket and laid them on the
+      table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's the money, George,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Now you've got just time enough to
+      catch that nine o'clock train for Boston.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I thought, for a moment, he was going to collapse altogether. Then he
+      pounced upon the money, counted it with fingers that trembled so he could
+      scarcely control them, and turned to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros&mdash;Ros&mdash;&rdquo; he stammered. &ldquo;Where did you&mdash;how did you&mdash;Great
+      God, man! I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! there!&rdquo; I interrupted. &ldquo;I told you I wasn't a pauper exactly. Put
+      that where you won't lose it and clear out. You haven't any time to
+      argue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but, Ros, I hadn't ought to take this from you. I don't see
+      where you got it and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's my business. Will you go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know as I ever can pay you. Lord knows I'll try all my life, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I seized his arm. &ldquo;George,&rdquo; I urged, impatiently, &ldquo;you fool, don't waste
+      time. Get that train, do you hear! Those bonds must be in that safe by
+      night. Go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The mention of the bonds did what my urging had failed to do. He crammed
+      the bills into his pocket book, thrust the latter into an inside pocket,
+      and rushed from the room. I followed him as far as the outer door. He was
+      running up the road like a wild man. Sam stared after him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For mercy sakes!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;what's the matter with the boss? Has he gone
+      loony?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said, turning back to my desk; &ldquo;he's sane enough, I guess. He's
+      after the train.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think he was after somethin'. Did you see the face he had on
+      him? If he ain't crazy then you and I are, that's all I've got to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, Sam,&rdquo; I answered, drawing a long breath, &ldquo;perhaps that's it.
+      Perhaps you and I are the crazy ones&mdash;one of us, at any rate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All that day I worked hard. I did not go home for lunch, but sent Sam over
+      to Eldredge's store for canned ham and crackers which I ate at my desk. It
+      was a fairly busy day, fortunately, and I could always find some task to
+      occupy my mind. Lute called, at two o'clock, to inquire why I had not been
+      home and I told him that Taylor was away and I should be late for supper.
+      He departed, shaking his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's just as I said,&rdquo; he declared, &ldquo;you're workin' yourself sick, that's
+      what you're doin'. You're growin' foolish in the head about work, just the
+      same as Dorindy. And YOU don't need to; you've got money enough. If I had
+      independent means same as you've got I tell you I'd have more sense. One
+      sick invalid in the family's enough, ain't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No doubt, Lute,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;At all events you must take care of your
+      health. Don't YOU work yourself sick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute turned on me. &ldquo;I try not to,&rdquo; he said, seriously; &ldquo;I try not to, but
+      it's a hard job. You know what that wife of mine is cal'latin' to have me
+      do next? Wash the hen house window! Yes sir! wash the window so's the hens
+      can look at the scenery, I presume likely. I says to her, says I, 'That
+      beats any foolishness ever I heard! Next thing you'll want me to put down
+      a carpet in the pigsty, won't ye? You would if we kept a pig, I know.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did she say to that?&rdquo; I inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, the land knows! Somethin' about keepin' one pig bein' trouble enough.
+      I didn't pay much attention. But I shan't wash no hen's window, now you
+      can bet on that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shouldn't have bet much on it. He went away, to spend the next hour in a
+      political debate at Eldredge's, and I wrote letters, needlessly long ones.
+      Closing time came and Sam went home, leaving me to lock up. The train was
+      due at six-twenty, but it was nearly seven before I heard it whistle at
+      the station. I stood at the front window looking up the road and waiting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I waited only a few minutes, but they were long ones. Then I saw George
+      coming, not running this time, but walking with rapid strides. The crowd,
+      waiting on the post-office steps, shouted at him but he paid no attention.
+      He sprang up the steps and entered the bank. I stepped forward and seized
+      his hand. One look at his face was enough; he had the bonds, I knew it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros, you here!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Is it all right? The examiner hasn't
+      showed up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;You have them, George?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right in my pocket, thank the Lord&mdash;and you, Ros Paine. Just let me
+      get them into that safe and I&mdash;What! You're not going?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I'm going. I congratulate you, George. I am as glad as you are. Good
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Ros, I want to tell you about it. I want to thank you again. I never
+      shall forget . . . Ros, hold on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But I was already at the door. &ldquo;Good night,&rdquo; I called again, and went out.
+      I went straight home, ate supper, spent a half hour with Mother, and then
+      went to my room and to bed. The excitement was over, for good or bad the
+      thing was done beyond recall, and I suddenly realized that I was very
+      tired. I fell asleep almost immediately and slept soundly until morning. I
+      was too tired even to think.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had plenty of time to think during the fortnight which followed and
+      there was enough to think about. The lawyer came and the papers were
+      signed transferring to James W. Colton the strip of land over which
+      Denboro had excited itself for months. Each day I sat at my desk expecting
+      Captain Dean and a delegation of indignant citizens to rush in and
+      denounce me as a traitor and a turncoat. Every time Sam Wheeler met me at
+      my arrival at the bank I dreaded to look him in the face, fearing that he
+      had learned of my action and was waiting to question me about it. In spite
+      of all my boasts and solemn vows not to permit &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; Colton to obtain
+      the Shore Lane I had sold it to him; he could, and it was to be expected
+      that he would, close it at once; Denboro would make its just demand upon
+      me for explanations, explanations which, for George and Nellie's sake, I
+      could not give; and after that the deluge. I was sitting over a powder
+      mine and I braced myself for the explosion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But hours and days passed and no explosion came. The fishcarts rattled
+      down the Lane without hindrance. Except for the little flurry of
+      excitement caused by the coming wedding at the Dean homestead the village
+      life moved on its lazy, uneventful jog. I could not understand it. Why did
+      Colton delay? He, whose one object in life was to have his own way, had it
+      once more. Now that he had it why didn't he make use of it? Why was he
+      holding back? Out of pity for me? I did not believe it. Much more likely
+      that his daughter, whose pride I had dared to offend, had taken the affair
+      in her hands and this agony of suspense was a preliminary torture, a part
+      of my punishment for presuming to act contrary to her imperial will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I saw her occasionally, although I tried my best not to do so. Once we
+      passed each other on the street and I stubbornly kept my head turned in
+      the other direction. I would risk no more looks such as she had given me
+      when, in response to her father's would-be humorous suggestion, she had
+      offered me her &ldquo;congratulations.&rdquo; Once, too, I saw her on the bay, I was
+      aboard the Comfort, having just anchored after a short cruise, and she
+      went by in the canoe, her newest plaything, which had arrived by freight a
+      few days before. A canoe in Denboro Bay was a distinct novelty; probably
+      not since the days of the Indians had one of the light, graceful little
+      vessels floated there, and this one carried much comment among the old
+      salts alongshore. It was the general opinion that it was no craft for salt
+      water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Them things,&rdquo; said Zeb Kendrick, sagely, &ldquo;are all right for ponds or
+      rivers or cricks where there ain't no tide nor sea runnin'. Float
+      anywheres where there's a heavy dew, they say they will. But no darter of
+      mine should go out past the flats in one of 'em if I had the say. It's too
+      big a risk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yup; well, Zeb, you ain't got the say, I cal'late,&rdquo; observed Thoph
+      Newcomb. &ldquo;And it takes more'n say to get a skiff like that one. They tell
+      me the metal work aboard her is silver-plated&mdash;silver or gold, I
+      ain't sure which. Wonder the old man didn't make it solid gold while he
+      was about it. He'd do anything for that girl if she asked him to. And she
+      sartin does handle it like a bird! She went by my dory t'other mornin' and
+      I swan to man if she and the canoe together wan't a sight for sore eyes. I
+      set and watched her for twenty minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um&mdash;ye-es,&rdquo; grunted Zeb. &ldquo;And then you charged the twenty minutes in
+      against the day's work quahaugin' you was supposed to be doin' for me, I
+      suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can take out the ten cents when you pay me&mdash;if you ever do,&rdquo;
+       said Newcomb, gallantly. &ldquo;'Twas wuth more'n that just to look at her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The time had been when I should have agreed with Thoph. Sitting in the
+      canoe, bare-headed, her hair tossing in the breeze, and her rounded arms
+      swinging the light paddle, she was a sight for sore eyes, doubtless. But
+      it was not my eyes which were sore, just then. I watched her for a moment
+      and then bent over my engine. I did not look up again until the canoe had
+      disappeared beyond the Colton wharf.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not tell Mother that I had sold the land. I intended to do so; each
+      morning I rose with my mind made up to tell her, and always I put off the
+      telling until some other time. I knew, of course, that she should be told;
+      that I ought to tell her rather than to have her learn the news from
+      others as she certainly would at almost any moment, but I knew, too, that
+      even to her I could not disclose my reason for selling. I must keep
+      George's secret as he had kept mine and take the consequences with a close
+      mouth and as much of my old indifference to public opinion as I could
+      muster. But I realized, only too well, that the indifference which had
+      once been real was now only pretense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have said very little about George Taylor's gratitude to me, nor his
+      appreciation of what I had done for him. The poor fellow would have talked
+      of nothing else if I had let him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've saved my good name and my life, Ros,&rdquo; he said, over and over
+      again, &ldquo;and not only my life, but what is a mighty sight more worth
+      saving, Nellie's happiness. I don't know how you did it; I believe yet
+      that there is something behind all this, that you're keeping something
+      from me. I can't see how, considering all you've said to me about your not
+      being well-off, you got that money so quick. But I know you don't want me
+      to talk about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't, George,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;All I ask of you is just to forget the whole
+      thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forget! I shan't forget while I live. And, as soon as ever I can scrape
+      it together, I'll pay you back that loan.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had kept his word, so far as telling Nellie of his financial condition
+      was concerned. He had not, of course, told her of his use of the bank
+      bonds, but he had, as he said he would, told her that, in all probability,
+      he should be left with nothing but his salary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told her she was free to give me up,&rdquo; he said, with emotion, &ldquo;and what
+      do you suppose she said to me? That she would marry me if she knew she
+      must live in the poorhouse the rest of her days. Yes, and be happy, so
+      long as we could be together. Well, I ain't worth it, and I told her so,
+      but I'll do my best to be worth something; and she shan't have to live in
+      the poorhouse either.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think there's much danger of that,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;And, by the way,
+      George, your Louisville and Transcontinental speculation may not be all
+      loss. You may save something out of it. There has been considerable
+      trading in the stock during the past two days. It is up half a point
+      already, according to the papers. Did you notice it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I noticed it. But I tell you, Ros, I don't care. I'll be glad to get
+      some of my money back, of course; enough to pay you and Cap'n Elisha
+      anyhow; but I'm so happy to think that Nellie need never know I was a
+      thief that I don't seem to care much for anything else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Nellie was happy, too. She came to me and told me of her happiness. It was
+      all on George's account, of course.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The poor fellow had lost money in investments,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and he thought
+      I would not care for him if I found out he was poor. He isn't poor, of
+      course, but if he was it would make no difference to me. I am so glad to
+      see him without that dreadful worried look on his face that I&mdash;I&mdash;Oh,
+      you must think me awful silly, Roscoe! I guess I am. I know I am. But you
+      are the only one I can talk to in this way about&mdash;about him. All Ma
+      wants to talk about now is the wedding and clothes and such, and Pa always
+      treats me as if I was a child. I feel almost as if you were the closest
+      friend I have, and I know George feels the same. He says you have helped
+      him out of his troubles. I was sure you would; that is why I wrote you
+      that letter. We are both SO grateful to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Their gratitude and the knowledge of their happiness were my sole
+      consolations in this trying time. They kept me from repenting what I had
+      done. It was hard not to repent. If Colton had only made known his
+      purchase and closed the Lane at once, while my resolution was red hot, I
+      could have faced the wrath of the village and its inevitable consequences
+      fairly well, I believed; but he still kept silent and made no move. I saw
+      him once or twice; on one occasion he came into the bank, but he came only
+      to cash a check and did not mention the subject of the Lane. He did not
+      look well to me and I heard him tell Taylor something about his &ldquo;damned
+      digestion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The wedding day came. I, as best man, was busy and thankful for the bustle
+      and responsibility. They occupied my mind and kept it from dwelling on
+      other things. George worked at the bank until noon, getting ready to leave
+      the institution in my charge and that of Dick Small, Henry's brother, who
+      had reported for duty that morning. The marriage was to take place at half
+      past one in the afternoon and the bridal couple were to go away on the
+      three o'clock train. The honeymoon trip was to be a brief one, only a
+      week.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every able-bodied native of Denboro, man, woman and child, attended that
+      wedding, I honestly believe. It was the best sort of advertising for
+      Olinda Cahoon and Simeon Eldredge, for Olinda had made the gowns worn by
+      the bride and the bride's mother and a number of the younger female
+      guests, and Sim had sold innumerable bottles of a peculiarly penetrating
+      perfume, a large supply of which he had been talked into purchasing by a
+      Boston traveling salesman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Smell it, Ros, do ye?&rdquo; whispered Sim, grinning triumphantly between the
+      points of a &ldquo;stand-up&rdquo; collar. &ldquo;I give you my word when that slick-talkin'
+      drummer sold me all that perfumery, I thought I was stuck sure and sartin.
+      But then I had an idee. Every time women folks come into the store and
+      commenced to talk about the weddin' I says to 'em, says I, 'Can't sell you
+      a couple of handkerchiefs to cry on, can I, Miss So-and-so? Weddin's are
+      great places for sheddin' tears, you know.' If I sold 'em the
+      handkerchiefs all well and good; but if they laughed and said they had a
+      plenty, I got out my sample bottle of 'May Lilock', that's the name of the
+      cologne, and asked 'em to smell of it. 'If you cry with that on your
+      handkerchief,' says I, 'all hands will be glad to have you do it. And only
+      twenty cents a bottle!' You wouldn't believe how much I sold. You can
+      smell this weddin' afore you come in sight of the house, can't ye now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      You could, and you continued to smell it long after you left. My best suit
+      reeked of &ldquo;May Lilac&rdquo; weeks later when I took it out of the closet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda was there, garbed in rustling black alpaca, her Sunday gown for
+      ten years at least, and made over and &ldquo;turned&rdquo; four or five times. Lute
+      was on deck, cutaway coat, &ldquo;high water&rdquo; trousers and purple tie, grand to
+      look upon, Alvin Baker and Elnathan Mullet and Alonzo Black and Thoph
+      Newcomb and Zeb Kendrick were, as the Item would say, &ldquo;among those
+      present&rdquo; and if Zeb's black cutaway smelled slightly of fish it was, at
+      least, a change from the pervading &ldquo;May Lilac.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Captain Jed strutted pompously about, monarch of the day. He greeted me
+      genially.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Ros!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You out here? Thought you'd be busy overhaulin'
+      George's runnin' riggin' and makin' sure he was all ready to heave
+      alongside the parson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I am on my way back there now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, all right. Matildy give me fits for not stayin' upstairs until
+      the startin' gun was fired, but I told her that, between her with her eyes
+      full of tears and Olindy Cahoon with her mouth full of pins, 'twas no
+      place for a male man. So I cleared out till everything was shipshape. Say,
+      Ros,&rdquo; he laid his hand on my shoulder and bent to whisper in my ear: &ldquo;Say,
+      Ros,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I'm glad to see you're takin' my advice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Taking your advice?&rdquo; I repeated, puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; about not playin' with fire, you know. I ain't heard of you and the
+      Princess cruisin' together for the past week. Thought 'twas best not to be
+      too familiar with the R'yal family, didn't you? That's right, that's
+      right. We can't take chances. We've got Denboro and the Shore Lane to
+      think about, ain't we?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. I did not risk looking him in the face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's liable to be here most any time, I cal'late,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;Nellie
+      would insist on invitin' her. And I must say that, to be honest, the
+      present she sent is the finest that's come aboard yet. The only thing I've
+      got against her is her bad judgment in pickin' a father. If 'twan't for
+      that I&mdash;hello! Who&mdash;Why, I believe&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a commotion among the guests and heads were turned toward the
+      door. The captain started forward. I started back. She had entered the
+      room and was standing there, looking about her with smiling interest. I
+      had forgotten that, considering her friendship with Nellie, she was
+      certain to be invited.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was dressed in a simple, but wonderful, white gown and wore a bunch of
+      lilies of the valley at her bosom. The doorway was decorated with sprays
+      of honeysuckle and green boughs and against this background she made a
+      picture that brought admiring whispers from the people near me. She did
+      not notice me at first and I think I should have escaped by the side door
+      if it had not been for Sim Eldredge. Simeon was just behind me and he
+      darted forward with outstretched hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, how d'ye do, Miss Colton!&rdquo; exclaimed Sim. &ldquo;You're just in time,
+      ain't ye! Let me get you a chair. Alvin,&rdquo; to Mr. Baker, who, perspiring
+      beneath the unaccustomed dignity of a starched shirt front, occupied a
+      front seat, &ldquo;get up and let Miss Colton set down.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked in Sim's direction and saw me, standing beside him. I had no
+      opportunity to avoid her look now, as I had done when we met in the
+      street. She saw me and I could not turn away. I bowed. She did not
+      acknowledge the bow. She looked calmly past me, through me. I saw, or
+      fancied that I saw, astonishment on the faces of those watching us.
+      Captain Jed stepped forward to greet her and I went into the adjoining
+      room, where George was anxiously awaiting me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good land, Ros!&rdquo; he exclaimed, with a sigh of relief, &ldquo;I was beginning to
+      be afraid you'd skipped out and left me to go through it all alone. Say
+      something to brace me up, won't you; I'm scared to death. Say,&rdquo; with a
+      wondering glance at my face, &ldquo;what's struck YOU? You look more upset than
+      I feel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I believe I ordered him not to be an idiot. I know I did not &ldquo;brace him
+      up&rdquo; to any extent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a very pretty wedding. At least every one said it was, although
+      they say the same of all weddings, I am told. Personally I was very glad
+      when it was over. Nellie whispered in my ear as I offered her my
+      congratulations, &ldquo;We owe it all to you, Roscoe.&rdquo; George said nothing, but
+      the look he gave me as he wrung my hand was significant. For a moment I
+      forgot myself, forgot to be envious of those to whom the door for
+      happiness was not shut. After all I had opened the door for these two, and
+      that was something.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I walked as far as the corner with Lute and Dorinda. Dorinda's eyes were
+      red and her husband commented upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought a weddin' was supposed to be a joyful sort of thing,&rdquo; he said,
+      disgustedly. &ldquo;It's usually cal'lated to be. Yet you and the rest of the
+      women folks set and cried through the whole of it. What in time was there
+      to cry about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I don't know, Luther,&rdquo; replied Dorinda in, for her, an unusually
+      tolerant tone. &ldquo;Perhaps it's because we've all been young once and can't
+      forget it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't forget, no more'n you do. I ain't so old that I can't remember
+      that fur back, I hope. But it don't make me feel like cryin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, all right. We won't argue about it. Let's be pleasant as we can,
+      for once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now that is where Lute should have taken the hint and remained silent. At
+      least he should have changed the subject. But he was hot and uncomfortable
+      and, I suspect, his Sunday shoes were tight. He persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Huh!&rdquo; he sniffed; &ldquo;I don't see's you've given me no sensible reason for
+      cryin'. If I recollect right you didn't cry at your own weddin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife turned on him. She looked him over from head to foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn't I?&rdquo; she said, tartly. &ldquo;Well, maybe not. But if I'd realized what
+      was happenin' to me, I should.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lute,&rdquo; said I, as I parted from them at the corner, &ldquo;I am going to the
+      bank for a little while. Then I think I shall take a short run down the
+      bay in the Comfort. Did you fill her tank with gasolene as I asked you
+      to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute stopped short. &ldquo;There!&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;I knew there was somethin' I
+      forgot. I'll do it soon's ever I get home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you get home,&rdquo; observed Dorinda, firmly, &ldquo;you'll wash that henhouse
+      window.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Dorinda, if that ain't just like you! Don't you hear Roscoe askin'
+      me about that gas? I've had that gas in my head ever since yesterday.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm,&rdquo; wearily. &ldquo;Well, I shouldn't think a little extry more or less
+      would make much difference. Never mind, don't waste any more on me. Get
+      the gas out of your head, if Roscoe wants you to. You can wash the window
+      afterward.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute's parting words were that he would fill that tank the very first
+      thing. If he had&mdash;but there! he didn't.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The fog had come almost without warning. When, after leaving the bank, at
+      four o'clock or thereabouts, I walked down to the shore and pulled my
+      skiff out to where the Comfort lay at her moorings, there had not been a
+      sign of it. Now I was near the entrance of the bay, somewhere abreast Crow
+      Point, and all about me was gray, wet blankness. Sitting in the stern of
+      the little launch I could see perhaps a scant ten feet beyond the bow, no
+      more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the sudden shift of the wind which had brought the fog. When I left
+      the boat house there had been a light westerly breeze. This had died down
+      to a flat calm, and then a new breeze had sprung up from the south,
+      blowing the fog before it. It rolled across the water as swiftly as the
+      smoke clouds roll from a freshly lighted bonfire. It blotted Denboro from
+      sight and moved across the bay; the long stretch of beach disappeared; the
+      Crow Point light and Ben Small's freshly whitewashed dwellings and
+      outbuildings were obliterated. In ten minutes the Comfort was, to all
+      appearances, alone on a shoreless sea, and I was the only living creature
+      in the universe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was not troubled or alarmed. I had been out in too many fogs on that
+      very bay to mind this one. It was a nuisance, because it necessitated
+      cutting short my voyage, although that voyage had no objective point and
+      was merely an aimless cruise in search of solitude and forgetfulness. The
+      solitude I had found, the forgetfulness, of course, I had not. And now,
+      when the solitude was more complete than ever, surrounded by this gray
+      dismalness, with nothing whatever to look at to divert my attention, I
+      knew I should be more bitterly miserable than I had been since I left that
+      wedding. And I had been miserable and bitter enough, goodness knows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Home and the village, which I had been so anxious to get away from, now
+      looked inviting in comparison. I slowed down the engine and, with an
+      impatient growl, bent over the little binnacle to look at the compass and
+      get my bearings before pointing the Comfort's nose in the direction of
+      Denboro. Then my growl changed to an exclamation of disgust. The compass
+      was not there. I knew where it was. It was on my work bench in the boat
+      house, where I had put it myself, having carried it there to replace the
+      cracked glass in its top with a new one. I had forgotten it and there it
+      was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I could get along without it, of course, but its absence meant delay and
+      more trouble. In a general way I knew my whereabouts, but the channel was
+      winding and the tide was ebbing rapidly. I should be obliged to run slowly&mdash;to
+      feel my way, so to speak&mdash;and I might not reach home until late.
+      However, there was nothing else to do, so I put the helm over and swung
+      the launch about. I sat in the stern sheets, listening to the dreary
+      &ldquo;chock-chock&rdquo; of the propeller, and peering forward into the mist. The
+      prospect was as cheerless as my future.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly, from the wet, gray blanket ahead came a call. It was a good way
+      off when I first heard it, a call in a clear voice, a feminine voice it
+      seemed to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. I took it for granted that the call was not addressed to
+      me. It came probably, from the beach at the Point, and might be Mrs. Small
+      hailing her husband, though it did not sound like her voice. Several
+      minutes went by before it was repeated. Then I heard it again and nearer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello! Hello-o-o! Where are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That was not Mrs. Small, certainly. Unless I was away off in my reckoning
+      the Point was at my right, and the voice sounded to the left. It must come
+      from some craft afloat in the bay, though before the fog set in I had seen
+      none.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello-o! Hello, the motor boat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello!&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;Boat ahoy! Where are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here I am.&rdquo; The voice was nearer still. &ldquo;Where are you? Don't run into
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shifted my helm just a bit and peered ahead. I could see nothing. The
+      fog was thicker than ever; if that were possible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are you?&rdquo; repeated the unseen voyager, and to my dismay, the hail
+      came from the right this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't move!&rdquo; I shouted. &ldquo;Stay where you are. I will keep shouting . . .
+      LOOK OUT!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Out of the fog to starboard a long dark shadow shot, silent and swift. It
+      was moving directly across the Comfort's bow. I jammed the wheel over and
+      the launch swung off, but not enough. It struck the canoe, for it was a
+      canoe, a glancing blow and heeled it down to the water's edge. There was a
+      scrape, a little scream, and two hands clutched at the Comfort's rail. I
+      let go the wheel, sprang forward and seized the owner of the hands about
+      the waist. The canoe, half full of water, disappeared somewhere astern. I
+      swung Mabel Colton aboard the launch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I think she spoke first. I do not remember saying anything, and I think it
+      must have been at least a full minute before either of us broke the
+      silence. She lay, or sat, upon the cockpit floor, her shoulders supported
+      by the bench surrounding it, just where I had placed her after lifting her
+      over the rail. I knelt beside her, staring as if she were a spirit instead
+      of a real, and rather damp, young lady. And she stared at me. When she
+      spoke her words were an echo of my thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It IS you?&rdquo; she gasped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This&mdash;this is the third time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Another interval of silence. Then she spoke once more and her tone was one
+      expressing intense conviction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This,&rdquo; she said, slowly, &ldquo;is getting to be positively ridiculous.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not deny it. I said nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She sat up. &ldquo;My canoe&mdash;&rdquo; she faltered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mention of the canoe brought me partially to my senses. I realized
+      that I was kneeling on the deck of a launch that was pounding its way
+      through the fog with no one at the helm. I sprang to my feet and seized
+      the wheel. That my doing so would be of little use, considering that the
+      Comfort might be headed almost anywhere by this time, did not occur to me.
+      Miss Colton remained where she was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My canoe&mdash;&rdquo; she repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was awakening rapidly. I looked out into the mist and shook my head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid your canoe has gone,&rdquo; I said. And then, as the thought
+      occurred to me for the first time, &ldquo;You're not hurt, I hope? I dragged you
+      aboard here rather roughly, I am afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I am not hurt. But&mdash;where are we?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, exactly. Somewhere near the mouth of the bay, that is all I
+      can be sure of. You, are certain you are not hurt? You must be wet
+      through.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She got upon her feet and, leaning over the Comfort's rail, gazed about
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am all right,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;But don't you know where you are?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Before the fog caught me I was nearly abreast the Point. I was running at
+      half speed up the channel when I heard your hail. Where were you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was just beyond your boat house, out in the middle of the bay. I had
+      come out for a paddle before dinner. I did not notice the fog until it was
+      all about me. Then I think I must have been bewildered. I thought I was
+      going in the direction of home, but I could not have been&mdash;not if you
+      were abreast the Point. I must have been going directly out to sea.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shivered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are wet,&rdquo; I said, anxiously. &ldquo;There is a storm coat of mine in the
+      locker forward. Won't you put that about your shoulders? It may prevent
+      your taking cold.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, thank you. I am not wet, at all; or, at least, only my feet and the
+      bottom of my skirt. I shall not take cold.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please don't worry. I am all right, or shall be as soon as I get home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am very sorry about your canoe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It doesn't matter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her answers were short now. There was a different note in her voice. I
+      knew the reason of the change. Now that the shock and the surprise of our
+      meeting were over she and I were resuming our old positions. She was
+      realizing that her companion was the &ldquo;common fellow&rdquo; whose &ldquo;charming and
+      cultivated society&rdquo; was not necessary to her happiness, the fellow to whom
+      she had scornfully offered &ldquo;congratulations&rdquo; and whom she had cut dead at
+      the Deans' that very afternoon. I made no more suggestions and expressed
+      no more sympathy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will take you home at once,&rdquo; I said, curtly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That ended conversation for the time. She seated herself on the bench near
+      the forward end of the cockpit and kept her head turned away from me. I,
+      with one hand upon the wheel&mdash;a useless procedure, for I had no idea
+      where the launch might be headed&mdash;looked over the rail and listened
+      to the slow and regular beat of the engine. Suddenly the beat grew less
+      regular. The engine barked, hiccoughed, barked again but more faintly, and
+      then stopped altogether.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I knew what was the matter. Before I reached the gasolene tank and
+      unscrewed the little cover I knew it. I thrust in the gauge stick and
+      heard it strike bottom, drew it out and found it, as I expected, dry to
+      the very tip. I had trusted, like an imbecile, to Lute. Lute had promised
+      to fill that tank &ldquo;the very first thing,&rdquo; and he had not kept his promise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was not a pint of gasolene aboard the Comfort; and it would be my
+      cheerful duty to inform my passenger of the fact!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not wait for me to break the news. She saw me standing there,
+      holding the gauge stick in my hand, and she asked the natural question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo; she demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I swallowed the opinion of Mr. Rogers which was on the tip of my tongue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry,&rdquo; I stammered, &ldquo;but&mdash;but&mdash;well, we are in trouble, I
+      am afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In trouble?&rdquo; she said coldly. &ldquo;What trouble do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. The fact is, we have run out of gasolene. I told my man, Rogers, to
+      fill the tank and he hasn't done it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She leaned forward to look at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hasn't done it?&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;You mean&mdash;why, this boat cannot go
+      without gasolene, can it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not very well; no.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then&mdash;then what are we going to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anchor and wait, if I can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait! But I don't wish to wait. I wish to be taken home, at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry, but I am afraid that is impossible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was on my way forward to where the anchor lay, in the bow. She rose and
+      stepped in front of me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you I do not wish you to anchor this boat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry but it is the only thing to do, under the circumstances.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not wish it. Stop! I tell you I will not have you anchor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton, we must do one of two things, either anchor or drift. And if
+      we drift I cannot tell you where we may be carried.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't care.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; with scornful emphasis, &ldquo;I presume you do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean&mdash;never mind what I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, as I have explained to you, the gasolene&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! Do you suppose I believe that ridiculous story?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Believe it?&rdquo; I gazed at her uncomprehendingly. &ldquo;Believe it,&rdquo; I repeated.
+      &ldquo;Don't you believe it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton, do you mean that you think I am not telling you the truth?
+      That I am lying?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; fiercely, &ldquo;and if I did, would it be so astonishing, considering&mdash;considering
+      the TRUTHS you have told me before?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I made no further effort to pass her. Instead I stepped back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you mind telling me,&rdquo; I demanded, with deliberate sarcasm, &ldquo;what
+      possible reason you think I might have for wishing to keep you here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall tell you nothing. And&mdash;and I will not have you anchor this
+      boat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it your desire then that we drift&mdash;the Lord knows where?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I desire you to start that engine and take me home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot start the engine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't believe it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment I hesitated. Then I did what was perhaps the most senseless
+      thing I ever did in all my life, which is saying considerable. I turned my
+      back on her and on the anchor, and seated myself once more in the stern
+      sheets. And we drifted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I do not know how long we drifted before I regained my sanity. It must
+      have been a good while. When I first returned to my seat by the wheel it
+      was with the firm determination to allow the Comfort to drift into the
+      bottomless pit rather than to stir hand or foot to prevent it. In fact
+      that particular port looked rather inviting than otherwise. Any torments
+      it might have in store could not be worse than those I had undergone
+      because of this girl. I sat, silent, with my gaze fixed upon the
+      motionless engine. I heard my passenger move once or twice, but I did not
+      look at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What brought me to my senses was the boat hook, which had been lying on
+      the seat beside me, suddenly falling to the floor. I started and looked
+      over the rail. The water, as much of it as I could see through the fog,
+      was no longer flat and calm. There were waves all about us, not big ones,
+      but waves nevertheless, long, regular swells in the trough of which the
+      Comfort rocked lazily. There was no wind to kick up a sea. This was a
+      ground swell, such as never moved in Denboro Bay. While I sat there like
+      an idiot the tide had carried us out beyond the Point.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With an exclamation I sprang up and hurried forward. Miss Colton was
+      sitting where I had left her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;What are you going to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going to anchor,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not wish you to anchor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't help that. I must. Please stand aside, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She tried to prevent me, but I pushed her away, not too gently I am
+      afraid, and clambered forward to the bow, where the anchor lay upon its
+      coil of line. I threw it overboard. The line ran out to its very end and I
+      waited expectantly for the jerk which would tell me that the anchor had
+      caught and was holding. But no jerk came. Reaching over the bow I tried
+      the line. It was taut and heavy. Then I knew approximately how far we had
+      drifted. We were beyond the shoal making out from Crow Point over the deep
+      water beyond. My anchor rope was not long enough to reach the bottom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still I was not alarmed. I was provoked at my own stubbornness which had
+      gotten us into this predicament and more angry than ever at the person who
+      was the cause of that stubbornness. But I was not frightened. There were
+      other shoals further out and I left the anchor as it was, hoping that it
+      might catch and hold on one of them. I went back once more to my seat by
+      the wheel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then followed another interval of silence and inaction. From astern and a
+      good way off sounded the notes of a bell. From the opposite direction came
+      a low groan, indescribably mournful and lonely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My passenger heard it and spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What was that?&rdquo; she demanded, in a startled tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fog horn at Mackerel Island, the island at the mouth of Wellmouth
+      harbor,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And that bell?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is the fog bell at Crow Point.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At Crow Point? Why, it can't be! Crow Point is in Denboro Bay, and that
+      bell is a long way behind us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. We are a mile or more outside the Point now. The tide has carried us
+      out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Carried us&mdash;Do you mean that we are out at sea?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at sea exactly. We are in Cape Cod Bay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;why, we are still drifting, aren't we? I thought you had
+      anchored.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tried to, but I was too late. The water is too deep here for the anchor
+      to reach bottom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but what are you going to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing at present. There is nothing I can do. Sit down, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing! Nothing! Do you mean that you propose to sit there and let us be
+      carried out to sea?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We shall not be carried far. There is no wind. When the tide turns we
+      shall probably be carried in again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But,&rdquo; sharply, &ldquo;why don't you do something? Can't you row?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have only one oar.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you must do something. You MUST. I&mdash;I&mdash;It is late! it is
+      growing dark! My people! What will they think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sorry! You are not sorry! If you were you would do something, instead of
+      sitting there as&mdash;as if you enjoyed it. I believe you do enjoy it.
+      You are doing it purposely to&mdash;to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To what, pray?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I do mind. You have accused me of lying, Miss Colton, and of keeping
+      you here purposely. What do you mean by it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that&mdash;that&mdash;Oh, you know what I mean! You hate me and
+      you hate my father, and you are trying to&mdash;to punish us for&mdash;for&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had heard enough. I did not propose to hear any more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I interrupted, sternly, &ldquo;stop! this is silly. I assure you
+      that I am as anxious to end this&mdash;excursion&mdash;of ours as you can
+      be. Your being afloat in Denboro Bay in a canoe was your own recklessness
+      and not my fault. Neither was it my fault that the launch collided with
+      your canoe. I called to you not to move, but to stay where you were. And,
+      moreover, if you had permitted me to anchor when I first attempted to do
+      so we should not be in this scrape. I shall get you out of it just as
+      quick as I can. In order that I may do so I shall expect you to stop
+      behaving like a child and do as I tell you. Sit down on that bench and
+      keep still.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This had the effect I meant it to. She looked at me as if she could not
+      believe she had heard aright. But I met her gaze squarely, and, with a
+      shudder of disgust, or fear, I do not know which, she turned her back upon
+      me and was silent. I went forward to the cuddy, found the tin horn which,
+      until that moment, I had forgotten, and, returning, blew strident blasts
+      upon it at intervals. There was little danger of other craft being in our
+      vicinity, but I was neglecting no precautions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bell at Crow Point sounded further and further astern. The twilight
+      changed to dusk and the dusk to darkness. The fog was as thick as ever. It
+      was nearly time for the tide to turn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly there was a jerk; the launch quivered, and swung about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! what was that?&rdquo; demanded Miss Colton, shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The anchor,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;We have reached the outer shoal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And,&rdquo; hesitatingly, &ldquo;shall we stay here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; unless&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Unless what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Unless . . . Hush! listen!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was an odd rushing sound from the darkness astern, a sort of hiss
+      and low, watery roar. I rushed to the bow and dragged the anchor inboard
+      with all my strength. Then I ran to the wheel. I had scarcely reached it
+      when I felt a hand on my arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; asked the young lady, her voice quivering. &ldquo;Oh, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wind,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;There is a squall coming. Sit down! Sit down!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She hesitated and I seized her arm and forced her down upon the bench
+      beside me. I threw the helm over. The rushing sound grew nearer. Then came
+      a blast of wind which sent my cap flying overboard and the fog disappeared
+      as if it had been a cloth snatched away by a mighty hand. Above us was a
+      black sky, with stars showing here and there between flying clouds, and
+      about us were the waves, already breaking into foam upon the shoal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Comfort rocked and wallowed in the trough. We were being driven by the
+      wind away from the shoal, but not fast enough. Somehow or other we must
+      get out of that dangerous neighborhood. I turned to my companion. She had
+      not spoken since the squall came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;give me your hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I presume she could not imagine what I meant. No doubt, too, my tone and
+      the request frightened her. She hesitated. I seized her hands and placed
+      them on the spokes of the wheel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want you to hold that wheel just as it is,&rdquo; I commanded. &ldquo;I must go
+      forward and get steerage way on this craft somehow, or we shall capsize.
+      Can you hold it, do you think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; I&mdash;I think so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I left her, went to the cuddy and dragged out the small canvas tarpaulin
+      which I used to cover the engine at night. With this, a cod line, the
+      boathook, and my one oar I improvised a sort of jury rig which I tied
+      erect at the forward end of the cockpit. Then I went aft and took the
+      wheel again. The tarpaulin made a poor apology for a sail, but I hoped it
+      might answer the purpose well enough to keep the Comfort before the wind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It did. Tacking was, of course, out of the question, but with the gale
+      astern the launch answered her helm and slid over the waves instead of
+      rolling between them. I sighed in relief. Then I remembered my passenger
+      sitting silent beside me. She did not deserve consideration, but I
+      vouchsafed a word of encouragement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be frightened,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;It is only a stiff breeze and this boat is
+      seaworthy. We are all right now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why did you take up the anchor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By way of answer I pointed aft over the stern. In the darkness the froth
+      of the shoal gleamed white. I felt her shudder as she looked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are we going now&mdash;please?&rdquo; she asked, a moment later.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are headed for the Wellmouth shore. It is the only direction we can
+      take. If this wind holds we shall land in a few hours. It is all deep
+      water now. There are no more shoals.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But,&rdquo; anxiously, &ldquo;can we land when we reach there? Isn't it a bad coast?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not very. If we can make Mackerel Island we may be able to get ashore at
+      the light or anchor in the lee of the land. It is all right, Miss Colton.
+      I am telling you the truth. Strange as it may seem to you, I really am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could not help adding the last bit of sarcasm. She understood. She drew
+      away on the bench and asked no more questions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On drove the Comfort. The first fierceness of the squall had passed and it
+      was now merely what I had called it, a stiff breeze. Out here in the
+      middle of the bay the waves were higher and we shipped some spray over the
+      quarter. The air was sharp and the chill penetrated even my thick jacket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must be cold,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Aren't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you must be. Take the wheel a moment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not cold.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take the wheel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She took it. I groped about in the cuddy again, got out my storm coat, an
+      old pea jacket which I wore on gunning expeditions, and brought it to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Slip this on,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not care for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put it on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Paine,&rdquo; haughtily, &ldquo;I tell you . . . . oh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had wrapped the coat about her shoulders and fastened the upper button.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now sit down on the deck here,&rdquo; I ordered. &ldquo;Here, by my feet. You will be
+      below the rail there and out of the wind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To my surprise she obeyed orders, this time without even a protest. I
+      smiled grimly. To see her obey suited my humor. It served her right. I
+      enjoyed ordering her about as if I were mate of an old-time clipper and
+      she a foremast hand. She had insulted me once too often and she should pay
+      for it. Out here social position and wealth and family pride counted for
+      nothing. Here I was absolute master of the situation and she knew it. All
+      her life she would remember it, the humiliation of being absolutely
+      dependent upon me for life and safety and warmth. I looked down at her
+      crouching at my feet, and then away over the black water. The Comfort
+      climbed wave after wave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The tone was very low but I heard it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I came out of my waking dream&mdash;it was not a pleasant one&mdash;and
+      answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are we?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are making fair progress, everything considered. Are you warmer now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She said no more, nor did I. Except for the splash of the spray and the
+      flapping of the loose ends of the tarpaulin, it was quiet aboard the
+      Comfort. Quiet, except for an odd sound in the shadow by my knee. I
+      stooped and listened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, quickly. &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No answer. Yet I heard the sound again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it, Miss Colton?&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;What is the matter? Why are you
+      crying?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I am NOT crying,&rdquo; indignantly. And on the very heels of the
+      denial came a stifled sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That sob went to my heart. A great lump rose in my own throat. My brain
+      seemed to be turning topsy-turvy. A moment before it had been filled with
+      bitterness and resentment and vengeful thoughts. Now these had vanished
+      and in their place came crowding other and vastly different feelings. She
+      was crying, sobbing there alone in the dark at my feet. And I had treated
+      her like a brute!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I pleaded, in an agony of repentance, &ldquo;what is it? Is there
+      anything I can do? Are you still cold? Take this other coat, the one I
+      have on. I don't need it, really. I am quite warm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not cold.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, please don't speak to me! PLEASE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I closed my lips tightly and clutched the wheel with both hands. Oh, I had
+      been a brute, a brute! I should have known that she was not herself, that
+      she was frightened and nervous and distraught. I should have been
+      considerate and forbearing. I should have remembered that she was only a
+      girl, hysterical and weak. Instead I had&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I begged, &ldquo;please don't. Please!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No answer; only another sob. I tried again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been a cad,&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;I have treated you abominably. I don't
+      expect you to forgive me, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I am so frightened!&rdquo; The confession was a soliloquy, I think; not
+      addressed to me at all. But I heard it and forgot everything else. I let
+      go of the wheel altogether and bent over her, both hands outstretched, to&mdash;the
+      Lord knows what. I was not responsible just then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But while I still hesitated, while my hands were still in the air above
+      her, before they touched her, I was brought back to sanity with a rude
+      shock. A barrel or so of cold water came pouring over the rail and
+      drenched us both. The launch, being left without a helmsman, had swung
+      into the trough of the sea and this was the result.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am not really sure what happened in the next few seconds. I must, I
+      imagine, have seized the wheel with one hand and my passenger with the
+      other. At any rate, when the smoke, so to speak, had cleared, the Comfort
+      was headed on her old course once more, I was back on the bench by the
+      wheel, Mabel Colton's head was on my shoulder, and I was telling her over
+      and over that it was all right now, there was no danger, we were perfectly
+      safe, and various inanities of that sort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was breathing quickly, but she sobbed no more. I was glad of that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are sure you are not hurt?&rdquo; I asked, anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes, I think so,&rdquo; she answered, faintly. &ldquo;What was it? I&mdash;I
+      thought we were sinking.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So did I for a moment. It was all my fault, as usual. I let go the
+      wheel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you? Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know why.&rdquo; This was untrue; I did. &ldquo;But you are wet through,&rdquo; I
+      added, remorsefully. &ldquo;And I haven't another dry wrap aboard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind. You are as wet as I am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but <i>I</i> don't mind. I am used to it. But you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am all right. I was a little faint, at first, I think, but I am better
+      now.&rdquo; She raised her head and sat up. &ldquo;Where are we?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are within a few miles of the Wellmouth shore. That light ahead is the
+      Mackerel Island light. We shall be there in a little while. The danger is
+      almost over.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shivered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are cold!&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;Of course you are! If I only had another coat or
+      something. It is all my fault.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't say that,&rdquo; reproachfully. &ldquo;Where should I have been if it had not
+      been for you? I was paddling directly out toward those dreadful shoals.
+      Then you came, just as you have done before, and saved me. And,&rdquo; in a
+      wondering whisper, &ldquo;I knew it was you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not ask her what she meant; I seemed to understand perfectly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I tell you I knew it was you,&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;I did not know&mdash;I
+      did not suspect until the moment before the collision, before the launch
+      came in sight&mdash;then, all at once, I knew.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. That was when I knew.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned and gazed at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;YOU knew?&rdquo; she gasped, hysterically. &ldquo;Why&mdash;what do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't explain it. Just before your canoe broke through the fog I knew,
+      that is all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was unexplainable, but it was true. Call it telepathy or what you will&mdash;I
+      do not know what it was&mdash;I am certain only that, although I had not
+      recognized her voice, I had suddenly known who it was that would come to
+      me out of the fog. And she, too, had known! I felt again, with an almost
+      superstitious thrill, that feeling of helplessness which had come over me
+      that day of the fishing excursion when she rode through the bushes to my
+      side. It was as if she and I were puppets in the hands of some Power which
+      was amusing itself at our expense and would have its way, no matter how we
+      might fight against it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She spoke as if she were struggling to awaken from a dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it can't be,&rdquo; she protested. &ldquo;It is impossible. Why should you and I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know . . . Unless&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Unless what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I closed my lips on the words that were on the tip of my tongue. That
+      reason was more impossible than all else.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; I stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not repeat her question. I saw her face, a dainty silhouette
+      against the foam alongside, turned away from me. I gazed at it until I
+      dared gaze no longer. Was I losing my senses altogether? I&mdash;Ros Paine&mdash;the
+      man whose very name was not his own? I must not think such thoughts. I
+      scarcely dared trust myself to speak and yet I knew that I must. This
+      silence was too dangerous. I took refuge in a commonplace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are getting into smoother water,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;It is not as rough as it
+      was, do you think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If she heard the remark she ignored it. She did not turn to look at me.
+      After a moment she said, in a low voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I supposed her to be still thinking of our meeting in the fog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot understand myself,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I presume it was a coincidence,
+      like our meeting at the pond.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head. &ldquo;I did not mean that,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I mean that I cannot
+      understand how you can be so kind to me. After what I said, and the way I
+      have treated you; it is wonderful!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was obliged to wait another moment before I could reply. I clutched the
+      wheel tighter than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The wonderful part of it all,&rdquo; I said, earnestly, &ldquo;is that you should
+      even speak to me, after my treatment of you here, to-night. I was a brute.
+      I ordered you about as if&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush! Don't! please don't. Think of what I said to you! Will you forgive
+      me? I have been so ungrateful. You saved my life over and over again and I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop! Don't do that! If you do I shall&mdash;Miss Colton, please&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She choked back the sob. &ldquo;Tell me,&rdquo; she said, a moment later, this time
+      looking me directly in the face, &ldquo;why did you sell my father that land?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was my turn to avoid her look. I did not answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it was not because of the money&mdash;the price, I mean. Father
+      told me that you refused the five thousand he offered and would accept
+      only a part of it; thirty-five hundred, I think he said. I should have
+      known that the price had nothing to do with it, even if he had not told
+      me. But why did you sell it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I would have given all I had, or ever expected to have, in this world, to
+      tell her the truth. For the moment I almost hated George Taylor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I thought I might as well, give in then as later,&rdquo; I answered, with a
+      shrug. &ldquo;It was no use fighting the inevitable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was not it. I know it was not. If it had been you would have taken
+      the five thousand. And I know, too, that you meant what you said when you
+      told me you never would sell. I have known it all the time. I know you
+      were telling me the truth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was astonished. &ldquo;You do?&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;Why, you said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't! I know what I said, and I am so ashamed. I did not mean it,
+      really. For a moment, there in the library, when Father first told me, I
+      thought perhaps you&mdash;but I did not really think it. And when he told
+      me the price, I KNEW. Won't you tell me why you sold?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't. I wish I could.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe I can guess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I started. &ldquo;You can GUESS?&rdquo; I repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I think you wanted the money for some purpose, some need which you
+      had not foreseen. And I do not believe it was for yourself at all. I think
+      it was for some one else. Wasn't that it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could not reply. I tried to, tried to utter a prompt denial, but the
+      words would not come. Her &ldquo;guess&rdquo; was so close to the truth that I could
+      only stammer and hesitate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I thought so. For your mother, wasn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no. Miss Colton, you are wrong. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not wrong. Never mind. I suppose it is a secret. Perhaps I shall
+      find out some day. But will you forgive me for being so hateful? Can you?
+      What is the matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing&mdash;nothing. I&mdash;you are too good to me, that is all. I
+      don't deserve it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush! And we will be friends again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. . . . . Oh, no! no! I must not think of it. It is impossible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Must not think of it? When I ask you to? Can't you forgive me, after
+      all?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was nothing to forgive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, there was, a great deal. Is there something else? Are you still
+      angry with me because of what I said that afternoon at the gate?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was hateful of me, I know. But I could see that you wished to avoid me
+      and I was provoked. Besides, you have punished me for that. You have
+      snubbed me twice since, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>I</i> snubbed YOU?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;twice. Once when we met in the street. You deliberately turned
+      away and would not look at me. And once when I passed you in the canoe.
+      You saw me&mdash;I know you did&mdash;but you cut me dead. That is why I
+      did not return your bow to-day, at the wedding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you had said&mdash;I thought&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know. I had said horrid things. I deserved to be snubbed. There! now I
+      have confessed. Mayn't we be friends?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I . . . Oh, no, we must not, for your sake. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For my sake! But I wish it. Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I turned on her. &ldquo;Can't you see?&rdquo; I said, despairingly. &ldquo;Look at the
+      difference between us! You are what you are and I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She interrupted me. &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; she cried, impatiently, &ldquo;how dare you speak so?
+      How dare you believe that money and&mdash;all the rest of it influences me
+      in my friendships? Do you think I care for that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not mean money alone. But even that Miss Colton, that evening when
+      we returned from the trip after weakfish, you and your father and I, I
+      heard&mdash;I did not mean to hear but I did&mdash;what your mother said
+      when she met you. She said she had warned you against trusting yourself to
+      'that common fellow,' meaning me. That shows what she thinks. She was
+      right; in a way she was perfectly right. Now you see what I mean by saying
+      that friendship between us is impossible?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had spoken at white heat. Now I turned away. It was settled. She must
+      understand now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry you heard that. Mother&mdash;she is my mother and I love her&mdash;but
+      she says foolish things sometimes. I am sorry you heard that, but since
+      you did, I wish you had heard the rest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The rest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I answered her by suggesting that she had not been afraid to trust
+      me in the care of Victor&mdash;Mr. Carver. She answered that she hoped I
+      did not mean to compare Mr. Carver with you. And I said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes? You said&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said,&rdquo; the tone was low but I heard every syllable, &ldquo;I said she was
+      right, there was no comparison.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You said THAT!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You said it! And you meant&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I meant&mdash;I think I meant that I should not be afraid to trust you
+      always&mdash;anywhere.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Where were my good resolutions&mdash;my stern reasons to remember who and
+      what I was&mdash;to be sane, no matter at what cost to myself? I do not
+      know where they were; then I did not care. I seized her hand. It trembled,
+      but she did not draw it away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mabel&mdash;&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;Mabel&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;BUMP!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Comfort shook as the bow of a dory scraped along her starboard
+      quarter. A big red hand clasped the rail and its mate brandished a
+      good-sized club before my eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said a determined voice, &ldquo;I've got ye at last! This time I've
+      caught ye dead to rights! Now, by godfreys, you'll pay me for them
+      lobsters!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      If I had been giving undivided attention to my combined duties as
+      steersman and pilot, instead of neglecting them for other and more
+      engrossing matters, I should, doubtless, have seen the dory before. As it
+      was I had not seen it at all, nor heard the oars. It had sneaked up on the
+      Comfort out of the darkness and its occupant had laid us aboard as neatly
+      as you please.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was, to say the least, startled and surprised. I dodged the threatening
+      club and turned a dazed face toward the person brandishing it. He appeared
+      to be a middle-sized, elderly person, in oilskins and souwester, and when
+      he spoke a gray whisker wagged above the chin strap of the souwester.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who in blazes are you?&rdquo; I demanded, as soon as I could get the words
+      together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never you mind that. You know who I be all right enough. Be you goin' to
+      pay me for them lobsters? That's what <i>I</i> want to know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What lobsters?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Them lobsters you've been stealin' out of my pots for the last
+      fortnight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>I</i> have been stealing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you. I been layin' for you all night long. I don't know who you be,
+      but you'll pay for them lobsters or come along with me to the lock-up, one
+      or t'other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked about, over the water. The light toward which I had been trying
+      to steer blazed dead ahead, surprisingly near and bright. Except for that,
+      however, there was no sign of anything except darkness and waves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, my man,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I haven't stolen your lobsters; but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know better. I don't know who you be, but I'd know you was a thief if I
+      run acrost you in prayer-meetin'. Just to look at you is enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard a hysterical giggle from the bench beside me. Evidently the person
+      with the club heard it, too, for he leaned forward to look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So there's two of ye, eh!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Well, by godfreys, I don't care if
+      there's a million! You'll pay for them lobsters or go to the lock-up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I laughed aloud. &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I am agreeable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're agreeable! What do you mean by that? This ain't no laughin'
+      matter, I'll tell you that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I laughed again. &ldquo;I don't care what you tell me,&rdquo; I observed. &ldquo;And if you
+      will take us somewhere ashore&mdash;to the lock-up or anywhere else&mdash;I
+      shall be much obliged.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The occupant of the dory seemed to be puzzled. He leaned forward once
+      more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What sort of talk is that?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;Where's my lobsters? . . . Hey!
+      What? I swan to man, I believe one of ye's a woman! Have the females
+      turned thieves, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. See here, my friend, my name is Paine, and I'm the only
+      lobster aboard this craft. This lady and I belong in Denboro. My launch
+      has run out of gasolene and we have been drifting about the bay since five
+      o'clock. Now, for heaven's sake, don't talk any more, but take us to the
+      lock-up and be quick about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The unknown paid no attention to my entreaty. Instead he leaned still
+      further over the Comfort's rail. The dory careened until I expected to see
+      her capsize.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I swan to man!&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;I swan to man! 'Tain't possible I'm
+      mistook!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It scarcely seems possible, I admit. But I'm afraid it is true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard the club fall with a clatter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My&mdash;godfreys! Do you mean to say&mdash;? From Denboro? Out of
+      gasolene! Why&mdash;why, you've got sail up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing but a tarpaulin on an oar.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you've been cruisin' all night? Through the fog&mdash;the squall&mdash;and
+      all?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; wearily, &ldquo;yes&mdash;yes&mdash;yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but ain't you drownded?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not quite. If you don't let go of that rail we shall be soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Driftin' all night! Ain't you wet through?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Might I suggest that we postpone the rest of the catechism until we
+      reach&mdash;the lock-up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This suggestion apparently was accepted. Our captor suddenly became very
+      much alive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me a line,&rdquo; he ordered. &ldquo;Anchor rope'll do. Where is it? up
+      for'ard?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pawed the dory along, hand over hand, until he reached the Comfort's
+      bow. I heard the thump of the anchor as he dragged it into the dory. Then
+      came the creak and splash of oars. His voice sounded from somewhere ahead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Head for the light,&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;I'm goin' to tow you in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In where?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In ashore. That's Mack'rel Island light. My name's Atwood. I'm keeper of
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I turned to my passenger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It looks,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;as if our voyage was almost over.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And it was. Mr. Atwood had a tough job on his hands, towing the launch.
+      But the make-shift sail helped some and I did my best to steer in his
+      wake. Miss Colton and I had no opportunity to talk. The gentleman in the
+      dory kept up a running fire of remarks, shouted between grunts, and
+      embroidered with cheerful profanity. We caught fragments of the monologue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I swan to man&mdash;ugh&mdash;I thought ye was thieves, for sartin. Some
+      everlastin', dam&mdash;ugh&mdash;have been sneakin' out nights and haulin'
+      my lobster pots. Ugh&mdash;if I'd caught 'em I was cal'latin' to&mdash;ugh&mdash;break
+      their&mdash;ugh&mdash;ugh&mdash;This dory pulls like a coal barge&mdash;I&mdash;Wet
+      through, ain't ye? And froze, I cal'late&mdash;Ugh&mdash;and hungry, too&mdash;Ugh&mdash;ugh&mdash;My
+      old woman's tendin' light. She&mdash;ugh&mdash;Here we be! Easy now!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A low shore loomed black across our bows. Above it the lighthouse rose, a
+      white chalk mark against the sky with a red glare at its upper end. Mr.
+      Atwood sprang overboard with a splash. The launch was drawn in at the end
+      of its anchor rope until its keel grated on the sand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now then!&rdquo; said our rescuer. &ldquo;Here we be! Made harbor at last, though I
+      did think I'd crack my back timbers afore we done it. I'll tote the lady
+      ashore. You can wade, can't ye?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could and I was very glad of the opportunity. I turned to take Miss
+      Colton in my arms, but she avoided me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here I am, Mr. Atwood,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Oh, thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was swung into the air and moved shoreward to the accompaniment of
+      mighty splashings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be scart, ma'am,&rdquo; said Mr. Atwood. &ldquo;I shan't let ye drop. Lord
+      sakes! I've toted more women in my time than you can shake a stick at.
+      There's more da&mdash;that is, there's more summer folks try to land on
+      this island at low tide than there is moskeeters and there's more of them
+      than there's fiddles in&mdash;Hi! come on, you, Mr. What's-your-name!
+      Straight as you go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I came on wading through eelgrass and water until I reached a sandy beach.
+      A moment later we stood before a white door in a very white little house.
+      Mr. Atwood opened the door, revealing a cosy little sitting room and a
+      gray-haired, plump, pleasant-faced woman sitting in a rocking chair beside
+      a table with a lamp upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Betsy!&rdquo; bellowed our rescuer, stamping his wet rubber boots on the
+      braided mat. &ldquo;Got company come to supper&mdash;or breakfast, or whatever
+      you want to call it. This is Mr. Paine from Denboro. This is his wife,
+      Mrs. Paine. They've been cruisin' all the way from Cape Cod to Kamchatky
+      in a motor boat with no power to it. Don't that beat the Old Scratch,
+      hey?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The plump woman rose, without a trace of surprise, as if having company
+      drop in at three o'clock in the morning was nothing out of the ordinary,
+      and came over to us, beaming with smiles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm real glad to see you, Mrs. Paine,&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;And your husband,
+      too. You must be froze to death! Set right down while I fix up a room for
+      you and hunt up some dry things for you to put on. I won't be but a
+      minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before I could offer explanations, or do more than stammer thanks, and
+      rather incoherent ones at that, she had bustled out of the room. I caught
+      one glimpse of Mabel Colton's face; it was crimson from neck to brow.
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Paine!&rdquo; &ldquo;Your husband!&rdquo; I was grateful to the doughty Mr. Atwood,
+      but just then I should have enjoyed choking him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The light keeper, quite unaware that his unfortunate misapprehension of
+      the relationship between his guests might be embarrassing, was doing his
+      best to make us feel at home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take off your boots, Mr. Paine,&rdquo; he urged. &ldquo;The old lady'll fetch you a
+      pair of my slippers and some socks in a minute. She'll make your wife
+      comf'table, too. She's a great hand at makin' folks comf'table. I tell her
+      she'd make a cake of ice feel to home on a hot stove. She beats&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The &ldquo;old lady&rdquo; herself interrupted him, entering with a bottle in one hand
+      and a lamp in the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Joshua!&rdquo; she said, warningly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what is it, Betsy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be careful how you talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Talk!&rdquo; with a wink at me. &ldquo;I wan't goin' to say nothin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you was. Mrs. Paine, you mustn't mind him. He used to go mate on a
+      fishin' schooner and, from all I can learn, they use pretty strong
+      language aboard these boats.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pick it up same as a poll parrot,&rdquo; cut in her husband. &ldquo;Comes natural
+      when you're handlin' wet trawl line in February. Can't seem to get no
+      comfort out of anything milder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's a real good-hearted man, Joshua is, and a profession' church member,
+      but he does swear more'n he ought to. But, as I tell the minister, he
+      don't mean nothin' by it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a damn thing!&rdquo; said Mr. Atwood, reassuringly. The bottle, it
+      appeared, contained Jamaica ginger, a liberal dose of which Mrs. Atwood
+      insisted upon our taking as a precaution against catching cold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's nothin' better,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You bet there ain't!&rdquo; this from the lightkeeper. &ldquo;A body can't get within
+      forty fathoms of a cold with a swallow of that amidships. It's hotter than&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Joshua!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Fourth of July,&rdquo; concluded her husband, triumphantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now, Mrs. Paine,&rdquo; went on the lady of the house, &ldquo;your room's all
+      ready. I've laid out some dry things for you on the bed and some of
+      Joshua's, too. You and your husband&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I thought it high time to explain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The lady is not my wife,&rdquo; I said, quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She ain't! Why, I thought Joshua said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&mdash;er&mdash;made a mistake. She is Miss Colton, a summer resident
+      and neighbor of mine in Denboro.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sho! you don't say! That's just like you, Joshua!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just like me! Well, how'd I know? I beg your pardon, Miss, I'm sure.
+      Shan't beg your hus&mdash;I mean Mr. Paine's pardon; he ought to thank me
+      for the compliment. Haw! haw!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Colton herself made the next remark.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If my room is ready, Mrs. Atwood,&rdquo; she said,, without even a glance in my
+      direction, &ldquo;I think I will go to it. I AM rather wet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wet! Land sakes, yes! I guess you be! Come right in, Joshua, take them
+      clothes of yours into our room and let Mr. Paine put 'em on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her husband obeyed orders. After I was alone in the room to which he
+      conducted me and enjoying the luxury of dry socks, I heard him justifying
+      his mistake in stentorian tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn't help it, Betsy,&rdquo; I heard him say. &ldquo;I took it for granted they
+      was married. When I hove alongside that motor boat they was a-settin'
+      close up together in the stern sheets and so, of course, I thought&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You hadn't any business to. You made that poor young lady blush somethin'
+      dreadful. Most likely they're just keepin' company&mdash;or engaged, or
+      somethin'. You ought to be more careful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I wondered if the young lady herself heard all this. I didn't see how she
+      could help it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kinder-hearted people than these two never lived, I do believe. It was
+      after three in the morning, both had been up all night, we were absolute
+      strangers to them, and yet, without a word of complaint, they gave the
+      remainder of the hours before daylight to making us comfortable. When I
+      dressed as much of myself as a suit of Mr. Atwood's&mdash;his Sunday best,
+      I presume&mdash;would cover, and, with a pair of carpet slippers about the
+      size and shape of toy ferry boats on my feet, emerged from the bedroom, I
+      found the table set in the kitchen, the teapot steaming and Mrs. Atwood
+      cooking &ldquo;spider bread&rdquo; on the stove. When Miss Colton, looking
+      surprisingly presentable&mdash;considering that she, too, was wearing
+      borrowed apparel four sizes too large for her&mdash;made her appearance,
+      we sat down to a simple meal which, I think, was the most appetizing I
+      ever tasted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Atwoods were bursting with curiosity concerning our getting adrift in
+      the motor boat. I described the adventure briefly. When I told of Lute's
+      forgetfulness in the matter of gasolene the lightkeeper thumped the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, by godfreys!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;I could see it comin'! That feller's
+      for all the world like a cook I had once aboard the Ezry H. Jones. That
+      cook was the biggest numskull that ever drawed the breath of life. Always
+      forgettin' somethin', he was, and always at the most inconvenient time.
+      Once, if you'll believe it, I had a skipper of another vessel come aboard
+      and, wishin' to be sort of hospitable, as you might say, I offered him a
+      glass of rum.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Joshua!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it's all right, Betsy. This was years ago. I'm as good a teetotaler
+      now as you be, and I never was what you'd call a soak. But I've SEEN
+      fellers&mdash;Why, I knew one once that used to go to bed in the dark. He
+      was so full of alcohol he didn't dast to light a match fear he'd catch
+      a-fire. Fact! He was eighty-odd then, and he lived to be nigh a hundred.
+      Preserved, you understand, same as one of them specimens in a museum. He'd
+      kept forever, I cal'late, if he hadn't fell off the dock. The water fixed
+      him; he wasn't used to it. He was the wust&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind him. Stick to the cook.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes. Well, I sent that cook for the rum and when he fetched it, I
+      thought it smelt funny. And when I TASTED it&mdash;godfreys! 'Twas bay
+      rum; yes, sir, bay rum! same as they put on your hair. You see, he'd
+      forgot to buy any rum when we was in our last port and, havin' the bay rum
+      along he fetched that. 'Twas SOME kind of rum and that was enough for him.
+      I WAS mad, but that visitin' skipper, he didn't care. Drank it down and
+      smacked his lips. 'I'm a State of Maine man,' he says, 'and that's a
+      prohibition state. This tastes like home,' he says. 'If you don't mind
+      I'll help myself to another.' 'I don't mind,' says I, 'but I'm sorry I
+      ain't got any hair-ile. If I had you might have a barber-shop toddy.' Yes,
+      sir! Ho-ho! that's what I said. But he didn't mind. He was&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And so on. The yarns were not elegant, but, as he told them, they were
+      funny. Mabel Colton laughed as heartily as the rest of us. She appeared to
+      be in fine spirits. She talked with the Atwoods, answered their questions,
+      and ate the hot &ldquo;spider bread&rdquo; and butter as if she had never tasted
+      anything as good. But with me she would not talk. Whenever I addressed a
+      remark to her, she turned it with a laugh and her next speech was pretty
+      certain to be addressed to the lightkeeper or his wife. As for our
+      adventure in the launch, that she treated as a joke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wan't you awful scared when that squall struck so sudden?&rdquo; inquired Mrs.
+      Atwood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dreadfully.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; this from Joshua; &ldquo;I cal'late Mr. Paine was some scart too. What
+      did you do, Mr. Paine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I rigged that canvas on the oar as soon as possible,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. That was good judgment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me, Mr. Atwood,&rdquo; asked the young lady innocently, &ldquo;are all seafaring
+      men very dictatorial under such circumstances?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very&mdash;which?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean do they order people about and make them do all sorts of things,
+      whether they wish to or not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sartin. Godfreys! I never asked nobody what they wished aboard the Ezry
+      H. Jones.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And do they tell them to 'sit down and keep still'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gen'rally they tell 'em to get up and keep movin'. If they don't they
+      start 'em pretty lively&mdash;with a rope's end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see. Even when they are&mdash;ladies?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ladies? Godfreys! we never had but one woman aboard the Ezry. Had the
+      skipper's wife one v'yage, but nobody ever ordered her around any to speak
+      of. She was six feet tall and weighed two hundred. All hands was scart to
+      death of her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose she had been ordered to 'sit down and keep still'; what do you
+      think would have happened?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't know. If 'twas one of the hands I guess likely she'd have hove him
+      overboard. If 'twas the skipper I shouldn't wonder if she'd have knocked
+      him down&mdash;after she got over the surprise of his darin' to do such, a
+      thing. She had HIM trained, I tell ye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton thinks me rather a bully, I am afraid,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I did order
+      her about rather roughly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Atwood burst into a laugh. &ldquo;That Ezry Jones woman was the skipper's
+      wife,&rdquo; he declared. &ldquo;Makes a lot of diff'rence, that does. I was
+      considerable of a bully myself afore Betsy got me on the parson's books.
+      Now I'm the most peaceable critter ever you see. Your turn's comin', Miss
+      Colton. All you got to do is be patient.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Joshua!&rdquo; said Mrs. Atwood, in mild reproof. &ldquo;You mustn't mind his talk,
+      Miss Colton. He's a terrible joker.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Colton changed the subject. She did not so much as look at me again
+      during the meal and, after it was over, she went to her room, explaining
+      that she was very tired and would try to get a little sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had discovered that the lighthouse, being close to the mainland, was
+      equipped with a telephone. Now I begged permission to use it. I called up
+      Denboro and asked to be connected with the Colton home. I felt very sure
+      that there would be no sleep in the big house that night and I wished to
+      relieve their anxiety and to send word to Mother. Mr. Colton himself
+      answered my call.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I announced my identity and explained where I was and that his daughter
+      was in my care and perfectly safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God!&rdquo; was the fervent exclamation at the other end of the wire, and
+      the voice which uttered it was shaking with emotion. &ldquo;Stay where you are a
+      moment, Paine. Let me tell my wife. She is almost crazy. Hold the wire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I held the wire and waited. The next voice which reached my ears was Mrs.
+      Colton's. She asked a dozen questions, one after the other. Was Mabel
+      safe? Was I sure she was safe? Wasn't the poor child almost dead after all
+      she'd been through? What had happened? What was she doing away over there
+      in that dreadful place? Why had I taken her there?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I answered as well as I could, telling briefly of the collision in the fog
+      and what followed. The explanation appeared to be rather unsatisfactory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You take the wire, James,&rdquo; I heard the lady say. &ldquo;I can't make it all
+      out. Mabel is at some horrid lighthouse and there is no kerosene, or
+      something. The poor child! Alone there, with that man! Tell him she must
+      be brought home at once. It is dreadful for her! Think what she must have
+      suffered! And with HIM! What will people say? Tell him to bring her home!
+      The idea! I don't believe a word&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello&mdash;hello, Paine!&rdquo; Colton was at the 'phone once more. &ldquo;Can you
+      get Mabel&mdash;Miss Colton, over to Wellmouth, do you think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I will get a boat as soon as I can. Miss Colton is in her room,
+      asleep I hope. She is very tired and I think she should rest until
+      daylight. I will get her to Wellmouth in time for the morning train.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind the train. I'll come after her in the auto. I will start now.
+      I will meet you at the landing&mdash;at the wharf, if there is one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well. Will you be good enough to send word to my mother that I am
+      safe and sound? She will be worried.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, I'll send word. Tell Mabel to be careful and not take cold. . .
+      . Yes, Henrietta, I am attending to everything. Good-by, Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That was all, not a word of thanks. I did not expect thanks and I made
+      allowances for the state of mind at the mansion; but that telephone
+      conversation, particularly Mrs. Colton's share in it, cast a gloom over my
+      spirits. I did not care to hear more of Mr. Atwood's yarns and jokes. I
+      went to my own room, but I did not sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At half-past five I was astir again. The lightkeeper, it appeared, had an
+      auxiliary engine in a catboat which he owned and could let me have a
+      sufficient supply of gasolene to fill the Comfort's tank. When this was
+      done&mdash;and it took a long time, for Joshua insisted upon helping and
+      he was provokingly slow&mdash;I returned to the sitting room and asked
+      Mrs. Atwood to call Miss Colton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Land sakes!&rdquo; was the cheery answer, &ldquo;I didn't have to call her. She's
+      been up for fifteen minutes. Said she was goin' to take a cruise around
+      the lighthouse. I cal'late you'll find her out there somewheres. Go and
+      fetch her here. You two must have a bite&mdash;a cup of hot coffee and a
+      biled egg, anyhow&mdash;afore you leave. Yes, you must. I shan't listen to
+      a no from either of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I went out and crossed the sandy yard to the whitewashed lighthouse. There
+      was no sign of Miss Colton in the yard, but the door of the lighthouse was
+      open and I entered. No one there. The stairs, winding upward, invited me
+      to climb and I did so. The little room with the big lantern, the latter
+      now covered with a white cloth, was untenanted also. I looked out of the
+      window. There she was, on the iron gallery surrounding the top of the
+      tower, leaning on the rail and gazing out over the water. She had not
+      heard me. For a moment I stood there, watching her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was not wearing Mrs. Atwood's gown now, but her own, wrinkled and
+      stained from its last night's drenching in salt water, but dry now. She
+      was bareheaded and her brown hair was tossing in the sea breeze. The sun,
+      but a little way above the horizon and shining through the morning haze,
+      edged her delicate profile with a line of red gold. I had never seen her
+      look more beautiful, or more aristocratic and unapproachable. The memory
+      of our night in the launch seemed more like an unbelievable dream than
+      ever, and the awakening more cruel. For I was awake now. What I had heard
+      over the 'phone had awakened me thoroughly. There should be no more
+      dreaming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I stepped out upon the gallery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned quickly, and I heard her catch her breath with a little gasp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg pardon,&rdquo; said I; &ldquo;I'm afraid I startled you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was startled, that was evident, and, it seemed to me, a trifle
+      embarrassed. But the embarrassment was but momentary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;How very silent you can be when you choose, Mr.
+      Paine. How long have you been standing there, pray?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only a moment. I came to call you to breakfast.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To breakfast?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Mrs. Atwood insists upon our breakfasting before I take you ashore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Why didn't you call me? I would have come down.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not see you until I reached the lantern room. My silence was not
+      premeditated. I made noise enough, or so it seemed to me; but you were so
+      wrapped in your thoughts&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; She interrupted me almost sharply. &ldquo;I was not 'wrapped' in
+      anything, except the beauty of this view. It IS beautiful, isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very,&rdquo; I answered, but fear I was not looking at the view. It may be that
+      she noticed this, for she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have come into your own again, I see. So have I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She indicated her gown with a smile and a gesture. I laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I have returned unto Joshua that which was his.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should have kept it. You have no idea what a picturesque lightkeeper
+      you make, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Somehow or other this harmless joke hurt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I answered, drily, &ldquo;that is about my measure, I presume.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes twinkled. &ldquo;I thought the measure rather scant,&rdquo; she observed,
+      mischievously. &ldquo;I wish I might have a snap-shot of you in that&mdash;uniform.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid the opportunity for that is past.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it&mdash;&rdquo; with a little bubble of mirth, &ldquo;it was so funny.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No doubt. I am sorry I can't oblige you with a photograph.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at me, biting her lip.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is your bump of humor a dent, Mr. Paine?&rdquo; she inquired. &ldquo;I am afraid it
+      must be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may be right. I don't appreciate a joke as keenly as&mdash;well, as
+      Mr. Carver, for instance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned her back upon me and led the way to the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall we go to breakfast?&rdquo; she asked, in a different tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Breakfast was a silent meal, so far as we two were concerned. The Atwoods,
+      however, talked enough to make up the deficiency.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As we rose from the table the young lady turned to the lightkeeper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Atwood,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I presume you are going to be kind enough to take
+      me to Wellmouth?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Miss, I&mdash;I wan't cal'latin' to. Mr. Paine here, he's got all
+      the gas he needs now and he'll take you over in his launch.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! But you will go, if I ask you to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sartin sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have been so very kind that I dislike to ask another favor; but I
+      hoped you would send a telegram for me. My father and mother will be very
+      much alarmed and I must wire them at once. You will have to send it
+      'collect,' for,&rdquo; with a rueful smile, &ldquo;I haven't my purse with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Land sakes! that'll be all right. Glad to help you out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I put in a word. &ldquo;It will not be necessary,&rdquo; I said, impatiently. &ldquo;I have
+      money enough, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was ignored.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you so much, Mr. Atwood. You will come with me and look out for the
+      telegram?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Yes&mdash;yes. But I don't see what you need to send no telegram
+      for. Mr. Paine here, he telephoned to your folks last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at me and then at Joshua.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Last night?&rdquo; she repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why yes&mdash;or this mornin' after you'd gone to bed. He was dead set on
+      it. I could see he was 'most tired and wore out, but he wouldn't rest till
+      he'd 'phoned your folks and told 'em you was safe and sound. Didn't seem
+      to care nothin' about himself, but he was bound your pa and ma shouldn't
+      worry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;Your father is to meet us at the Wellmouth wharf.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why didn't you tell me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I intended to. I meant to tell you when I saw you in the lighthouse, but&mdash;I
+      forgot it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She said no more, but when Joshua, hat and boots on, met us at the door
+      she spoke to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You need not go, Mr. Atwood,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;It will not be necessary&mdash;now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Godfreys! I'd just as soon as not. Ruther, if anything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He hurried down to the beach. I was about to follow when a hand touched my
+      arm. I turned, to find a pair of brown eyes, misty but wonderful, looking
+      into mine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Miss Colton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't mention it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I shall. It was thoughtful and kind. I had forgotten, or&mdash;at
+      least&mdash;I took it for granted there was no 'phone here. But you did
+      not forget. It was thoughtful, but&mdash;it was like you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was breathing hard. I could not look at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't,&rdquo; I said, roughly. &ldquo;It was nothing. Anyone with common sense would
+      have thought of it and done it, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not. But you&mdash;Oh, it was like you! Always some one else and
+      never yourself. You were worn out. You must have been, after&mdash;&rdquo; with
+      a shudder&mdash;&ldquo;last night. Oh, I have so much to thank you for! I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on! Heave ahead!&rdquo; It was Mr. Atwood, bellowing from the beach. &ldquo;All
+      aboard for Wellmouth and pints alongshore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Betsy appeared in the door behind us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All ready, be you?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I could not have answered, but my companion was once more as calm and cool
+      as the morning itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All ready,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Good-by, Mrs. Atwood. And thank you over and
+      over again. You have been so kind.&rdquo; With a sudden flash of enthusiasm.
+      &ldquo;Every one is kind. It is a beautiful world. Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She ran lightly down the slope and I followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The trip to Wellmouth was of but a half hour's duration. Atwood talked all
+      the time. Miss Colton laughed at his stories and seemed to be without a
+      care. She scarcely looked at me during the passage, and if she caught me
+      looking at her and our glances met she turned away. On the wharf was a big
+      automobile, surrounded by a gaping crowd of small boys and 'longshore
+      loafers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We drew up beside the landing. Our feminine passenger sprang ashore and
+      ran up the steps, to be seized in her father's arms. Mrs. Colton was there
+      also, babbling hysterically. I watched and listened for a moment. Then I
+      started the engine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shove off,&rdquo; I ordered. The lightkeeper was astonished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ain't ye goin' ashore?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I answered, curtly. &ldquo;I'm going home. Shove off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The launch was fifty feet from the pier when I heard a shout. Colton was
+      standing on the wharf edge, waving his hand. Beside him stood his
+      daughter, her mother's arms about her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here! Paine!&rdquo; shouted Colton. &ldquo;Come back! Come back and go home with us
+      in the car. There is plenty of room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come back! Come back, Paine!&rdquo; he shouted again. Mrs. Colton raised her
+      head from her daughter's shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;James! James!&rdquo; she cautioned, without taking the trouble to lower her
+      voice, &ldquo;don't make a scene. Let him go in his dreadful boat, if he prefers
+      to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Paine!&rdquo; cried her husband again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must look out for the launch,&rdquo; I shouted. &ldquo;I shall be home almost as
+      soon as you are. Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I left the lightkeeper at his island. He refused to accept a cent from me,
+      except in payment for the gasolene, and declared he had had a &ldquo;fust-rate
+      night of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come and see us again, Mr. Paine,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Come any time and fetch your
+      lady along. She's a good one, she is, and nice-lookin', don't talk! You're
+      a lucky critter, did you know it? Haw! haw! Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Comfort never made better time than on that homeward trip. I anchored
+      her at her moorings, went ashore in the skiff, and hastened up to the
+      house. It was past ten o'clock and I would be over an hour late at the
+      bank. A fine beginning for my first day in charge of the institution!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dining-room door was open, but no one was in the dining-room. The
+      kitchen door, however, was shut and from behind it I heard Dorinda's
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can get right out of this house,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I don't care if you've
+      got a mortgage on the rest of the Cape! You ain't got one on this house,
+      and you nor nobody else shall stay in it and talk that way. There's the
+      door.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dorindy!&rdquo; wailed another voice&mdash;Lute's. &ldquo;You mustn't talk so&mdash;to
+      him! Don't you realize&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I realize that if I had a husband instead of a jellyfish I shouldn't have
+      to talk. Be still, you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A third voice made itself heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; it growled. &ldquo;I ain't anxious to stay here any longer than is
+      necessary. Bein' an honest, decent man, I'm ashamed to be seen here as it
+      is. But you can tell that low-lived sneak, Ros Paine, that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I opened the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may tell him yourself, Captain Dean,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XX
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      My unexpected entrance caused a sensation. Lute, sitting on the edge of
+      one of the kitchen chairs, an agonized expression on his face, started so
+      violently that he almost lost his balance. Dorinda, standing with her back
+      toward me, turned quickly. Captain Jedediah Dean, his hand on the knob of
+      the door opening to the back yard, showed the least evidence of surprise.
+      He did not start, nor did he speak, but looked at me with a countenance as
+      grim and set and immovable as if it had been cast in a mould.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute, characteristically enough, uttered the first word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By time!&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;It's Ros himself! Ros&mdash;Ros, you know what he
+      says?&rdquo; He pointed a shaking finger at the captain. &ldquo;He says you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep still!&rdquo; Dorinda struck her palms together with a slap, as if her
+      husband had been what she often called him, a parrot. Then, without
+      another glance in his direction, she stepped backward and took her stand
+      beside me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm real glad to see you home safe and sound, Roscoe,&rdquo; she said, calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Dorinda. Now, Captain Dean, I believe you were sending a
+      message to me just now. I am here and you can deliver it. What is it you
+      have to say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before he could answer Dorinda spoke once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lute,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you come along with me into the dinin'-room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but, Dorindy, I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You come with me. This ain't any of my business any more, and it never
+      was any of yours. Come! move!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute moved, but so slowly that his progress to the door took almost a full
+      minute. His wife paid no heed to the pleading looks he gave her and stood
+      majestically waiting until he passed her and crossed the sill. Then she
+      turned to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you want me, just speak,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I shall be in the dining-room.
+      There ain't no need for Comfort to know about this. She doesn't know that
+      you've been away and hasn't been worried at all. I'll look out for her.
+      Lute'll be with me, so you needn't fret about him, either.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She closed the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Captain Dean,&rdquo; I repeated, &ldquo;what is it you have to say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The captain's grim mouth twisted in a savage sneer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know what I'm goin' to say as well as I do,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Possibly, but you had better say it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It won't take me long. You've sold that Shore Lane land to Jim Colton,
+      ain't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My calm affirmative seemed to astonish him. I think he expected a denial.
+      His hand left the doorknob and he stepped toward me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;HAVE!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You don't even take the trouble to&mdash;You
+      have the face to stand there and tell me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He almost choked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Captain Dean,&rdquo; I interrupted, quickly, &ldquo;wait a moment. Listen to me. I
+      have sold Colton the land. I did not intend selling it at all, least of
+      all to him, but circumstances compelled me to change my mind. I did it
+      because I was obliged to. It is done. I am sorry I had to do it, but,
+      under the same conditions, I should do it again. I am not ashamed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He leaned forward, steadying himself with a hand upon the table, and
+      stared at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You ain't ashamed?&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;You ain't ashamed! Why, you&mdash;Didn't
+      you tell me you'd never sell that land? Didn't you promise me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not promise anything. At first I promised not to sell without
+      letting you know of my intention. Afterward I took back that promise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why did you sell? You said it wan't a question of price at all. You
+      made your brags that it wan't! To me, over and over, you made 'em. And
+      then you sneak off and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop! I did think it was not a question of price. Then I found out that
+      it was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He clenched his fist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Damn you!&rdquo; he shouted, furiously. &ldquo;You liar! You sneak! After I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is enough, Captain. This has gone far enough. I have sold the land&mdash;for
+      what seemed to me a good reason&mdash;and your calling me names will not
+      change the situation. I don't care to hear them. You had better go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;WHAT?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say you had better go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>I</i> go? You'll put me out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, certainly not. But there is nothing to be gained by a quarrel, and
+      so, for both our sakes, I think you had better go away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment I thought he would strike me. Then his fist fell heavily upon
+      the table. His lips were quivering like those of an infirm person. He
+      looked old, and I had never before considered him an old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What made you do it?&rdquo; he cried, desperately. &ldquo;What made you do it? Is it
+      all settled? Can't you back out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but why didn't you sell to me&mdash;to the town? If you had to
+      sell why didn't you do that? Why did you go to him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because he would pay me what I needed; because his price was higher than
+      any you or the town could offer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you know that? My heavens above! I'd have paid&mdash;I'd have
+      paid most anything&mdash;out of my own pocket, I would. I tell you this
+      meant everything to me. I'm gettin' along in years. I ain't been any too
+      well liked here in Denboro, and I knew it. You think that didn't make no
+      difference to me, maybe I pretended it didn't, but it did; by the
+      Almighty, it did! I intended for folks to be thankful to me for&mdash;I&mdash;Oh,
+      WHY did you do it, Ros?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook my head. I was sorry for him now&mdash;sorry and astonished. He
+      had given me a glimpse of the real Jedediah Dean, not the pompous,
+      loud-voiced town politician and boss, but the man desirous of fighting his
+      way into the esteem and liking of his neighbors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sorry, Captain,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;If I had known&mdash;if I had had time to
+      think, perhaps I might have acted differently. But I had no time. I found
+      that I must have the money which that land would bring and that I had to
+      have it immediately. So I went where I knew I could get it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Money? You needed money? Why didn't you come to me? I'd have lent it to
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, me. What do you cal'late I've been backin' you all this summer for?
+      What did I get you that job in my bank for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;YOU? George Taylor engaged me for that place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe so. But do you suppose he did it on his own hook? HE couldn't hire
+      you unless the directors said so and the directors don't say anything, the
+      majority of 'em, unless I say it first. <i>I</i> put the notion in
+      George's head. He didn't know it, but I did. And I put it in the
+      directors' heads, too. Ros Paine, I always liked you, though I did use to
+      think you was a gentleman loafer. There was a somethin' about you even
+      then, a kind of hands-off, mind your own business independence about you
+      that I liked, though I knew mighty well you never liked me. And after you
+      and me got together on this Lane thing I liked you more and more. You
+      could tell me to go to the devil as well as you could anybody else, and
+      I'll shake hands with a feller that'll do that. I always wanted a boy of
+      my own. Nellie's a good girl, no better afloat or ashore, but she is a
+      girl. George is a good feller, too, but somehow, or 'nother, I'd come to
+      think of you as the kind of son I'd have had, if the Almighty had give me
+      one. Oh, what did you do this for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could not answer. He had overwhelmed me. I never felt meaner or more
+      wicked. I had been ready to face him, ready for the interview with him
+      which I knew was inevitable and which I had foreseen, but not this kind of
+      an interview.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took his hand from the table and stood erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Money!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You wanted money. You must have wanted it bad. What did
+      you want it for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You had better. It's your only chance, I tell you that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't help it, Captain Dean. I can't tell you. I wish I could.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He regarded me in silence for a moment. Then: &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; he said,
+      solemnly. &ldquo;I'm through with you, Ros Paine. In one way I'm through with
+      you. In another I ain't. I cal'late you was figgerin' to go straight up to
+      the bank, as bold as brass, and set down at George Taylor's desk and draw
+      your wages like an honest man. Don't you ever dare set foot in that bank
+      again. You're fired! bounced! kicked out! Do you understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well; I understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will understand, whether you do now or not. Colton's got the Shore
+      Lane and you've got his dirty money in your pocket. He's paid you, but the
+      town ain't. The town you sold out ain't paid you&mdash;but I'm goin' to
+      see that it does. Ros Paine, I'm goin' to drive you out of Denboro.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned on his heel, strode to the door, went out, and slammed it behind
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I went back to the dining-room. Lute was nowhere in sight, but Dorinda was
+      standing by the mantel, dusting, as usual, where there was no dust. I did
+      not speak but walked toward the door leading to the stairs. Dorinda
+      stepped in front of me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe,&rdquo; she said, sharply, &ldquo;can he do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do it?&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can he give you your walkin' papers at that bank? Oh, I heard him! I
+      tried not to, but he hollered so I couldn't help it. That kitchen door
+      ain't much thicker'n a sheet of paper, anyhow. Can he do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess so. He seems to be boss of that institution.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But can't 'Lisha Warren or some of the other directors help you? Jed Dean
+      don't boss 'Lisha Warren&mdash;not much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shan't ask for help. Please don't trouble me, Dorinda.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I tried to pass her, but she would not permit it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shan't trouble you, Ros,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I guess you've got troubles enough
+      without me. But you let me ask you this: Are you goin' to let him drive
+      you out of town?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shrugged my shoulders. &ldquo;It may not take much driving,&rdquo; I announced,
+      listlessly, &ldquo;if it were not for Mother I should be only too glad to go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again I tried to pass, but this time she seized my arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe Paine,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;don't you talk like that. I don't want to hear
+      another word like that. Don't you let Jed Dean or nobody else drive you
+      out of Denboro. You ain't done nothin' to be ashamed of, have you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I sold that land to Mr. Colton. I don't know how Captain Jed found it
+      out, but it is true enough; I did exactly what he said I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Found out! He found out from somebody over to Ostable where the deed was
+      recorded, that is how he found out. He said so. But I don't care for that.
+      And I don't care if you sold the Lane ten times over. You didn't do it for
+      any mean or selfish reason, that I know. There ain't a selfish bone in
+      your body, Roscoe. I've lived along with you all these years and I know.
+      Nobody that was mean or selfish would give up their chances in life and
+      stay here in this one-hoss town because his ma was sick and had took a
+      notion that she couldn't bear to part with him. Don't you mind Jed Dean&mdash;pig-headed
+      old thing!&mdash;or anybody else in Denboro. Hold up your head and show
+      'em you don't care for the whole caboodle of 'em. Let 'em talk and act
+      like fools, if they want to. It comes natural to most of 'em, I cal'late,
+      and they'll be sorry some day. Don't you let 'em drive you out. They won't
+      come inside THIS house with their talk, not while I'm here, I tell you
+      that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes, behind the brass-rimmed spectacles, flashed fire. This was the
+      longest speech I had ever heard her make.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, Dorinda,&rdquo; I said, smiling, &ldquo;don't worry on my account. I'm not
+      worth it. And, whatever I do, I shall see that you and Lute are provided
+      for.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Instead of calming her this statement seemed to have the exactly opposite
+      effect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop it!&rdquo; she snapped. &ldquo;The idea! Do you suppose it's for myself I'm
+      talkin' this way to you? I guess 'tain't! My soul! I'll look out for
+      myself, and Lute, too, long's I'm able to walk; and when I can't walk
+      'twill be because I've stopped breathin'. It's for you I'm talkin', for
+      you and Comfort. Think of her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I sighed. &ldquo;I have been thinking of her, Dorinda,&rdquo; I declared. &ldquo;She doesn't
+      know a word about this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then tell her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't tell her my reason for selling, any more than I can tell you&mdash;or
+      Dean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell her what you can, then. Tell her as much of the truth as you can.
+      She'll say you done right, of course. Whatever you do is right to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I made no reply. She regarded me keenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;do you WANT to go somewheres else?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know, Dorinda. I might as well be here as anywhere, perhaps. I am
+      rather blue and discouraged just now, that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't blame you much. But bein' discouraged don't do any good. Besides,
+      it's always darkest just afore dawn, they say; anyhow, I've had that
+      preached to me ever since I was a girl and I've tried to believe it
+      through a good many cloudy spells. Roscoe, don't you let old Jed or
+      anybody DRIVE you out of Denboro, but, if you WANT to go&mdash;if you
+      think you'd ought to go, to earn money or anything, don't you worry about
+      leavin' Comfort. I'll look out for her as well as if she was my own.
+      Remember that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I laid my hand on hers. &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; I said, earnestly. &ldquo;Dorinda, you are
+      a good woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To my surprise the eyes behind the spectacles became misty. Tears in
+      Dorinda's eyes! When she spoke it was in, for her, a curiously hesitating
+      tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe,&rdquo; she faltered, &ldquo;I wonder if you'd be cross if I asked about what
+      wan't any of my business. I'm old enough to be your grandma, pretty nigh,
+      so I'm goin' to risk it. You used to be independent enough. You never used
+      to care for the town or anybody in it. Lately you've changed. Changed in a
+      good many ways. Is somethin' besides this Lane affair frettin' you? Is
+      somebody frettin' you? Are you worried about&mdash;that one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had caught me unawares. I felt the blood tingle in my cheeks. I tried
+      to laugh and made a failure of the attempt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That one?&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;I&mdash;Why, I don't understand, Dorinda.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you? Well, if you don't then I'm just talkin' silly, that's all. If
+      you do, I . . . . Humph! I might have known it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned like a shot and jerked the door open. There was a rattle, a
+      series of thumps, and a crash. Lute was sprawling upon the floor at our
+      feet. I gazed at him in open-mouthed astonishment. Dorinda sniffed
+      scornfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I might have known it,&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;Sittin' on the stairs there,
+      listenin', wan't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute raised himself to his knees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think,&rdquo; he panted, &ldquo;I&mdash;I swan! I shouldn't wonder if I'd broke my
+      leg!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm! Well, if you'd broke your neck 'twouldn't have been no more'n you
+      deserve. Shame on you! Sneakin' thing!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Dorindy, I&mdash;I wan't listenin'. I was just&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't talk to me. Don't you open your mouth. And if you open it to
+      anybody else about what you heard I'll&mdash;I declare I'll shut you up in
+      the dark closet and keep you there, as if you was three year old.
+      Sometimes I think your head ain't any older than that. Go right out of
+      this house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But where'll I go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't care where you go. Only don't let me set eyes on you till dinner
+      time. March!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute backed away as she advanced, waving both his hands and pleading and
+      expostulating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dorindy, I tell you . . . WHAT makes you so unlikely? . . . I was just .
+      . . All right then,&rdquo; desperately, &ldquo;I'll go! And if you never set eyes on
+      me again 'twon't be my fault. You'll be sorry then. If you never see me no
+      more you'll be sorry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll set eyes on you at dinner time. I ain't afraid of that. Git!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She followed him to the kitchen and then returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah hum!&rdquo; she sighed, &ldquo;it's pretty hard to remember that about darkest
+      just afore dawn when you have a burden like that on your shoulders to lug
+      through life. It's night most of the time then. Poor critter! he means
+      well enough, too. And once he was a likely enough young feller, though
+      shiftless, even then. But he had a long spell of fever three year after we
+      was married and he's never been good for much since. I try to remember
+      that, and to be patient with him, but it's a pretty hard job sometimes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She sighed again. I had often wondered how a woman of her sense could have
+      married Luther Rogers. Now she was telling me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never really cared for him,&rdquo; she went on, looking toward the door
+      through which the discomfited eavesdropper had made his exit. &ldquo;There was
+      somebody else I did care for, but he and I quarreled, and I took Luther
+      out of spite and because my folks wanted me to. I've paid for it since.
+      Roscoe,&rdquo; earnestly, &ldquo;Roscoe, if you care for anybody and she cares for
+      you, don't let anything keep you apart. If she's worth a million or fifty
+      cents that don't make any difference. It shouldn't be a matter of her
+      folks or your folks or money or pride or anything else. It's a matter for
+      just you and her. And if you love each other, that's enough. I tell you
+      so, and I know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was more astonished than ever. I could scarcely believe that this was
+      the dry, practical Dorinda Rogers who had kept house for Mother and me all
+      these years. And with my astonishment were other feelings, feelings which
+      warned me that I had better make my escape before I was trapped into
+      betraying that which, all the way home from Mackerel Island, I had been
+      swearing no one should ever know. I would not even admit it to myself,
+      much less to anyone else.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not look at Dorinda, and my answer to her long speech was as
+      indifferent and careless as I could make it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Dorinda,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I'll remember your advice, if I ever need
+      it, which isn't likely. Now I must go to my room and change my clothes.
+      These are too badly wrinkled to be becoming.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When I came down, after an absence of half an hour, she was sitting by the
+      window, sewing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Comfort's waitin' to see you, Roscoe,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I've told her all about
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;YOU'VE told her&mdash;what?&rdquo; I demanded, in amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About your sellin' the Lane and losin' your job, and so on. Don't look at
+      me like that. 'Twas the only common-sense thing to do. She'd heard old
+      Leather-Lungs whoopin' out there in the kitchen and she'd heard you and me
+      talkin' here in the dinin'-room. I hoped she was asleep, but she wan't.
+      After you went upstairs she called for me and wanted to know the whole
+      story. I told her what I knew of it. Now you can tell her the rest. She
+      takes it just as I knew she would. You done it and so it's all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe, is that you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Mother calling me. I went into the darkened room and sat down
+      beside the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She and I had much to say to each other. This time I kept back nothing,
+      except my reason for selling the land. I told her frankly that that reason
+      was a secret, and that it must remain a secret, even from her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hate to say that to you, Mother,&rdquo; I told her. &ldquo;You don't know how I
+      hate it. I would tell you if I could.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She pressed my hand. &ldquo;I know you would, Roscoe,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I am quite
+      content not to know. That your reason for selling was an honorable one,
+      that is all I ask.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was that, Mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sure of it. But,&rdquo; hesitatingly, &ldquo;can you tell me this: You did not
+      do it because you needed money&mdash;for me? Our income is the same as
+      ever? We have not met with losses?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Mother. Our income is the same that it has been for years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it was not because of me; because you felt that I should have those
+      'luxuries' you talk about so often? Oh, I don't need them, Roscoe I really
+      don't. I am&mdash;I scarcely dare say it for fear it may not be true&mdash;but
+      I THINK I am better than I have been. I feel stronger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know you are better, Mother. Doctor Quimby is very much encouraged.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he? I am so glad! For your sake, Boy. Perhaps the time will come when
+      I may not be your Old Man Of the Sea as I am now. But you did not sell the
+      land because of me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You did not sell it for yourself, that I know. I wonder . . . But, there!
+      I mustn't wonder, and I won't. Captain Dean was very angry and
+      unreasonable, Dorinda says. I suppose his pride is hurt. I'm afraid he
+      will make it unpleasant for you in the village.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He will do his best, I'm sure of that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You poor boy! As if you did not have enough to bear without that! He has
+      asked you to resign from the bank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I smiled. &ldquo;He has pitched me out, neck and crop,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I expected
+      that, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what will you do? Can't Mr. Taylor help you? Perhaps he will use his
+      influence with the captain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't need his influence, Mother. I took the place merely because of a
+      whim. Now that I have lost it I am no worse off than I was before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you enjoyed the work?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was only beginning to realize how much I had enjoyed it. I sighed,
+      involuntarily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother heard the sigh and the pressure of her hand on mine tightened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor boy!&rdquo; she said again. Then, after a moment, &ldquo;I wish I might talk
+      with Miss Colton about this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I started violently. What had put that idea in her head?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;Mother, whatever you do, don't speak to her&mdash;about
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? She has not called on us for some time, but she is interested in
+      you, I know. And perhaps her father could&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother, don't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was silent for an instant. Then she said, quietly. &ldquo;Boy, what is it?
+      Is there something else you haven't told me? Something about&mdash;her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; I stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't there? Are you sure?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I do not know what reply I should have made. Her question, coming so close
+      upon the heels of Dorinda's hints, upset me completely. Was it written
+      upon my face, for everyone to see? Did I look the incredible idiot that I
+      knew myself to be? For I did know it. In spite of my determination not to
+      admit it even in my innermost thoughts, I knew. I was in love with Mabel
+      Colton&mdash;madly, insanely, hopelessly in love with her, and should be
+      until my dying day. I had played with fire too long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before I could answer there came a knock at the door. It opened and
+      Dorinda's head appeared. She seemed, for her, excited.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's somebody to see you, Ros,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You'd better come out
+      soon's you can. He's in a hurry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Someone to see me,&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;Who is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda glanced at Mother and then at me. She did not so much as whisper,
+      but her lips formed a name. I rose from my chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother looked at me and then at Dorinda.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is it, Roscoe?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just a caller on a business matter,&rdquo; I answered, hurriedly. &ldquo;I'll be out
+      at once, Dorinda.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But who is it, Roscoe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Mr. Colton, Mother. He has probably come to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dorinda,&rdquo; Mother interrupted me, &ldquo;ask Mr. Colton to come in here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Mother&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ask him to come in here, Dorinda. I should like to meet him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Dorinda hesitated, but when Mother spoke in that tone none of us hesitated
+      long. She disappeared. A moment later the door opened wide and Colton
+      entered. The sudden transition from sunlight to semidarkness bewildered
+      him for a moment, doubtless, for he stood there without speaking. Dorinda,
+      who had ushered him in, went out and closed the door. I stepped forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning, Mr. Colton,&rdquo; I said, as calmly as I could. &ldquo;You have never
+      met my mother, I think. Mother, this is Mr. Colton, our neighbor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Colton turned toward the bed and murmured a few words. For once, I think,
+      he was startled out of his customary cool self-possession. And when Mother
+      spoke it seemed to me that she, too, was disturbed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe,&rdquo; she said, quickly, &ldquo;will you draw that window-shade a little
+      more? The light is rather strong. Thank you. Mr. Colton, I am very glad to
+      meet you. I have heard of you often, of course, and I have met your
+      daughter. She has been very kind to me, in many ways. Won't you sit down?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I drew forward a chair. Our visitor accepted it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Mrs. Paine,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I will sit. To be honest, I'm very glad
+      of the opportunity. I have been under the doctor's care for the past few
+      weeks and last night's performance is not the best sort of treatment for a
+      tender digestion. The doctor told me what I needed was rest and sleep and
+      freedom from care. I told him I probably shouldn't get the last item till
+      I was dead. As for the rest&mdash;and sleep&mdash;Humph!&rdquo; with a short
+      laugh, &ldquo;I wonder what he would have said if he had seen me last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother's face was turned away from him on the pillow. &ldquo;I am sorry to hear
+      that you have been ill, Mr. Colton,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ill! I'm not ill. I have never been sick in my life and I don't propose
+      to begin now. If the crowd in New York would let me alone I should be all
+      right enough. There is a deal on there that is likely to come to a head
+      pretty soon and my people at the office are nervous. They keep 'phoning
+      and telegraphing and upsetting things generally. I'll have to run over
+      there myself in a day or two and straighten it out. But there! I didn't
+      come here to worry you with my troubles. I feel as if I knew you, Mrs.
+      Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Knew me? Knew ME, Mr. Colton?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I have never had the pleasure of meeting you before, but my daughter
+      has spoken of you often. She is a great admirer of yours. I won't tell you
+      all the nice things she has said about you, for she has probably said them
+      to you or to your son, already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should be very proud of your daughter, Mr. Colton. She is a charming
+      girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks. Just among us three I'll admit, in confidence, that I think
+      you're right. And I'll admit, too, that you have a pretty good sort of a
+      son, Mrs. Paine. He is inclined to be,&rdquo; with a glance in my direction, &ldquo;a
+      little too stubborn and high-principled for this practical world, but,&rdquo;
+       with a chuckle, &ldquo;he can be made to listen to reason, if you give him time
+      enough. That is so, isn't it, Paine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not answer. Mother spoke for me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not sure that I understand you, Mr. Colton,&rdquo; she said, quietly. &ldquo;I
+      presume you are referring to the sale of the land. I do not know why
+      Roscoe changed his mind in that matter, but I do know that his reason was
+      a good one, and an honest one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He hasn't told it to you, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. But I know that he thought it right or he never would have sold.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I broke in here. I did not care to hear my own praises.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you call to discuss the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton?&rdquo; I inquired. &ldquo;I
+      thought that affair settled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is. No, I didn't come to discuss that. Mrs. Paine, I don't know why
+      your son sold me that land, but I'm inclined to think, like you, that he
+      wouldn't have done it unless he thought it was right. I know mighty well
+      he wasn't afraid of me. Oh, you needn't laugh, young man. There ARE people
+      in that fix, plenty of 'em. No, I didn't come to talk 'Lane.' That bird is
+      dead. I came, first of all, to thank you for what you did for my daughter
+      last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother turned her head and looked at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For your daughter? Last night? Roscoe, what does he mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, Mother, nothing,&rdquo; I said, hastily. &ldquo;I was unlucky enough to run
+      the Comfort into Miss Colton's canoe in the bay yesterday afternoon in the
+      fog. Fortunately I got her into the launch and&mdash;and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And saved her from drowning, then and a dozen times afterward. He hasn't
+      told you, Mrs. Paine? No, I can see that he hasn't. All right, I will.
+      Paine, if your ingrowing modesty won't stand the pressure you had better
+      leave the room. This is about what happened, Mrs. Paine, as Mabel tells
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I tried to prevent him, but it was no use. He ignored me altogether and
+      went on to tell of the collision in the fog, the voyage across the bay,
+      and my telephone from the lighthouse. The story, as he told it, magnified
+      what he called my coolness and common-sense to a ridiculous extent. I lost
+      patience as I listened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton,&rdquo; I interrupted, &ldquo;this is silly. Mother, the whole affair was
+      more my fault than my good judgment. If I had anchored when it first
+      happened we should have been home in an hour, instead of drifting all
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why didn't you anchor, then?&rdquo; asked Colton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I stopped short. I could not tell him why I did not anchor. He laughed
+      aloud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's all right,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I guess Mabel's story is near enough to the
+      truth for all practical purposes. Mrs. Paine,&rdquo; with a sudden change to
+      seriousness, &ldquo;you can understand why I have come here this morning. If it
+      had not been for your son's pluck, and cool head, and good judgment I&mdash;Mrs.
+      Colton and I might have been&mdash;God knows in what state we might have
+      been to-day! God knows! I can't think of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His voice trembled. Mother put out a hand and took mine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;Roscoe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I came to thank him,&rdquo; went on our visitor. &ldquo;This isn't the first time
+      he has done something of the sort. It seems almost as if he&mdash;But
+      never mind that. I'm not going to be foolish. Your son and I, Mrs. Paine,
+      have been fighting each other most of the summer. That's all right. It was
+      a square fight and, until this newest freak of his&mdash;and he has got me
+      guessing as to what it means&mdash;I admit I thought he was quite as
+      likely to lick me as I was to lick him. I've watched him pretty closely
+      and I am a pretty fair judge of a man, I flatter myself. Did he tell you
+      that, a while ago, I offered him a place in my office?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In your office? You offered him that? No, he did not tell me. Roscoe!&rdquo;
+       reproachfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not tell you, Mother, because it was not worth while. Of course I
+      could not accept the offer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She hesitated and, before she spoke, Colton broke in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? That was what you were going to say, Mrs. Paine, I take it. That
+      is what <i>I</i> said&mdash;why not? And I say it again. Paine, that offer
+      is still open.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook my head. &ldquo;I told you then that I could not accept,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;It is
+      impossible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why is it impossible? So far as I am concerned I believe you would be a
+      mighty good investment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Impossible,&rdquo; I said again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing is impossible. We won't waste words. I am going to be plain and I
+      think Mrs. Paine will excuse me. You think you should not leave your
+      mother, perhaps. I understand that reason. It would be a good one, except
+      that&mdash;well, that it isn't good any longer. Your mother is much better
+      than she was. Quimby&mdash;her doctor and mine&mdash;says so. I shall see
+      that she is well looked after. If she needs a nurse she shall have one,
+      the best we can get. Oh, be still and let me finish! You can talk
+      afterward. You're not going so far away. New York isn't the end of the
+      earth; it is only the center, or it thinks it is. You'll be in close touch
+      with Denboro all the time and you can come here whenever you want to. Now
+      will you take my offer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Young man, if I didn't know there were brains inside that head of yours I
+      should think it was, as the boys say, solid ivory. Confound you! Here,
+      Mrs. Paine,&rdquo; turning to Mother, &ldquo;you take him in hand. Tell him he must
+      come with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother&mdash;&rdquo; I protested. He cut my protest short.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell him,&rdquo; he ordered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mother looked at me. &ldquo;I think, perhaps, you should accept, Roscoe,&rdquo; she
+      said, slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Accept! Mother!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I&mdash;I think you should. I am sure everyone else would think so.
+      I should not wish you to do so if Mr. Colton was merely trying to be kind,
+      to help you from motives of gratitude, or charity&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't use that word, please,&rdquo; snapped &ldquo;Big Jim.&rdquo; &ldquo;When I lose my mind I
+      may take to charity, but not before. Charity! Good Lord!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it is not charity. I am better, Roscoe; I realize it every day; and
+      with Dorinda I shall get on perfectly well. I have been thinking of
+      something like this for a long time. You owe it to yourself, Roscoe. The
+      chance is one that many men would be very, very glad to have come their
+      way. I shall not urge you, Boy. You must decide for yourself, and I know
+      you will; but, Roscoe, I shall be quite contented&mdash;yes, glad and
+      proud, if you say yes to Mr. Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The gentleman named nodded emphatic approval. &ldquo;That's the talk!&rdquo; he
+      exclaimed. &ldquo;Mrs. Paine, I congratulate you on your common-sense.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think, like you, that you will have made a good investment, Mr.
+      Colton,&rdquo; was Mother's answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I rose to my feet. This must be ended now, for all time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you, Mr. Colton,&rdquo; I said, though not as steadily as I could have
+      wished. &ldquo;I am greatly obliged to you and I realize that you offer me an
+      exceptional opportunity, or what would be one for another man. But I
+      cannot accept.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Paine! I'll speak plainer still. I understand that that Shore
+      Lane trade of ours has become common property, or, at any rate, it will be
+      common property soon. If I see the situation clearly, Denboro is likely to
+      be a rather unpleasant place for you. That fellow Dean has a lot of
+      influence here&mdash;heaven knows why!&mdash;and he hates me worse than
+      Old Nick hates holy water. Oh, I know you're not afraid of him! But what
+      is the use of taking the rough road when the smooth one is right before
+      your feet? Say yes, and let's end it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said I, stubbornly. &ldquo;No, Mr. Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean it? Very well, I leave you in your Mother's hands. She will
+      probably bring you to your senses before long. Mrs. Paine, you can handle
+      him, I have no doubt. I am glad to have met you, and, with your
+      permission, I shall call on you again. So will Mabel. As for you, young
+      man, I thank you for last night's work. You will, perhaps, accept thanks
+      if you refuse everything else. Good morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose, bowed, and walked to the door. As he opened it he staggered,
+      perceptibly. I thought, for an instant, that he was going to fall, and I
+      sprang to his assistance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all right,&rdquo; he said, gruffly. &ldquo;This digestion of mine sets my head
+      spinning sometimes. That doctor says I shall upset completely unless I
+      rest. I told him he was a fool and I intend to prove it. Let me be. I can
+      walk, I should hope. When I can't I'll call the ambulance&mdash;or the
+      hearse. I'll find the way out, myself. Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door closed behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe,&rdquo; said Mother, quickly, &ldquo;come here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I turned toward her. She was looking at me with a strange expression.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it, Mother?&rdquo; I asked, anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Roscoe,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;I know him. I have met him before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Know him! You have met Mr. Colton&mdash;before? Where?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At our home in the old days. He came there once with&mdash;with your
+      father. He was our guest at dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could scarcely believe it. Then, as the thought of what this might mean
+      flashed to my mind, I asked anxiously:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did he know you, do you think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I am sure he did not. We met but once and I have,&rdquo; with a little
+      sigh, &ldquo;changed since then. But I recognized him. The name of Colton was
+      familiar to me when you first mentioned it, some time ago, but I did not
+      remember where I had heard it. Of course, I did not connect this Mr.
+      Colton with&mdash;that one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I frowned. This complicated matters still more, and further complications
+      were superfluous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, knowing this, knowing that he might recognize you at any time, you
+      urged me to accept his offer,&rdquo; I said, reproachfully. &ldquo;Mother!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother, how can you? Would you have me go to New York and enter a banking
+      house where, any hour of any day, I might be recognized by some of the men
+      I once knew? Where I might expect at any moment to be called by my real
+      name? How can you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gazed at me earnestly. &ldquo;Why not tell him, Roscoe?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I stared at her, aghast. &ldquo;Tell him!&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;Tell him who I am? Tell
+      him our story, the story that&mdash;Mother, are you crazy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I believe I am sane, at least. I have been thinking a great deal of
+      late. As I have been growing stronger I have been thinking more and more
+      and I am not sure that you and I have been right in hiding here as we have
+      done. It was all my fault, I know, but I was weak and&mdash;and I dreaded
+      all the gossip and scandal. But, Boy, it was a mistake. After all, we have
+      done no wrong, you and I&mdash;we, personally, have nothing to be ashamed
+      of. Why not end all this? Go to Mr. Colton, tell him who you are, tell him
+      our story; then, if he still wants you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I interrupted. &ldquo;No, Mother,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;no, no! It is impossible. Even if he
+      knew, and it made no difference, I could not do it. I may go away! I may
+      feel that I must go, if you are well enough for me to leave you, but I can
+      not go with him. I ought not to see him again. I must not see HER. . . . .
+      Oh, don't you understand? Mother, I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She understood. I had seized her hand and now she stroked it gently with
+      her own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So it is true,&rdquo; she said, quietly. &ldquo;You love her, Roscoe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes! yes! yes!&rdquo; I answered, desperately. &ldquo;Oh, don't speak of it, Mother!
+      I am insane, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does she care for you, Boy? Have you spoken to her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MOTHER! Is it likely?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I think she does care, Roscoe. I think she does. She must.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was so characteristic that, although I was in anything but a laughing
+      mood, I could not help smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How could she help it? I presume you mean,&rdquo; I observed, sarcastically.
+      &ldquo;There, Mother, don't worry. I did not intend that you or anyone else
+      should know what an idiot I am, but don't worry&mdash;I shan't do anything
+      ridiculous or desperate. I may go somewhere, to get away from Denboro, and
+      to earn a living for you and me, but that is all. We won't speak of her
+      again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But if she does care, Boy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If she does&mdash;Of course, she doesn't&mdash;but, if she does, can't
+      you see that only makes it worse? Think who she is and who and what I am!
+      Her family&mdash;Humph! you have not met her mother; I have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But if she loves you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think I should permit her to ruin her life&mdash;for me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor boy! I am SO sorry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is all right, Mother. There! we won't be foolish any longer. I am
+      going for a walk and I want you to rest. I am glad, we have had this talk;
+      it has done me good to speak what I have been thinking. Good-by. I will be
+      back soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She would have detained me, but I broke away and went out. My walk was a
+      long one. I tramped the beach for eight long miles and, though one might
+      think that my adventures of the night before had provided exercise enough,
+      this additional effort seemed to do no harm. I forgot dinner entirely and
+      supper was on the table when I returned to the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I found Dorinda in a condition divided between anxiety and impatience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you seen anything of that man of mine?&rdquo; she demanded. &ldquo;I ain't seen
+      hide nor hair of him since I pitched him out of this room this mornin'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was surprised and a little disturbed. I remembered Lute's threat about
+      &ldquo;never seein' me no more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't suppose he has run away, or anything like that, do you?&rdquo; I
+      asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He wouldn't run far; runnin's too much like work. But why he wan't home
+      for dinner I don't understand. I never knew him to miss a meal's vittles
+      afore. I hope nothin' ain't happened to him, that's all. Well, we'll have
+      our supper, anyhow. After that we'll see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But we did not have to see. We were at the table when we heard the sound
+      of hurrying footsteps on the walk. The gate closed with a bang. Dorinda
+      rose from her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I swan! I believe that's him now!&rdquo; she exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If it is, he is certainly running this time,&rdquo; I observed. &ldquo;What&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door was thrown open and the missing member of the household appeared.
+      He was red-faced and panting, but there was a curious air of dignified
+      importance in his bearing. Dorinda's lips shut tightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Lute,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;where have you been?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute struggled for breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't ask me where I've been!&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;Don't waste no time askin' ME
+      questions. Get your hat on, Ros! Get your hat on this minute! Where did I
+      put that? Where in time did I put it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was fumbling in his pockets. Dorinda and I looked at each other. She
+      shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's gone stark foolish at last!&rdquo; she said, with decision. &ldquo;Well, I've
+      been expectin' it! Lute Rogers, stop pawin' yourself over and act
+      sensible, if you can. What is the matter with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Matter with me! Nothin's the matter with ME; but there's somethin' the
+      matter with other folks, I tell you that! Doctor Quimby's been there twice
+      already, and the telephone's been goin', and&mdash;and&mdash;My time! you
+      ought to seen her face! 'Twas just as white as&mdash;as&mdash;WHERE did I
+      put that letter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His &ldquo;pawing&rdquo; became more frantic than ever. His wife stepped forward and
+      seized him by the arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop it, I tell you!&rdquo; she commanded. &ldquo;Stop it! Who's sick? Whose
+      telephone's ringin'? What letter are you talkin' about? Answer me! Stop
+      that Saint Vitus dancin' and answer me this minute!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave him a shake and his cap fell to the floor. From it fell an
+      envelope. Lute pulled himself free and pounced upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There 'tis!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;By time! I was scart I'd lost it! Read it,
+      Ros! read it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He handed me the envelope. It bore my name. I tore it open&mdash;took out
+      the sheet of notepaper which it inclosed, and read as follows:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Mr. Paine:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father is very ill, and I am in great trouble. I think you, perhaps, can
+      help us both. Will you come over at once? PLEASE do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hastily yours,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MABEL COLTON.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And&mdash;and&mdash;&rdquo; panted Lute, &ldquo;she told me to tell you to please
+      hurry. And you'd ought to seen her face! She&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard no more. I did not wait to get my hat, as the excited bearer of
+      the note had urged me to do. Bareheaded, I hurried out of the dining-room
+      and along the path toward the Colton mansion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXI
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It was early in the evening, but the big house was lighted as if for a
+      reception; lights in the rooms above, lights in the library and hall and
+      drawing-room. Doctor Quimby's horse and buggy stood by one of the hitching
+      posts and the Colton motor car was drawn up by the main entrance. From the
+      open windows of the servants' quarters came the sounds of excited voices.
+      I hastened to the front door. Before I could push the button of the
+      electric bell the door was opened. Johnson, the butler, peered out at me.
+      Most of his dignity was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it you, Mr. Paine?&rdquo; he asked, anxiously. &ldquo;Come in, sir, please. Miss
+      Mabel has been asking for you not a minute ago, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I entered the hall. &ldquo;What is it, Johnson?&rdquo; I asked, quickly. &ldquo;How is Mr.
+      Colton?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The butler looked behind him before replying. He shook his head dubiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's awful ill, sir,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;The doctor's been with him for an
+      hour; 'e's unconscious and Mrs. Colton is takin' on something terrible.
+      It's awful, sir, ain't it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His nervousness was sufficient indication of the general demoralization of
+      the household. And from one of the rooms above came the sobs of a
+      hysterical woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Brace up, man,&rdquo; I whispered in reply. &ldquo;This is no time for you to go to
+      pieces. Where is Miss Colton?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She's with her father, sir. Step into the library and I'll call her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was not obliged to call her, for, at that moment, I heard her voice
+      speaking from the head of the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is it, Johnson?&rdquo; she asked, in a low tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Mr. Paine, Miss Mabel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard a little exclamation, of relief it seemed to me. Then she
+      appeared, descending the staircase. Her face was, as Lute had said, pale,
+      but her manner was calm, much calmer than the butler's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She came to me and extended her hand. &ldquo;Thank you for coming,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I
+      was sure you would.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is your father, Miss Colton?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is no worse. Come into the library, please. Johnson, if Mother or the
+      doctor need me, I shall be in the library. Come, Mr. Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      We entered the library together. The room in which I had had my two
+      memorable encounters with &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; Colton was without its dominant figure
+      now. His big armchair was drawn up beside the table and the papers and
+      writing materials were in the place where I had seen them. A half-burned
+      cigar lay in the ash tray. But the strong fingers which had placed it
+      there were weak enough now and the masterful general of finance was in his
+      room upstairs fighting the hardest battle of his life, fighting for that
+      life itself. A door at the end of the library, a door which I had not
+      noticed before, was partially open and from within sounded at intervals a
+      series of sharp clicks, the click of a telegraph instrument. I remembered
+      that Colton had told me, in one of his conversations, that he had both a
+      private telephone and telegraph in his house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Colton closed the door behind us, and turned to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you for coming,&rdquo; she said, again. &ldquo;I need help and I could think of
+      no one but you. You have hurried dreadfully, haven't you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was looking at my forehead. I caught a glimpse of my face in the
+      mirror above the mantel and reached for my handkerchief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must have run every step of the way,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I didn't realize it.
+      But never mind that. Tell me about your father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was taken ill soon after he returned from your house. He was in the
+      library here and I heard him call. When I reached him he was lying upon
+      the couch, scarcely able to speak. He lost consciousness before we could
+      get him to his room. The doctor says it is what he has feared, an attack
+      of acute indigestion, brought on by anxiety and lack of rest. It was my
+      fault, I am afraid. Last night's worry&mdash;Poor Father!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For just a moment I feared she was going to break down. She covered her
+      eyes with her hand. But she removed it almost immediately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The doctor is confident there is no great danger,&rdquo; she went on. &ldquo;Danger,
+      of course, but not the greatest. He is still unconscious and will be for
+      some time, but, if he is kept perfectly quiet and not permitted to worry
+      in the least, he will soon be himself again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God for that!&rdquo; I exclaimed, fervently. &ldquo;And your mother&mdash;Mrs.
+      Colton&mdash;how, is she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her tone changed slightly. I inferred that Mrs. Colton's condition was
+      more trying than serious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mother is&mdash;well, in her nervous state any shock is disturbing. She
+      is bearing the anxiety as well as we should expect.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I judged that not much was expected.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was not on account of Father's illness that I sent for you, Mr.
+      Paine,&rdquo; she went on. &ldquo;If he had not been ill I should not have needed you,
+      of course. But there is something else. It could not have happened at a
+      more unfortunate time and I am afraid you may not be able to give me the
+      help I need. Oh, I hope you can! I don't know what to do. I know it must
+      be dreadfully important. Father has been troubled about it for days. He
+      has been saying that he must go to New York. But the doctor had warned us
+      against his going and so we persuaded him to wait. And now . . . sit down,
+      please. I want to ask your advice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I took the chair she indicated. She drew another beside me and seated
+      herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Paine&mdash;&rdquo; she began. Then, noticing my expression, she asked,
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;nothing except&mdash;Isn't that the telegraph
+      instrument I hear? Isn't someone calling you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, it is Mr. Davis, Father's confidential man, his broker, in New
+      York. He is trying to get us, I am sure. He telephoned an hour ago. I got
+      a part of his message and then the connection was broken off. Central says
+      there is something the matter with the wire, a big storm in Connecticut
+      somewhere. It may take a whole day to repair it. And it is SO important!
+      It may mean&mdash;I don't know WHAT it may mean! Oh, Mr. Paine, DO you
+      know anything about stocks?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at her blankly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stocks?&rdquo; I repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes,&rdquo; a trifle impatiently. &ldquo;Stocks&mdash;the stock market&mdash;railroad
+      shares&mdash;how they are bought and sold&mdash;do you know anything about
+      them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was more puzzled than ever, but I answered as best I could.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A very little,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;I used to know a good deal about them once,
+      and, of late, since I have been in the Denboro bank, my knowledge has been
+      brushed up a bit. But I am afraid it is pretty fragmentary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know anything about Louisville and Transcontinental?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I started. Louisville and Transcontinental was the one stock about which I
+      did know something. Of late I had read everything the papers printed
+      concerning it. It was the stock in which George Taylor had risked so much
+      and which had come so near to ruining him. No wonder I was startled. Why
+      did she mention that particular stock?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo; I stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Louisville and Transcontinental,&rdquo; she repeated, eagerly. &ldquo;DO you know
+      anything about it? Why do you look at me like that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I must be careful. It was not possible that she could have learned
+      George's secret. No one knew that except George himself, and his brokers,
+      and I. Yet&mdash;yet why did she ask that question? I must be on my guard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not realize that I was looking at you in any extraordinary way,
+      Miss Colton,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you were. Why? Do you know anything about it? If you do&mdash;oh, if
+      you do you may be able to help me, to advise me! And, for Father's sake, I
+      want advice so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For her father's sake! That did not sound as if her question concerned
+      George or me. A trifle reassured, I tried to remember something of what I
+      had read.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know, of course,&rdquo; I answered, slowly, &ldquo;what every one knows, that the
+      California and Eastern has been, or is reported to have been, trying to
+      get control of the L. and T. Its possession would give the California
+      people the balance of power and mean the end of the present rate war with
+      the Consolidated Pacific. The common stock has fluctuated between 30 and
+      50 for months and there have been all sorts of rumors. So much the
+      newspapers have made common property. That is all I know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You did not know then that Father and his associates control the
+      California and Eastern?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I leaned back in my chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I did not know that. Then your father&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father tells me a great deal concerning his business affairs. I have been
+      very much interested in this. It seems almost like a great war and as if
+      Father were a general. He and his associates have gradually bought up the
+      C. and E. until they practically own it. And they have been working to get
+      the Louisville road. Last winter, you remember, there was a great
+      excitement and the stock went up and then down again. That was when it
+      looked as if the other side&mdash;the Consolidated Pacific&mdash;had
+      beaten Father, but they had not. You remember that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I remembered it. That is to say, George had told me of the rise and fall
+      of the stock. It was then that he had bought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I remember something of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If Father had stayed in New York he would have won before this. Oh,&rdquo; with
+      a burst of pride, &ldquo;they can NEVER beat him when he is leading the fight
+      himself! He has, through his brokers, been selling&mdash;what do they call
+      it? Oh, yes, selling the Louisville stock 'short' ever since. I am not
+      sure just what that means, but perhaps you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I do,&rdquo; I answered, thoughtfully. &ldquo;He has been selling, quietly,
+      so as to force the stock down, preparatory to buying in. I remember the
+      papers have said that the C. and E. were reported as having lost interest
+      in the Louisville. That was only a blind, I presume.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Father never gives up, you know that. But he was very anxious that
+      the Consolidated Pacific people should think he had. And now&mdash;now,
+      when he is so ill&mdash;comes this! Mr. Davis telephoned that&mdash;Yes,
+      what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There had been a knock at the door. It opened and the butler appeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A telegram for Mr. Colton, Miss Mabel,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give it to me. Tell the man to wait, Johnson. It is from Mr. Davis,&rdquo; she
+      exclaimed, turning to me. &ldquo;I am sure it is. Yes. See!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She handed me the yellow telegram. I read the following aloud:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;James W. Colton,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Denboro, Mass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Galileo potato soap currency tomato deeds command army alcohol thief
+      weather family&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What on earth&mdash;!&rdquo; I exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is in the code, Father's private code. Don't you see? The code book
+      is here somewhere. I must find it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was rummaging in the drawer of the desk. With a sigh of relief she
+      produced a little blue leather-covered book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here it is,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Now read me the telegram and I will write the
+      translation. Hurry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I read again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Galileo'&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That means 'Consolidated Pacific'. Go on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It took us five minutes to translate the telegram. When we had finished
+      the result was:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Consolidated Pacific crowd wise situation. Strong buying close market
+      to-day. Expect worse to-morrow. We are bad shape. Can deliver only part.
+      Sure big advance opening and more follow. What shall I do? Why do not you
+      answer private telegraph line? Telephone out order. Wire instructions
+      immediately. Better still come yourself. Davis.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that all?&rdquo; asked Miss Colton. &ldquo;What answer shall we make?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait. Wait, please, until I dig some sort of sense out of all this. 'Wise
+      situation'&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wise TO situation, I presume that means. The Consolidated Pacific is wise
+      to the situation. 'Wise' is slang, isn't it? It used to be at college.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is yet, even in Denboro. Humph! let me think. 'Sure big advance
+      opening.' I suppose that means the market will open with Louisville and
+      Transcontinental at a higher figure and that the price is sure to advance
+      during the day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Yes, it must mean that. But why should Mr. Davis be so excited about
+      it? He said something about 'ruin' over the 'phone. What does 'We are bad
+      shape' mean? And 'Can deliver only part'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know . . . unless . . . Humph! If we had some particulars. Why
+      don't you answer on the private telegraph, as he says?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I can't. Don't you see? I can't. There is no telegraph operator
+      in the house. When we first came Father had a secretary, who could use the
+      telegraph; but he sent him back to New York. Said he was sick of the sight
+      of him. They did not get on well together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But your father must have used the telegraph since.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Father used it himself. He was a telegraph operator when he was a
+      young man. Oh, you don't know what a wonderful man my father is! His story
+      is like something in a book. He&mdash;But never mind that. Hark! there is
+      the instrument going again. It must be dreadfully important. Mr. Davis is
+      so worried.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He seems to be, certainly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what shall we do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish I knew, but I don't. You know nothing of the particulars?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Nothing more than I have told you. Oh, CAN'T you help me? I feel
+      somehow as if Father had left me in charge of his affairs and as if I must
+      not fail. Now, when he is helpless! when he is . . . Oh, can't YOU do
+      something, Mr. Paine? I thought you might. You are a banker.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A poor imitation only, I am afraid. Let me think. Did you tell this man
+      Davis of your father's illness?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I thought perhaps Father would not wish it. And I had no opportunity
+      . . . Oh, dear! there is someone at the door again! Who is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Johnson's voice replied. &ldquo;It is me, Miss Mabel,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The telegraph
+      person says he can't wait any longer. He 'asn't 'ad his supper. And there
+      is a twenty-five-cent charge for bringing the message, Miss.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell him he must wait a minute longer,&rdquo; I answered, for her. &ldquo;Miss
+      Colton, it seems to me that, whether we can do anything or not, we should
+      know the particulars. Tell that man&mdash;Phineas Cahoon, the depot
+      master, I suppose it is&mdash;that there is an answer and he must wait for
+      it. Now let's consult that code.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She took the code book and I picked up a sheet of paper and a pencil from
+      the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We must ask him to send all the particulars,&rdquo; I declared. &ldquo;Look up 'send'
+      in the code, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was turning the pages of the little book when the butler knocked once
+      more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He says he can't send any message until morning, Miss Mabel. The
+      telegraph office closes at eight o'clock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The code book fell to the table. Miss Colton stared helplessly at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What SHALL we do?&rdquo; she breathed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I rose to my feet. &ldquo;Wait, Johnson,&rdquo; I called. &ldquo;Make that man wait a moment
+      longer. Miss Colton, I have an idea. Would your father be willing to&mdash;but,
+      that is silly! Of course he would! I'll see Cahoon myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I found Phineas, long-legged and gaunt, sitting on the front step of the
+      colonial portico. He had been invited into the hall, but had refused the
+      invitation. &ldquo;I had on my workin' duds,&rdquo; he explained later. &ldquo;A feller
+      that's been handlin' freight all the afternoon ain't fit to set on
+      gold-plated furniture.&rdquo; He looked up in surprise as I came out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, for thunder sakes!&rdquo; he exclaimed, in astonishment. &ldquo;It's Ros Paine!
+      What in the nation are you doin' in here, Ros? Ain't married into the
+      family, have ye? Haw, haw!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could have kicked him for that pleasantry&mdash;if he had not been just
+      then too important a personage to kick. As it was, his chance remark
+      knocked my errand out of my head, momentarily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How's the old man, Ros?&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;They tell me it's brought on by
+      high livin', champagne wine and such. Is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Phin,&rdquo; said I, ignoring the question, &ldquo;would you stay up all night for
+      twenty dollars?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stared at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What kind of conundrum's that?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;'Would I set up all night
+      for twenty dollars?' That may be a joke, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you? I mean it. Mr. Colton is sick and his daughter needs some one
+      to send and receive messages over their private telegraph wire. She will
+      pay you twenty dollars&mdash;or I will, if she doesn't&mdash;if you will
+      stay here and do that for her. Will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a minute he sat there staring at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean it, Ros?&rdquo; he asked, slowly. &ldquo;You do, hey! I thought p'raps&mdash;but
+      no, it's long past April Fool day. WILL I do it? Show me the telegraph
+      place quick, afore I wake up and come out of the ether. Twenty dollars!
+      Consarn it, I send messages all the week for twelve, and hustle freight
+      and sell tickets into the bargain. I ain't had no supper, but never mind.
+      Make it twenty-five and I'll stay all day to-morrer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I led him into the library and explained his presence to Miss Colton. She
+      was delighted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is SO good of you, Mr. Cahoon,&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;And you shan't starve,
+      either. I will have some supper sent in to you at once. You can eat it
+      while you are at work, can't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She hurried out to order the supper. Phineas, in accordance with my
+      request, seated himself in the little room adjoining the library, before
+      the telegraph instrument.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thunder!&rdquo; he observed, looking about him. &ldquo;I never expected to send
+      messages for King Solomon in all his glory, but I cal'late I can stand it
+      if Sol can. S'pose there'd be any objection to my takin' off my coat?
+      Comes more nat'ral to work in my shirt sleeves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I bade him take it off and he did so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This feller's in some hurry,&rdquo; he said, nodding toward the clicking
+      instrument. &ldquo;Shall I tell him we're on deck and ready for business?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, tell him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His long fingers busied themselves with the sender. A sharp series of
+      clicks answered the call. Phineas glanced apprehensively out into the
+      library.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, he ain't no parson, is he?&rdquo; he chuckled. &ldquo;Wants to know what in hell
+      has been the trouble all this time. What'll I tell him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell him to send particulars concerning L. and T. at once. All the
+      particulars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The message was sent. The receiver rattled a hasty reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He says you know all the particulars already. You must know 'em. Wants to
+      know if this is Mr. Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell him Mr. Colton is here, in the house. That will be true enough. And
+      say we wish all particulars, figures and all. We want to know just where
+      we stand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The demand for particulars was forwarded. There was more clicking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me a piece of paper and a pencil, quick,&rdquo; urged Phineas. &ldquo;This is a
+      long feller.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While he was writing the &ldquo;long feller,&rdquo; as the telegraph ticked it off,
+      Miss Colton and the butler appeared, the latter bearing a loaded tray. He
+      drew a little table up beside the operator and placed the tray upon it.
+      Then he went away. The telegraph clicked and clicked and Cahoon wrote.
+      Miss Colton and I watched him anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say,&rdquo; observed Phineas, between intervals of clicks, &ldquo;this feller's in
+      some loony asylum, ain't he. This is pretty nigh as crazy as that message
+      I fetched down. . . . Here 'tis. Maybe you folks know what it means, I
+      don't. It's forty fathoms long, ain't it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was long enough, surely. It was not all in the code jargon&mdash;Davis
+      trusted the privacy of the wire sufficiently to send a portion of it in
+      plain English&mdash;but he did not trust even that altogether. Miss Colton
+      and I worked it out as we had the first telegram. As the translation
+      progressed I could feel my hair tingling at the roots.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was it to help in such a complication as this that I had been summoned? I,
+      of all people! These waters were too deep for me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Boiled down, the &ldquo;particulars&rdquo; for which Davis had been asked, and which
+      he had sent, amounted to this: Colton, it seemed, had sold L. and T.
+      &ldquo;short&rdquo; for a considerable period of time in order, as I had surmised, to
+      force down the price and buy in at a reasonable figure. He had sold, in
+      this way, about three-eighths of the common stock. Of this amount he had
+      in his possession&mdash;in his broker's possession, that is&mdash;but two
+      of the eighths. The &ldquo;other crowd&rdquo;&mdash;the Consolidated Pacific,
+      presumably&mdash;had, as Davis now discovered, three-eighths actual
+      certificates, in its pocket, had been acquiring them, on the quiet, while
+      pretending to have lost interest. The public, unsuspecting powers in this,
+      as in most of Wall Street little games, had still three-eighths. The
+      &ldquo;other crowd,&rdquo; knowing &ldquo;Big Jim's&rdquo; position, had but to force immediate
+      delivery of the missing one-eighth&mdash;the amount of Colton's
+      over-selling&mdash;and he might be obliged to pay Heaven knew what for the
+      shares. He MUST acquire them; he must buy them. And the price which he
+      would be forced to pay might mean&mdash;perhaps not bankruptcy for him,
+      the millionaire&mdash;but certainly the loss of a tremendous sum and all
+      chance of acquiring control of the road. &ldquo;This has been sprung on us all
+      at once,&rdquo; wired Davis. &ldquo;They have got us cold. What shall I do? You must
+      be here yourself before the market opens.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the man who &ldquo;must be there himself&rdquo; was critically ill and
+      unconscious!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The long telegram, several hundred words of it, was before us. I read it
+      through again, and Miss Colton sat and looked at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you understand it&mdash;now?&rdquo; she whispered, anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think I do. . . . What is it, Phin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was just wonderin',&rdquo; drawled Cahoon's voice from the adjoining room,
+      &ldquo;if I couldn't eat a little mite of this supper. I've got to do it or have
+      my nose and eyes tied up. Havin' all them good things settin' right where
+      I can see and smell 'em is givin' me the fidgets.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, eat away,&rdquo; I said, laughing. And even Miss Colton smiled. But
+      my laugh and her smile were but transient.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it&mdash;Does it mean that things are VERY wrong?&rdquo; she asked,
+      indicating the telegram.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are very serious; there is no doubt of that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The instrument clicked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Ros,&rdquo; said Phin, his mouth full, &ldquo;this feller's gettin' as fidgety
+      as I was afore I got afoul of this grub. He wants to know what his
+      instructions are. What'll he do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What shall you tell him?&rdquo; asked Miss Colton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I do not know. I am afraid I am of no use
+      whatever. This is no countryman's job. No country banker, even a real one,
+      should attempt to handle this. This is high finance with a vengeance. I
+      don't know. I think he . . . Suppose we tell him to consult the people at
+      your father's office.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;The people at the office know nothing
+      of it. This was Father's own personal affair. No one knows of it but Mr.
+      Davis.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How about them instructions?&rdquo; this from Cahoon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell him&mdash;yes, tell him Mr. Colton cannot leave here at present and
+      that he must use his own judgment, go ahead on his own responsibility.
+      That is the only thing I see to do, Miss Colton. Don't worry; he must be a
+      man of experience and judgment or your father never would use him. He will
+      pull it through, I am sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was by no means as confident as I pretended to be, however, and the next
+      message from Davis proved my forebodings to be well founded. His answer
+      was prompt and emphatic:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Matter too important. Decline to take responsibility. Must have definite
+      instructions or shall not act. Is this Mr. Colton himself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He would not act without Father's orders in a matter like this. I was
+      afraid of it. And he is growing suspicious. Oh, CAN'T you help me, Mr.
+      Paine? CAN'T you? I relied on you. I felt sure YOU would know what to do.
+      I am&mdash;I am SO alone; and with Father so ill&mdash;I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned away and leaned her head upon her hand on the table. I felt
+      again the desperate impulse I had felt when we were alone on board the
+      launch, the impulse to take her in my arms and try to comfort her, to tell
+      her that I would do anything&mdash;anything for her. And yet what could I
+      do?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't you help me?&rdquo; she pleaded. &ldquo;You have never failed me before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There came a knock at the door and Johnson's voice called her name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Mabel,&rdquo; he whispered, &ldquo;Miss Mabel, will you come, please? The doctor
+      wants you right away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She rose quickly, drawing her hand across her eyes as she did so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am coming, Johnson,&rdquo; she said. Then, turning to me, &ldquo;I will be back as
+      soon as I can. Do try&mdash;try to think. You MUST, for Father's sake, for
+      all our sakes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She left the room. I rose and, with my hands in my pockets, began to pace
+      the floor. This was the tightest place I had ever been in. There had been
+      a time, years before, when I prided myself on my knowledge of the stock
+      market and its idiosyncrasies. Then, in the confidence of youth, I might
+      have risen to a situation like this, might have tackled it and had the
+      nerve to pull it through or blame the other fellow if I failed. Now I was
+      neither youthful nor confident. Whatever I did would be, in all human
+      probability, the wrong thing, and to do the wrong thing now meant,
+      perhaps, ruin for the sick man upstairs. And she had trusted me! She had
+      sent for me in her trouble! I had &ldquo;never failed her before&rdquo;!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I walked the floor, trying hard to think. It was hard to think calmly, to
+      be sensible, and yet I realized that common-sense and coolness were what I
+      needed now. I tried to remember the outcome of similar situations in
+      financial circles, but that did not help me. I remembered a play I had
+      seen, &ldquo;The Henrietta&rdquo; was its name. In that play, a young man with more
+      money than brains had saved the day for his father, a Wall Street magnate,
+      by buying a certain stock in large quantities at a critical time. He
+      arrived at his decision to buy, rather than sell, by tossing a coin. The
+      father had declared that his son had hit upon the real secret of success
+      in stock speculation. Possibly the old gentleman was right, but I could
+      not make my decision in that way. No, whatever I did must have some reason
+      to back it. Was there no situation, outside of Wall Street, which offered
+      a parallel? After all, what was the situation? Some one wished to buy a
+      certain thing, and some one else wished to buy it also. Neither party
+      wanted the other to get it. There had been a general game of bluff and
+      then . . . Humph! Why, in a way, it was like the original bidding for the
+      Shore Lane land.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was like it, and yet it was not. I owned the land and Colton wanted to
+      buy it; so also did Jed Dean. Each side had made bids and had been
+      refused. Then the bidders had, professedly, stood pat, but, in reality,
+      they had not. Jed had told me, in his latest interview, that he would have
+      paid almost anything for that land, if he had had to. And Colton&mdash;Colton
+      had invented the Bay Shore Development Company. That company had fooled
+      Elnathan Mullet and other property holders. It had fooled Captain Jed. It
+      had come very near to fooling me. If Mabel Colton had not given me the
+      hint I might have been tricked into selling. Then Colton would have won,
+      have won on a &ldquo;bluff.&rdquo; A good bluff did sometimes win. I wondered . . .
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was still pacing the floor when Miss Colton returned to the library. She
+      was trying hard to appear calm, but I could see that she was greatly
+      agitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;Is he&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is not as well just now. I&mdash;I must not leave him&mdash;or Mother.
+      But I came back for a moment, as I told you I would. Is there anything
+      new?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Davis has repeated his declaration to do nothing without orders from
+      your father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She nodded. &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;then it is over. We are beaten&mdash;Father
+      is beaten for the first time. It makes little difference, I suppose. If he&mdash;if
+      he is taken from us, nothing else matters. But I hoped you . . . never
+      mind. I thank you, Mr. Paine. You would have helped him if you could, I
+      know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Somehow this surrender, and the tone in which it was made, stirred me more
+      than all else. She had trusted me and I had failed. I would not have it
+      so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton,&rdquo; I said, earnestly, &ldquo;suppose&mdash;suppose I should go ahead
+      and make this fight, on my own hook. Suppose I should give Davis the
+      'instructions' he is begging for. Have I permission to do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at me in surprise. &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; she said, simply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean it? It may mean complete smash. I am no railroad man, no
+      stock manipulator. I have an idea and if this trouble were mine I should
+      act upon it. But it is not mine. It is your father's&mdash;and yours. I
+      may be crazy to risk such a thing&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stepped forward. &ldquo;Do it,&rdquo; she commanded. &ldquo;I tell you to do it. If it
+      fails I will take the responsibility.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That you shall not do. But I will take the chance. Phin!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yup; here I be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Send this message at once: 'Try your hardest to get hold of any shares
+      you can, at almost any figure in reason, before the market opens. When it
+      opens begin buying everything offered.' Got that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yup. I've got it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sign it 'Colton' and send it along. I am using your father's name,&rdquo; I
+      added, turning to her. &ldquo;It seems to me the only way to avoid suspicion and
+      get action. No one must know that 'Big Jim' is critically ill; you
+      understand that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I understand. But,&rdquo; hesitatingly, &ldquo;to buy may mean paying tremendous
+      prices, may it not? Can we&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We must. Here is Davis's reply coming. What is it, Phin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cahoon read off the message as the receiver clicked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are insane. Buying at such prices will be suicide.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell him no. Tell him to let it leak out that Colton is seizing the
+      opportunity to clinch his control of the road. The other crowd will think,
+      if he is willing to buy at any price, that he cannot be so short as they
+      supposed. Send all that, Phin. It is a bluff, Miss Colton, nothing but a
+      bluff, but it may win. God knows I hope it will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not answer. Together we waited for the reply. It came as follows:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All right if you say so, of course, but still think it suicide. I am off
+      on the still hunt for those shares but don't believe one to be had,
+      Consolidated bunch too sharp for that. Stay by the wire. Will report when
+      I can. Good luck and good-by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's gone, I cal'late,&rdquo; observed Phineas. &ldquo;Need me any more, do you
+      think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. You must stay here all night, just as I told you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right you be. Send word to the old woman, that's all, if you can.
+      Cal'late she's waitin' at the kitchen door with a rollin' pin, by this
+      time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will send the word, Mr. Cahoon,&rdquo; replied Miss Colton. &ldquo;And&mdash;don't
+      you think you could go home now, Mr. Paine? I know how exhausted you must
+      be, after last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No home for me,&rdquo; I answered, with assumed cheerfulness. &ldquo;Admirals of
+      Finance are expected to stick by the ship. I will lie down here on the
+      couch and Phineas can call me if I am needed. Don't worry, Miss Colton. Go
+      to your father and forget us altogether, if you can. If&mdash;if I should
+      be needed for&mdash;for any other cause, please speak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at me in silence for a moment. Then she came toward me and held
+      out her hand. &ldquo;I shall not forget, whatever else I may do,&rdquo; she said,
+      brokenly. &ldquo;And I will speak if I need you, my friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned hastily and went to the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will send word to your people as well as Mr. Cahoon's,&rdquo; she added. &ldquo;Try
+      and sleep, if you can. Good night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door closed behind her. Sleep! I was not likely to sleep. A man who
+      has lighted the fuse of the powder magazine beneath him does not sleep
+      much.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      And yet sleep I did, for a little while, just before morning broke. I had
+      spent the night pacing the floor and talking to Phineas, who was wide
+      awake and full of stories and jokes, to which I paid little attention.
+      Miss Colton did not come to the library again. From the rooms above I
+      heard occasional sobs and exclamations in Mrs. Colton's voice. Once Doctor
+      Quimby peeped in. He looked anxious and weary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Ros!&rdquo; he hailed, &ldquo;I heard you were here. This is a high old night,
+      isn't it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is he?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About the same. No worse; in fact, he's better than he was a while ago.
+      But he's not out of the woods yet, though I'm pretty hopeful, for the old
+      boy has a husky constitution&mdash;considering the chances he's taken with
+      it all his life. It's his wife that bothers me. She's worse than one of
+      the plagues of Egypt. I've given her some sleeping powders now; they'll
+      keep her quiet for a spell, I hope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And Miss Colton&mdash;how is she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She! She's as calm and sensible and helpful as a trained nurse. By the
+      Almighty, she is a wonder, that girl! Well, I must get back on my job.
+      Don't have a millionaire patient every day in the week.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At three o'clock came a message from Davis. He had not been able to secure
+      a single share. Did his instructions to buy still hold? I answered that
+      they did and he replied that he was going to get a nap for an hour or so.
+      &ldquo;I shall need the rest, if I am any prophet,&rdquo; he concluded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was shortly after this that I lay down on the couch. I had determined
+      not to close my eyes, but I was utterly worn out, I suppose, and
+      exhaustion got the better of me. The next thing I knew the gray light of
+      dawn was streaming in at the library windows and Johnson was spreading a
+      tempting-looking breakfast on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I sprang up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What time is it?&rdquo; I demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About half-past five, sir, or thereabouts,&rdquo; was the answer, in a tone of
+      mingled weariness and resentment. Plainly Mr. Johnson had been up all
+      night and considered himself imposed upon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was thankful that my lapse from duty had been of no longer duration. It
+      had been much too long as it was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is Mr. Colton?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better, sir, I believe. He is resting more quiet at present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is Cahoon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here I be,&rdquo; this from Phineas in the next room. &ldquo;Have a good snooze, did
+      you, Ros?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too good.&rdquo; I walked in and found him still sitting by the telegraph
+      instrument. &ldquo;Has anything happened?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nary thing. All quiet as the tomb since that last message, the one you
+      heard. Pretty nigh fell asleep myself, I did. Guess I should have, only
+      Miss Colton she came in and kept me comp'ny for a spell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton&mdash;has she been here? Why didn't you call me, Ros?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was goin' to, but she wouldn't let me. Said you was all wore out, poor
+      feller, and that you wan't to be disturbed unless 'twas necessary. She's
+      an awful nice young woman, ain't she. Nothin' stuck up about her, at all.
+      Set here and talked with me just as sociable and folksy as if she wan't
+      wuth a cent. Asked more questions than a few, she did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did she?&rdquo; I was not paying much attention to his remarks. My mind was
+      busy with more important things. I was wondering what Davis was doing just
+      then. Phin went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yup. I happened to remember that you wan't at the bank to-day and I asked
+      her if she knew the reason why. 'How did you know he wasn't there?' says
+      she. 'Alvin Baker told me fust,' I says, 'and Sam Wheeler told him.
+      Everybody knew it and was wonderin' about it. They cal'lated Ros was
+      sick,' I told her, 'but that couldn't be or he wouldn't be round here
+      settin' up all night.' What WAS the reason you wan't there, Ros?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I thought it strange that he, and everyone else in town, did not know the
+      reason before this. Was it possible that Captain Dean alone knew of my
+      &ldquo;treason&rdquo; to Denboro, and that he was keeping the discovery to himself?
+      Why should he keep it to himself? He had threatened to drive me out of
+      town.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had other business to-day, Phin,&rdquo; I answered, shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yup. So I gathered from what Cap'n Jed said. He was in the depot this
+      noon sendin' a telegram and I asked him about you. 'Is Ros sick?' I says.
+      'Huh!' says he&mdash;you know how he grunts, Ros; for all the world like a
+      hog&mdash;'Huh!' says he, 'sick! No, but I cal'late he'll be pretty sick
+      afore long.' What did he mean by that, do you s'pose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I knew, but I did not explain. I made no reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Twas a queer sort of talk, seemed to me,&rdquo; continued Phin. &ldquo;I asked him
+      again why you wan't at the bank, and he said you had other business, just
+      same as you said now. He was ugly as a cow with a sore horn over somethin'
+      and I judged 'twas best to keep still. That telegram he sent was a
+      surprisin' thing, too. 'Twas to&mdash;but there! he made me promise I
+      wouldn't tell and so I mustn't. I ain't told a soul&mdash;except one&mdash;and
+      then it slipped out afore I thought. However, that one won't make no
+      difference. She ain't interested in&mdash;in the one the telegram was sent
+      to, 'tain't likely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is Miss Colton now?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With her ma and pa, I presume likely. Her and me set and whispered
+      together for a long spell. Land sakes! she wouldn't let me speak louder'n
+      a whisper for fear of wakin' you up. A body'd think you was a young-one in
+      arms, the care she took of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again I did not answer, and again the garrulous station master continued
+      without waiting for a reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I says to her, says I, 'It's a pity George Taylor ain't to home,' I says.
+      'I shouldn't wonder if he could help you with this Louisville stock you're
+      so worried about. George was consider'ble interested in that stock himself
+      a spell ago. I sent much as a dozen telegrams from him about that very
+      stock to some broker folks up to Boston, and they was mighty anxious
+      telegrams, too. I tell you!' I says.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had caught my attention at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you tell her that?&rdquo; I demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure I did! I never meant to, nuther. Ain't told another soul. You see,
+      George, he asked me not to. But she's got a way with her that would make
+      Old Nick confess his sins, if she set out to larn 'em. I was sort of
+      ashamed after I told her and I explained to her that I hadn't ought to
+      done it. 'But I guess it's all right now, anyway,' I says. 'If there was
+      any trouble along of George and that stock I cal'late it's all over. He
+      acted dreadful worried for a spell, but for the week afore he was married
+      he seemed chipper as ever. Biggest change in him you ever see,' says I.
+      'So my tellin' you is all right, I guess,' I says. 'I'm sure it's all
+      right,' says she, and her face kind of lighted up, as you might say. When
+      she looked at me that way I'd have given her my house and lot, if she'd
+      wanted 'em, though you needn't tell my old woman that I said so. He! he!
+      'Of course it's all right,' she says. 'But you had better not tell anyone
+      else. We'll have it for our secret, won't we, Mr. Cahoon?' she says,
+      smilin'. 'Sartin we will,' says I. And&mdash;well, by thunder!&rdquo; as if the
+      thought occurred to him for the first time. &ldquo;I said that, and now I've
+      been and blatted out the whole business to you! I am the DARNDEST fool!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not contradict him. I was too angry and disturbed even to speak to
+      him for the moment. And, before I could speak, we were interrupted. The
+      young lady herself appeared in the doorway. SHE had not slept, that was
+      plain. Her face was pale and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes. As
+      I looked at her I was more ashamed of my own unpremeditated nap than ever.
+      Yet she was, as the doctor had said, calm and uncomplaining. She even
+      smiled as she greeted us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good morning,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Your breakfast is ready, Mr. Cahoon. I know you
+      feel that you must be getting back to your work at the station.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Phineas pulled out an enormous nickel watch and glanced at it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Land sakes! most six, ain't it,&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;I guess you're right.
+      I'll have to be trottin' along. But you needn't fuss for no breakfast for
+      me. I'm used to missin' a meal's vittles now and again and I et enough
+      last night to last me one spell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was hurrying from the room, but she would not let him go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There has been no 'fuss' whatever, Mr. Cahoon,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Breakfast is
+      ready, here in the library. And yours is ready, too, Mr. Paine. I hope
+      your few minutes' sleep has rested you. I am sorry you woke so soon. I
+      told Johnson to be careful and not disturb you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I deserve to be shot for sleeping at all,&rdquo; I declared, in self reproach.
+      &ldquo;I did not mean to. I lay down for a moment and&mdash;well, I suppose I
+      was rather tired.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know. Last night's experience was enough to tire anyone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense! It was no worse for me than for you,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it was. You had the care and the responsibility. I, you see, knew
+      that I was well guarded. Besides, I slept for hours this morning. Come,
+      both of you. Breakfast is ready.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Phineas was already seated at the table, glancing over his shoulder at the
+      butler, whose look of dignified disgust at being obliged to wait upon a
+      countryman in his shirt sleeves would have been funny, if I had been in a
+      mood for fun. I don't know which was the more uncomfortable, Cahoon or the
+      butler.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't you join us, Miss Colton?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;why, yes, perhaps I will, if you don't mind. I am not hungry
+      but I will take a cup of coffee, Johnson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Phineas did almost all the talking while he remained with us, which was
+      not long. He swallowed his breakfast in a tremendous hurry, a proceeding
+      which still further discomposed the stately Johnson, and then rose and put
+      on his coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hate to leave you short handed and on a lee shore, Miss,&rdquo; he explained,
+      apologetically; &ldquo;but I know you understand how 'tis with me. My job's all
+      I've got and I'll have to hang onto it. The up train's due in forty
+      minutes and I've got to be on hand at the deepo. However, I've got that
+      Davis feller's address and I'll raise him the first thing to send his
+      messages to me and I'll get 'em right down here by the reg'lar telephone.
+      He can use that&mdash;what-do-you-call-it?&mdash;that code thing, if he's
+      scart of anybody's findin' out what he says. The boss school-marm of all
+      creation couldn't read that gibberish without the book.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hated to have him go, but there was no alternative. After he had gone
+      and she and I were left together at the table a sense of restraint seemed
+      to fall upon us both. To see her sitting opposite me at the table, pouring
+      my coffee and breakfasting with me in this intimate, family fashion, was
+      so wonderful and strange that I could think of nothing else. It reminded
+      me, in a way, of our luncheon at Seabury's Pond, but that had been out of
+      doors, an impromptu picnic, with all a picnic's surroundings. This was
+      different, quite different. It was so familiar, so homelike, so
+      conventional, and yet, for her and me, so impossible. I looked at her and
+      she, looking up at the moment, caught my eyes. The color mounted to her
+      cheeks. I felt my own face flushing. Dorinda&mdash;practical, unromantic
+      Dorinda&mdash;had guessed my feeling for this girl; Mother had divined it.
+      It was plain enough for anyone to read. I glanced apprehensively at the
+      butler, half expecting to see upon his clerical countenance the look of
+      scornful contempt which would prove that he, too, was possessed of the
+      knowledge. But he merely bent forward with a deferential, &ldquo;Yes, sir. What
+      is it?&rdquo; and I meekly requested another roll. Then I began, desperately, to
+      talk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I inquired about Mr. Colton's condition and was told that he was, or
+      appeared to be, a trifle better. Mrs. Colton was, at last, thanks to the
+      doctor's powders, asleep. Johnson left the room for the moment and I
+      switched to the subject which neither of us had mentioned since the night
+      before, the Louisville and Transcontinental muddle. I explained what had
+      been done and pretended a confidence which I did not feel that everything
+      would end well. She listened, but, it seemed to me, she was not as
+      interested as I expected. At length she interrupted me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose we do not talk about it now,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;As I understand it, you&mdash;we,
+      that is&mdash;have made up our minds. We have decided to do certain things
+      which seem to us right. Right or wrong, they must be done now. I am trying
+      very hard to believe them right and not to worry any more about them. Oh,
+      I CAN'T worry! I can't! With all the rest, I&mdash;I&mdash;Please let us
+      change the subject. Mr. Paine, I am afraid you must think me selfish. I
+      have said nothing about your own trouble. Father&mdash;&rdquo; she choked on the
+      name, but recovered her composure almost immediately&mdash;&ldquo;Father told
+      me, after his return from your house this morning, that his purchase of
+      the land had become public and that you were in danger of losing your
+      position at the bank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I smiled. &ldquo;That danger is past,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I have lost it. Captain Dean
+      gave me my walking papers this morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I am so sorry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not. I expected it. The wonder is only that it has not happened
+      before. I realized that it was inevitable when I made up my mind to sell.
+      It is of no consequence, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it is. But Father offered you the position in his employ. He said
+      you refused, but he believed your refusal was not final.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was wrong. It is final.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had rather not discuss that, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at me oddly, and with a faint smile. &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; she said,
+      after a moment, &ldquo;we will not discuss it now. But you cannot suppose that
+      either Father or I will permit you to suffer on our account.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no suffering. I sold the land to your father deliberately and
+      with complete knowledge of the consequences. As to the bank&mdash;well, I
+      am no worse off than I was before I entered its employ. I am satisfied.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She toyed with her coffee spoon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Captain Dean seems to be the only person in Denboro who knows of the
+      sale,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Why has he kept it a secret?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. Has he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know he has, Mr. Paine. Mr. Cahoon did not know of it, and he would
+      be one of the first to hear. It seems odd that the captain should tell no
+      one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Probably he is waiting for the full particulars. He will tell, you may be
+      sure of that. His last remark to me was that he should drive me out of
+      Denboro.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I rather expected a burst of indignation. In fact I was somewhat hurt and
+      disappointed that it did not come. She merely smiled once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has not done it yet,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;If he knew why you sold that land&mdash;your
+      real reason for selling it&mdash;he would not drive you away, or try to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was startled and alarmed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; I asked quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he knew he would not drive you away, would he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He will never know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps he may. Perhaps the person for whose sake you sold it may tell
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed he will not! I shall see to that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, then there is such a person! I was sure of it before. Now you have
+      told me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before I could recover from the mental disturbance and chagrin which my
+      slip and her quick seizure of it caused me, the butler re-entered the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Colton is awake and asking for you, Miss Mabel,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The
+      doctor thinks you had better go to her at once, if you please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a word of apology to me, she hurried away. I rose from the table. I
+      had had breakfast enough. The interruption had come at a fortunate time
+      for me. Her next question might have forced me to decline to answer&mdash;which
+      would have been equivalent to admitting the truth&mdash;or to lie. One
+      thing I determined to do without delay. I would write Taylor at once
+      warning him to be more close-mouthed than ever. Under no conditions would
+      I permit him to speak. If it were necessary I would go to Washington,
+      where he and Nellie were spending their honeymoon, and make him promise to
+      keep silence. His telling the truth might ruin him, and it certainly would
+      not help me. In the one essential thing&mdash;the one which was clenching
+      my determination to leave Denboro as soon as I could and seek
+      forgetfulness and occupation elsewhere&mdash;no one could help me. I must
+      help myself, or be miserable always. Just now the eternal misery seemed
+      inevitable, no matter what I did.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Johnson cleared the table and left me alone in the library. The hours
+      passed. Nine o'clock came, then nine-thirty. It was almost time for the
+      stock market to open. My thoughts, which had been diverted from my rash
+      plunge into the intricacies of high finance, began to return to it. As ten
+      o'clock drew near, I began to realize what I had bade Davis do, and to
+      think what might happen because of it. I, Roscoe Paine, no longer even a
+      country banker, was at the helm of &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; Colton's bark in the
+      maelstrom of the stock market. It would have been funny if it had not been
+      so desperate. And desperate it was, sheer reckless desperation and nothing
+      else. I must have been crazier than ever, more wildly insane than I had
+      been for the past month, to even think of such a thing. It was not too
+      late yet, I could telegraph Davis&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The telephone on the desk&mdash;not the public, the local, 'phone, but the
+      other, Colton's private wire to New York&mdash;rang. I picked up the
+      receiver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello-o! Hello-o!&rdquo; a faint voice was calling. &ldquo;Is this Colton's house at
+      Denboro? . . . Yes, this is Davis. . . . The wire is all right now. . . .
+      Is this Mr. Colton speaking?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;Mr. Colton is here in the house. You may give the
+      message to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to know if his orders hold. Am I to buy? Ask him. I will wait.
+      Hurry! The market opens in five minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I put down the receiver. Now was my opportunity. I could back out now.
+      Five minutes more and it would be too late. But if I did back out&mdash;what?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of the minutes passed. Then another. I seized the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go ahead!&rdquo; I shouted. &ldquo;Carry out your orders.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A faint &ldquo;All right&rdquo; answered me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The die was cast. I was in for it. There was nothing to do but wait.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I waited alone. I walked up and down the floor of the little room,
+      looking at the clock and wondering what was happening on that crowded
+      floor of the big Broad Street building. The market was open. Davis was
+      buying as I had directed. But at what figure was he buying?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No one came near me, not even the butler. It was ten-twenty before the
+      bell rang again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello! This is Mr. Davis's office. Is this Mr. Colton? Tell him Mr. Davis
+      says L. and T. is one hundred and fifty now and jumping twenty points at a
+      lick. There is the devil to pay. Scarcely any stock in sight and next door
+      to a panic. Shall we go on buying?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was trying to decide upon an answer when some one touched my elbow. Miss
+      Colton was standing beside me. She did not speak, but she looked the
+      question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I told her what I had just heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One hundred and fifty!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;That is&mdash;Why, that is
+      dreadful! What will you do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook my head. &ldquo;That is for you to say,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it is for you. You are doing this. I trust you. Do what you think is
+      right&mdash;you and Mr. Davis. That is what Father would wish if he knew.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Davis will do nothing on his own responsibility.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you must do it alone. Do it! do it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I turned to the 'phone once more. &ldquo;Buy all you can get,&rdquo; I ordered. &ldquo;Keep
+      on bidding. But be sure and spread the news that it is Colton buying to
+      secure control of the road, not to cover his shorts. Be sure that leaks
+      out. Everything depends on that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hung up the receiver. She and I looked at each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What will happen, do you think?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God knows! . . . Are you going? Don't go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must,&rdquo; gently. &ldquo;Father is worse, I fear, and I must not leave him.
+      Doctor Quimby says the next few hours may tell us whether he is&mdash;is&mdash;whether
+      he is to be with us or not. I must go. Be brave. I trust you. Be brave,
+      for&mdash;for I am trying so hard to be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I seized her hand. She drew it from my grasp and hastened away. Brave!
+      Well, for her sake, I must be. Yet it was because of her that I was such a
+      coward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As I recall all this now I wonder at myself. The whole thing seems too
+      improbable to be true, yet true it was. I lost my identity that day, I
+      think, and, as the telephone messages kept coming, and the situation
+      became more and more desperate, became some one else, some one a great
+      deal braver and cooler and more clear-sighted than ever I had been or
+      shall be again. I seemed to see my course plainer every moment and to feel
+      surer of myself and that my method&mdash;my bluff, if you like&mdash;was
+      the only salvation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At eleven Louisville and Transcontinental was selling&mdash;the little
+      that was sold&mdash;at four hundred and fifty dollars a share, on a par
+      value of fifty. At eleven-thirty it had climbed another hundred. The whole
+      Street was a Bedlam, so they 'phoned me, and the newspapers were issuing
+      &ldquo;panic&rdquo; extras.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell Davis to stop buying now,&rdquo; I ordered. &ldquo;Let it be known that Colton
+      has secured control and is satisfied.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At noon the figure was 700 bid and 800 asked. There was no trading at all,
+      for the sufficient reason that no shares were to be had. Johnson came in
+      to ask if he should bring my luncheon. I bade him clear out and let me
+      alone. As he was tip-toeing away I called after him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is Mr. Colton?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very bad indeed, sir. Miss Mabel wished me to say that she could not
+      leave him an instant. It is the crisis, the doctor thinks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There were two crises then, one on each floor of the big house. At one
+      Davis himself 'phoned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Still hanging around 700,&rdquo; he announced. &ldquo;Begins to look as if the top
+      had been reached. What shall I do now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My plan was ready and I gave my orders as if I had been doing such things
+      for years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sell, in small lots, at intervals,&rdquo; I told him. &ldquo;Then, if the price
+      breaks, begin buying through another broker as cautiously as you can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The answer was in a different tone; there was a new note, almost of hope,
+      in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the Lord, I believe you have got it!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;It may work. I'll
+      report to you, Mr. Colton, right away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Plainly he had no doubt that &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo; was directing the fight in person.
+      Far was it from me to undeceive him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another interval. Then he reported a drop of a hundred points.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The bottom is beginning to fall out, I honestly believe. They think
+      you've done 'em again. I am spreading the report that you have the control
+      cinched. As soon as the scramble is really on I'll have a half dozen
+      brokers buying for us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was half-past two when the next message came. It was exultant,
+      triumphant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Down like an avalanche. Am grabbing every share offered. We've got 'em,
+      sure!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And, as three o'clock struck, came the final crow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hooray for our side! They're dead and buried! You have two hundred shares
+      more than fifty per cent, of the common stock. The Louisville road is in
+      your pocket, Mr. Colton. I congratulate you. Might have known they
+      couldn't lick the old man. You are a wonder. I'll write full particulars
+      and then I am going home and to bed. I'm dead. I didn't believe you could
+      do it! How did you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I sat there, staring at the 'phone. Then, all at once, I began to laugh,
+      weakly and hysterically, but to laugh, nevertheless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I organized a Development Company,&rdquo; I gasped. &ldquo;Good night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I rose from the chair and walked out into the library. I was so completely
+      fagged out by the strain I had been under that I staggered as I walked.
+      The library door opened and Johnson came in. He was beaming, actually
+      beaming with joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's very much better, sir,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;He's conscious and the doctor
+      says he considers 'im out of danger now. Miss Mabel sent word she would be
+      down in a short while. She can't leave the mistress immediate, but she'll
+      be down soon, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at him in a dazed way. &ldquo;Tell Miss Colton that I am very glad,
+      Johnson,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;And tell her, too, that everything here is satisfactory
+      also. Tell her that Mr. Paine says her father has his control.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'His control!' And what may that be, if you please, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She will understand. Say that everything is all right, we have won and
+      that Mr. Colton has his control. Don't forget.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And&mdash;and where will you be, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going home, I think. I am going home and&mdash;to bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIII
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The next thing I remember with any distinctness is Dorinda's knocking at
+      my bedroom door. I remember reaching that bedroom, of course, and of
+      meeting Lute in the kitchen and telling him that I was not to be
+      disturbed, that I should not come down to supper and that I wanted to be
+      let alone&mdash;to be let ALONE&mdash;until I saw fit to show myself. But
+      these memories are all foggy and mixed with dreams and nightmares. As I
+      say, the next thing that I remember distinctly after staggering from the
+      Colton library is Dorinda's knocking at the door of my bedroom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros! Roscoe!&rdquo; she was calling. &ldquo;Can you get up now? There is somebody
+      downstairs waitin' to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I turned over in bed and began to collect my senses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What time is it, Dorinda?&rdquo; I asked, drowsily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About ten, or a little after.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten! Then I had not slept so long, after all. It was nearly four when I
+      went to bed and . . . But what made the room so light? There was no lamp.
+      And the windows . . . I sat up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean to tell me it is ten o'clock IN THE FORENOON!&rdquo; I cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um-hm. I hated to disturb you. You've been sleepin' like the everlastin'
+      hills and I knew you must be completely wore out. But I felt pretty sartin
+      you'd want to see the&mdash;who 'tis that here's to see you, so I decided
+      to wake you up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is high time you did, I should think! I'll be down in a minute. Who is
+      it that wishes to see me, Dorinda?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Dorinda had gone. I dressed hurriedly and descended the stairs to the
+      dining-room. There, seated in a chair by the door, his eyes closed, his
+      chin resting upon his chest, and his aristocratic nose proclaiming the
+      fact that he slumbered, was Johnson, the Colton butler. I was not greatly
+      surprised. I had rather suspected that my caller might be he, or some
+      other messenger from the big house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He started at the sound of my entrance and awoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I beg your pardon, sir,&rdquo; he stammered. &ldquo;I&mdash;I beg your
+      pardon, sir, I'm sure. I've been&mdash;I 'aven't closed my eyes for the
+      past two nights, sir, and I am tired out. Mr. Colton wishes to see you at
+      once, sir. He wishes you to come over immediately.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was surprised now. &ldquo;MR. Colton wishes it,&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;You mean Miss
+      Colton, don't you, Johnson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir. It is Mr. Colton this time, sir. Miss Colton is out in the
+      motor, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Mr. Colton is too ill to see me, or anyone else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir, he isn't. He's very much better. He's quite himself, sir,
+      really. And he is very anxious to see you. On a matter of business, he
+      says.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hesitated. I had expected this, though not so soon. He wanted to ask
+      questions concerning my crazy dip into his financial affairs, doubtless.
+      Well, I should have to see him some time or other, and it might as well be
+      now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I called to Dorinda, who was in the kitchen, and bade her tell Mother, if
+      she inquired for me, that I had gone out, but would be back soon. Then
+      Johnson and I walked briskly along the bluff path. We entered the big
+      house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton is in his room, sir,&rdquo; explained the butler. &ldquo;You are to see
+      him there. This way, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But before we reached the foot of the stairs Doctor Quimby came out of the
+      library. He and I shook hands. The doctor was a happy man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;what's the matter with the one-horse, country-jay
+      doctor now, hey! If there is any one of the Boston specialists at a
+      hundred a visit who can yank a man out of a serious sickness and put him
+      on his feet quicker than I can, why trot him along, that's all! I want to
+      see him! I've been throwing bouquets at myself for the last ten hours. Ho!
+      ho! Say, Ros, you'll think my head is swelled pretty bad, won't you! Ho!
+      ho!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I asked how the patient was getting on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fine! Tip-top! The only trouble is that he ought to keep perfectly quiet
+      and not do a thing or think of a thing, except getting his strength back,
+      for the next week. But he hadn't been conscious more than a couple of
+      hours before he was asking questions about business and so on. He and his
+      daughter had a long confab this morning and after that he was neither to
+      bind or tie. He must see you, that's all there was to it. Say, Ros, what
+      did you and Phin Cahoon and the Colton girl do yesterday?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, we put through one of Mr. Colton's little trades for him, that's
+      all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's all, hey! Well, whatever 'twas, he and I owe you a vote of thanks.
+      He began to get better the minute he heard it. He's feeling so chipper
+      that, if it wasn't that I swore he shouldn't, he'd have got out of bed by
+      this time. You must go up and see him, I suppose, but don't stay too long.
+      He's a wonder for strength and recuperative powers, but don't tire him too
+      much. If that wife of his was in Europe or somewhere, I'd feel easier.
+      She's the most tiring thing in the house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Johnson led the way upstairs. At the chamber door he knocked and announced
+      my presence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring him in! What is he waiting for?&rdquo; demanded a voice which,
+      considering how recently its owner had been at death's door, was
+      surprisingly strong. I entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was in bed, propped up with pillows. Beside him sat Mrs. Colton. Of the
+      two she looked the more disturbed. Her eyes were wet and she was dabbing
+      at them with a lace handkerchief. Her morning gown was a wondrous
+      creation. &ldquo;Big Jim,&rdquo; with his iron-gray hair awry and his eyes snapping,
+      looked remarkably wide awake and alive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How are you, Paine?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Glad to see you. Sorry to bring you over
+      here, but I had to see you and that doctor says I must stay in this room
+      for a while yet. He may be right. My understanding is pretty shaky, I'll
+      admit. You've met Mrs. Colton, haven't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I bowed and expressed my pleasure at meeting the lady. Her bow was rather
+      curt, but she regarded me with an astonishing amount of agitated interest.
+      Also she showed symptoms of more tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't remember whether or not Mr. Paine and I have ever been formally
+      introduced,&rdquo; she observed. &ldquo;If we haven't it makes no difference, I
+      suppose. The other members of the family seem to know him well enough. And&mdash;and
+      mothers nowadays are not considered. I&mdash;I must say that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had recourse to the lace handkerchief. I could understand what the
+      doctor meant by calling her the &ldquo;most tiring thing in the house.&rdquo; Her
+      husband laid a hand on hers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, there, my dear,&rdquo; he said, soothingly, &ldquo;don't be foolish. Sit down,
+      Paine. Henrietta, perhaps you had better leave Mr. Paine and I together.
+      We have some&mdash;er&mdash;business matters to discuss and you are tired
+      and nervous. I should go to my room and lie down, if I were you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Colton accepted the suggestion, but her acceptance was not the most
+      gracious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am in the way, as usual,&rdquo; she observed, chokingly. &ldquo;Very well, I should
+      be resigned to that by this time, no doubt. I will go. But James, for my
+      sake, don't be weak. Remember what&mdash;Oh, remember all we had hoped and
+      planned! When I think of it, I&mdash;I&mdash;A nobody! A person without .
+      . . What SHALL I do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The handkerchief was in active operation. She swept past me to the door.
+      There she turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I may forgive you some time, Mr. Paine,&rdquo; she sobbed. &ldquo;I suppose I shall
+      have to. I can't do anything else. But don't ask me to do it now. That
+      would be TOO much!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door closed and I heard her sobs as she marched down the hall. To say
+      that I was amazed and decidedly uncomfortable would be a very mild
+      estimate of my feelings. Why should I expect her to forgive me? What had I
+      done? I&mdash;or luck and I together&mdash;had saved one of her husband's
+      stock speculations from ending in smash; but that was no injury for which
+      I should beg forgiveness. At least I could not see that it was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Colton looked after her with a troubled expression.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nerves are the devil, aren't they,&rdquo; he observed. &ldquo;And nerves and a woman
+      together are worse than that. My wife, Paine, is&mdash;well, she hasn't
+      been in good health for a long time and Mabel and I have done our best to
+      give her her own way. When you've had your own way for years it rather
+      hurts to be checkmated. I know that from experience. She'll feel better
+      about it by and by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better about what?&rdquo; I demanded, involuntarily. &ldquo;I don't understand Mrs.
+      Colton's meaning in the least.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at me keenly for a moment without speaking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;You are sure you don't?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly I am sure. What I have done that requires forgiveness I don't
+      see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Another pause and more scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you don't understand what she means, hey?&rdquo; he said again. &ldquo;All right,
+      all right! We won't discuss that yet a while. If you don't understand&mdash;never
+      mind. Time enough for us to talk of that when you do. But, say, Paine,&rdquo;
+       with one of his dry smiles, &ldquo;who taught you to buck a stock pool?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This question I could understand. I had expected this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one taught me,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;If I had any knowledge at all in that
+      direction I was born with it, I guess. A form of original sin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a mighty profitable sort of wickedness&mdash;for me. Young man, do
+      you realize what you did? How do you expect me to thank you for that,
+      hey?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't expect you to thank me at all. It was bull luck that won for you,
+      Mr. Colton. Bull luck and desperation on my part. Miss Colton sent for me
+      to help her. Your confidential man, Davis, refused to make a move without
+      orders from you. You couldn't give any orders. Someone had to do
+      something, or, so it seemed to your daughter and me, your Louisville and
+      Transcontinental deal was a gone goose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was more than that. I might have come pretty near being a gone goose
+      along with it. Not quite gone, perhaps&mdash;I should have had a few cents
+      left in the stocking&mdash;but I should have lost a lot more than I care
+      to lose. So it was bull luck, hey? I don't believe it. Tell me the whole
+      story, from beginning to end, will you? Mabel has told me some, but I want
+      to hear it all. Go ahead!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I thought of Quimby's warning. &ldquo;I'm afraid I should tire you, Mr. Colton.
+      It is a long story, if I give particulars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind, you give them. That 'tiring' business is some more of that
+      doctor's foolishness. HE makes me tired, all right. You tell me what I
+      want to know or I'll get out of this bed and shake it out of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked as if he meant to carry out his threat. I began my tale at the
+      beginning and went on to the astonishing end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't ask me why I did this or that, Mr. Colton,&rdquo; I concluded. &ldquo;I don't
+      know. I think I was off my head part of the time. But something HAD to be
+      done. I tried to look at the affair in a common-sense way, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, HAVING common-sense, you used it. Paine, you're a brick! Your kind
+      of common-sense is so rare that it's worth paying any price for. Ha! ha!
+      So it was Keene and his 'Development Company' that gave you the idea.
+      That's good! That little failure of mine wasn't altogether a failure,
+      after all. You saw it was a case where a bluff might win, and you had the
+      sand to bluff it through. That comes of living so long where there is more
+      sand than anything else, I imagine, hey! Ha! ha! Well, bull luck or
+      insanity or whatever you call it, it did the trick. Of course I'm more
+      obliged to you than I can tell. You know that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's all right, Mr. Colton. Now I think I must be going. You've talked
+      enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You sit still. I haven't begun to talk yet. Paine, before you did this
+      thing for me I had taken a fancy to you. I believed there was good stuff
+      in you and that I could use you in my business. Now I know I can't afford
+      to do without you. . . . Stop! let me finish. Young man, I told you once
+      that when I made up my mind to do a thing, I always did it. ALWAYS; do you
+      understand? I am going to get you. You are coming with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had foreseen this, of course. But I had hoped to get away from that room
+      before he reached the point. He had reached it, however, and perhaps it
+      was as well he had. We would end this for all time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;you have a monopoly of some things, but of
+      others you have not. I am just as determined to have my own way in this
+      matter as you are. I shall NOT accept your offer of employment. That is
+      final.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Final be damned! Young man&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton, if you persist I shall go away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go away! Before I tell you to? Why, you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I rose. &ldquo;The doctor told me that you must not excite yourself,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I
+      am going. Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was excited, there was no doubt of that. He sat up in bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You come back!&rdquo; he ordered. &ldquo;Come back! If you don't&mdash;Well, by the
+      Lord, if you don't I'll get up and come after you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I believe he would have tried to do it. I was frightened, on his account.
+      I turned reluctantly. He sank back on the pillow, grinning triumphantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down there,&rdquo; he panted. &ldquo;Sit down. Now I want you to tell me the real
+      reason why you won't work for me. By gad! you're the first one in many a
+      day I have had to ask twice. Why? Tell me the truth! Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hesitated. &ldquo;Well, for one reason,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I don't care for your
+      business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't CARE for it! After what you just did!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did that because I was driven to it. But I don't care for the stock
+      game. Once I used to think I liked that sort of thing; now I know I don't.
+      If I am anything I am a bank man, a poor sort of one, perhaps, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bank man! Why, you idiot! I don't care what you are. I can use you in a
+      dozen places. You don't have to buck the market. I'll do that myself. But
+      there are plenty of places where your brains and that common-sense you
+      talk about will be invaluable to me. I do a banking business, on the side,
+      myself. I own a mining property, a good one, out West. It needs a
+      financial manager, and needs one badly. You come with me, do you hear!
+      I'll place you where you fit, before I get through with you, and I'll make
+      you a rich man in ten years. There! now will you say yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook my head. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;NO! You are enough to drive a well man crazy, to say nothing of a
+      half-sick relic like me. <i>I</i> say yes&mdash;yes&mdash;YES! Sooner or
+      later I'll MAKE you. You've lost your place here. You told me yourself
+      that that old crank Dean is going to make this town too hot to hold you.
+      You'll HAVE to go away. Now won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I nodded. &ldquo;I shall go away,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I have made up my mind to go,
+      now that Mother seems well enough for me to leave her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where will you go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stared at me in silence for what seemed a long time. I thought he must
+      be exhausted, and once more I rose to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop! Stay where you are,&rdquo; he ordered. &ldquo;I haven't got the answer to you
+      yet, and I know it. There's something back of all this, something I don't
+      know about. I'm going to find out what it is, if it takes me a year. You
+      can tell me now, if you want to. It will save time. What is the real
+      reason why you won't take my offer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I don't know why I did it. I had kept the secret all the years and
+      certainly, when I entered that room, I had no intention of revealing it.
+      Yet, now, when he asked this question I turned on him and blurted out what
+      I had sworn no one&mdash;least of all he or his&mdash;should ever know.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell you why,&rdquo; I cried, desperately. &ldquo;I can't take the place you
+      offer because you know nothing about me. You don't know who I am. If you
+      did you . . . . Mr. Colton, you don't even know my name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at me and shook his head, impatiently. &ldquo;Either you ARE crazy, or
+      I am,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;Don't know your name!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you don't! You think I am Roscoe Paine. I am not. I am Roscoe
+      Bennett, and my father was Carleton Bennett, the embezzler.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had said it. And the moment afterward I was sorry. I would have given
+      anything to take back the words, but repentance came too late. I had said
+      it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard him draw a deep breath. I did not look at him. I did not care to
+      see his face and read on it the disgust and contempt I was sure it
+      expressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Humph! Do you mean to tell me that your father was
+      Carleton Bennett&mdash;Bennett of Bennett and Company?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well! well! well! Carleton Bennett! No wonder there was something
+      familiar about your mother, something that I seemed to remember. I met her
+      years ago. Well! well! So you're Carleton Bennett's son?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I am his son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at him now. He was smiling, actually smiling. His illness had
+      affected his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What OF it!&rdquo; I gasped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye-es, what of it? What has that got to do with your working for me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could have struck him. If he had not been weak and ill and irresponsible
+      for what he was saying I think I should.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton,&rdquo; I said, striving to speak calmly, &ldquo;you don't understand. My
+      father was Carleton Bennett, the embezzler, the thief, the man whose name
+      was and is a disgrace all over the country. Mother and I came here to hide
+      from that disgrace, to begin a new, clean life under a clean name. Do you
+      think&mdash;? Oh, you don't understand!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand all right. This is the first time I HAVE understood. I see
+      now why a clever man like you was willing to spend his days in a place
+      like Denboro. Well, you aren't going to spend any more of them there.
+      You're going to let me make something worth while out of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This sounded, in one way, like sanity. But in another&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton,&rdquo; I cried, &ldquo;even if you meant it, which you don't&mdash;do you
+      suppose I would go back to New York, where so many know me, and enter your
+      employ under an assumed name? Run the risk of&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush! Enter it under your own name. It's a good name. The Bennetts are
+      one of our oldest families. Ask my wife; she'll tell you that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A good name!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I declare, Paine&mdash;Bennett, I mean&mdash;I shall begin to
+      believe you haven't got the sense I credited you with. I can see what has
+      been the matter with you. You came here, you and your sick mother, with
+      the scandal of your father's crookedness hanging over you and her sickness
+      making her super-sensitive, and you two kept the secret and brooded over
+      it so long that you have come to think you are criminals, too. You're not.
+      You haven't done anything crooked. What's the matter with you, man? Be
+      sensible!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sensible!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sensible, if you can. I don't care who your father was. He was a
+      smart banker, before he went wrong, and I can see now where you inherited
+      your ability. But never mind that. He's dead; let him stay so. I'm not
+      trying to get him. It's you I want.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You want ME! Do you mean you would take me into your employ, knowing who
+      I am?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure! It is because I know WHAT you are that I want you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton, you&mdash;I don't know what to say to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Try saying 'yes' and see how it seems. It will be a change, anyhow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no! I cannot; it is impossible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you make me weary! . . . Humph! What is it now? Any more 'reasons'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; I faced him squarely. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;there is another reason, one
+      that makes it impossible, utterly impossible, if nothing else did. When I
+      tell you what it is you will understand what I mean and agree with me.
+      Your daughter and I have been thrown together a great deal since she came
+      to Denboro. Our meetings have not been of my seeking, nor of hers. Of late
+      I have realized that, for my own sake, for the sake of my peace of mind, I
+      must not meet her. I must not be where she is. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here! Stop!&rdquo; he broke in sharply. &ldquo;What is this? Do you mean to tell me
+      that you and Mabel&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not her fault. It is my own, entirely. Mr. Colton, I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop, I tell you! Do you mean to tell me that you are&mdash;that you have
+      been making love to my daughter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Certainly not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what do you mean? That she has been making love to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Colton&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! Don't act like the Wild Man of Borneo. Do you mean that you are in
+      love with her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you see now why I cannot accept? I must go away. I am going.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! That will do. . . . Humph! Well, Paine&mdash;Bennett, I should
+      say; it is hard to keep track of your names&mdash;you are rather&mdash;er&mdash;reckless,
+      it seems to me. Mabel is our only child and her mother and I, naturally,
+      had planned for her future . . . Have you told her of your&mdash;recklessness?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not! I shall not see her again. I shall leave Denboro as soon
+      as I can. She will never know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Humph! I see . . . I see . . . Well, I don't know that there is anything
+      for me to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry for you, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a sharp rap at the door. Doctor Quimby opened it and entered the
+      room. He glanced from me to his patient and his face expressed sharp
+      disapproval.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'd better go, Ros,&rdquo; he snapped. &ldquo;What is the matter with you? Didn't I
+      tell you not to excite him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'M not excited,&rdquo; observed Colton, drily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clear out this minute!&rdquo; continued the angry doctor. &ldquo;Ros Paine, I thought
+      you had more sense.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So did I,&rdquo; this from &ldquo;Big Jim&rdquo;. &ldquo;However, I am learning a lot these days.
+      Good-by, Paine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, by the way,&rdquo; he called after me, &ldquo;let me make a suggestion. If I were
+      you, Roscoe, I wouldn't leave Denboro to-day. Not before to-morrow
+      morning, at any rate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not understand him and I asked for no explanation. It was the first
+      time he had addressed me by my Christian name, but it was not until
+      afterward that I remembered that fact.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That afternoon I was alone in my haven of refuge, the boathouse. Mother
+      and I had had a long talk. I told her everything that had transpired. I
+      kept back nothing, either of my acts or my feelings. She said she was not
+      sorry for what I had done. She was rather glad, than otherwise, that I had
+      disclosed our secret to Mr. Colton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He knows now, Roscoe,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;And he was right, too. You and I have
+      brooded over our sorrow and what we considered our disgrace much more than
+      we should. He is right, Boy. We are innocent of any wrong-doing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Mother,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;I suppose we are. But we must keep the secret
+      still. No one else in Denboro must know. You know what gossip there would
+      be. There is enough now. I presume I am called a traitor and a blackguard
+      by every person in the town.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why no, you are not. That is the strange thing about it. Luther was up at
+      the post-office this morning and no one seems to know of your sale of the
+      land. Captain Dean has, apparently, kept the news to himself. Why do you
+      suppose he does that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. I don't know, unless it is because he&mdash;no, I can't
+      understand it at all. However, they will know soon enough. By the way, I
+      have never asked Dorinda where Lute was that noon&mdash;it seems ages ago&mdash;when
+      he was missing at dinner time. And how did he know of Mr. Colton's
+      illness?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She smiled. &ldquo;Poor Luther!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;He announced his intention of
+      running away, you remember. As a matter of fact he met the Coltons'
+      chauffeur in the motor car and the chauffeur invited him to go to Bayport
+      with him. The chauffeur had an errand there. Lute accepted&mdash;as he
+      says, automobile rides don't come his way every day in the week&mdash;and
+      they had trouble with the engine and did not get back until almost night.
+      Then Miss Colton told him of her father's seizure and gave him the note
+      for you. It was to you she turned in her trouble, Boy. She trusts you.
+      Roscoe, I&mdash;I think she&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't say it, Mother. All that is ended. I am going to forget&mdash;if I
+      can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rest of our conversation need not be written here. She said many
+      things, such as fond mothers say to their sons and which the sons know too
+      well they do not deserve. We discussed my leaving Denboro and she was so
+      brave and self-sacrificing that my conscience smote me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll stay, Mother,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I can't leave you. I'll stay and fight it
+      out with you. After all, it will not be much worse than it was before I
+      went to the bank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But she would not hear of my staying. I had a friend in Chicago, a distant
+      relative who knew our story. Perhaps he could help me to a start
+      somewhere. She kissed me and bade me keep up my courage, and I left her. I
+      ate a hurried meal, a combination of breakfast and dinner, and, dodging
+      Lute, who was in the back yard waiting to question me concerning the
+      Coltons, walked down to the boathouse. There, in my armchair, I tried to
+      think, to map out some sort of plan for my future.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a hopeless task. I was not interested in it. I did not much care
+      what became of me. If it were not for Mother I should not have cared at
+      all. Nevertheless, for her sake, I must try to plan, and I did.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was still trying when I heard footsteps approaching the door, the small
+      door at the side, not the big one in front. I did not rise to open the
+      door, nor did I turn my head. The visitor was Lute, probably, and if I
+      kept still he might think I was not within and go away again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door opened. &ldquo;Here he is,&rdquo; said a voice, a voice that I recognized. I
+      turned quickly and sprang to my feet. Standing behind me was Captain
+      Jedediah Dean and with him George Taylor&mdash;George Taylor, who should
+      have been&mdash;whom I had supposed to be in Washington with his bride!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here he is,&rdquo; said Captain Jed, again. &ldquo;Well, Ros, we've come to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But I paid no attention to him. It was his companion I was staring at.
+      What was he doing here?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George!&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;GEORGE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stepped forward and held out his hand. He was smiling, but there was a
+      look in his eye which expressed the exact opposite of smiles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros,&rdquo; he said, quietly, &ldquo;Ros Paine, you bull-headed, big-hearted old
+      chump, how are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But I could only stare at him. Why had he come to Denboro? What did his
+      coming to me mean? Why had he come with Captain Jed, the man who had vowed
+      that he was done with me forever? And why was the captain looking at me so
+      oddly?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George!&rdquo; I cried in alarm, &ldquo;George, you haven't&mdash;you haven't made a
+      fool of yourself? You haven't&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Captain Jed interrupted me. &ldquo;He ain't the fool, Ros,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That is,
+      he ain't now. I'm the fool. I ought to have known better. Ros, I&mdash;I
+      don't know's you'll give it to me, but anyhow I'm goin' to ask it; I beg
+      your pardon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ros,&rdquo; said Taylor, before I could reply, &ldquo;don't stand staring as if you
+      were petrified. Sit down and let me look at you. You pig-headed old idiot,
+      you! What do you mean by it? What did you do it for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pushed me into the chair I had just vacated. Captain Dean took another.
+      George remained standing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He IS petrified, I do believe!&rdquo; he exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But my petrification was only temporary. I was beginning to understand,
+      and to be more alarmed than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you doing here in Denboro?&rdquo; I demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Captain Jed answered for him. &ldquo;He's here because I telegraphed for him
+      yesterday,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I wired him to come straight home and take charge of
+      the bank. I had fired you, like the dumb fool I was, and I wanted him to
+      take command. He got here on the mornin' train.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I remembered what Phin Cahoon had said about the telegram and the
+      captain's making him promise not to mention the name of the person to whom
+      it was sent. It was George, of course. If I had been in a normal state of
+      mind when Phin told me I should have guessed as much.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Taylor took up the conversation. &ldquo;Yes, I got here,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And when I
+      got here&mdash;or a little before&mdash;&rdquo; with a glance at the captain&mdash;&ldquo;I
+      found out what had been going on since I left. You old chump, Ros Paine!
+      What did you do it for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked at him and then at his companion. What I saw there confirmed my
+      worst suspicions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;George,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;if you have told him you must be crazy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was crazy not to tell him before. I was crazy not to guess what you had
+      been up to. But I didn't suppose anybody would be crazy enough to do what
+      you did, Ros. I didn't imagine for a minute that you would be crazy enough
+      to throw away your job and get yourself into the trouble you knew was sure
+      to come, just to help me. To help ME, by the Lord! Ros! Ros! what can I
+      say to you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've said enough, and more than enough,&rdquo; I answered, bitterly. &ldquo;I did
+      what I did so that you might keep your secret. I did it to help you and
+      Nellie. And if you had kept still no one need ever have known, no one but
+      you and I, George. And now you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shut up, Ros!&rdquo; he interrupted. &ldquo;Shut up, I tell you! Why, confound you,
+      what do you think I am? Do you suppose I would let you sacrifice yourself
+      like that, while I set still and saw you kicked out of town? What do you
+      think I am?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what was the use of it?&rdquo; I demanded. &ldquo;It was done. Nothing you could
+      say would change it. For Nellie's sake&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! there!&rdquo; broke in Captain Jed, &ldquo;Nellie knows. George told her the
+      day they was married. He told her before they was married. He was man
+      enough to do that and I honor him for it. If he'd only come to me then it
+      would have been a mighty sight better. I'd have understood when I heard
+      about your sellin' Colton the land, and I wouldn't have made a jackass of
+      myself by treatin' you as I done. You! the man that sacrificed yourself to
+      keep my girl from breakin' her heart! When I think what you saved us all
+      from I&mdash;I&mdash;By the Almighty, Ros Paine! I'll make it up to you
+      somehow. I will! I swear I will!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned away and looked out of the window. George laid a hand on his
+      shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am the one to make it up, Cap'n,&rdquo; he said, solemnly. &ldquo;If I live I'll
+      make it up to Ros here, and to you, and to Nellie, God bless her! I
+      expected you would never speak to me again when I'd told you. Telling you&mdash;next
+      to telling Nellie&mdash;was the toughest job I ever tackled. But I'll make
+      it up to you both, and to Ros. Thank the Lord, it ain't too late to make
+      it up to him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll both make it up to him, George,&rdquo; replied Captain Jed. &ldquo;As far as we
+      can, we will. If he wants to come back to the bank this minute he can.
+      We'll be proud to have him. But I cal'late,&rdquo; with a smile, &ldquo;he'll have
+      bigger fish to fry than we can give him. If what we've just heard is true,
+      he will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know what you mean,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;And as for the bank&mdash;well,
+      you forget one thing: I sold the Shore Lane and the town knows it. How
+      long would the other directors tolerate me in that bank, after that, do
+      you think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To my surprise they looked at each other and laughed. Captain Dean shook
+      his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you're mistook, Ros. The town don't know you sold it. I
+      didn't tell 'em because I wanted George in command of that bank afore the
+      row broke loose. I larned of the sale myself, by chance, over to Ostable
+      and I never told anybody except Dorindy Rogers and her fool of a husband.
+      I'll see that they keep still tongues in their heads. And as for the Lane&mdash;well,
+      that won't be closed. Colton don't own it no more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't OWN it,&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;Don't own it! He does. I sold it to him
+      myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. And George, here, bought it back not an hour ago. We saw His Majesty&mdash;sick
+      in bed he was, but just as high and mighty and independent as ever&mdash;and
+      George bought back the land and the Lane for thirty-five hundred dollars.
+      The old man didn't seem to give a durn about it any more. He'd had his own
+      way, he said, and that was all he cared about. Besides, he ain't goin' to
+      stay in Denboro much longer. The old lady&mdash;his wife&mdash;is sick of
+      the place and he only come here on her account. He cal'lates that New York
+      is good enough for him. I cal'late 'tis. Anyhow, Denboro won't hang onto
+      his coattails to hold him back. Tell Ros the whole story, George.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      George told it, beginning with his receipt of his father-in-law's telegram
+      and his hurried return to the Cape. He had gone directly to Captain Dean
+      and confessed the whole thing. The captain had behaved like a trump, I
+      learned. Instead of denouncing his daughter's husband he had forgiven him
+      freely. Then they had gone to see Colton and George had bought the land.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I shall give it to the town,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It's the least I can do. You
+      wonder where the money came from, Ros? I guess you ain't seen the
+      newspapers. There was a high old time in the stock market yesterday and
+      Louisville and Transcontinental climbed half-way to the moon. From being a
+      pauper I'm pretty well fixed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm heartily glad of it, George,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;But there is one thing I don't
+      understand. You say you learned of my selling the land before you reached
+      Denboro. Captain Jed says no one but he and my people knew it. How did you
+      find it out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again my two callers looked at each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, somebody&mdash;a friend of yours&mdash;come to me at the Ostable
+      station and dragged Nellie and me off the train. We rode with that person
+      the rest of the way and&mdash;the said person told us what had happened
+      and begged us to help you. Seemed to have made a middling good guess that
+      I COULD help, if I would.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A person&mdash;a friend of mine! Why, I haven't any friend, any friend
+      who knew the truth, or could guess.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who was it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      George laughed aloud and Captain Jed laughed with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess I shan't tell you,&rdquo; said the former. &ldquo;I promised I wouldn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIV
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      They left me soon after this. I tried to make them tell who the mysterious
+      friend might be, but they refused. The kind things they said and the
+      gratitude they both expressed I shall never forget. They did not
+      strenuously urge me to return to the bank, and that seemed strange to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The job's yours if you want it, Ros,&rdquo; said Captain Jed. &ldquo;We'd be only too
+      happy to have you if you'd come&mdash;any time, sooner or later. But I
+      don't think you will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;I shall not. I have made other plans. I am going to
+      leave Denboro.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That did not seem to surprise them and I was still more puzzled. They
+      shook hands and went away, promising to call at the house that evening and
+      bring Nellie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She wants to thank you, too, Ros,&rdquo; said George.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After they had gone I sat by the big door, looking out at the bay, smooth
+      and beautiful in the afternoon sunlight, and thinking of what they had
+      told me. For Mother's sake I was very glad. It would be easier for her,
+      after I had gone; the townspeople would be friendly, instead of
+      disagreeable. For her sake, I was glad. For myself nothing seemed to make
+      any difference. George Taylor's words&mdash;those he had spoken to me that
+      fateful evening when I found him with the revolver beside him&mdash;came
+      back to me over and over. &ldquo;Wait until your time comes. Wait until the girl
+      comes along that you care for more than the whole world. And then see what
+      you'd do. See what it would mean to give her up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was seeing. I knew now what it meant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I rose and went out of the boathouse. I did not care to meet anyone or
+      speak with anyone. I strolled along the path by the bluff, my old walk,
+      that which I had taken so many times and with such varied feelings, never
+      with such miserable ones as now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The golden-rod, always late blooming on the Cape, bordered the path with
+      gorgeous yellow. The leaves of the scrub oaks were beginning to turn,
+      though not to fall. I walked on and entered the grove where she and I had
+      met after our adventure with Carver and the stranded skiff. I turned the
+      bend and saw her coming toward me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I stood still and she came on, came straight to me and held out her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was waiting for you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I was on my way to your house and I
+      saw you coming&mdash;so I waited.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You waited,&rdquo; I stammered. &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I wished to speak to you and I did not want that&mdash;that Mr.
+      Rogers of yours to interrupt me. Why did you go away yesterday without
+      even letting me thank you for what you had done? Why did you do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because&mdash;because you were very busy and&mdash;and I was tired. I
+      went home and to bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were tired. You must have been. But that is no excuse, no good one. I
+      came down and found you were gone without a word to me. And you had done
+      so much for me&mdash;for my father!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your father thanked me this morning, Miss Colton. I saw him in his room
+      and he thanked me. I did not deserve thanks. I was lucky, that was all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father does not call it luck. He told me what you said to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He told you! Did he tell you all I told him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I think so. He told me who you were; what your real name was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He did! And you were still willing to meet me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Why not? Does it make any difference that you are Mr. Bennett&mdash;instead
+      of Mr. Paine?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But my father was Carleton Bennett&mdash;the&mdash;the&mdash;You must
+      have heard of him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never knew your father. I do know his son. And I am very proud to know
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me,&rdquo; she interrupted, quickly, &ldquo;have you seen Mr. Taylor? He is here
+      in Denboro.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I have seen him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he told you about the Lane? That he has bought it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you will not be,&rdquo; with a smile, &ldquo;driven from Denboro by that cross
+      old Captain Dean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall not be driven&mdash;no.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then Mr. Taylor did help you. He promised me he would.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He promised you? When? When did you see George Taylor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She appeared confused. &ldquo;I&mdash;I&mdash;Of course I saw him at the house
+      this noon, when he came to see Father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But he could not have promised you then. He had helped me already. Did
+      you see him before that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, how could I? I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Colton, answer me. Was it you that met him at the Ostable station
+      this morning? Was it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was as red as the reddest of the autumn leaves. She laughed,
+      confusedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did meet him there,&rdquo; she confessed. &ldquo;That queer Mr. Cahoon, the station
+      agent, told me that Captain Dean had telegraphed him to come. I knew he
+      would probably be on that train. And Mr. Cahoon told me about his being
+      interested in stocks and very much troubled. You had told me, or as much
+      as told me, that you sold the land to get money to help some one. I put
+      two and two together and I guessed the rest. I met him and Nellie and we
+      rode to Denboro together in our auto. He promised me that he would make
+      everything right for you. I am so glad he did!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I caught my breath with a gasp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You did that!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;You did that, for me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? Surely you had done enough for&mdash;us. I could not let you be
+      'driven from town', you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did not speak. I knew that I must not attempt a reply. I should say too
+      much. She looked up at me, and then down again at the pine-needles beneath
+      our feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father says he intends to do great things for you,&rdquo; she went on. &ldquo;He says
+      you are to come with him. He is enthusiastic about it. He believes you are
+      a great man. No one but a great man, he says, could beat the Consolidated
+      Pacific gang single-handed. He says you will be the best investment he
+      ever made.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid not,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;Your father made me a generous offer. I
+      wish I might have been able to accept it, but I could not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but you are going to accept.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I am not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He says you are. And he always has his way, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not in this case, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But <i>I</i> want you to accept. Surely you will do it to oblige me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I can't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you going to do; go back to the bank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I am going to leave Denboro. I don't know where I shall go. This is
+      good-by, Miss Colton. It is not likely that we shall meet again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why are you going?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was silent, still looking down at the pine-needles. I could not see
+      her face. I was silent also. I knew that I ought to go, that I should not
+      remain there, with her, another moment. Yet I remained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you think this is our parting,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I do not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you? I fear you are wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not wrong. You will not go away, Mr.&mdash;Bennett. At least, you
+      will not until you go where my father sends you. You will accept his
+      offer, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are mistaken.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I think I am not mistaken. I think you will accept it, because&mdash;because
+      I ask you to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot, Miss Colton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And your reason?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That I cannot tell anyone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you told my father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was stricken dumb again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She went on, speaking hurriedly, and not raising her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You told my father,&rdquo; she repeated, &ldquo;and he told me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He told you!&rdquo; I cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he told me. I&mdash;I am not sure that he was greatly surprised. He
+      thought it honorable of you and he was very glad you did tell him, but I
+      think he was not surprised.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The oaks and the pines and the huckleberry bushes were dancing great
+      giddy-go-rounds, a reflection of the whirlpool in my brain. Out of the
+      maelstrom I managed to speak somehow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was not surprised!&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;He was not&mdash;not&mdash;What do
+      you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not answer. She drew away from me a step, but I followed her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why wasn't he surprised?&rdquo; I asked again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because&mdash;because&mdash;Oh, I don't know! What have I been saying! I&mdash;Please
+      don't ask me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why wasn't he surprised?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because&mdash;because&mdash;&rdquo; she hesitated. Then suddenly she looked up
+      into my face, her wonderful eyes alight. &ldquo;Because,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I had told
+      him myself, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I seized her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;YOU had told him? You had told him that I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; with a swift shake of the head, &ldquo;not you. I&mdash;I did not know
+      that&mdash;then. I told him that I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But I did not wait to hear any more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some time after that&mdash;I do not know how long after and it makes no
+      difference anyway&mdash;I began to remember some resolutions I had made,
+      resolves to be self-sacrificing and all that sort of thing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my dear,&rdquo; I faltered, &ldquo;I am insane! I am stark crazy! How can I
+      think of such a thing! Your mother&mdash;what will she say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked up at me; looking up was not as difficult now, and, besides,
+      she did not have to look far. She looked up and smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think Mother is more reconciled,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Since she learned who you
+      were she seems to feel better about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook my head, ruefully. &ldquo;Yet she referred to me as a 'nobody' only this
+      morning,&rdquo; I observed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but that was before she knew you were a Bennett. The Bennetts are a
+      very good family, so she says. And she informed me that she always
+      expected me to throw myself away, so she was not altogether unprepared.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I sighed. &ldquo;Throwing yourself away is exactly what you have done, I'm
+      afraid,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She put her hand to my lips. &ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;At all events, I made
+      a lucky throw. I'm very glad you caught me, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a rustle of leaves just behind us and a startled exclamation. I
+      turned and saw Lute Rogers standing there in the path, an expression on
+      his face which I shall not attempt to describe, for no description could
+      do justice to it. We looked at Lute and he looked at us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was the first to recover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My time!&rdquo; exclaimed Lute. &ldquo;My TIME!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned and fled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come here!&rdquo; I shouted after him. &ldquo;Come back here this minute! Lute, come
+      back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lute came, looking shamefaced and awkward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where were you going?&rdquo; I demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I was cal'latin' to go and tell Dorindy,&rdquo; he faltered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll tell nobody. Nobody, do you hear! I'll tell Dorinda myself, when
+      it is necessary. What were you doing here? spying on me in that fashion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I wan't spyin', Ros. Honest truth, I wan't. I&mdash;I didn't know
+      you and she was&mdash;was&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind that. What were you doing here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was chasin' after you, Ros. I just heard the most astonishing thing.
+      Jed Dean was to the house to make Dorindy and me promise to say nothin'
+      about that Shore Lane 'cause you never sold it, and he said Mr. Colton had
+      offered you a turrible fine job along of him and that you was goin' to
+      take it. I wanted to find you and ask it 'twas true. 'Taint true, is it,
+      Ros?&rdquo; wistfully. &ldquo;By time! I wish 'twas.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before I could answer Mabel spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it is true, Mr. Rogers,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;It is quite true and you may
+      tell anyone you like. It is true, isn't it, Roscoe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What answer could I make? What answer would you have made under the
+      circumstances?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I answered, with a sigh of resignation. &ldquo;I guess it is true, Lute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
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+Title:  The Rise of Roscoe Paine
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+Author:  Joseph C. Lincoln
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+
+THE RISE OF ROSCOE PAINE
+
+by Joseph C. Lincoln
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+"I'm going up to the village," I told Dorinda, taking my cap from
+the hook behind the dining-room door.
+
+"What for?" asked Dorinda, pushing me to one side and reaching for
+the dust-cloth, which also was behind the door.
+
+"Oh, just for the walk," I answered, carelessly.
+
+"Um-hm," observed Dorinda.
+
+"Um-hm" is, I believe, good Scotch for "Yes."  I have read that it
+is, somewhere--in one of Barrie's yarns, I think.  I had never been
+in Scotland, or much of anywhere else, except the city I was born
+in, and my college town, and Boston--and Cape Cod.  "Um-hm" meant
+yes on the Cape, too, except when Dorinda said it; then it might
+mean almost anything.  When Mother asked her to lower the window
+shade in the bed-room she said "Um-hm" and lowered it.  And, five
+minutes later, when Lute came in, loaded to the guards with
+explanations as to why he had forgotten to clean the fish for
+dinner, she said it again.  And the Equator and the North Pole are
+no nearer alike, so far as temperature is concerned, than those two
+"Um-hms."  And between them she had others, expressing all degrees
+from frigid to semi-torrid.
+
+Her "Um-hm" this time was somewhere along the northern edge of
+Labrador.
+
+"It's a good morning for a walk," I said.
+
+"Um-hm," repeated Dorinda, crossing over to Greenland, so to speak.
+
+I opened the outside door.  The warm spring sunshine, pouring in,
+was a pleasant contrast and made me forget, for the moment, the
+glacier at my back.  Come to think of it, "glacier" isn't a good
+word; glaciers move slowly and that wasn't Dorinda's way.
+
+"What are you going to do?" I asked.
+
+"Work," snapped Dorinda, unfurling the dust cloth.  "It's a good
+mornin' for that, too."
+
+I went out, turned the corner of the house and found Lute sound
+asleep on the wash bench behind the kitchen.  His full name was
+Luther Millard Filmore Rogers, and he was Dorinda's husband by law,
+and the burden which Providence, or hard luck, had ordered her to
+carry through this vale of tears.  She was a good Methodist and
+there was no doubt in her mind that Providence was responsible.
+When she rose to testify in prayer-meeting she always mentioned her
+"cross" and everybody knew that the cross was Luther.  She carried
+him, but it is no more than fair to say that she didn't provide him
+with cushions.  She never let him forget that he was a steerage
+passenger.  However, Lute was well upholstered with philosophy, of
+a kind, and, so long as he didn't have to work his passage, was
+happy, even if the voyage was a rather rough one.
+
+Just now he was supposed to be raking the back yard, but the rake
+was between his knees, his head was tipped back against the
+shingled wall of the kitchen, and he was sleeping, with the
+sunshine illuminating his open mouth, "for all the world like a
+lamp in a potato cellar," as his wife had said the last time she
+caught him in this position.  She went on to say that it was a pity
+he wouldn't stand on his head when he slept.  "Then I could see if
+your skull was as holler as I believe it is," she told him.
+
+Lute heard me as I passed him and woke up.  The "potato cellar"
+closed with a snap and he seized the rake handles with both hands.
+
+"I was takin' a sort of observation," he explained hurriedly.
+"Figgerin' whether I'd better begin here or over by the barn.  Oh,
+it's you, Roscoe, is it!  Land sakes!  I thought first 'twas
+Dorindy.  Where you bound?"
+
+"Up to the village," I said.
+
+"Ain't goin' to the post-office, be you?"
+
+"I may; I don't know."
+
+Lute sighed.  "I was kind of cal'latin' to go there myself," he
+observed, regretfully.  "Thoph Newcomb and Cap'n Jed Dean and the
+rest of us was havin' a talk on politics last night up there and
+'twas mighty interestin'.  Old Dean had Thoph pretty well out of
+the race when I hauled alongside, but when I got into the argument
+'twas different.  'What's goin' to become of the laborin' men of
+this country if you have free trade?' I says.  Dean had to give in
+that he didn't know.  'Might have to let their wives support 'em,'
+he says, pompous as ever.  'That would be a calamity, wouldn't it,
+Lute?'  That wasn't no answer, of course.  But you can't expect
+sense of a Democrat.  I left him fumin' and come away.  I've
+thought of a lot more questions to ask him since and I was hopin' I
+could get at him this mornin'.  But no!  Dorindy's sot on havin'
+this yard raked, so I s'pose I've got to do it."
+
+He had dropped the rake, but now he leaned over, picked it up, and
+rose from the wash bench.
+
+"I s'pose I've got to do it," he repeated, "unless," hopefully,
+"you want me to run up to the village and do your errand for you."
+
+"No; I hadn't any errand."
+
+"Well, then I s'pose I'd better start in.  Unless there was
+somethin' else you'd ruther I'd do to-day.  If there was I could do
+this to-morrer."
+
+"To-morrow would have one advantage: there would be more to rake
+then.  However, judging by Dorinda's temper this morning, I think,
+perhaps, you had better do it to-day."
+
+"What's Dorindy doin'?"
+
+"She is dusting the dining-room."
+
+"I'll bet you!  And she dusted it yesterday and the day afore.  Do
+you know--" Lute sat down again on the bench--"sometimes I get real
+worried about her."
+
+"No!  Do you?"
+
+"Yes, I do.  I think she works too hard.  Seems's if sometimes it
+had kind of struck to her brains--work, I mean.  She don't think of
+nothin' else.  Now take the dustin', for instance.  Dustin's all
+right; I believe in dustin' things.  But I don't believe in wearin'
+'em out dustin' 'em.  That ain't sense, is it?"
+
+"It doesn't seem like it, that's a fact."
+
+"You bet it don't!  And it ain't good religion, neither.  Now take--
+well, take this yard, for instance.  What is it that I'm slavin'
+myself over this fine mornin'?  Why, rakin' this yard!  And what am
+I rakin'?  Why, dead leaves from last fall, and straws and sticks
+and pieces of seaweed and such that have blowed in durin' the
+winter.  And what blowed 'em in?  Why, the wind, sartin!  And whose
+wind was it?  The Almighty's, that's whose!  Now then! if the
+Almighty didn't intend to have dead leaves around why did he put
+trees for 'em to fall off of?  If he didn't want straws and seaweed
+and truck around why did He send them everlastin' no'theasters last
+November?  Did that idea ever strike you?"
+
+"I don't know that it ever did, exactly in that way."
+
+"No.  Well, that's 'cause you ain't reasoned it out, same as I
+have.  You've got the same trouble that most folks have, you don't
+reason things out.  Now, let's look at it straight in the face."
+Lute let go of the rake altogether and used both hands to
+illustrate his point.  "That finger there, we'll say, is me, rakin'
+and rakin' hard as ever I can.  And that fist there is the
+Almighty, not meanin' anything irreverent.  I rake, same as I'm
+doin' this mornin'.  The yard's all cleaned up.  Then--zing!"
+Lute's clenched fist swept across and knocked the offending finger
+out of the way.  "Zing! here comes one of the Almighty's
+no'theasters, same as we're likely to have to-morrer, and the
+consarned yard is just as dirty as ever.  Ain't that so?"
+
+I looked at the yard.  "It seems to be about as it was," I agreed,
+with some sarcasm.  Lute was an immune, so far as sarcasm was
+concerned.
+
+"Yup," he said, triumphantly.  "Now, Dorindy, she's a good, pious
+woman.  She believes the Powers above order everything.  If that's
+so, then ain't it sacrilegious to be all the time flyin' in the
+face of them Powers by rakin' and rakin' and dustin' and dustin'?
+That's the question."
+
+"But, according to that reasoning," I observed, "we should neither
+rake nor dust.  Wouldn't that make our surroundings rather
+uncomfortable, after a while?"
+
+"Sartin.  But when they got uncomfortable then we could turn to and
+make 'em comfortable again.  I ain't arguin' against work--needful
+work, you understand.  I like it.  And I ain't thinkin' of myself,
+you know, but about Dorindy.  It worries me to see her wearin'
+herself out with--with dustin' and such.  It ain't sense and
+'tain't good religion.  She's my wife and it's my duty to think for
+her and look out for her."
+
+He paused and reached into his overalls pocket for a pipe.  Finding
+it, he reached into another pocket for the wherewithal to fill it.
+
+"Have you suggested to her that she's flying in the face of
+Providence?" I asked.
+
+Lute shook his head.  "No," he admitted, "I ain't.  Got any tobacco
+about you?  Dorindy hove my plug away yesterday.  I left it back of
+the clock and she found it and was mad--dustin' again, of course."
+
+He took the pouch I handed him, filled his pipe and absently put
+the pouch in his pocket.
+
+"Got a match?" he asked.  "Thanks.  No, I ain't spoke to her about
+it, though it's been on my mind for a long spell.  I didn't know
+but you might say somethin' to her along that line, Roscoe.
+'Twouldn't sound so personal, comin' from you.  What do you think?"
+
+I shook my head.  "Dorinda wouldn't pay much attention to my ideas
+on such subjects, I'm afraid," I answered.  "She knows I'm not a
+regular church-goer."
+
+Lute was plainly disappointed.  "Well," he said, with a sigh,
+"maybe you're right.  She does cal'late you're kind of heathen,
+though she hopes you'll see the light some day.  But, just the
+same," he added, "it's a good argument.  I tried it on the gang up
+to the post-office last night.  I says to 'em, says I, 'Work's all
+right.  I believe in it.  I'm a workin' man, myself.  But to work
+when you don't have to is wrong.  Take Ros Paine,' I says--"
+
+"Why should you take me?" I interrupted, rather sharply.
+
+"'Cause you're the best example I could think of.  Everybody knows
+you don't do no work.  Shootin' and sailin' and fishin' ain't work,
+and that's about all you do.  'Take Ros,' says I.  'He might be to
+work.  He was in a bank up to the city once and he knows the
+bankin' trade.  He might be at it now, but what would be the use?'
+I says.  'He's got enough to live on and he lives on it, 'stead of
+keepin' some poor feller out of a job.'  That's right, too, ain't
+it?"
+
+I didn't answer at once.  There was no reason why I should be
+irritated because Luther Rogers had held me up as a shining example
+of the do-nothing class to the crowd of hangers-on in a country
+post-office.  What did I care for Denboro opinion?  Six years in
+that gossipy village had made me, so I thought, capable of rising
+above such things.
+
+"Well," I asked after a moment, "what did they say to that?"
+
+"Oh, nothin' much.  They couldn't; I had 'em, you see.  Some of 'em
+laughed and old Cap'n Jed he hove out somethin' about birds of a
+feather stickin' up for each other.  No sense to it.  But, as I
+said afore, what can you expect of a Democrat?"
+
+I turned on my heel and moved toward the back gate.  "Ain't goin',
+be you?" asked Lute.  "Hadn't you better set down and rest your
+breakfast a spell?"
+
+"No, I'm going.  By the way, if you're through with that tobacco
+pouch of mine, I'll take it off your hands.  I may want to smoke by
+and by."
+
+Lute coolly explained that he had forgotten the pouch; it had "gone
+clean out of his head."  However, he handed it over and I left him
+seated on the wash bench, with his head tipped back against the
+shingles.  I opened the gate and strolled slowly along the path by
+the edge of the bluff.  I had gone perhaps a hundred yards when I
+heard a shrill voice behind me.  Turning, I saw Dorinda standing by
+the corner of the kitchen, dust cloth in hand.  Her husband was
+raking for dear life.
+
+I walked on.  The morning was a beautiful one.  Beside the path, on
+the landward side, the bayberry and beach-plum bushes were in bud,
+the green of the new grass was showing above the dead brown of the
+old, a bluebird was swaying on the stump of a wild cherry tree, and
+the pines and scrub oaks of the grove by the Shore Lane were
+bright, vivid splashes of color against the blue of the sky.  At my
+right hand the yellow sand of the bluff broke sharply down to the
+white beach and the waters of the bay, now beginning to ebb.
+Across the bay the lighthouse at Crow Point glistened with new
+paint and I could see a moving black speck, which I knew was Ben
+Small, the keeper, busy whitewashing the fence beside it.  Down on
+the beach Zeb Kendrick was overhauling his dory.  In the distance,
+beyond the grove, I could hear the carpenters' hammers on the roof
+of the big Atwater mansion, which was now the property of James
+Colton, the New York millionaire, whose rumored coming to Denboro
+to live had filled the columns of the country weekly for three
+months.  The quahaug boats were anchored just inside the Point; a
+clam digger was wading along the outer edge of the sedge; a
+lobsterman was hauling his pots in the channel; even the bluebird
+on the wild cherry stump had a straw in his beak and was plainly in
+the midst of nest building.  Everyone had something to do and was
+doing it--everyone except Lute Rogers and myself, the "birds of a
+feather."  And even Lute was working now, under compulsion.
+
+Ordinarily the sight of all this industry would not have affected
+me.  I had seen it all before, or something like it.  The six years
+I had spent in Denboro, the six everlasting, idle, monotonous
+years, had had their effect.  I had grown hardened and had come to
+accept my fate, at first rebelliously, then with more of Lute's
+peculiar kind of philosophy.  Circumstances had doomed me to be a
+good-for-nothing, a gentleman loafer without the usual excuse--
+money--and, as it was my doom, I forced myself to accept it, if not
+with pleasure, at least with resignation.  And I determined to get
+whatever pleasure there might be in it.  So, when I saw the
+majority of the human race, each with a purpose in life, struggling
+to attain that purpose, I passed them by with my gun or fishing rod
+on my shoulder, and a smile on my lips.  If my remnant of a
+conscience presumed to rise and reprove me, I stamped it down.  It
+had no reasonable excuse for rising; I wasn't what I was from
+choice.
+
+But, somehow, on this particular morning, my unreasonable
+conscience was again alive and kicking.  Perhaps it was the
+quickening influence of the spring which resurrected it; perhaps
+Luther's quotation from the remarks of Captain Jedediah Dean had
+stirred it to rebellion.  A man may know, in his heart, that he is
+no good and still resent having others say that he is, particularly
+when they say that he and Luther Rogers are birds of a feather.  I
+didn't care for Dean's good opinion; of course I didn't!  Nor for
+that of any one else in Denboro, my mother excepted.  But Dean and
+the rest should keep their opinions to themselves, confound them!
+
+The path from our house--the latter every Denboro native spoke of
+as the "Paine Place"--wound along the edge of the bluff for perhaps
+three hundred yards, then turned sharply through the grove of scrub
+oaks and pitch pines and emerged on the Shore Lane.  The Shore Lane
+was not a public road, in the strictest sense of the term.  It was
+really a part of my land and, leading, as it did, from the Lower
+Road to the beach, was used as a public road merely because mother
+and I permitted it to be.  It had been so used, by sufferance of
+the former owner, for years, and when we came into possession of
+the property we did not interfere with the custom.  Land along the
+shore was worth precious little at that time and, besides, it was
+pleasant, rather than disagreeable, to hear the fish carts going
+out to the weirs, and the wagons coming to the beach for seaweed,
+or, filled with picnic parties, rattling down the Lane.  We could
+not see them from the house until they had passed the grove and
+emerged upon the beach, but even the noise of them was welcome.
+The Paine Place was a good half-mile from the Lower Road and there
+were few neighbors; therefore, especially in the winter months, any
+sounds of society were comforting.
+
+I strode through the grove, kicking the dead branches out of my
+way, for my mind was still busy with Luther and Captain Dean.  As I
+came out into the Lane I looked across at the Atwater mansion, now
+the property of the great and only Colton, "Big Jim" Colton, whose
+deals and corners in Wall Street supplied so many and such varied
+sensations for the financial pages of the city papers, just as
+those of his wife and family supplied news for the society columns;
+I looked across, I say, and then I stopped short to take a longer
+look.
+
+I could see the carpenters, whose hammers I had heard, at work upon
+the roof of the barn, now destined to do double duty as a stable
+and garage.  They, and the painters and plumbers, had been busy on
+the premises for months.  The establishment had been a big one,
+even when Major Atwater owned it, but the new owners had torn down
+and added and rebuilt until the house loomed up like a palace or a
+Newport villa.  A Newport villa in Denboro!  Why on earth any one
+should deliberately choose Denboro as a place to live in I couldn't
+understand; but why a millionaire, with all creation to select
+from, should build a Newport villa on the bluff overlooking Denboro
+Bay was beyond comprehension.  The reason given in the Cape Cod
+Item was that Mrs. Colton was "in debilitated health," whatever
+that is, and had been commanded by her doctors to seek sea air and
+seclusion and rest.  Well, there was sea air and rest, not to
+mention seclusion or sand and mosquitoes, for a square mile about
+the new villa, and no one knew that better than I, condemned to
+live within the square.  But if Mrs. Colton had deliberately chosen
+the spot, with malice aforethought, the place for her was a home
+for the feeble minded.  At least, that was my opinion on that
+particular morning.
+
+It was not the carpenters who caused me to pause in my walk and
+look across the lane and over the stone wall at my new neighbor's
+residence.  What caught my attention was that the place looked to
+be inhabited.  The windows were open--fifty or so of them--smoke
+was issuing from one of the six chimneys; a maid in a white cap and
+apron was standing by the servants' entrance.  Yes, and a tall,
+bulky man with a yachting cap on the back of his head and a cigar
+in his mouth was talking with Asa Peters, the boss carpenter, by
+the big door of the barn.
+
+I had not been up to the village for two days, having been employed
+at our boat-house on the beach below the house, getting my motor
+dory into commission for the summer.  But now I remembered that
+Lute had said something about the Coltons being expected, or having
+arrived, and that he seemed much excited over it.  He would have
+said more, but Dorinda had pounced on him and sent him out to shut
+up the chickens, which gave him the excuse to play truant and take
+his evening's trip to the post-office.  It was plain that the
+Coltons HAD arrived.  Very likely the stout man with the yachting
+cap was the mighty "Big Jim" himself.  Well, I didn't envy him in
+his present situation.  He had my pity, if anything.
+
+Possibly the fact that I could pity some one other than myself
+helped to raise my spirits.  At any rate I managed to shake off a
+little of my gloom and tramped on up the Lane, feeling more like a
+human being and less like a yellow dog.  Less as I should imagine a
+yellow dog ought to feel, I mean, for, as a matter of fact, most
+yellow dogs of my acquaintance seem to be as happy as their brown
+or white or black relatives.  I walked up the Lane, turned into the
+Lower Road, and headed for the village.  The day was a gorgeous
+one, the air bracing as a tonic, and my thirtieth birthday was not
+yet so far astern as to be lost in the fog.  After all, there were
+some consolations in being alive and in a state of health not
+"debilitated."  I began to whistle.
+
+A quarter of a mile from the junction of the Shore Lane, on the
+Lower Road, was a willow-shaded spot, where the brook which
+irrigated Elnathan Mullet's cranberry swamp ran under a small
+wooden bridge.  It was there that I first heard the horn and,
+turning, saw the automobile coming from behind me.  It was
+approaching at a speed of, I should say, thirty miles an hour, and
+I jumped to the rail of the bridge to let it pass.  Autos were not
+as common on the Cape then as they have become since.  Now the
+average pedestrian of common-sense jumps first and looks
+afterwards.
+
+However, I jumped in time, and stood still to watch the car as it
+went by.  But it did not go by--not then.  Its speed slackened as
+it approached and it came to a halt on the bridge beside me.  A big
+car; an aristocratic car; a machine of pomp and price and polish,
+such as Denboro saw but seldom.  It contained three persons--a
+capped and goggled chauffeur on the front seat, and a young fellow
+and a girl in the tonneau.  They attracted my attention in just
+that order--first the chauffeur, then the young fellow, and, last
+of all, the girl.
+
+It was the chauffeur who hailed me.  He leaned across the
+upholstery beside him and, still holding the wheel, said:
+
+"Say, Bill, what's the quickest way to get to Bayport?"
+
+Now my name doesn't happen to be Bill and just then I objected to
+the re-christening.  At another time I might have appreciated the
+joke and given him the information without comment.  But this
+morning I didn't feel like joking.  My dissatisfaction with the
+world in general included automobilists who made common folks get
+out of their way, and I was resentful.
+
+"I should say that you had picked about as quick a way as any," I
+answered.
+
+The chauffeur didn't seem to grasp the true inwardness of this
+brilliant bit.
+
+"Aw, what--" he stammered.  "Say, what--look here, I asked you--"
+
+Then the young man in the tonneau took charge of the conversation.
+He was a very young man, with blond hair and a silky mustache, and
+his clothes fitted him as clothes have no right to fit--on Cape
+Cod.
+
+"That'll do, Oscar," he ordered.  Then, turning to me, he said:
+
+"See here, my man, we want to go to Bayport."
+
+I was not his man, and wouldn't have been for something.  The
+chauffeur had irritated me, but he irritated me more.  I didn't
+like him, his looks, his clothes, and, particularly, his manner.
+Therefore, because I didn't feel like answering, I showed my
+independence by remaining silent.
+
+"What's the matter?" he demanded, impatiently.  "Are you deaf?  I
+say we want to go to Bayport."
+
+A newspaper joke which I had recently read came to my mind.  "Very
+well," I said, "you have my permission."
+
+It was a rude thing to say, and not even original.  I don't attempt
+to excuse it.  In fact, I was sorry as soon as I had said it.  It
+had its effect.  The young man turned red.  Then he laughed aloud.
+
+"Well, by Jove!" he exclaimed.  "What have we here?  A humorist, I
+do believe!  Mabel, we've discovered a genuine, rural humorist.
+Another David Harum, by Jove!  Look at him!"
+
+The girl in the tonneau swept aside her veil and looked, as
+directed.  And I looked at her.  The face that I saw was sweet and
+refined and delicate, a beautiful young face, the face of a lady,
+born and bred.  All this I saw and realized at a glance; but what I
+was most conscious of at the time was the look in the dark eyes as
+they surveyed me from head to foot.  Indifference was there, and
+contemptuous amusement; she didn't even condescend to smile, much
+less speak.  Under that look my self-importance shrank until the
+yellow dog with which I had compared myself loomed as large as an
+elephant.  She might have looked that way at some curious and
+rather ridiculous bug, just before calling a servant to step on it.
+
+The young man laughed again.  "Isn't it a wonder, Mabel?" he asked.
+"The native wit on his native heath!  Reuben--pardon me, your name
+is Reuben, isn't it?--now that you've had your little joke, would
+you condescend to tell us the road which we should take to reach
+Bayport in the shortest time?  Would you oblige us to that extent?"
+
+The young lady smiled at this.  "Victor," she said, "how idiotic
+you are!"
+
+I agreed with her.  Idiot was one of the terms, the mildest, which
+I should have applied to that young man.  I wanted very much to
+remove him from that car by what Lute would call the scruff of the
+neck.  But most of all, just then, I wanted to be alone, to see the
+last of the auto and its occupants.
+
+"First turn to the right, second to the left," I said, sullenly.
+
+"Thank you, Reuben," vouchsafed the young man.  "Here's hoping that
+your vegetables are fresher than your jokes.  Go ahead, Oscar."
+
+The chauffeur threw in the clutch and the car buzzed up the road,
+turning the corner at full speed.  There was a loose board
+projecting from the bridge just under my feet.  As a member--though
+an inactive one--of the Village Improvement Society I should have
+trodden it back into place.  I didn't; I kicked it into the brook.
+
+Then I walked on.  But the remainder of my march was a silent one,
+without music.  I did not whistle.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The post-office was at Eldredge's store, and Eldredge's store,
+situated at the corners, where the Main Road and the Depot Road--
+which is also the direct road to South Denboro--join, was the
+mercantile and social center of Denboro.  Simeon Eldredge kept the
+store, and Simeon was also postmaster, as well as the town
+constable, undertaker, and auctioneer.  If you wanted a spool of
+thread, a coffin, or the latest bit of gossip, you applied at
+Eldredge's.  The gossip you could be morally certain of getting at
+once; the thread or the coffin you might have to wait for.
+
+I scarcely know why I went to Eldredge's that morning.  I did not
+expect mail, and I did not require Simeon's services in any one of
+his professional capacities.  Possibly Lute's suggestion had some
+sort of psychic effect and I stopped at the post-office
+involuntarily.  At any rate, I woke from the trance in which the
+encounter with the automobile had left me to find myself walking in
+at the door.
+
+The mail was not yet due, to say nothing of having arrived or been
+sorted, but there was a fair-sized crowd on the settees and perched
+on the edge of the counter.  Ezra Mullet was there, and Alonzo
+Black and Alvin Baker and Thoph Newcomb.  Beriah Doane and Sam
+Cahoon, who lived in South Denboro, were there, too, having driven
+over behind Beriah's horse, on an errand; that is, Beriah had an
+errand and Sam came along to help him remember it.  In the rear of
+the store, by the frame of letter boxes, Captain Jedediah Dean was
+talking with Simeon.
+
+Alvin Baker saw me first and hailed me as I entered.
+
+"Here's Ros Paine," he exclaimed.  "He'll know more about it than
+anybody else.  Hey, Ros, how many hired help does he keep, anyhow?
+Thoph says it's eight, but I know I counted more'n that, myself."
+
+"It's eight, I tell you," broke in Newcomb, before I could answer.
+"There's the two cooks and the boy that waits on 'em--"
+
+"The idea of having anybody wait on a cook!" interrupted Mullet.
+"That's blame foolishness."
+
+"I never said he waited on the cooks.  I said he waited on them--on
+the family.  And there's a coachman--"
+
+"Why do they call them kind of fellers coachmen?" put in Thoph.
+"There ain't any coach.  I see the carriages when they come--two
+freight cars full of 'em.  There was a open two-seater, and a
+buckboard, and that high-wheeled thing they called a dog-cart."
+
+Beriah Doane laughed uproariously.  "Land of love!" he shouted.
+"Does the dog have a cart all to himself?  That's a good one!  You
+and me ain't got no dog, Sam, but we might have a couple of cat-
+carts, hey?  Haw! haw!"
+
+Thoph paid no attention to this pleasantry.  "There was the dog-
+cart," he repeated, "and another thing they called the 'trap.'  But
+there wan't any coach; I'll swear to it."
+
+"Don't make no difference," declared Alvin; "there was a man along
+that SAID he was the coachman, anyhow.  And a big minister-lookin'
+feller who was a butler, and two hired girls besides the cooks.
+That's nine, anyhow.  One more'n you said, Thoph."
+
+"And that don't count the chauffeur, the chap that runs the
+automobiles," said Alonzo Black.  "He's the tenth.  Say, Ros,"
+turning to me, "how many is there, altogether?"
+
+"How many what?" I asked.  It was my first opportunity to speak.
+
+"Why, hired help--servants, you know.  How many does Mr. Colton
+keep?"
+
+"I don't know how many he keeps," I said.  "Why should I?"
+
+The group looked at me in amazement.  Thoph Newcomb voiced the
+general astonishment.
+
+"Why should you!" he repeated.  "Why shouldn't you, you mean!
+You're livin' right next door to 'em, as you might say!  My soul!
+If I was you I cal'late I'd know afore this time."
+
+"No doubt you would, Thoph.  But I don't.  I didn't know the
+Coltons had arrived until I came by just now.  They have arrived, I
+take it."
+
+Arrived!  There was no question of the arrival, nor of its being
+witnessed by everyone present, myself and the South Denboro
+delegates excepted.  Newcomb and Baker and Mullet and Black began
+talking all together.  I learned that the Colton invasion of
+Denboro was a spectacle only equaled by the yearly coming of the
+circus to Hyannis, or the opening of the cattle show at Ostable.
+The carriages and horses had arrived by freight the morning before;
+the servants and the family on the afternoon train.
+
+"I see 'em myself," affirmed Alonzo.  "I was as nigh to 'em as I be
+to you.  Mrs. Colton is sort of fleshy, but as handsome a woman as
+you'd want to see.  I spoke to her, too.  'It's a nice day,' I
+says, 'ain't it?'"
+
+"What did she say?" asked Newcomb.
+
+"She didn't say nothin'.  Engine was makin' such a noise she didn't
+hear, I presume likely."
+
+"Humph!" sniffed Baker, evidently envious; "I guess she heard you,
+all right.  Fellers like you make me tired.  Grabbin' every chance
+to curry favor with rich folks!  Wonder you didn't tell her you
+drove a fish-cart and wanted her trade!  As for me, I'm independent.
+Don't make no difference to me how well-off a person is.  They're
+human, just the same as I am, and _I_ don't toady to 'em.  If they
+want to talk they can send for me.  I'll wait till they do."
+
+"Hope you've got lots of patience, Alvin," observed Mullet drily.
+During the hilarity which followed, and while the offended apostle
+of independence was trying to think of a sufficiently cutting
+reply, I walked to the rear of the store.
+
+Our letter box was Number 218, in the center of the rack, and, as I
+approached, I glanced at it involuntarily.  To my surprise there
+was a letter in it; I could see it through the glass of the box
+door.  Lute had, as I knew, got the mail the previous evening and
+the morning's mail had not yet arrived.  Therefore this letter must
+have been written by some one in Denboro and posted late the night
+before or early that morning.  It was not the custom for Denboro
+residents to communicate with each other through the medium of the
+post.  They preferred to save the two cents stamp money, as a
+general thing.  Bills sometimes came by mail, but this was the
+tenth, not the first, of the month; and, besides, our bills were
+paid.
+
+I reached into my pocket for my keys, unlocked the box and took out
+the letter.  The envelope was square, of an expensive quality, and
+eminently aristocratic.  It was postmarked Denboro, dated that
+morning, and addressed in a sharp, clear masculine hand unfamiliar
+to me, to "Roscoe Paine, Esq."  The "Esq." would have settled it,
+if the handwriting had not.  No fellow-townsman of my acquaintance
+would address me, or any one else, as Esquire.  Misters and
+Captains were common enough, but Esquires--no.
+
+It was a Denboro custom, when one received a mysterious letter, to
+get the fullest enjoyment out of the mystery before solving it.  I
+had known Dorinda Rogers to guess, surmise and speculate for ten
+minutes before opening a patent medicine circular.  But, though
+mysteries were uncommon enough in my life, I think I should have
+reached the solution of this one in the next second--in fact, I had
+torn the end from the envelope--when I was interrupted.
+
+It was Captain Dean who interrupted me.  He had evidently concluded
+his conversation with the postmaster and now was bearing down
+majestically upon me, like a ten thousand ton steamer on a porgie
+schooner.
+
+"Hey, you--Ros!" he roared.  He was at my elbow, but he roared just
+the same.  Skipper of a coaster in his early days, he had never
+outgrown the habit of pitching his voice to carry above a fifty-
+mile gale.  "Hey, Ros.  See here; I want to talk to you."
+
+I did not want to talk with any one, particularly with him.  He was
+the individual who, according to Lute, had bracketed Mr. Rogers and
+myself as birds of a feather, the remark which was primarily
+responsible for my ill humor of the morning.  If he had not said
+that, and if Lute had not quoted the saying to me, I might have
+behaved less like a fool when that automobile overtook me, I might
+not have given that young idiot, whose Christian name it seemed was
+Victor, the opportunity to be smart at my expense.  That girl with
+the dark eyes might not have looked at me as if I were a worm or a
+June bug.  Confound her! what right had she to look at me like
+that?  Victor, or whatever his name was, was a cub and a cad and as
+fresh as the new paint on Ben Small's lighthouse, but he had
+deigned to speak.  Whereas that girl--!
+
+No, I did not want to talk with Jedediah Dean.  However, he wanted
+to talk to me, and what he wanted he usually got.
+
+Captain Dean was one of Denboro's leading citizens.  His parents
+had been as poor as Job's turkey, but Jedediah had determined to
+get money and now he had it.  He was reputed to be worth "upwards
+of thirty thousand," owned acres and acres of cranberry swamps, and
+the new house he had just built was almost as big as it was ugly,
+which is saying considerable.  He had wanted to be a deacon in the
+church and, though the church was by no means so eager, deacon he
+became.  He was an uncompromising Democrat, but he had forced
+himself into the Board of Selectmen, every other member a
+Republican.  He was director in the Denboro bank, and it was town
+talk that his most ardent desire at the present time was to see his
+daughter Helen--Nellie, we all called her--married to George
+Taylor, cashier of that bank.  As George and Nellie were "keeping
+company" it seemed likely that Captain Jed would be gratified in
+this, as in all other desires.  He was a born boss, and did his
+best to run the town according to his ideas.  Captain Elisha
+Warren, who lived over in South Denboro and was also a director in
+the bank, covered the situation when he said:  "Jed Dean is one of
+those fellers who ought to have a big family to order around.  The
+Almighty gave him only one child and so he adopted Denboro and is
+bossin' that."
+
+"I want to talk to you, Ros," repeated Captain Jed.  "Come here."
+
+He led the way to the settee by the calico and dress goods counter.
+I put the unread letter in my pocket and followed him.
+
+"Set down," he ordered.  "Come to anchor alongside."
+
+I came to anchor.
+
+"How's your mother?" he asked.  "Matilda was cal'latin' to go down
+and set with her a spell this afternoon, if she didn't have
+anything else to do--if Matilda didn't, I mean."
+
+Matilda was his wife.  In her husband's company she was as dumb as
+a broken phonograph; when he was not with her she talked
+continuously, as if to get even.  A call from Matilda Dean was one
+of the additional trials which made Mother's invalid state harder
+to bear.
+
+"Course she may not come," Jedediah hastened to say.  "She's pretty
+busy these days.  But if she don't have anything else to do she
+will.  I told her she'd better."
+
+"Mother will be charmed," I said.  Captain Jed was no fool and he
+looked at me sharply.
+
+"Um; yes," he grunted.  "I presume likely.  You're charmed, too,
+ain't you?"
+
+I was not expecting this.  I murmured something to the effect that
+I was delighted, of course.
+
+"Sartin.  Well, that's all right.  I didn't get you on this settee
+to charm you.  I want to talk business with you a minute."
+
+"Business!  With me?"
+
+"Yup.  Or it may be business later on.  I've been thinkin' about
+that Shore Lane, the one that runs through your land.  Us town
+folks use that a whole lot.  I cal'late most everybody's come to
+look at it as a reg'lar public road to the beach."
+
+"Why, yes, I suppose they have," I said, puzzled to know what he
+was driving at.  "It is a public road, practically."
+
+"No, 'tain't, neither.  It's a private way, and if you wanted to
+you could shut it off any day.  A good many folks would have shut
+it off afore this."
+
+"Oh, I guess not."
+
+"I guess yes.  I'd shut it off myself.  I wouldn't have Tom, Dick
+and Harry drivin' fish wagons and tip carts full of seaweed through
+my premises free gratis for nothin'."
+
+"Why?" I asked.  "What harm does it do?"
+
+"I don't know as it does any.  But because a tramp sleepin' on my
+front piazza might not harm the piazza, that's no reason why I'd
+let him sleep there."
+
+I laughed.  "The two cases aren't exactly alike, are they?" I said.
+"The land is of no value to us at present.  Mother and I are glad
+to have the Lane used, if it is a convenience, as I suppose it is."
+
+"It's that, sartin.  Ros, who owns that land the Lane runs through--
+you or your mother?"
+
+"It is in my name," I said.
+
+"Um-hm.  Well, would you sell it?"
+
+"Sell it!  Sell that strip of sand and beach grass!  Who would buy
+it?"
+
+"I don't know as anybody would.  I just asked if you'd sell it,
+that's all."
+
+"Perhaps I would.  I presume I should, if I had the chance."
+
+"Ain't had any chance yet, have you?"
+
+"What do you mean by that?"
+
+"Oh, nothin', nothin'!  Well, you just think it over.  If you
+decide you would sell it and get so fur as fixin' a price on it,
+let me know, will you?"
+
+"Captain, what in the world do you want of that land?  See here!
+you don't want to shut off the Shore Lane, do you?"
+
+"What in time would I want to shut it off for?  I use it as much as
+anybody, don't I?"
+
+"Then I don't see--"
+
+"Maybe there ain't nothin' TO see.  Only, if you decide to sell,
+let me know.  Yes, and don't sell WITHOUT lettin' me know.
+Understand?"
+
+"No, I don't."
+
+"Well, you understand enough, I cal'late.  All I want you to do is
+to promise not to sell that land the Lane's on without speakin' to
+me fust.  Will you promise that?"
+
+I considered for a moment.  "Yes," I said, "I'll promise that.
+Though I can't imagine what you're driving at."
+
+"You don't need to.  Maybe I'm just drivin' blind; I hope I am.
+That's all I wanted to talk about," rising from the settee.  "Oh,
+by the way," he added, "your neighborhood's honored just now, ain't
+it?  The King of New York's arrived, they tell me."
+
+"King of New York?  Oh! I see; you mean the Coltons."
+
+"Sartin.  Who else?  Met his Majesty yet?"
+
+"No.  Have you?"
+
+"I met him when he was down a month ago.  Sim Eldredge introduced
+me right here in the store.  'Mr. Colton,' says Sim, proud but
+humble, so to speak, 'let me make you acquainted with one of our
+selectmen, Cap'n Dean.  Cap'n, shake hands with Mr. Colton of New
+York.'  We shook, and I cal'late I'd ought to have kept that hand
+in a glass case ever since.  But, somehow or other, I ain't."
+
+"What sort of a chap is Colton?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, all right of his kind, I guess.  In amongst a gang of high
+financers like himself he'd size up as a pretty good sport, I
+shouldn't wonder.  And he was polite enough to me, I suppose.  But,
+darn him, I didn't like the way he looked at me!  He looked as if--
+as if--well, I can't tell you how he looked."
+
+"You don't need to," I said, brusquely.  "I know."
+
+"You do, hey?  He ain't looked at you, has he?  No, course he
+ain't!  You said you hadn't met him."
+
+"I've met others of his kind."
+
+"Yes.  Well, I'm a hayseed and I know it.  I'm just a countryman
+and he's a millionaire.  He'll be the big show in this town from
+now on.  When he blows his nose seven-eighths of this community 'll
+start in workin' up a cold in the head."
+
+He turned on his heel and started to go.
+
+"Will you?" I asked, slily.
+
+He looked back over his shoulder.  "I ain't subject to colds--
+much," he snapped.  "But YOU better lay in a supply of handkerchiefs,
+Ros."
+
+I smiled.  I knew what was troubling him.  A little tin god has a
+pleasant time of it, no doubt, until the coming of the eighteen
+carat gold idol.  Captain Jed had been boss of Denboro--self-
+appointed to that eminent position, but holding it nevertheless--
+and to be pushed from his perch by a city rival was disagreeable.
+If I knew him he would not be dethroned without a fight.  There
+were likely to be some interesting and lively times in our village.
+
+I could understand Dean's dislike of Colton, but his interest in
+the Shore Lane was a mystery.  Why should he wish to buy that
+worthless strip of land?  And what did he mean by asking if I had
+chances to sell it?  Still pondering over this puzzle, I walked
+toward the front of the store, past the group waiting for the mail,
+where the discussion concerning the Coltons was still going on,
+Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker both talking at once.
+
+"You ask Ros," shouted Alvin, pounding the counter beside him.
+"Say, Ros, Newcomb here seems to think that because a feller comes
+from the city and is rich that that gives him the right to order
+the rest of us around as if we was fo'mast hands.  He says--"
+
+"I don't neither!" yelled Thoph.  "What I say is that money counts,
+and--"
+
+"You do, too!  Ros, do YOU intend to get down on your knees to them
+Coltons?"
+
+I laughed and went on without replying.  I left the store and
+strolled across the road to the bank, intending to make a short
+call on George Taylor, the cashier, my most intimate acquaintance
+and the one person in Denboro who came nearest to being my friend.
+
+But George was busy in the directors' room, and, after waiting a
+few moments in conversation with Henry Small, the bookkeeper, I
+gave it up and walked home, across the fields this time; I had no
+desire to meet more automobilists.
+
+Dorinda had finished dusting the dining room and was busy upstairs.
+I could hear the swish-swish of her broom overhead.  I opened the
+door leading to Mother's bedroom and entered, closing the door
+behind me.
+
+The curtains were drawn, as they always were on sunny days, and the
+room was in deep shadow.  Mother had been asleep, I think, but she
+heard my step and recognized it.
+
+"Is that you, Boy?" she asked.  If I had been fifty, instead of
+thirty-one, Mother would have called me "Boy" just the same.
+
+"Yes, Mother," I said.
+
+"Where have you been?  For a walk?  It is a beautiful morning,
+isn't it."
+
+Her only way of knowing that the morning was a beautiful one was
+that the shades were drawn.  She had not seen the sunlight on the
+bay, nor the blue sky; she had not felt the spring breeze on her
+face, or the green grass beneath her feet.  Her only glimpses of
+the outside world were those which she got on cloudy or stormy days
+when the shades were raised a few inches and, turning her head on
+the pillow, she could see beneath them.  For six years she had been
+helpless and bedridden in that little room.  But she never
+complained.
+
+I told her that I had been uptown for a walk.
+
+"Did you meet any one?" she asked.
+
+I said that I had met Captain Dean and Newcomb and the rest.  I
+said nothing of my encounter with the motor car.
+
+"Captain Jed graciously informed me that his wife might be down to
+sit with you this afternoon," I said.  "Provided she didn't have
+anything else to do; he took pains to add that.  You mustn't see
+her, of course."
+
+She smiled.  "Why not?" she asked.  "Matilda is a little tiresome
+at times, but she means well."
+
+"Humph!  Mother, I think you would make excuses for the Old Harry
+himself.  That woman will talk you to death."
+
+"Oh, no!  Not as bad as that.  And poor Matilda doesn't talk much
+at home, I'm afraid."
+
+"Her husband sees to that; I don't blame him.  By the way, the
+Captain had a queer bee in his bonnet this morning.  He seems to be
+thinking of buying some of our property."
+
+I told her of Jedediah's interest in the Shore Lane and his hint
+concerning its possible purchase.  She listened and then said
+thoughtfully:
+
+"What have you decided to do about it, Roscoe?"
+
+"I haven't decided at all.  What do you think, Mother?"
+
+"It seems to me that I shouldn't sell, at least until I knew his
+reason for wanting to buy.  It would be different if we needed the
+money, but, of course, we don't."
+
+"Of course," I said, hastily.  "But why not sell?  We don't use the
+land."
+
+"No.  But the Denboro people need that Lane.  They use it a great
+deal.  If it were closed it would put many of them to a great
+inconvenience, particularly those who get their living alongshore.
+Every one in Denboro has been so kind to us.  I feel that we owe
+them a debt we never can repay."
+
+"No one could help being kind to you, Mother.  Oh! I have another
+piece of news.  Did you know that our new neighbors, the Coltons,
+have arrived?"
+
+"Yes.  Dorinda told me.  Have you met any of them?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Dorinda says Mrs. Colton is an invalid.  Poor woman! it must be
+hard to be ill when one has so much to enjoy.  Dorinda says they
+have a very pretty daughter."
+
+I made no comment.  I was not interested in pretty daughters, just
+then.  The memory of the girl in the auto was too fresh in my mind.
+
+"Did you go to the post-office, Roscoe?" asked Mother.  "I suppose
+there were no letters.  There seldom are."
+
+Then I remembered the letter in my pocket.  I had forgotten it
+altogether.
+
+"Why, yes, there was a letter, a letter for me.  I haven't read it
+yet."
+
+I took the envelope from my pocket and drew out the enclosure.  The
+latter was a note, very brief and very much to the point.  I read
+it.
+
+"Well, by George!" I exclaimed, angrily.
+
+"What is it, Roscoe?"
+
+"It appears to be a summons from what Captain Jed called the King
+of New York.  A summons to appear at court."
+
+"At court?"
+
+"Oh, not the criminal court.  Merely the palace of his Majesty.
+Just listen."
+
+This was the letter:
+
+
+Roscoe Paine, Esq.
+
+Dear Sir:
+
+I should like to see you at my house this--Thursday--forenoon, on a
+matter of business.  I shall expect you at any time after ten in
+the morning.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+JAMES W. COLTON.
+
+
+"From Mr. Colton!" exclaimed Mother.  "Why! what can he want of
+you?"
+
+"I don't know," I answered.  "And I don't particularly care."
+
+"Roscoe!"
+
+"Mother, did you ever hear such a cool, nervy proposition in your
+life?  He wants to see me and he orders me to come to him.  Why
+doesn't he come to me?"
+
+"I suppose he didn't think of it.  He is a big man in New York and
+he has been accustomed to having people come at his convenience.
+It's his way of doing things, I suppose."
+
+"Then I don't like the way.  This is Denboro, not New York.  He
+will expect me at any time after ten, will he?  Well, as Mullet
+said to Alvin Baker just now at the post-office, I hope he has lots
+of patience.  He'll need it."
+
+"But what can he want of you?"
+
+"I don't know.  Wants to look over his nearest jay neighbor, I
+should imagine, and see what sort of a curio he is.  He thinks it
+may be necessary to put up barbed wire fences, I suppose."
+
+"Roscoe, don't be narrow-minded.  Mr. Colton's ways aren't ours and
+we must make allowances."
+
+"Let him make a few, for a change."
+
+"Aren't you going to see him?"
+
+"No.  At least not until I get good and ready."
+
+Dorinda came in just then to ask Mother some questions concerning
+dinner, for, though Mother had not seen the dining room since that
+day, six years ago, when she was carried from it to her bedroom,
+she kept her interest in household affairs and insisted on being
+consulted on all questions of management and internal economy.  I
+rose from my chair and started toward the door.
+
+"Are you going, Roscoe?" asked Mother.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Oh, just out of doors; perhaps to the boat-house."
+
+"Boy."
+
+"Yes, Mother?"
+
+"What is the matter?  Something has gone wrong; I knew it as soon
+as you came in.  What is it?"
+
+"Nothing.  That is, nothing of any consequence.  I'm a little out
+of sorts to-day and that man's letter irritates me.  I'll get over
+it.  I'll be back soon.  Good-by, Mother."
+
+"Good-by, Boy."
+
+I went out through the dining room and kitchen, to the back yard,
+where, seating myself on Lute's favorite resting place, the wash
+bench, I lit my pipe and sat thinking, gloomily thinking.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+It is a dreadful thing to hate one's own father; to hate him and be
+unable to forgive him even though he is dead, although he paid for
+his sin with his life.  Death is said to pay all debts, but there
+are some it cannot pay.  To my father I owed my present ambitionless,
+idle, good-for-nothing life, my mother's illness, years of disgrace,
+the loss of a name--everything.
+
+Paine was my mother's maiden name; she was christened Comfort
+Paine.  My own Christian name is Roscoe and my middle name is
+Paine.  My other name, the name I was born with, the name that
+Mother took when she married, we dropped when the disgrace came
+upon us.  It was honored and respected once; now when it was
+repeated people coupled it with shame and crime and dishonor and
+broken trust.
+
+As a boy I remember myself as a spoiled youngster who took the
+luxuries of this world for granted.  I attended an expensive and
+select private school, idled my way through that somehow, and
+entered college, a happy-go-lucky young fellow with money in my
+pocket.  For two-thirds of my Freshman year--which was all I
+experienced of University life--I enjoyed myself as much as
+possible, and studied as little.  Then came the telegram.  I
+remember the looks of the messenger who brought it, the cap he
+wore, and the grin on his young Irish face when the fellow sitting
+next me at the battered black oak table in the back room of Kelly's
+asked him to have a beer.  I remember the song we were singing, the
+crowd of us, how it began again and then stopped short when the
+others saw the look on my face.  The telegram contained but four
+words:  "Come home at once."  It was signed with the name of my
+father's lawyer.
+
+I presume I shall never forget even the smallest incident of that
+night journey in the train and the home-coming.  The lawyer's
+meeting me at the station in the early morning; his taking care
+that I should not see the newspapers, and his breaking the news to
+me.  Not of the illness or death which I had feared and dreaded,
+but of something worse--disgrace.  My father was an embezzler, a
+thief.  He had absconded, had run away, like the coward he was,
+taking with him what was left of his stealings.  The banking house
+of which he had been the head was insolvent.  The police were on
+his track.  And, worse and most disgraceful of all, he had not fled
+alone.  There was a woman with him, a woman whose escapades had
+furnished the papers with sensations for years.
+
+I had never been well acquainted with my father.  We had never been
+friends and companions, like other fathers and sons I knew.  I
+remember him as a harsh, red-faced man, whom, as a boy, I avoided
+as much as possible.  As I grew older I never went to him for
+advice; he was to me a sort of walking pocket-book, and not much
+else.  Mother has often told me that she remembers him as something
+quite different, and I suppose it must be true, otherwise she would
+not have married him; but to me he was a source of supply coupled
+with a bad temper, that was all.  That I was not utterly impossible,
+that, going my own gait as I did, I was not a complete young
+blackguard, I know now was due entirely to Mother.  She and I were
+as close friends as I would permit her to be.  Father had neglected
+us for years, though how much he had neglected and ill-treated her
+I did not know until she told me, afterward.  She was in delicate
+health even then, but, when the blow fell, it was she and not I who
+bore up bravely and it was her pluck and nerve, not mine, which
+pulled us through that dreadful time.
+
+And it was dreadful.  The stories and pictures in the papers!  The
+rumors, always contradicted, that the embezzler had been caught!
+The misrepresentation and lies and scandal!  The loss of those whom
+we had supposed were friends!  Mother bore them all, wore a calm,
+brave face in public, and only when alone with me gave way, and
+then but at rare intervals.  She clung to me as her only comfort
+and hope.  I was sullen and wrathful and resentful, an unlicked
+cub, I suspect, whose complaints were selfish ones concerning the
+giving up of my college life and its pleasures, and the sacrifice
+of social position and wealth.
+
+Mother had--or so we thought at the time--a sum in her own name
+which would enable us to live; although not as we had lived by a
+great deal.  We took an apartment in an unfashionable quarter of
+the city, and thanks to the lawyer--who proved himself a real and
+true friend--I was given a minor position in a small bank.  Oddly
+enough, considering my former life, I liked the work, it interested
+me, and during the next few years I was made, by successive
+promotions, bookkeeper, teller, and, at last, assistant cashier.
+No news came from the absconder.  The police had lost track of him,
+and it seemed probable that he would never be heard of again.  But
+over Mother and myself hung always the dread that he might be found
+and all the dreadful business revived once more.  Mother never
+mentioned it, nor did I, but the dread was there.
+
+Then came the first breakdown in Mother's health which necessitated
+her removal to the country.  Luther and Dorinda Rogers were distant
+relatives of our friend, the lawyer.  They owned the little house
+by the shore at Denboro and the lawyer had visited them occasionally
+on shooting and fishing trips.  They were in need of money, for, as
+Dorinda said:  "We've got two mouths in this family and only one
+pair of hands.  One of the mouths is so big that the hands can't
+fill it, let alone the mouth that belongs to THEM."  Mother--as Mrs.
+Paine, a widow--went there first as a boarder, intending to remain
+but a few months.  Dorinda took to her at once, being attracted in
+the beginning, I think, by the name.  "They call you Comfort Paine,"
+she said, "and you are a comfort to everybody else's pain.  Yet you
+ain't out of pain a minute scurcely, yourself.  I never see anything
+like it.  If 'twan't wicked I'd say that name was give you by the
+Old Scratch himself, as a sort of divilish joke.  But anybody can
+see that the Old Scratch never had anything in common with you, even
+a hand in the christenin'."
+
+Dorinda was very kind, and Lute was a never-ending joy in his
+peculiar way.  Mother would have been almost happy in the little
+Denboro home, if I had been with her.  But she was never really
+happy when we were separated, a condition of mind which grew more
+acute as her health declined.  I came down from the city once every
+month and those Sundays were great occasions.  The Denboro people
+know me as Roscoe Paine.
+
+For a time Mother seemed to be holding her own.  In answer to my
+questions she always declared that she was ever so much better.
+But Doctor Quimby, the town physician, looked serious
+
+"She must be kept absolutely quiet," he said.  "She must not be
+troubled in any way.  Worry or mental distress is what I fear most.
+Any sudden bad news or shock might--well, goodness knows what
+effect it might have.  She must not be worried.  Ros--" after one
+has visited Denboro five times in succession he is generally called
+by his Christian name--"Ros, if you've got any worries you keep 'em
+to yourself."
+
+I had worries, plenty of them.  Our little fortune, saved, as we
+thought, from the wreck, suffered a severe shrinkage.  A
+considerable portion of it, as the lawyers discovered, was involved
+and belonged to the creditors.  I said nothing to Mother about
+this: she supposed that we had a sufficient income for our needs,
+even without my salary.  Without telling her I gave up our city
+apartment, stored our furniture, and took a room in a boarding-
+house.  I was learning the banking business, was trusted with more
+and more responsibility, and believed my future was secure.  Then
+came the final blow.
+
+I saw the news in the paper when I went out to lunch.  "Embezzler
+and His Companion Caught in Rio Janeiro.  He Commits Suicide When
+Notified of His Arrest."  These headlines stared at me as I opened
+the paper at the restaurant table.  My father had shot himself when
+the police came.  I read it with scarcely more than a vague feeling
+of pity for him.  It was of Mother that I thought.  The news must
+be kept from her.  If she should hear of it!  What should I do?  I
+went first of all to the lawyer's office: he was out of town for
+the day.  I wandered up and down the streets for an hour.  Then I
+went back to the bank.  There I found a telegram from Doctor
+Quimby:  "Mrs. Paine very ill.  Come on first train."  I knew what
+it meant.  Mother had heard the news; the shock which the doctor
+dreaded had had its effect.
+
+I reached Denboro the next morning.  Lute met me at the station.
+From his disjointed and lengthy story I gathered that Mother had
+been "feelin' fust-rate for her" until the noon before.  "I come
+back from the post-office," said Lute, "and I was cal'latin' to
+read the newspaper, but Dorindy had some everlastin' chore or other
+for me to do--I believe she thinks 'em up in her sleep--and I left
+the paper on the dinin'-room table and went out to the barn.
+Dorindy she come along to boss me, as usual.  When we went back to
+the house there was Mrs. Comfort on the dinin'-room floor--dead, we
+was afraid at fust.  The paper was alongside of her, so we judge
+she was just a-goin' to read it when she was took.  The doctor says
+it's a paralysis or appleplexy or somethin'.  We carried her into
+the bedroom, but she ain't spoke sence."
+
+She did not speak for weeks and when she did it was to ask for me.
+She called my name over and over again and, if I left her, even for
+a moment, she grew so much worse that the doctor forbade my going
+back to the city.  I obtained a leave of absence from the bank for
+three months.  By that time she was herself, so far as her reason
+was concerned, but very weak and unable to bear the least hint of
+disturbance or worry.  She must not be moved, so Doctor Quimby
+said, and he held out no immediate hope of her recovering the use
+of her limbs.  "She will be confined to her bed for a long time,"
+said the doctor, "and she is easy only when you are here.  If you
+should go away I am afraid she might die."  I did not go away.  I
+gave up my position in the bank and remained in Denboro.
+
+At the end of the year I bought the Rogers house and land, moved a
+portion of our furniture down there, sold the rest, and resigned
+myself to a period of idleness in the country.  Dorinda I hired as
+housekeeper, and when Dorinda accepted the engagement she threw in
+Lute, so to speak, for good measure.
+
+And here I have been ever since.  At first I looked upon my stay in
+Denboro as a sort of enforced vacation, which was to be, of course,
+only temporary.  But time went on and Mother's condition continued
+unchanged.  She needed me and I could not leave her.  I fished and,
+shot and sailed and loafed, losing ambition and self-respect, aware
+that the majority of the village people considered me too lazy to
+earn a living, and caring little for their opinion.  At first I had
+kept up a hit or miss correspondence with one or two of my
+associates in the bank, but after a while I dropped even this
+connection with the world.  I was ashamed to have my former
+acquaintances know what I had become, and they, apparently, were
+quite willing to forget me.  I expected to live and die in Denboro,
+and I faced the prospect with indifference.
+
+The summer people, cottagers and boarders, I avoided altogether and
+my only friend, and I did not consider him that, was George Taylor,
+the Denboro bank cashier.  He was fond of salt-water and out-door
+sports and we, occasionally enjoyed them together.
+
+Thanks to the lawyer, our names had been scarcely mentioned in the
+papers at the time of my father's death.  No one in the village
+knew our identity or our story.  And, because I knew that Mother
+would worry if she were told, I kept from her the fact that our
+little income was but half of what it had been.  Our wants were
+few, and if my clothes were no longer made by the best tailors, if
+they were ready-made and out-of-date and lacked pressing, they were
+whole, at all events, because Dorinda was a tip-top mender.  In
+fact, I had forgotten they were out-of-date until the sight of the
+immaculately garbed young chap in the automobile brought the
+comparison between us to my mind.
+
+But now, as I sat on the wash-bench, thinking of all this, I looked
+down at my baggy trousers and faded waistcoat with disgust.  One of
+the surest signs of the loss of self-respect is a disregard of
+one's personal appearance.  I looked like a hayseed--not the
+independent countryman who wears old clothes on week days from
+choice and is proudly conscious of a Sunday suit in the closet--but
+that other variety, the post-office and billiard-room idler who has
+reached the point of utter indifference, is too shiftless to care.
+Captain Jed was not so far wrong, after all--Lute Rogers and I were
+birds of a feather in more ways than one.
+
+No wonder that girl in the auto had looked at me as if I were
+something too contemptible for notice.  Yet I hated her for that
+look.  I had behaved like a boor, of course.  Because I was a
+failure, a country loafer with no prospect of ever being anything
+else, because I could not ride in automobiles and others could--
+these were no good reasons for insulting strangers more fortunate
+than I.  Yet I did hate that girl.  Just then I hated all creation,
+especially that portion of it which amounted to anything.
+
+I took the letter from my pocket and read it again.  "I should like
+to see you . . . on a matter of business."  What business could
+"Yours truly, James W. Colton" have with me?  And Captain Jed also
+had talked business.  I supposed that I had given up business long
+ago and for good; now, all at once, it seemed to be hunting me.
+Well, all the hunting should be on its side.
+
+At another time I might have treated the great Colton's "summons to
+court" as a joke.  I might, like Mother, have regarded the curtness
+of the command and its general tone of taking my prompt obedience
+for granted as an expression of the Wall Street magnate's habit of
+mind, and nothing more.  He was used to having people jump when he
+snapped his fingers.  But now it made me angry.  I sympathized with
+Dean and Alvin Baker.  The possession of money did not necessarily
+imply omnipotence.  This was Cape Cod, not New York.  His Majesty
+might, as Captain Jed put it, have blown his Imperial nose, but I,
+for one, wouldn't "lay in a supply of handkerchiefs"--not yet.
+
+I heard a rustle in the bushes and, turning my head, saw Lute
+coming along the path.  He was walking fast--fast for him, that is--
+and seemed to be excited.  His excitement, however, did not cause
+him to forget prudence.  He looked carefully about to be sure his
+wife was not in sight, before he spoke.
+
+"Dorindy ain't been here sence I've been gone, has she?" was his
+first question.
+
+"I guess not," said I.  "She has been in the house since I got
+back.  But I don't know how long you've been gone."
+
+"Only a few minutes.  I--I just stepped over 'cross the Lane for a
+jiffy, that's all.  Say, by time; them Coltons must have money!"
+
+"That's a habit of millionaires, I believe."
+
+"Hey?  What do you mean by that?  If they didn't have money they
+couldn't be millionaires, could they?  How'd you like to be a
+millionaire, Ros?"
+
+"I don't know.  I never tried."
+
+"By time!  I'D like to try a spell.  I've been over lookin' 'round
+their place.  You never see such a place!  Why, their front
+doorstep's big as this yard, pretty nigh."
+
+"Does it have to be raked?" I asked.
+
+"Raked!  Whoever heard of rakin' a doorstep?"
+
+"Give it up!  But it does seem to me that I have heard of raking a
+yard.  I think Dorinda mentioned that, didn't she?"
+
+Lute looked at me: then he hurried over and picked up the rake
+which was lying near the barn, a pile--a very small pile--of chips
+and leaves beside it.
+
+"When did she mention it?" he asked.
+
+"A week ago, I think, was the first time.  She has referred to it
+occasionally since.  She was mentioning it to you when I went up
+town this morning.  I heard her."
+
+Lute looked relieved.  "Oh, THEN!" he said.  "I thought you meant
+lately.  Well, I'm rakin' it, ain't I?  Say, Ros," he added,
+eagerly, "did you go to the post-office when you was uptown?  Was
+there a letter there for you?"
+
+"What makes you think there was?"
+
+"Asa Peters' boy, the bow-legged one, told me.  The chauffeur, the
+feller that pilots the automobiles, asked him where the post-office
+was and he see the address on the envelope.  He said the letter was
+for you.  I told him he was lyin'--"
+
+"What in the world did you tell him that for?" I interrupted.  I
+had known Lute a long time, but he sometimes surprised me, even
+yet.
+
+"'Cause he is, nine times out of ten," replied Lute, promptly.
+"You never see such a young-one for dodgin' the truth.  Why, one
+time he told his grandmother, Asa's ma, I mean, that--"
+
+"What did he say about the letter?"
+
+"Said 'twas for you.  And the chauffeur said Mr. Colton told him to
+mail it right off.  'Twan't for you, was it, Ros?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"It WAS!  Well, by time!  What did a man like Mr. Colton write to
+you about?"
+
+Among his other lackings Lute was conspicuously short of tact.
+This was no time for him to ask me such a question, especially to
+emphasize the "you."
+
+"Why shouldn't he write to me?" I asked, tartly.
+
+"But--but HIM--writin' to YOU!"
+
+"Humph!  Even a god stoops once in a while.  Read your mythology,
+Lute."
+
+"Hey?  Say, look here, what are you swearin' about?"
+
+"Swearing?  Oh, that's all right.  The god I referred to was a
+heathen one."
+
+"Well, it's a good thing Dorindy didn't hear you; she's down on
+swearin', heathen or any other kind.  But what did Mr. Colton write
+to you for?"
+
+"He says he wants to see me."
+
+"See you?  What for?"
+
+"Don't know. Perhaps he wants to borrow money."
+
+"Borrow--!  I believe you're crazy!"
+
+"No, I'm tolerably sane.  There! there! don't look at me like that.
+Here's his letter.  Read it, if you want to."
+
+Lute's fingers were so eager to grasp that letter that they were
+all thumbs.  He dropped it on the grass, picked it up with as much
+care as if it was a diamond, and holding it a foot from his nose--
+he had broken his spectacles and was afraid to ask Dorinda for the
+money to have them repaired--he spelt it out to the last word.
+
+"Well, by time!" he exclaimed, when he had finished. "He wants to
+see you at his house this forenoon!  And--and--why, the forenoon's
+all but gone now!  What are you settin' here for?"
+
+"Well, I thought I should enjoy watching you rake the yard.  It is
+a pleasure deferred so far."
+
+"Watchin' me--!  Roscoe Paine, you are out of your head!  Ain't you
+goin' to see him?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You AIN'T!"
+
+"No."
+
+"Ros Paine, have you jined in with them darn fools uptown?"
+
+"Who's swearing now?  What fools do you mean?"
+
+"Darn ain't swearin'.  Dorindy herself says that once in a while.
+I mean Alvin Baker, and Jed Dean and the rest of 'em.  They was
+goin' on about Mr. Colton last night; said THEY wan't goin' to run
+at his beck and call.  I told 'em, says I, 'You ain't had the
+chance.  You'll run fast enough when you do.'"
+
+"Did you say that to Captain Jed?"
+
+"No-o.  I said it to Alvin, but old Jed's just as bad.  He's down
+on anybody that's got more'n he has.  But Ros, you ain't foolish
+enough to side with Jed Dean.  Just think!  Here's Mr. Colton,
+richer'n King Solomon and all his glory.  He's got servants and
+butlers and bonds and cowpons and horses and teams and automobiles
+and--"
+
+I rose from the wash bench.
+
+"I know what he's got, Lute," I interrupted. "And I know what he
+hasn't got."
+
+"What?  Is there anything he ain't got?"
+
+"He hasn't got me--not yet. If he wants to see me he may.  I expect
+to be at home for the next day or two."
+
+"You don't mean you expect a millionaire like him to come cruisin'
+after YOU!  Well, by time!  I think I see him!"
+
+"When you do, let me know," I said. "I should like to be prepared."
+
+"Well,--by--time!" said Lute, by way of summing up.  I ate dinner
+with Dorinda.  Her husband did not join us.  Dorinda paid a visit
+to the back yard and, seeing how little raking had been done,
+announced that until the job was finished there would be "no dinner
+for some folks."  So she and I ate and Lute raked, under protest,
+and vowing that he was so faint and holler he cal'lated to collapse
+'most any time.
+
+After the meal was finished I went down to the boathouse.  The
+boathouse was a little building on the beach at the foot of the
+bluff below the house.  It was a favorite resort of mine and I
+spent many hours there.  My eighteen foot motor launch, the
+Comfort, the one expensive luxury I allowed myself and which I had
+bought second-hand two years before, was jacked up in the middle of
+the floor.  The engine, which I had taken apart to clean, was in
+pieces beside it.  On the walls hung my two shot guns and my
+fishing rod.  Outside, on the beach, was my flat-bottomed skiff,
+which I used for rowing about the bay, her oars under the thwarts.
+In the boathouse was a comfortable armchair and a small shelf of
+books, novels for the most part.  A cheap clock and a broken-down
+couch, the latter a discard from the original outfit of the
+cottage, made up the list of furniture.
+
+My idea in coming to the boathouse was to continue my work with the
+engine.  I tried it for a half hour or so and then gave it up.  It
+did not interest me then.  I shut the door at the side of the
+building, that by which I had entered--the big double doors in
+front I had not opened at all--and, taking a book from the shelf,
+stretched myself on the couch to read.
+
+The book I had chosen was one belonging to the Denboro Ladies'
+Library; Miss Almena Doane, the librarian, had recommended it
+highly, as a "real interesting story, with lots of uplifting
+thoughts in it."  The thoughts might be uplifting to Almena, but
+they did not elevate my spirits.  As for the story--well, the hero
+was a young gentleman who was poor but tremendously clever and
+handsome, and the heroine had eyes "as dark and deep as starlit
+pools."  The poor but beautiful person met the pool-eyed one at a
+concert, where he sat, "his whole soul transfigured by the music,"
+and she had been "fascinated in spite of herself" by the look on
+his face.  I read as far as that and dropped the book in disgust.
+
+After that I must have fallen asleep.  What awakened me was a knock
+on the door.  It was Lute, of course.  Probably mother wanted me
+for something or other, and Dorinda had sent her husband to hunt me
+up.
+
+The knock was repeated.
+
+"Come in," I said, sleepily.
+
+The door opened and in came, not Lute, but a tall, portly man, with
+a yachting cap on the back of his gray head, and a cigar in his
+mouth.  He looked at me as I lay on the couch and I lay on the
+couch and looked at him.
+
+"Afternoon," he said, curtly.  "Is your name Paine?"
+
+I nodded.  I was waking rapidly, but I was too astonished to speak.
+
+"Roscoe Paine?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, mine's Colton.  I sent you a letter this morning.  Did you
+get it?"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+I sat up on the couch.  Mr. Colton knocked the ashes from his
+cigar, waited an instant, and then repeated his question.
+
+"Did you get my letter?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," I said.
+
+"Oh, you did.  I was afraid that man of mine might have forgotten
+to mail it."
+
+"No, I got it.  Won't you--er--won't you sit down?"  He pulled the
+armchair toward him and sat down.  I noticed that he had a habit of
+doing things quickly.  His sentences were short and to the point
+and he spoke and acted like one accustomed to having his own way.
+He crossed his knees and looked about the little building.
+
+"It is a pleasant day," I observed, for the sake of saying
+something.  He did not seem to hear me, or, if he did, he was not
+interested in the weather.  For my part I found the situation
+embarrassing.  I knew what his next question would be, and I did
+not know how to answer.  Sure enough, he asked it.
+
+"I wrote you to come over to my place this forenoon," he said.
+"You didn't come."
+
+"No.  I--"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+Here was the issue joined.  Here, if ever, was the opportunity to
+assert my independence a la Jed Dean and Alvin Baker.  But to
+assert it now, after he had done the unexpected, after the mountain
+had come to Mahomet, seemed caddish and ridiculous.  So I
+temporized, weakly.
+
+"I didn't read your letter until about noon," I said.
+
+"I see.  Well, I waited until two o'clock and then I decided to
+hunt you up.  I called at your house.  The woman there said you
+were down here.  Your mother?"
+
+"No."  My answer was prompt and sharp enough this time. It was
+natural, perhaps, that he should presume Dorinda to be my mother,
+but I did not like it.
+
+He paid absolutely no attention to the tone of my reply or its
+curtness.  He did not refer to Dorinda again.  She might have been
+my wife or my great-aunt for all he cared.
+
+"This your workshop?" he asked, abruptly.  Then, nodding toward the
+dismembered engine, "What are you? a boat builder?"
+
+"No, not exactly."
+
+"What's the price of a boat like that?" indicating the Comfort with
+a kick in her direction.
+
+"About two hundred and fifty dollars, I believe," I answered.
+
+"You believe!  Don't you know?"
+
+"No.  I bought that boat second-hand."
+
+He did not refer to the boat again; apparently forgot it altogether.
+His next move was to rise and turn toward the door.  I watched him,
+wondering what was going to happen next.  He had a habit of jumping
+from one subject to another which was bewildering.
+
+"What's that fellow doing off there?" he asked, suddenly.
+
+I looked where he was pointing.
+
+"That is Zeb Kendrick," I answered.  "He's raking for quahaugs."
+
+"Raking for what hogs?"
+
+"Quahaugs.  What you New Yorkers call clams."
+
+"Oh!  Sell 'em, does he?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Tell him to call at my house next time you see him.  And for
+heaven's sake tell him to come to the servants' door.  Don't you
+people down here have any servants' doors to your houses?  There
+have been no less than fifty peddlers on my porch since yesterday
+and my butler will die of apoplexy if it keeps on.  He's a good
+one, for a wonder, and I don't want to lose him."
+
+I made no reply to this observation and he did not seem to expect
+any.  He watched Zeb rake for a moment and then he turned back to
+me.
+
+"Can you come over to my house now?" he asked.
+
+I was not expecting this and again I did not have an answer ready.
+
+"Can you?" he went on.  "I've got a business deal to make with you
+and I'd rather make it there.  I've got a lot of carpenters and
+painters at work and they ask me ten questions a minute.  They are
+unnecessary questions but if I don't answer them the fellows are
+sure to make some fool mistake or other.  They need a governess.
+If you'll come over with me I'll be in touch with them and you and
+I can talk just as well.  Can come, can't you?"
+
+I did not know what to say.  I wanted to say no, that if he had any
+business with me it could be discussed in that boathouse.  I did
+not like his manner, yet I had a feeling that it was his usual one
+and that he had not meant to be rude.  And I could think of no good
+reason for not going with him.
+
+"You can come, can't you?" he repeated.
+
+"I suppose I can.  But--"
+
+"Of course if you're too busy to leave--"
+
+I remembered the position he had found me in and I rather think I
+had turned red.  He did not smile, but there was a sort of grim
+twinkle in his eyes.
+
+"I'll come," I said.
+
+"Much obliged.  I won't keep you long.  Come on."
+
+He led the way and I followed, rebellious, and angry, not so much
+with him as with myself.  I wished now that I had gone over to the
+Colton place when I first received the summons to court, instead of
+making proclamations of defiance to mother and Lute Rogers.  This
+seemed such a complete backdown.  As we passed the house I saw Lute
+peering from the barn.  I devoutly hoped he might not see me, but
+he did.  His mouth opened and he stared.  Then, catching my eye, he
+winked triumphantly.  I wanted to punch his head.
+
+The King of New York walked briskly on in silence until we were
+just at the edge of the grove by the Shore Lane.  Then he stopped
+and turned to me.
+
+"You own all this land, don't you?" he asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Humph!  Get a good view from here."
+
+I admitted that the view was good.  At that particular point it
+embraced nearly the whole of the bay in front, and a large portion
+of the village at the side.
+
+He waved his hand toward the cluster of houses.
+
+"There are eighteen hundred people in this town, they tell me," he
+said.  "Permanent residents, I mean.  What do they all do?"
+
+"Do?"
+
+"Yes.  How do they get a living?  They must get it somehow.  In the
+regular summer resorts they squeeze it out of the city people, I
+know that.  But there aren't so many cottagers and boarders here.
+What do you all do for a living?"
+
+I told him that most of masculine Denboro fished or farmed or kept
+store.
+
+"Which do you do?" he asked.  "You said you weren't a boat-builder."
+
+"I'm not doing anything at present," I replied, shortly.
+
+"Out of a job?"
+
+"You might call it that.  Is this a part of the business you wished
+to see me about, Mr. Colton?"
+
+I was boiling inwardly and a little of the heat was expressed in my
+tone.  I don't know whether he took the hint or merely lost
+interest in the subject.  At any rate his reply was a brief "No,"
+and we continued our walk.
+
+As we reached the Shore Lane he paused again, and I thought he was
+about to speak.  He did not, however, and we crossed the boundary
+line of my property and entered the Colton grounds.  As we drew
+nearer to the house I was surprised to see how large it was.  When
+the Atwaters owned it I was an occasional caller there, for old
+Major Atwater was fond of shooting and sometimes borrowed my
+decoys.  But, since it changed hands, I had not been nearer to it
+than the Lane.  With the new wing and the other additions it was
+enormous.  It fairly reeked of money, though, so far as I was a
+judge, the taste shown in rebuilding and decorating was good.  We
+turned the corner, where Asa Peters, the head carpenter, came
+hurrying up.  Asa looked surprised enough to see me in company with
+his employer and regarded me wonderingly.  "Mr. Colton," he said,
+"I wanted to ask you about them skylights."  I stepped back out of
+hearing, but I inferred from Colton's actions that the question was
+another one of the "unnecessary" ones he had so scornfully referred
+to in the boathouse.
+
+"Jackass!" he exclaimed, as he rejoined me.  I judged he was
+classifying Asa, but, if so, he did not trouble to lower his voice.
+"Come on, Paine," he added, and we passed a long line of windows,
+hung with costly curtains, and stepped up on a handsome Colonial
+portico before two big doors.
+
+The doors were opened by an imposing personage in dark blue and
+brass buttons, who bowed profoundly before Colton and regarded me
+with condescending superiority.  This personage, whom I recognized,
+from Alvin's description, as the "minister-lookin'" butler, led us
+through a hall about as large as our sitting-room, dining-room and
+kitchen combined, but bearing no other resemblance to these
+apartments, and opened another door, through which, bowing once
+more, he ushered us.  Then he closed the door, leaving himself, to
+my relief, outside.  It had been a long time since I was waited
+upon by a butler and I found this specimen rather overpowering.
+
+The room we were in was the library, and, though it was bigger and
+far more sumptuous than the library I remembered so well as a boy,
+the sight of the books in their cases along the walls gave me a
+feeling almost of homesickness.  My resentment against my
+millionaire neighbor increased.  Why should he and his have
+everything, and the rest of us be deprived of the little we once
+had?
+
+Colton seated himself in a leather upholstered chair and waved his
+hand toward another.
+
+"Sit down," he said.  He took a cigar from his pocket.  "Smoke?" he
+asked.
+
+I was a confirmed smoker, but I was not going to smoke one of his
+cigars--not then.
+
+"No thank you," said I.  He did not comment on my refusal, but lit
+the cigar himself, from the stump of his former one.  Then he
+crossed his legs and proceeded, with characteristic abruptness, to
+his subject.
+
+"Paine," he began, "you own this land next to me, you say.  Your
+property ends at the fence this side of that road we just crossed,
+doesn't it?"
+
+"It ends where yours begins," I announced.
+
+"Yes.  Just this side of that road."
+
+"Of the Shore Lane.  It isn't a road exactly."
+
+"I don't care what you call it.  Road or lane or cow-path.  It ends
+there?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And it IS your land?  It belongs to you, personally, all of it,
+free and clear?"
+
+"Why--yes; it does."  I could not see what business of his my
+ownership of that land might be.
+
+"All right.  I asked that because, if it wasn't yours, if it was
+tied up or mortgaged in any way, it might complicate matters.  But
+it isn't."
+
+"No."
+
+"Good!  Then we can get down to brass tacks and save time.  I want
+a piece of that land."
+
+I looked at him.
+
+"You want--?" I repeated, slowly.
+
+"I want a strip of your land.  Want to buy it, of course.  I don't
+expect you to give it to me.  What's it worth, by the acre, say?"
+
+I did not answer.  All at once I was beginning to see a light.
+Captain Jed Dean's mysterious conversation at the post-office was
+beginning to lose some of its mystery.
+
+"Well?" asked Colton, impatiently.  Then, without waiting longer,
+he added:
+
+"By the way, before you name a figure, answer me one more question.
+That road--or lane, or whatever it is--that is yours, too?  Doesn't
+belong to the town?"
+
+The light was growing more brilliant.  I could see breakers ahead.
+
+"No," I replied, slowly.  "It is a private way.  It belongs to me."
+
+"Good!  Well, what's that land of yours worth by the acre?"
+
+I shook my head.  "I scarcely know," I said.  "I've never figured
+it that way."
+
+"I don't care how you figure it.  Here, let's get down to a
+business proposition.  I want to buy a strip of that land from the
+Lower Road--that's what you call the one above here, isn't it?--to
+the beach.  The strip I want is about three hundred feet wide, for
+a guess.  It extends from my fence to the other side of that grove
+by the bluff.  What will you sell it for?"
+
+The breakers were close aboard.  However, I dodged them momentarily.
+
+"Why do you want to buy?" I asked.
+
+"For reasons."
+
+"I should think you had land enough already."
+
+"I thought I had, but it seems I haven't.  Well, what's your price
+for that strip?"
+
+"Mr. Colton, I--I'm afraid--"
+
+"Never mind that.  I suppose you're afraid you'll make the price
+too low.  Now, see here, I'm a busy man.  I haven't time to do any
+bargaining.  Name your price and, if it's anywhere within reason,
+we won't haggle.  I expect to pay more than anyone else would.
+That's part of my fine for being a city man and not a native.  Gad!
+the privilege is worth the money.  I'll pay the fine.  What's the
+price?"
+
+"But why do you want to buy?"
+
+"For reasons of my own, I tell you.  They haven't anything to do
+with your selling."
+
+"I'm not so sure."
+
+"What do you mean by that?"
+
+"That strip takes in the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton."
+
+"I know it."
+
+"And, if you buy, I presume the Lane will be closed."
+
+He looked at me, surprised, and, I thought, a little annoyed.
+
+"Well?" he said; "suppose it is?"
+
+"But it will be, won't it?"
+
+"You bet your life it will!  What of it?"
+
+"Then I don't know that I care to sell."
+
+He leaned back in his chair.
+
+"You don't care to sell!" he repeated, slowly.  "What the devil do
+you mean by that?"
+
+"What I said.  And, besides, Mr. Colton, I--"
+
+He interrupted me.
+
+"Why don't you care to sell?" he demanded.  "The land is no good to
+you, is it?"
+
+"Not much.  No."
+
+"Humph!  Are you so rich that you've got all the money you want?"
+
+I was angry all through.  I rose from my chair.
+
+"Good day, Mr. Colton," I said.
+
+"Here!" he shouted.  "Hold on!  Where are you going?"
+
+"I can't see that there is any use of our talking further."
+
+"No use?  Why--  There! there! sit down.  It's none of my business
+how rich you are, and I beg your pardon.  Sit down.  Sit down, man,
+I tell you!"
+
+I sat down, reluctantly.  He threw his cigar, which had gone out,
+into the fireplace and lit another.
+
+"Say," he said, "you surprise me, Paine.  What do you mean by
+saying you won't sell that land?  You don't know what I'll pay for
+it yet."
+
+"No, I don't."
+
+"Then how do you know you won't sell it?  I never had anything yet--
+except my wife and family--that I wouldn't sell for a price.  Look
+here! I haven't got time to do any Down-East horse-jockeying.  I'll
+make you an offer.  I'll give you five hundred dollars cash for
+that strip of land.  What do you say?"
+
+I didn't say anything.  Five hundred dollars was a generous offer.
+I couldn't help thinking what Mother and I might do with that five
+hundred dollars.
+
+"What do you say?" he repeated.
+
+I answered, Yankee fashion, with another question.  "Mr. Colton," I
+asked, "why do you want to close that Shore Lane?"
+
+"Because I do.  What difference does it make to you why I want to
+close it?"
+
+"That Lane has been used by Denboro people for years.  It is almost
+a public necessity."
+
+He puffed twice on his cigar before he spoke again.  When he did it
+was in a different tone.
+
+"I see," he said.  "Humph!  I see.  Paine, does the town pay you
+rent for the use of that road?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Has it been bidding to buy it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Is any one else after it?"
+
+"No-o.  I think not.  But--"
+
+"You THINK not.  That means you're not sure.  You've had a bite
+somewhere.  Somebody has been nibbling at your hook.  Well, they've
+got to bite quick and swallow some to get ahead of me.  I want that
+road closed and I'm going to have it closed, sooner or later.  I'd
+prefer it sooner."
+
+"But why do you want to close it?"
+
+Before he could answer there came a knock at the door.  The butler
+appeared.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir--" he began.  His master cut him short.
+
+"Tell 'em to wait," he ordered.  "I can't see any one now, Johnson.
+If it is that damned carpenter he can wait."
+
+"It isn't the carpenter, sir," explained Johnson.  "It's Mrs.
+Colton, sir.  She wishes to know if you have bought that road.  She
+says three of those 'orrid fishcarts have gone by in the last hour,
+sir, and they are making her very nervous.  That's all, sir."
+
+"Tell her I've bought it," snapped the head of the house.  "Get
+out."
+
+The butler obeyed orders.  Colton turned to me.
+
+"You heard that, Paine," he said.  "That's my reason, the principal
+one.  I bought this place principally on account of Mrs. Colton's
+health.  The doctors said she needed quiet and rest.  I thought she
+could have them here--God knows the place looked forsaken enough--
+but it appears she can't.  Whenever she or I sit on the veranda or
+at a window we have to watch a procession of jays driving smelly
+fish carts through that lane of yours, or be stared at by a gang of
+countrymen hanging over the fence.  It's a nuisance.  It is bad
+enough for me or my daughter and our guests, but it will be the
+ruination of my wife's nerves, and I can't stand for that.  You see
+the position I'm in.  You heard what I told that butler.  I said I
+had bought the road.  You wouldn't make me a liar, would you?  I'll
+give you five hundred for that bunch of sand.  You couldn't get
+more for it if you sold it by the pound, like tea.  Say yes, and
+close the deal."
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"I understand your position, Mr. Colton," I said, "but I can't say
+yes.  Not now, at any rate."
+
+"Why not?  Isn't five hundred enough?"
+
+"It's a good offer."
+
+"Then why not accept it?"
+
+"Because, if I were certain that I wanted to sell, I could not
+accept any offer just now."
+
+"Why not?  See here! are you afraid the town will be sore because
+the road is closed?"
+
+"It would be a great inconvenience to them."
+
+"It's a greater one to me as it is.  Can you afford to be a
+philanthropist?  Are you one of those public-spirited citizens we
+read about?"
+
+He was sneering now, and my anger, which had lessened somewhat when
+he spoke of his wife's ill health, was rising again.
+
+"Are you?" he repeated.
+
+"I don't know as to that.  But, as I said a while ago, Mr. Colton,
+I couldn't sell that land to you now."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because, if there were no other reason, I promised not to sell it
+without telling another person first."
+
+He threw down his cigar and stood up.  I rose also.
+
+"I see," he said, with sarcasm.  "I knew there was something beside
+public spirit.  You think, by hanging off and playing me against
+this other sucker, you can get a higher price.  Well, if that's the
+game, I'll keep him busy."
+
+He took out his watch, glanced at it, and thrust it back into his
+pocket.
+
+"I've wasted time enough over this fool thing," he declared.  "Now
+that I know what the game is we'll talk to the point.  It's highway
+robbery, but I might have expected to be robbed.  I'll give you six
+hundred for that land."
+
+I did not answer.  I was holding my temper by main strength and I
+could not trust myself to speak.
+
+"Well?" he sneered.  "That shakes your public spirit some, hey?
+What do you say?"
+
+"No," I answered, and started for the door.
+
+"What!" he could hardly believe his ears.  "By the Lord Harry! the
+fellow is crazy.  Six hundred and fifty then, you infernal robber."
+
+"No."
+
+"NO!  Say, what in thunder do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that you may go to the devil," I retorted, and reached for
+the door knob.
+
+But before my fingers touched it there was the sound of laughter
+and voices in the hall.  The knob was turned from without.  I
+stepped back and to one side involuntarily, as the door opened and
+into the library came, not the butler, but a young lady, a girl in
+an automobile coat and bonnet.  And, following her, a young man.
+
+"Father," said the young lady, "Johnson says you've bought that
+horrid road.  I'm so glad!  When did you do it?"
+
+"Congratulations, Mr. Colton," said the young man.  "We just passed
+a cart full of something--seaweed, I believe it was--as we came
+along with the car.  Oscar had to slow down to squeeze by, and we
+certainly were swept by ocean breezes.  By Jove!  I can smell them
+yet.  I--"
+
+The young lady interrupted him.
+
+"Hush, Victor," she said.  "I beg your pardon, Father.  I thought
+you were alone.  Victor, we're intruding."
+
+The open door had partially screened me from the newcomers.  But
+Colton, red and wrathful, had not ceased to glare in my direction
+and she, following his gaze, saw me.  She did not recognize me, I
+think--probably I had not made sufficient impression upon her mind
+even for casual remembrance--but I recognized her.  She was the
+girl with the dark eyes, whose look of contemptuous indifference
+had so withered my self-esteem.  And her companion was the young
+chap who, from the tonneau of the automobile that morning, had
+inquired the way to Bayport.
+
+The young man turned lazily.  "Are we?" he said.  "I--  What!  Why,
+Mabel, it's the humorist!"
+
+Then she recognized me.  I could feel the blood climbing from my
+toes to the roots of my hair.  I was too astonished and chagrined
+to speak or even move, though I wanted to move very much indeed.
+She looked at me and I at her.  Then she turned coldly away.
+
+"Come, Victor," she said.
+
+But Victor was his own blase self.  It took more than a trifle to
+shake his calm.  He laughed.
+
+"It's the humorist," he repeated.  "Reuben, how are you?"
+
+Colton regarded the three of us with amazement.
+
+"What?" he began.  "Mabel, do you--"
+
+But I had recovered my powers of locomotion.  I was on my way out
+of that library.
+
+"Here!" shouted Colton.  "Stop!"
+
+I did not stop.  Feeling as I did at that moment it would have been
+distinctly unpleasant for the person who tried to stop me.  The
+girl was in my way and, as I approached, she drew her skirts aside.
+No doubt it was my imagination which made her manner of doing it
+seem like an insult, but, imagination or reality, it was the one
+thing necessary to clench my resolution.  Now when she looked at me
+I returned the look with interest.  I strode through the doorway
+and across the hall.  The butler would have opened the outer door
+for me, but I opened it myself to the imminent danger of his
+dignified nose.  As I stepped from the portico I heard behind me a
+roar from Big Jim Colton and a shout of laughter from Victor.
+
+I walked home at top speed.  Only once did I look back.  That was
+just as I was about to enter the grove on the other side of the
+Shore Lane.  Then I turned and saw, at the big window at the end of
+the "Newport villa," a group of three staring in my direction:
+Colton, his daughter and that cub Victor.  The distance was too
+great to see the expression of their faces, but I knew that two of
+them, at least, were laughing--laughing at me.
+
+I did not laugh.
+
+Lute was waiting for me by the gate and ran to meet me.  He was
+wild with excitement.
+
+"He came after you, didn't he?" he cried, grabbing at my coat
+sleeve.  "You went over to his house with him, didn't you!  I see
+you and at fust I couldn't scurcely believe it.  What did he want?
+What did he say?"
+
+I did not answer.  He ran along beside me, still clinging to my
+sleeve.
+
+"What did he want?" he repeated.  "What did he say to you?  What
+did you say to him?  Tell a feller, can't you?"
+
+"I told him to go to the devil," I answered, savagely.
+
+Lute let go of my sleeve.
+
+"You--you--  By time, you're stark loony!" he gasped; and collapsed
+against the gate post.
+
+I went into the house, up the back stairs to my room, and shut the
+door.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+So she was his daughter.  I might have guessed it; would have
+guessed it if I had possessed the commonest of common-sense.  I
+might have known that the auto was Colton's.  No other machine was
+likely to be traveling on the Lower Road at that season of the
+year.  She was the pretty daughter of whom Dorinda had spoken to
+Mother.  Well, she was pretty enough; even I had to admit that.
+But I admitted it grudgingly.  I hated her for her beauty and fine
+clothes and haughty arrogance.  She was the incarnation of
+snobbishness.
+
+But to be made twice ridiculous even by the incarnation of
+snobbishness was galling.  She was to be my next-door neighbor; we
+were likely to meet almost anywhere at any time.  When I thought of
+this and of the two meetings which had already taken place I swore
+at the blue and white water-pitcher on my bureau because it did not
+contain water enough to drown me.  Not that I would commit suicide
+on her account.  She would not care if I did and certainly I did
+not care whether she would care or not; but if I were satisfactorily
+dead I probably should not remember what a fool I had made of
+myself, or Fate had made of me.
+
+Why had I not got out of that library before she came?  Oh, if not,
+why hadn't I stayed and told her father, in her hearing, and with
+dignity, just what I thought of him and his remarks to me?  But no;
+I had run away.  She--or that Victor--would tell of the meeting at
+the bridge, and all my independence and the rest of it would be
+regarded as of a piece with that, just the big-headed "smartness"
+of a country boor.  In their eyes I was a nuisance, that was all.
+A disagreeable one, perhaps, like the Shore Lane, but a nuisance,
+one to laugh at and forget--if it could not be gotten rid of.
+
+Why had I gone with Colton at all?  Why hadn't I remained at the
+boathouse and there told the King of New York to go to the
+mischief? or words to that effect.  But I had, at all events, told
+him that.  In spite of my chagrin I could not help chuckling as I
+thought of it.  To tell Big Jim Colton to go to the devil was, in
+its way, I imagined, a privilege enjoyed by few.  It must have
+shaken his self-satisfaction a trifle.  Well, after all, what did
+I care?  He, and his whole family--including Victor--had my
+permission to migrate in that direction and I wished Old Nick joy
+of their company.
+
+Having derived this much satisfaction from my reflections, I went
+downstairs.  Dorinda was setting the table for supper.  She looked
+at me as I came in.
+
+"Been visitin', I hear," she observed, wiping an imaginary speck
+from the corner of a plate with her "afternoon" apron.
+
+"Yes," said I.
+
+"Um-hm," said Dorinda.  "Have a good time?"
+
+I smiled.  "I had an interesting one," I told her.
+
+"Um-hm, I judged so, from what Lute said."
+
+"Where is Lute?"
+
+"Out in the barn, beddin' down the horse.  That is, I told him to
+do that, but his head was so full of you and what you told him you
+said to Mr. Colton that I shouldn't be surprised if he's bedded
+down the hens and was huntin' in the manger for eggs."
+
+"Lute thinks I've gone crazy," I observed.
+
+"Um-hm.  He was all for fetchin' the doctor right off, but I told
+him I cal'lated we could bear with your ravin's for a spell.  Did
+you say what he said you said?"
+
+"I'm afraid I did."
+
+"Um-hm.  Well, it didn't do any good, did it?"
+
+"Good?  What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean he didn't obey orders--Colton, that is."
+
+"He hadn't when I left."
+
+"I thought not.  I never saw any good come from profane language
+yet; and, besides, judgin' from what I hear about the way that
+Colton man lives, and what he does on Sundays and all, he'll make
+the port you sent him to when his time comes.  All you need is
+patience."
+
+I laughed, and she began sorting the plated spoons.  We had silver
+ones, but Dorinda insisted on keeping those to use when we had
+company.  In consequence we used them about twice a year, when the
+minister came.
+
+"Of course," she said, "I ain't askin' you what happened over there
+or why he wanted to see you.  But I give you fair warnin' that, if
+I don't, Lute will.  Lute's so stuffed with curiosity that he's
+li'ble to bust the stitches any minute."
+
+"I'll tell you both, at supper," I said.
+
+"Um-hm," said Dorinda.  "Well, I can wait, and Lute'll have to.  By
+the way," she added, seeing me about to enter Mother's room, "if
+it's anything too unpleasant I wouldn't worry Comfort with it.
+She'll want to know, of course, but I'd sort of smooth the edges."
+
+Mother did want to know, and I told her, "smoothing the edges" all
+I could.  I omitted my final order to "Big Jim" and I said nothing
+whatever about his daughter.  Mother seemed to think I had done
+right in refusing to sell, though, as usual, she was ready to make
+allowances for the other side.
+
+"Poor woman," she said, "I suppose the noise of the wagons and all
+that are annoying to any one with weak nerves.  It must be dreadful
+to be in that condition.  I am so sorry for her."
+
+She meant it, too.  But I, remembering the Colton mansion, what I
+had seen of it, and contrasting its splendor with the bare
+necessity of that darkened bedroom, found it hard to spare pity for
+the sufferer from "nerves."
+
+"You needn't be," I said, bitterly.  "I imagine she wouldn't think
+of you, if the conditions were reversed.  I doubt if she thinks of
+any one but herself."
+
+"You shouldn't say that, Roscoe.  You don't know.  You have never
+met her."
+
+"I have met the rest of the family.  No, Mother, I think you
+needn't he sorry for that woman.  She has everything under the sun.
+Whereas you--"
+
+"Hush! hush!  There is one thing she hasn't got.  She hasn't a son
+like you, Boy."
+
+"Humph!  That must be a terrible deprivation.  There! there!
+Mother, I won't be disagreeable.  Let's change the subject.  Did
+Matilda Dean come to see you this afternoon?"
+
+"No.  I presume she was too busy.  But, Roscoe, it is plain enough
+why Captain Dean spoke to you about the Lane at the office this
+morning.  He must have heard, somehow, that Mr. Colton wished to
+buy it."
+
+"Yes.  Or, if he didn't hear just that, he heard enough to make him
+guess the rest.  He is pretty shrewd."
+
+"You promised him you wouldn't sell without telling him beforehand.
+Shall you tell him of Mr. Colton's offer?"
+
+"If he asks me, I shall, I suppose."
+
+"I wonder what he will do then.  Do you suppose he will try to
+persuade the Selectmen to buy the Lane for the town?"
+
+"I don't know.  I shouldn't wonder."
+
+"It will be harder to refuse the town's offer."
+
+"Yes.  Although the town can't afford to pay Colton's prices.  I
+believe that man would have raised his bid to a thousand, if I had
+let him.  As a matter of business and nothing else, I suppose I am
+foolish not to push the price as high as possible and then sell.
+The land is worthless to us."
+
+"I know.  But this isn't just a matter of business, is it?  And we
+DON'T need the money.  We're not rich, but we aren't poor, are we,
+Boy."
+
+"No.  No, of course not.  But, Mother, just see what I could do--
+for you--with a thousand dollars.  Why, there are so many little
+things, little luxuries, that you need."
+
+"I had rather not get them that way.  No, Roscoe, I wouldn't sell
+to Mr. Colton.  And I think I wouldn't sell to the town either."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Well, because we don't have to sell, and selling to either party
+would make ill-feeling.  I should--of course I'm only a woman; you
+are a man and know much more about such things than I--but why not
+let matters stay just as they are?  The townspeople can use the
+Lane, just as they have always done, and, as I told you before,
+every one has been so kind to us that I like to feel we are doing a
+little in return.  Let them use the Lane, without cost.  Why not?"
+
+"What do you think the Coltons would say to that?"
+
+"Perhaps they don't understand the real situation.  The next time
+you see Mr. Colton you could explain more fully; tell him what the
+Lane means to the town, and so on.  I'm sure he would understand,
+if you told him that.  And then, if the sight of the wagons was too
+annoying, he could put up some kind of a screen, or plant a row of
+fir trees by the fence.  Don't you think so?"
+
+I imagined the great man's reply to such a suggestion.  However, I
+did not express my thoughts.  I told Mother not to worry, I was
+sure everything would be all right, and, as Dorinda called me to
+supper, I went into the dining-room.
+
+Lute was waiting for me at the table, and Dorinda, after taking the
+tray into Mother's room, joined us.  Lute was so full of excitement
+and curiosity that he almost forgot to eat, a miracle of itself and
+made greater by the fact that he did not ask a single question
+until his wife asked one first.  Then he asked three in succession.
+Dorinda, who was quite as curious as he but would not have shown it
+for the world, stopped him at the beginning of the fourth.
+
+"There! there!" she said, sharply, "this is supposed to be a meal,
+not a parrot shop, and we're humans, not a passel of birds on a
+telegraph wire all hollerin' at once.  Drink your tea and stop your
+cawin', Lute Rogers.  Ros'll tell us when he gets ready.  What DID
+Mr. Colton want of you, Roscoe?"
+
+I told them as much of the interview at the Coltons' as I thought
+necessary they should know.  Lute kept remarkably quiet, for him,
+until I named the figure offered by the millionaire.  Then he could
+hold in no longer.
+
+"Five hundred!" he repeated "Five hundred DOLLARS for the Shore
+Lane!  Five--"
+
+"He raised it to six hundred and fifty before I left," I said.
+
+"SIX hundred!  Six hundred--and FIFTY!  For the Shore Lane!  Six
+hun--"
+
+"Sshh! shh!" cut in Dorinda.  "You sound like Sim Eldredge sellin'
+somethin' at auction.  DO be quiet!  And you told him, Roscoe--?"
+
+"I told you what I told him," I said.
+
+"Um-hm.  I ain't forgot it.  Be quiet, Lute.  Well, Roscoe, I
+cal'late you know your own affairs best, but, judgin' from some
+hints Matildy Dean hove out when she was here this afternoon, I
+don't believe you've heard the last from that Shore Lane."
+
+"Matilda Dean!" I repeated.  "Why, Mother said Matilda wasn't here
+to-day."
+
+"Um-hm.  Well, she was here, though Comfort didn't know it.  I took
+pains she shouldn't.  Matildy come about three o'clock, in the
+buggy, along with Nellie.  Nellie was doin' the drivin', of course,
+and her mother was tellin' her how, as usual.  I don't wonder that
+girl is such a meek, soft-spoken kind of thing.  Between her pa's
+bullyin' and her ma's tongue, it's a wonder she's got any spirit
+left.  It would be a mercy if George Taylor should marry her and
+take her out of that house.  Matildy had a new book on Spiritu'lism
+and she was figgerin' to read some of it out loud to Comfort, but I
+headed her off.  I know _I_ wouldn't want to be all stirred up
+about 'tests' and 'materializations' and such, and so I told her
+Comfort was asleep."
+
+"She wasn't asleep, neither," declared Lute.  "What did you tell
+such a whopper as that for?  You're always sailin' into me if I
+stretch a yarn the least mite.  Why, last April Fool Day you give
+me Hail Columby for jokin' you about a mouse under the kitchen
+table.  Called me all kinds of names, you did--after you got down
+off the table."
+
+His wife regarded him scornfully.  "It's pretty hard to remember
+which IS that partic'lar day with you around," she said.  "I'd told
+Comfort she'd ought to take a nap and if she wan't takin' it
+'twan't my fault.  I wan't goin' to have her seein' her granddad's
+ghost in every corner.  But, anyhow, Matildy made a little call on
+me, and, amongst the million other things she said, was somethin'
+about Cap'n Jed hearin' that Mr. Colton was cal'latin' to shut off
+that Lane.  Matildy hinted that her husband and the Selectmen might
+have a little to say afore 'twas closed.  If that's so I guess you
+may hear from him as well as the Colton man, Roscoe."
+
+"Perhaps," I said.  I could see no use in repeating my conversation
+with Captain Jed.
+
+Dorinda nodded.
+
+"Goin' to tell the town to go--where you sent the other one?" she
+asked, dryly.
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Humph!  Well," with some sarcasm, "it must be fine to be in a
+position where money's no object.  I never tried it, myself, but it
+sounds good."
+
+I did not answer.
+
+"Um-hm," she said.  "Well, anyhow it looks to me--Lute, you keep
+still--as if there was goin' to be two parties in Denboro afore
+this Lane business is over.  One for the Coltons and one against
+'em.  You'll have to take one side or the other, won't you,
+Roscoe?"
+
+"Not necessarily."
+
+"Goin' to set on the fence, hey?"
+
+"That's a good place TO sit, isn't it?"
+
+Dorinda smiled, grimly.
+
+"If it's the right kind of a fence, maybe 'tis," she observed.
+"Otherwise the pickets are liable to make you uncomf'table after a
+spell, I presume likely."
+
+I went out soon after this, for my evening smoke and walk by the
+bluff.  As I left the dining-room I heard Lute reiterating his
+belief that I had gone crazy.  Colton had said the same thing.  I
+wondered what Captain Jed's opinion would be.
+
+Whether it was another phase of my insanity or not, I don't know,
+but I woke the next morning in pretty good spirits.  Remembrance of
+the previous day's humiliations troubled me surprisingly little.
+They did not seem nearly so great in the retrospect.  What
+difference did it make to me what that crowd of snobs did or said
+or thought?
+
+However, there was just enough bitterness in my morning's review of
+yesterday's happenings to make me a little more careful in my
+dress.  I did not expect to meet my aristocratic neighbors--I
+devoutly wished it might be my good luck never to meet any of them
+again--but in making selections from my limited wardrobe I chose
+with more thought than usual.  Dorinda noticed the result when I
+came down to breakfast.
+
+"Got your other suit on, ain't you," she observed.
+
+"Yes," said I.
+
+"Goin' anywheres special?"
+
+"No.  Down to the boathouse, that's all."
+
+"Humph!  I don't see what you put those blue pants on for.  They're
+awful things to show water spots.  Did you leave your brown ones
+upstairs?  Um-hm.  Well, I'll get at 'em some time to-day.  I
+noticed they was wearin' a little, sort of, on the bottoms of the
+legs."
+
+I had noticed it, too, and this reminder confirmed my suspicions
+that others had made the same observations.
+
+"I'll try and mend 'em this afternoon," went on Dorinda, "if I can
+find time.  But, for mercy's sake, don't spot those all up, for I
+may not get time, and then you'd have to wear your Sunday ones."
+
+I promised, curtly, to be careful, and, after saying good morning
+to Mother, I went down to the boathouse and set to work on the
+engine.  It was the only thing in the nature of work that I had to
+do, but, somehow or other, I did not feel like doing it any more
+than I had the day before.  A little of my good spirits were
+wearing off, like the legs of my "other" trousers, and after an
+hour of intermittent tinkering I threw down the wrench and decided
+to go for a row.  The sun was shining brightly, but the breeze was
+fresh, and, as my skiff was low in the gunwale and there was likely
+to be some water flying, I put on an old oilskin "slicker" and
+sou-wester before starting.
+
+I had determined to row across the bay over to the lighthouse, and
+ask Ben Small, the keeper, if there were any signs of fish
+alongshore.  The pull was a long one, but I enjoyed every stroke of
+it.  The tide was almost full, just beginning to ebb, so there was
+scarcely any current and I could make a straight cut across,
+instead of following the tortuous channel.  My skiff was a flat
+bottomed affair, drawing very little, but in Denboro bay, at low
+tide, even a flat-bottomed skiff has to beware of sand and eel-
+grass.
+
+Small was busy whitewashing, but he was glad to see me.  If you
+keep a lighthouse, the average lighthouse, you are glad to see
+anybody.  He put his brush into the pail and insisted on my coming
+to the house, because "the old woman," his wife, would want to hear
+"all the sewin' circle news."  "It's the biggest hardship of her
+life," said Ben, "that she has to miss sewin' circle when the bay
+ices in.  Soon's it clears she's at me to row her acrost to the
+meetin's.  I've took her to two this spring, but she missed the
+last one, on account of this whitewashin', and she's crazy to know
+who's been talked about now.  If anything disgraceful has happened
+for the land sakes tell her; then she'll he more reconciled."
+
+I had nothing disgraceful to tell, but Mrs. Small was glad to see
+me, nevertheless.  She brought out doughnuts and beach-plum jelly
+and insisted on my sampling both, the doughnuts because they were
+just made and she "mistrusted" there was too much flour in them,
+and the jelly because it was some she had left over and she wanted
+to see if I thought it was "keepin'" all right.  After this, Ben
+took me out to see his hens, and then we walked to the back of the
+beach and talked fish.  The forenoon was almost gone when I got
+back to the skiff.  The tide had ebbed so far that the lightkeeper
+and I had to pull the little boat twenty feet to launch her.
+
+"There!" said Ben, "now you're afloat, ain't you.  Cal'late you'll
+have to go way 'round Robin Hood's barn to keep off the flats.  I
+forgot about the tide or I wouldn't have talked so much.  Hello!
+there's another craft about your size off yonder.  Somebody else
+out rowin'.  Two somebodys.  My eyes ain't as good for pickin' em
+out as they used to be, but one of 'em IS a female, ain't it?"
+
+I looked over my shoulder, as I sat in the skiff and saw, out in
+the middle of the bay, another rowboat with two people in it.
+
+"That ain't a dory or a skiff," shouted Ben, raising his voice as I
+pulled away from him.  "Way she sets out of water I'd call her a
+lap-streak dingy.  If that feller's takin' his girl out rowin'
+he'll have to work his passage home against this tide . . .  Well,
+so long, Ros.  Come again."
+
+I nodded a goodby, and settled down for my long row, a good deal
+longer this time on account of the ebb.  There was water enough on
+this side of the bay, but on the village side the channel made a
+wide detour and I should be obliged to follow it for nearly a mile
+up the bay, before turning in behind the long sand bar which made
+out from the point beyond my boathouse.
+
+The breeze had gone down, which made rowing easier, but the pull of
+the tide more than offset this advantage.  However, I had mastered
+that tide many times before and, except that the delay might make
+me late for dinner, the prospect did not trouble me.  I swung into
+the channel and set the skiff's bow against the current.  Then from
+the beach I had just left I heard a faint hail.  Turning my head, I
+saw Ben Small waving his arms.  He was shouting something, too, but
+I was too far away to catch the words.
+
+The lightkeeper continued to shout and wave.  I lifted an oar to
+show that he had my attention.  He recognized the signal, and began
+pointing out over the water astern of me.  I looked where he was
+pointing.  I could not see anything out of the ordinary.  Except
+for my own skiff and the gulls, and the row boat with the two
+persons in it there was nothing astir on the bay.  But Ben kept on
+waving and pointing.  At last I decided that it must be the row
+boat he was pointing at.  I stopped rowing and looked.
+
+The row boat was a good distance off and its occupants were but
+specks.  Now one of the specks stood up and waved its arms.  So far
+as I could see, the boat was drifting; there were no flashes of
+sunlight on wet blades to show that the oars were in use.  No, it
+was drifting, and, as I looked, it swung broadside on.  The
+standing figure continued to wave its arms.
+
+Those people must be in trouble of some sort, I decided, and it was
+evident that Small thought so, too.  There could no imminent danger
+threaten for, on a day like this, with no sea running, there was
+nothing to fear in the bay.  If, however, they should drift out of
+the bay it might be unpleasant.  And they certainly were drifting.
+I resigned myself to the indefinite postponement of my dinner,
+swung the skiff about, and pulled as hard as I could in the
+direction of the row boat.
+
+With the tide to help me I made good progress, but, even at that,
+it took me some time to overtake the drifting craft.  She was, as
+Ben had said, a lap-streaked, keel-bottomed dingy--good enough as a
+yacht's tender or in deep water, but the worst boat in the world to
+row about Denboro bay at low tide.  Her high rail caught what
+breeze there was blowing and this helped to push her along.
+However, I got within easy hailing distance after a while and
+called, over my shoulder, to ask what was the matter.
+
+A man's voice answered me.
+
+"We've lost an oar," he shouted.  "We're drifting out to sea.  Lend
+us a hand, will you?"
+
+"All right," I answered.  "I'll be there in a minute."
+
+Within the minute I was almost alongside.  Then I turned, intending
+to speak again; but I did not.  The two persons in the dingy were
+Victor--I did not know his other name--and Mabel Colton.
+
+I was wearing the oilskin slicker and had pulled down the brim of
+my sou'wester to keep the sun from my eyes; therefore they had not
+recognized me before.  And I, busy at the oars and looking over my
+shoulder only occasionally, had not recognized them.  Now the
+recognition was mutual.  Miss Colton spoke first.
+
+"Why, Victor!" she said, "it is--"
+
+"What?" asked her companion.  Then, looking at me, "Oh! it's you,
+is it?"
+
+I did not answer.  Luck was certainly against me.  No matter where
+I went, on land or water, I was fated to meet these two.
+
+Victor, apparently, was thinking the same thing.  "By Jove!" he
+observed; "Mabel, we seem destined to . . .  Humph!  Well?  Will
+you give us a hand?"
+
+The most provoking part of it was that, if I had known who was in
+that rowboat, I could have avoided the encounter.  Ben Small could
+have gone to their rescue just as well as I.  However, here I was,
+and here they were.  And I could not very well go away and leave
+them, under the circumstances.
+
+Victor's patience was giving way.
+
+"What are you waiting for?" he demanded.  "Aren't you going to help
+us?  We'll pay you for it."
+
+I pulled the skiff a little closer and, drawing in my oars, turned
+and picked up the slack of my anchor rope.
+
+"Here," I said, brusquely; "catch this line and I'll tow you."
+
+I tossed him the loop of rope and he caught it.
+
+"What shall I do with it?" he asked.
+
+"Hold it, just as it is, for the present.  What became of your
+other oar?"
+
+"Lost it overboard."
+
+"Why didn't you throw over your anchor and wait where you were?"
+
+I think he had not thought of the anchor, but he did not deign to
+explain.  Instead he began pulling on the rope and the two boats
+drew together.
+
+"Don't do that," I said.  "Wait."
+
+I untied the rope, where it was made fast to the skiff's bow, and
+with it and the anchor in my hands, scrambled aft and wedged the
+anchor under the stern thwart of the little craft.
+
+"Now," I said, "you can pull in the slack until you get to the end.
+Then make it fast to your bow somewhere."
+
+I suppose he did his best to follow instructions, but the rope was
+a short one, the end jerked loose suddenly and he went backward in
+a heap.  I thought, for an instant, that he was going overboard and
+that mine would be the mixed pleasure of fishing him out.
+
+Miss Colton gave a little scream, which changed to a ripple of
+laughter.  I might have laughed, too, under different circumstances,
+but just now I did not feel like it.  Besides, the rope, having
+flown out of his hands, was in the water again and the two boats
+were drifting apart.
+
+"What did you do that for?" demanded the fallen one, scrambling to
+his knees.  I heard a sound from the dingy's stern as if the young
+lady was trying to stifle her merriment.  Victor, doubtless, heard
+it, too.
+
+"Where are you going?" he sputtered, angrily.  "Give me that rope."
+
+I gave it to him, literally gave it, for I pulled alongside and put
+the end in his hands.
+
+"Tie it in the bow of your boat," I said.  He did so.  I drew in
+the slack until a fair towing length remained and made it fast.
+While he was busy I ventured to glance at Miss Colton.  Her eyes
+were snapping with fun and she seemed to be enjoying the situation.
+But, catching my look, her expression changed.  She turned away and
+looked indifferently out to sea.
+
+I swung the skiff's bow around.
+
+"Where do you want to go?" I asked.
+
+Victor answered.  "Back to Mr. Colton's landing," he said.  "Get as
+much of a move on as you can, will you?  I'll make it worth your
+while."
+
+I was as anxious to get there as he was.  I did not care for a
+quarrel, and I knew if he continued to use that tone in his remarks
+to me I should answer as I felt.  I pulled with all my strength,
+but against the tide towing was hard work.
+
+Victor sat on the amidships thwart of the dingy, with his back to
+me.  But Miss Colton, seated in the stern, was facing me and I
+could not help looking at her.  She did not look at me, or, if she
+did, it was as if I were merely a part of the view; nothing to be
+interested in, one way or the other.
+
+She was beautiful; there was no doubt of that.  Prettier even, in
+the blue and white boating costume and rough-and-ready white felt
+hat, than she had seemed when I saw her in the auto or her father's
+library.  She represented the world that I had lost.  I had known
+girls like her.  They had not as much money as she, perhaps, but
+they were just as well-bred and refined, and almost as pretty.  I
+had associated with them as an equal.  I wondered what she would
+say, or think, if she knew that.  Nothing, probably; she would not
+care enough to think at all.  It did not matter to me what she
+thought; but I did wish I had not put on those fool oilskins.  I
+must look more like a country longshoreman than ever.
+
+If I had any doubts about it they were dispelled when I had rowed
+the two boats up the bay until we were abreast the Colton mansion.
+Then Victor, who had been talking in a low tone with his fellow
+passenger in the dingy, looked at the distant shore and, over his
+shoulder, at me.
+
+"Here!" he shouted.  "Where are you going?  That's the landing over
+there."
+
+"I know," I answered.  "But we shall have to go around that flat.
+We can't cross here."
+
+"Why?  What's the reason we can't?"
+
+"Because there isn't water enough.  We should get aground."
+
+He stood up to look.
+
+"Nonsense!" he said.  "There's plenty of water.  I can't see any
+flat, or whatever you call it."
+
+"It's there, though you can't see it.  It is covered with eelgrass
+and doesn't show.  We shall have to go a half mile further before
+we turn in."
+
+"A half mile!  Why, confound it! it's past one o'clock now.  We
+haven't any time to waste."
+
+"I'm sorry, but we can't cross yet.  And, if I were you, I
+shouldn't stand up in that boat."
+
+He paid no attention to this suggestion.
+
+"There are half a dozen boats, bigger than these, by the landing,"
+he declared.  "There is water enough for them.  What are you afraid
+of?  We haven't any time to waste, I tell you."
+
+I did not answer.  Silence, on my part, was the safest thing just
+then.  I continued rowing up the bay.
+
+Miss Colton spoke to him and he sat down, a proceeding for which I
+was thankful.  They whispered together for a moment.  Then he
+turned to me.
+
+"See here," he said; "this lady and I have an appointment.  We must
+get ashore.  Go straight in.  If you're afraid I'll take the risk.
+If there is any danger I'll pay for that, too."
+
+There was no question of risk.  It was a certainty.  I knew that
+channel.
+
+"We can't cross here," I said, shortly.
+
+"Why, confound you--"
+
+"Victor!" cautioned Miss Colton.
+
+"Hush, Mabel!  This is ridiculous.  You and I saw two boats go
+straight out from the beach this morning.  We went out that way
+ourselves.  Here you--Paine, or whatever your name is--we've had
+enough of this.  I've hired you to take us ashore, and I want to go
+there and not a half mile in another direction.  Will you do as I
+tell you?"
+
+When the dingy and the other boats crossed the flat the tide had
+been hours higher, of course; but I was in no mood to explain--to
+him.
+
+"No," I said, shortly.
+
+"You won't?  Then you give me an oar and I'll row the rest of the
+way myself."
+
+There were only two oars in the skiff, but I could get on perfectly
+well with one.  And it would serve him beautifully right to let him
+go.  But there was the girl.  I hesitated.
+
+"Give me that oar," he repeated, angrily.  "You won't?  Then, by
+Jove, I'll do without it.  Stop!  Stop where you are! do you
+understand.  We don't require your services any longer."
+
+He turned and began untying the tow line.  I stopped rowing.
+
+Miss Colton looked troubled.
+
+"Victor!" she cried.  "What are you doing?"
+
+"I know what I'm doing.  Can't you see this fellow's game?  The
+longer the row the higher his price, that's all.  He can't work me.
+I've seen his kind before.  Don't be frightened.  If we can't do
+anything else we can anchor and wait until they see us from the
+house."
+
+Idiot!  At that point the channel was deep and the bottom soft mud.
+I doubted if his anchor would touch and, if it did, I knew it would
+not hold.  I backed water and brought the skiff alongside the
+dingy, the rail of which I seized and held.
+
+"Keep off!" ordered Victor, still fumbling with the rope.  "We
+don't want your help."
+
+I wasted no breath on him.  I addressed my remarks to the girl.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, "will you listen to me, please.  You can't
+anchor here because your anchor will not hold.  And you can't cross
+that flat at this stage of the tide.  I can give you an oar, of
+course, but it won't do any good.  My oars are too light and small
+for your boat.  Unless you wish to drift back where you were, or
+beyond, you must let me tow you around the head of this flat."
+
+I don't know what answer she might have made.  None, perhaps;
+although I am sure she was listening.  But Victor, who had
+succeeded in untying the tow line, cut in ahead of her.
+
+"Mabel," he warned, "don't pay any attention to him.  Didn't your
+father tell us what he was?  There!" throwing the end of the rope
+overboard and addressing me; "now, you may clear out.  We've done
+with you.  Understand?"
+
+I looked at Miss Colton.  But I might as well have looked at an
+iceberg.  I slid one of my oars over into the dingy.
+
+"There you are," I said, grimly.  "But I warn you that you're in
+for trouble."
+
+I let go of the rail and the boats fell apart.  Victor seized the
+borrowed oar with a triumphant laugh.
+
+"Your bluff wouldn't work, would it, Reuben," he sneered.  "I'll
+send you the oar and your pay later.  Now, Mabel, sit tight.  I'll
+have you ashore in fifteen minutes."
+
+He began rowing toward the weed-covered flat.  I said nothing.  I
+was furiously angry and it was some moments before I recovered
+self-possession sufficiently to get my remaining oar over the
+skiff's stern and, by sculling, hold her against the tide.  Then I
+watched and waited.
+
+It was not a long wait.  Victor was in difficulties almost from the
+beginning.  The oar belonging to the dingy was a foot longer than
+the one I had given him and he zig-zagged wildly.  Soon he was in
+the edge of the eelgrass and "catching crabs," first on one side,
+then on the other.  The dingy's bow slid up on the mud.  He stood
+up to push it off, and the stern swung around.  Getting clear, he
+took a fresh start and succeeded only in fouling again.  This time
+he got further into the tangle before he grounded.  The bow rose
+and the stern settled.  There was a mighty splashing, as Victor
+pushed and tugged, but the dingy stuck fast.  And there she would
+continue to stick for four hours unless I, or some one else, helped
+her off.
+
+I did not want to help.  In fact, I looked all up and down the bay
+before I made a move.  But it was dinner time and there was not
+another soul afloat.  More than that, I noticed, as I had not
+noticed before, that brown clouds--wind clouds--were piling up in
+the west, and, if I was anything of a prophet, we would have
+squalls and dirty weather long before those four hours were over.
+And the dingy, in that position, was not safe to face a blow.  No,
+as the small boys say, it was "up to me."  I wished it was not, but
+it was.
+
+So again I went to the rescue, but this time in an entirely
+different frame of mind.  My anger and resentment had settled to a
+cold determination, and this trip was purely business.  I was not
+at a disadvantage now, as I had been when I first met that girl and
+her friend, in "Big Jim" Colton's library.  I was master of this
+situation and master I intended to be.
+
+I sculled the skiff straight in to the edge of the flat, at a point
+where the bank sloped sharply to deep water.  I threw over my
+anchor, shortened the rope and made it fast.  Then I stepped out
+into water above my shoe tops and waded toward the dingy.  The
+water was icy cold, but I did not know it at the time.
+
+I splashed through the eelgrass.  Victor saw me coming and roared
+an angry protest.  He was still trying to push the boat off with an
+oar.
+
+"Here!" he shouted.  "You keep away.  We don't want you."
+
+I did not care what he wanted.  I splashed alongside the dingy and
+looked at her and the position she was in.  My mind was made up
+instantly.
+
+"You'll never get her off if you both stay aboard," I said.  "Let
+the lady move amidships and you get out and wade."
+
+He glared at me as if I were as crazy as Colton or Lute had
+declared me to be.  Then he laughed contemptuously.
+
+"You go back where you came from," he ordered.  "I'm running this."
+
+"Yes, I've noticed that.  Now I'll state the facts as plainly as I
+can.  This boat is fast aground in the mud, the tide is still going
+out, and there are squalls coming.  She must be got off or there
+may be danger.  You can't get her off until she is lightened.  Will
+you get out and wade?"
+
+He did not answer; instead he continued to push with the oar.  I
+turned to the girl.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, "I must ask you to stand up.  Be careful
+when you rise."
+
+She made no move, nor did she reply.  The look she gave me was
+enough.
+
+"You must stand up," I repeated, firmly.  "Either your--this
+gentleman--must get out, as I tell him to, or I shall have to carry
+you to my skiff.  We haven't any time to spare."
+
+She gazed at me in blank astonishment.  Then the color flamed in
+her cheeks and her eyes flashed.
+
+"We don't wish your help," she said, icily.
+
+"I'm sorry, but that makes no difference.  I--"
+
+Victor whirled on me, the oar in his hands.  I thought for an
+instant he was going to strike me with it.
+
+"You blackguard!" he shouted.  "Will you go away?"
+
+I looked at him and then at her.  It had to be done, and my mind
+was made up to do it.  I waded in until the water was almost to my
+knees, and I was abreast the stern of the stranded boat.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, "I am going to carry you to my skiff.  Are
+you ready?"
+
+"You--  Why!--" she breathed.
+
+I stooped, lifted her in my arms, and ploughed through the weeds
+and water.  The mud was soft and my feet sank into it.  She
+struggled.
+
+"You must keep still," I said, sharply, "or I shall drop you."
+
+She gasped, but she stopped struggling.  From behind me I heard a
+roar of rage from Victor.
+
+I carried her to the anchored skiff and, plunging in still deeper,
+seated her on the stern thwart.
+
+"Sit there, please, and don't move," I said.  "I shall be back as
+soon as I've got your boat afloat."
+
+I waded back to the dingy.  Victor was frantic, but he did not
+disturb me.  The worst of my unpleasant job was over.
+
+"Now sit down," I ordered.  "Do you hear me?  Sit down and sit
+still."
+
+"You--you--" he stammered.
+
+"Because if you don't sit down," I continued serenely, "you're
+likely to tumble overboard.  I'm going to push this boat off."
+
+The first push helped to make up his mind.  He sat, involuntarily.
+I pushed with all my might and, slowly and jerkily, the dingy slid
+off the shoal.  But there were others all about.  With one hand on
+the bow I guided her between them and to the edge of the channel.
+Then, wading along the slippery bank, I brought her to the skiff.
+My passenger had been making remarks in transit, but I paid no
+attention to them.
+
+I made the rope fast for towing, took my oar from the dingy, pulled
+up the skiff's anchor and climbed aboard.
+
+"Sit where you are," I said to Victor.  "Miss Colton, please keep
+as still as possible."
+
+I ventured to look at her as I said this, but I looked but once.
+All the way home I kept my gaze fixed on the bottom boards of the
+skiff.
+
+I made the landing just in time.  In fact, the squall struck before
+I was abreast the Colton place.  The channel beyond the flat, which
+we had so lately left, was whipped to whitecaps in a moment and
+miniature breakers were beating against the mud bank where the
+dingy had grounded.
+
+Under the high bluff it was calm enough.  The tide was too low to
+make use of the little wharf, so I beached the skiff and drew the
+towed boat in by the line.  I offered to assist Miss Colton ashore,
+but she, apparently, did not see my proffered hand.  Victor
+scrambled out by himself.  No one said anything.  I untied the rope
+and pulled it in.  Then I prepared to push off.
+
+"Here!" growled Victor.  "Wait a minute."
+
+I looked up.  He was standing at the edge of the water, with one
+hand in his pocket.  Miss Colton was behind him.
+
+"Well?" I asked.
+
+"I haven't paid you yet," he said, sullenly.  "How much?"
+
+"What do you mean?" I asked.  I knew, of course, but it pleased me
+to make him say it.
+
+"Why, how much for towing us in?  What's your price?  Come, hurry
+up."
+
+"I haven't any price.  I'm not in the salvage business."
+
+"Not--  Say, don't bargain.  What's your price, I ask you?"
+
+"Nothing, of course.  Very glad to have been of assistance."
+
+I took up my oars.
+
+"Here!" he shouted.  "Stop! hold on!  Confound you! do you suppose
+we don't intend to pay you for this?"
+
+I shook my head.  "It has been a pleasure," I said, sweetly.  "Good
+day."
+
+I rowed off, but all the way down to my boathouse I smiled
+contentedly.  I had seen the look on Mabel Colton's face.  I rather
+thought I had evened the account between us; at least I had reduced
+the balance a trifle.  This time it was not I who appeared
+ridiculous.
+
+Dorinda saw me when I entered the kitchen.  Her hands were
+upraised.
+
+"My soul and body!" she exclaimed.  "LOOK at them pants!  LOOK at
+'em!  And I ain't had time to put a needle to your other ones yet!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+The rain, which I expected would follow the squall, did not come
+until late that night, and it was still falling heavily the next
+morning.  It was a warm rain, however, and, after breakfast, I
+walked up to the village.  I said nothing, even to Mother, about
+the happenings in the bay, and Dorinda, who had asked many
+sarcastic questions concerning the state of my blue trousers--if I
+had "mistook 'em for a bathin' suit" and the like--seemed satisfied
+with my hurried explanation that I had gotten overboard.  "Though
+how you fell in feet fust," she observed, "I don't see."  She had
+mended my brown pair, sitting up until after two to do so.
+
+Lute informed me that he had been up to the post-office.
+"Everybody's talkin' about them Coltons," he declared.  "I see
+their automobile last night, myself.  The Colton girl, she come
+into the store.  My! she's a stunner, ain't she!  Sim waited on
+her, himself, and gave her the mail.  She wanted to buy some
+cheese--for a rabbit, she said.  I never heard of feeding a rabbit
+on cheese, did you, Ros?"
+
+"No," I replied, laughing.  It was not worth while to explain.
+
+"Nor nobody else, but her!  I guess," continued Lute, "likely she
+was just jokin'.  Anyhow, Sim was all out of cheese, but he had
+some nice print butter, just in.  She didn't want no butter,
+though."
+
+"Humph!" sniffed Dorinda.  "Did Sim Eldredge cal'late she wanted to
+feed the rabbit butter?  Was the Colton girl alone?"
+
+"No.  There was a young feller with her; the one that's visitin'
+'em.  Carver his name is--Victor Carver.  Did you ever hear such a
+name in your life?  Afore I'd name a child of mine Victor!"
+
+"Um-hm.  Well, I wouldn't waste time worryin' about that, if I was
+you.  Look here, Lute Rogers, you didn't say anything about
+Roscoe's talk with Mr. Colton, did you?"
+
+"No, no! no, no!  Course I didn't."
+
+"You sure?"
+
+"Yes.  'Taint likely I would, would I?  Cap'n Jed was on hand, as
+usual, and he was full of questions, but he didn't get anything out
+of me.  'What did Colton say to Ros?' he says.  'How do I know what
+he said?' says I.  'I wan't there, was I?'  'Where was you that
+forenoon?' he says.  'Forenoon!' says I, 'that shows how much you
+know about it.  'Twas three o'clock in the afternoon.'  Oh, I had
+the laugh on him!"
+
+Dorinda looked at me and shook her head.
+
+"It's too bad, Roscoe," she said.  "But I was afraid of it as soon
+as I found he'd sneaked off to the post-office.  I cal'late it's
+all over town by now."
+
+"What do you mean by that?" Lute's dignity was outraged.  "All over
+town!  I never told him nothin'."
+
+"No.  Only that Ros and Mr. Colton were together and 'twas three
+o'clock in the afternoon.  And goodness knows how much more!  DO be
+quiet!  Seems sometimes as if I should lose patience with you
+altogether.  Is this Carver the Colton girl's young man?  Are they
+engaged?"
+
+"I don't know.  I guess he's keepin' company with her, by the
+looks.  I got as nigh to 'em as I could, but I didn't hear much
+they said.  Only, just as they was goin' out, he said somethin'
+about goin' for a little spin in the car.  She said no, her father
+would want his letters.  Carver, he said, why not send Oscar home--
+that's the chauffeur, you know--with the letters, and he'd run the
+car himself.  She kind of laughed, and said she guessed not, she'd
+taken one trip with him already that day and she didn't believe she
+cared for another.  He seemed kind of put out about it, I thought."
+
+I had been feeling rather provoked at Lute for giving Captain Jed
+the information concerning my interview with Colton; but, somehow,
+this other bit of news restored my good humor.  When I started for
+the village I did not take the short cut across the fields, but
+followed my regular route, the path by the bluff and the Shore
+Lane.  I was no longer fearful of meeting my new neighbors.  The
+memory of the happenings in the bay was a delightful solace to my
+wounded self-respect.  I chuckled over it as I walked through the
+dripping pines of the little grove.  No matter how contemptuously
+indifferent that girl might pretend to be she would not forget what
+had taken place; that she had been obliged to obey my orders; that
+I had carried her to that skiff; that I had saved her from a
+danger--not a great danger, and against her will, of course--but
+saved her nevertheless.  She was under an obligation to me; she
+could not help herself.  How that must gall her.  I remembered the
+look on her face as I rowed away.  Sweet was revenge.  And Victor--
+Victor was a joke.
+
+When I reached the Lane I looked over at the Colton mansion.  The
+rain had given the carpenters and painters an enforced holiday,
+and, except for the chauffeur, whom I could see through the open
+door of the garage, there was no one in sight.  I think I was a
+little disappointed.  If "Big Jim" had appeared and hailed me with
+another offer for the land I should not have dodged.  I was ready
+for him.  But neither he, or any one else, appeared and I walked
+on.
+
+At the Corners, Sim Eldredge shouted to me from the platform of his
+store.
+
+"Hi, Ros!" he shouted.  "You!  Ros Paine! come here a minute, will
+you?"
+
+I did not want to see him.  I had intended avoiding the post-office
+altogether.  But I crossed to the platform.
+
+"Say, Ros," he asked eagerly, "what's this about you and Mr. Colton?"
+
+I was annoyed.
+
+"What do you mean?" I asked.
+
+"Why, you know, don't you?  He come to see you and you went to see
+him over to his house.  You had a reg'lar argument, I understand.
+About the Shore Lane, wan't it?"
+
+"Who told you that?" I inquired, sharply.
+
+"Why, nobody told me, exactly.  Lute Rogers and Cap'n Jed was here
+last night and they got a-goin' as usual.  The Cap'n does love to
+stir up Lute, and he commenced hintin' about somethin' of the kind.
+I don't know as they was hints, either, but Lute thought they was."
+
+He grinned.  I understood.
+
+"I see," I said.  "Well, what did Lute say?"
+
+"I suppose he'd say he never said a word, but after he'd gone there
+was a kind of general sentiment that Colton wanted to buy the Shore
+Lane land off you, and that you and he had some words about it.
+Anyhow, you didn't sell the land, did you?"
+
+"Suppose I did, or didn't; what of it?"
+
+"Why, nothin', nothin'.  Only, I tell you, Ros--" he looked
+carefully about to make sure no one was listening; "I tell you;
+it's just this way.  I can understand how you feel about it.  You
+know Dean and some of the others are sore on Mr. Colton 'cause he's
+got more money than they have, and they want to make all the
+trouble for him they can.  Jed's got an idea that he's after that
+Lane, to close it off, and he's stirrin' up sentiment against its
+bein' closed.  He's talkin' about the town buyin' it.  Now of
+course I know your position.  You want to get just as high a price
+as you can afore you sell."
+
+"That's my position, is it?"
+
+"It would be the position of any sensible man, wouldn't it?  I
+don't blame you.  Now, what I wanted to say was this."  He bent
+forward and lowered his voice to a whisper.  "Why don't you let me
+handle this thing for you?  I can do it better'n you.  I see Cap'n
+Jed every night, you might say.  And I see consider'ble of Mr.
+Colton.  He knows I'm postmaster in this town and sort of
+prominent.  All the smart folks ain't in the Board of Selectmen.
+I'll keep you posted; see?  You just set back and pretend you don't
+want to sell at all.  Colton, he'll bid and Jed and his gang'll
+bid.  I'll tell each what the other bids, and we'll keep her
+jumpin'.  When we get to the last jump, we'll sell--and not afore.
+Of course Mr. Colton 'll get it, in the end."
+
+"Oh, he will!  What makes you think so?"
+
+"What makes me think so?  Don't be foolish.  Ain't he a millionaire?
+How can Denboro stand up against a millionaire?  I tell you, Ros,
+it's money counts in this world, and it pays to stand in with them
+that's got it.  I'm goin' to stand in with Mr. Colton.  But I'll
+pretend to stand in with Dean just as much.  I can help a whole lot.
+Why, I shouldn't wonder if, between us, we could get--er--er--I
+don't know how much, for that land.  What do you say?"
+
+I smiled.  "It's very kind of you, Sim, to be willing to go to so
+much trouble on my account," I observed.  "I didn't know there was
+such disinterested kindness in Denboro."
+
+Sim seemed a bit put out.  "Why," he stammered, "I--I--of course I
+presumed likely you'd be willin' to pay me a little commission--or--
+or--somethin'.  I thought I might be a sort of--er--agent for you.
+I've handled consider'ble real estate in my time--and--you see what
+I mean, don't you?"
+
+"Yes," I said, drily; "I see.  Well, Sim, if I decide to engage an
+agent I'll let you know.  Good morning."
+
+"But, hold on, Ros!  I--"
+
+I did not "hold on."  I walked across the road and entered the
+bank.  Alvin Baker met me in the vestibule.  He seized my hand and
+shook it violently.
+
+"I declare," he exclaimed, "it does me good to shake hands with a
+feller that's got the grit you have.  It does so!  We're all proud
+of you."
+
+"Much obliged, Alvin, I'm sure.  But why?"
+
+He winked and nudged me with his elbow.
+
+"You know why, all right," he whispered.  "Wouldn't sell him the
+land, would you?  Tell me:  Did he make you a real bid for it?
+Lute as much as said he did."
+
+For a person who had told nothing, Lute seemed to have "as much as
+said" a good many things.  I shook my head.
+
+"So you think I shouldn't sell the land?" I asked.
+
+"Course you shouldn't--not to him.  Ain't there such things as
+public spirit and independence?  But I'll tell you somethin' more,
+Ros," mysteriously.  "You may have a chance to sell it somewhere
+else."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"Yes, sir-ee! indeed!  There's other public-spirited folks in
+Denboro as well as you.  I know who they be and I stand in with 'em
+pretty close, too.  I'm goin' to help you all I can."
+
+"That's very kind of you, Alvin."
+
+"No, no.  I'm glad to do it.  Shan't charge you nothin', neither."
+
+"That's kinder still."
+
+"No, 'tain't. . .  Hold on a minute, Ros.  Don't go.  As I say, I'm
+goin' to work tooth and nail to get the town to buy that Lane
+property of yours.  I'll stick out for you're gettin' a good price
+for it.  I'll use all my influence."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"You needn't thank me.  It's a matter of principle.  We'll show
+these city folks they ain't the whole ship, cargo and all. . . .
+Hold on a second more.  Ros, I--er--I wonder if you'd do a little
+favor for me."
+
+"What is it, Alvin?"
+
+"Why, it's this way.  I've got a note here in the bank; put it
+there when I bought the power engine for my cat-boat.  Hundred and
+fifty dollars, 'tis.  You're a pretty good friend of George Taylor,
+cashier here, and I was wonderin' if you'd mind puttin' in a word
+with him about my gettin' it renewed when it comes due.  Just tell
+him you think I'm all right, and a good risk, or somethin' like
+that."
+
+I could not help smiling.  Alvin seemed to find encouragement in
+the smile.
+
+"George thinks consider'ble of you," he said.  "And Captain Jed--
+he's one of the directors--he will, too, now that you've stood up
+to Colton.  Just put in a word for me, will you?  And don't forget
+I'm a friend of yours, and I'm strong for your gettin' a good, fair
+price from the town.  Remember that, won't you?"
+
+"I won't forget, Alvin.  Good-by."
+
+I left him and went into the bank.  Henry Small, the bookkeeper,
+was at his desk.  I walked over to speak to him, but he, looking up
+from his figures, spoke first.  There was, or so it seemed to me, a
+different note in his greeting.  It was more hearty, I thought.
+Certainly he regarded me with a new and curious interest.
+
+"Morning, Ros," he said.  "Well, how are you these days?"
+
+I answered that I was well, and was moving on but he detained me.
+
+"Lively times ahead, hey," he whispered.
+
+"What sort of times?" I asked.
+
+He winked.  "I guess you know, if anybody does," he observed.  "All
+right, you'll have good friends on your side.  I ain't saying
+anything, of course, but I'm on, all right."
+
+He winked again.  I walked back to the cashier's window.  Taylor
+had, evidently, seen me talking with the bookkeeper, for he was
+standing by the little gate, waiting for me.
+
+"Hello, Ros," he said.  "Glad to see you.  Come in."
+
+George Taylor was a type of smart country boy grown to manhood in
+the country.  His tone, like his manner, was sharp and quick and
+businesslike, but he spoke with the Down-East twang and used the
+Cape phrases and metaphors.  He was younger than I, but he looked
+older, and, of late, it had seemed to me that he was growing more
+nervous.  We shook hands.
+
+"Glad to see you," be said again.  "I was hoping you'd drift in.  I
+presumed likely you might.  Sit down."
+
+I took the proffered chair.  He looked at me with much the same
+curious interest that Small had shown.
+
+"We've been hearing about you," he said.  "You've been getting
+yourself talked about."
+
+I mentally cussed Lute once more for his loquacity.
+
+"I'll break the fellow's neck," I declared, with emphasis.
+
+He laughed.  "Don't do that yet awhile," he said.  "The market is
+in bad enough shape as it is.  If his neck was broke the whole of
+Wall Street would go to pot."
+
+"Wall Street?  What in the world has Lute got to do with Wall
+Street?"
+
+"Lute!  Oh, I see!  Yes, Lute's been doing considerable talking,
+but it ain't his neck I mean.  Say, Ros, what did you do to him,
+anyway?  You stirred him up some, judging by what he said to me."
+
+"Who said?  What?"
+
+"Why, Colton.  He was in here yesterday.  Opened what he called a
+household account; that was his main business.  But he asked about
+you, along with it."
+
+This explained some things.  It was clear now why Small had
+appeared so interested.  "Oh!" I said.
+
+"You bet he did.  Wanted to know if I knew you, and what you were,
+and so on.  I told him I knew you pretty well.  'What sort of a
+fellow is he?  A damn fool?' he asked.  I strained the truth enough
+to say you were a pretty good fellow and a long ways from that kind
+of a fool, according to my reckoning.  'Umph!' says he.  'Is he
+rich?'  I told him I guessed you wan't so rich that you got round-
+shouldered lugging your money.  'Why?' says I, getting curious.
+'Have you met him, Mr. Colton?  If you have you ought to have sized
+him up yourself.  I always heard you were a pretty fair judge.'  He
+looked at me kind of funny.  'I thought I was,' says he, 'but you
+seem to raise a new variety down here.'  Then I guess he thought
+he'd said enough.  At any rate, he walked off.  What did you and he
+say to each other, Ros?"
+
+I did not answer immediately.  When I did the answer was non-
+committal.  "Oh, we had a business interview," I said.
+
+He nodded.  "Well," he observed, "I suppose it's your affair and
+not mine.  But, I tell you this, Ros: if it's what I suppose it is,
+it'll be everybody's affair pretty soon."
+
+"You think so, do you?"
+
+"I know so.  Cap'n Jed's a fighter and he is on the war path.  The
+two sides are lining up already.  Whichever way you decide you'll
+make enemies, of course."
+
+I shrugged my shoulders.  The prospect of enemies, more or less, in
+Denboro, did not trouble me.
+
+"But you'll have to decide," he went on, "who you'll sell to."
+
+"Or not sell at all," I suggested.
+
+"Can you afford to do that?  There'll be money--a whole lot of
+money--in this before it's over, if I know the leaders on both
+sides.  You've got the whip-hand.  There'll be money in it.  Can
+you afford to let it slip?"
+
+I did not answer.  Suddenly his expression changed.  He looked
+haggard and care-worn.
+
+"By the Almighty," he said, between his teeth, and without looking
+at me, "I wish I had your chance."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh, nothing, nothing. . . .  How's your mother nowadays?"
+
+I told him that my mother was much as usual, and we talked of
+various things.
+
+"By the way," he said, "I've got some news for you.  Nothing
+surprising.  I guess all hands have seen it coming.  I'm engaged to
+be married."
+
+"Good!" said I, with as much heartiness as I could answer; marriage
+did not interest me.  "Congratulations, George.  Nellie Dean, of
+course."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I'm glad for you.  And for her.  She'll make you a good wife, I'm
+sure."
+
+He drew a long breath.  "Yes," he said slowly, "Nellie's a good
+girl."
+
+"When is the--what do they call it? the happy event to take place?"
+
+"In the fall some time, if all goes well.  I hope it will."
+
+"Humph!  Yes, I should think you might hope as much as that.  Why
+shouldn't it go well?"
+
+"Hey?  Oh, of course it will!"  He laughed and rose from his chair
+as several men came into the bank.  "I'll have to leave you, Ros,"
+he said.  "There's a directors' meeting this morning.  They're
+coming now."
+
+As I passed out of the gate and through the group of directors I
+noticed that they also regarded me with interest.  Two, men from
+neighboring towns whom I scarcely knew, whispered to each other.
+Captain Elisha Warren shook hands with me and inquired concerning
+Mother.  The last of the group was Captain Jedediah Dean, and he
+touched me on the shoulder.
+
+"Ros," he whispered, "you're all right.  Understand?  I say you're
+all right."
+
+"Thanks," I answered, briefly.
+
+"I heard about it," he whispered.  "Ase Peters said the Grand
+Panjandrum was cranky as a shark with the toothache all day
+yesterday.  You must tell me the yarn when we get together.  I
+missed you when I called just now, but I'll be down again pretty
+soon.  You won't lose nothin' by this.  So long."
+
+As I came down the bank steps Sim Eldredge called across the road.
+
+"Good-by, Ros," he shouted.  "Come in again next time you're up
+street."
+
+In all my period of residence in Denboro I had never before been
+treated like this.  People had never before gone out of their way
+to shake hands with me.  No one had considered it worth while to
+ask favors of me.  Sim and Alvin were not to be taken seriously, of
+course, and both were looking after their own pocketbooks, but
+their actions were straws proving the wind to be blowing in my
+direction.  I thought, and smiled scornfully, that I, all at once,
+seemed to have become a person of some importance.
+
+But my scorn was not entirely sincere.  There was a certain
+gratification in the thought.  I might pretend--I had pretended--
+that Denboro opinion, good or bad, was a matter of complete
+indifference to me.  I had assumed myself a philosopher, to whom,
+in the consciousness of right, such trifles were of no consequence.
+But, philosophy or not, the fact remained that I was pleased.
+People might dislike me--as that lofty Colton girl and her father
+disliked me, though they could dislike me no more than I did them--
+but I could compel them to respect me.  They already must think of
+me as a man.  And so on--as I walked home through the wet grass.
+It was all as foolish and childish and ridiculous as it well could
+be.  I deserved what was coming to me--and I got it.
+
+For, as I came down the Lane, I met Oscar, the chauffeur, and a
+companion, whom I judged to be a fellow servant--the coachman, I
+learned afterwards--walking in the direction of the village.  The
+rain had ceased, but they wore natty raincoats and caps and had the
+city air of smartness which I recognized and envied, even in them.
+The footpath was narrow, but they apparently had no intention of
+stepping to one side, so I made way for them.  They whispered
+together as they approached and looked at me curiously as we
+passed.  A few steps further on I heard them both burst out
+laughing.  I caught the words, from Oscar, "fool Rube" and "the old
+man'll make him look--"  I heard no more, but as I turned into the
+grove I saw them both looking after me with broad grins on their
+faces.
+
+Somebody has said that there is nothing harder to bear than the
+contempt and ridicule of servants.  For one thing, you cannot resent
+it without a loss of dignity, and, for another, you may be perfectly
+sure that theirs is but the reflection of their employers' frame of
+mind.  This encounter shook my self-satisfaction more than a
+little.  It angered me, but it did more than that; it brought back
+the feeling I had when I left the Colton library, that my defiance
+was not, after all, taken seriously. That I was regarded by Colton
+as just what Oscar had termed me, a "fool Rube."  When George Taylor
+told me of the great man's questions concerning my foolishness, I
+accepted the question as a tribute to my independence.  Now I was
+not so sure.
+
+Dorinda met me at the door.
+
+"You've had two callers," she said.
+
+"So?  Who were they?"
+
+"One of 'em was Cap'n Jed.  He drove down just after you left.  He
+come to see you about that land, I cal'late."
+
+"Oh, yes.  I remember he told me he missed me this morning.  So he
+came here?"
+
+"Um-hm.  Him and me had a little talk.  He seemed to know
+consider'ble about your rumpus with Mr. Colton."
+
+"How did he know?"
+
+"He wouldn't say, but I wouldn't wonder if he got a lot from Ase
+Peters.  Ase and he are pretty thick; he's got a mortgage on Ase's
+house, you know.  And Ase, bein' as he's doin' the carpenterin'
+over to Colton's, hears a lot from the servants, I s'pose likely.
+Leastways, if they don't tell all their bosses' affairs they're a
+new breed of hired help, that's all I've got to say.  Cap'n Jed
+says Mr. Colton cal'lates you're a fool."
+
+"Yes.  So I've heard.  What did the Captain say to that?"
+
+"Seemed to think 'twas a pretty good joke.  He said he didn't care
+how big a fool you was so long's you was feeble-minded on the right
+side."
+
+So there it was again.  My imagined importance in the eyes of the
+townspeople simmered down to about that.  I was an imbecile, but
+they must pretend to believe me something else because I owned
+something they wanted.  Well, I still owned it.
+
+"Of course," continued Dorinda, "I didn't tell him you was
+figgerin' not to sell the land at all.  If I had, I s'pose he'd
+have thought--"
+
+She stopped short.
+
+"You suppose what?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, nothin'."
+
+She had said enough.  I could guess the rest.  I walked to the
+window and stood, looking out.  The clouds were breaking and, as I
+stood there, a ray of sunlight streamed through a rift and struck
+the bay just at the spot where the dingy had grounded.  The shallow
+water above the flat flashed into fire.  I am not superstitious, as
+a general thing, but the sight comforted me.  It seemed like an
+omen.  There was the one bright spot in the outlook.  There, at
+least, I had not behaved like a "fool Rube."  There I had compelled
+respect and been taken seriously.
+
+Dorinda spoke again.
+
+"You ain't asked who your other caller was," she observed.
+
+"Was there another?"
+
+"Um-hm.  I told you there was two.  After Cap'n Jed left that
+chauffeur feller from the big house come here.  He fetched a note
+for you.  Here 'tis."
+
+I took the note.  It was addressed to me in a man's handwriting,
+not that of "Big Jim" Colton.  I opened the envelope and read:
+
+
+Roscoe Paine.
+
+Sir:  The enclosed is in payment for your work.  No receipt is
+necessary.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+B. VICTOR CARVER.
+
+
+The "enclosed" was a five-dollar bill.
+
+I stood staring at the note.  Then I began to laugh.
+
+"What's the joke?" asked Dorinda, who had not taken her eyes from
+my face.
+
+"This," said I, handing her the money.  She looked at it in
+astonishment.
+
+"Um-hm," she said, drily.  "Well, I--well, a five-dollar bill may
+be a joke to you, but _I_ ain't familiar enough with one to laugh
+at it.  You don't laugh as if 'twas awful funny, either.  Who's the
+joke on?"
+
+"It's on me, just now.
+
+"Um-hm.  I'd be willin' to be joked ten times a day, at that price.
+And I'd undertake to laugh heartier than you're doin', too.  What's
+it for? the money, I mean."
+
+"It's for some 'work' I did yesterday."
+
+She was more astonished than ever.
+
+"Work!  You?" she exclaimed.
+
+"Yes.  But don't worry; I shan't do it again."
+
+"Land! THAT wouldn't worry me.  What sort of work was it?"
+
+"Oh, I--I picked up something adrift in the bay."
+
+"Um-hm.  I see.  Somethin' belongin' to the Coltons, I s'pose
+likely.  Why won't you do it again?  Ain't they paid you enough?"
+
+Again I laughed.  "They have paid me too much," I said, bitterly.
+"What I picked up wasn't worth the money."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+And that, in the end, was the answer I sent to Carver with his five
+dollars.  I spent an hour in my room trying to compose and write a
+sarcastic reply to his note, but I finally gave it up.  Then I put
+the money in an envelope, addressed the latter, and sent it to the
+big house by Lute.  Lute was delighted with the errand.
+
+"You'll explain to Dorindy, will you?" he asked.  "She cal'lates
+I'm goin' to clean the henhouse.  But I can do that some other
+time."
+
+"You can--yes."
+
+"Do you know--"  Lute leaned against the clothes post and prepared
+to philosophize.  "Do you know," he observed, "that I don't take no
+stock in cleanin' henhouses and such?"
+
+"Don't you?  I'm surprised."
+
+"You're surprised 'cause you ain't thought it out.  That's my way;
+I always think things out.  Most folks are selfish.  They want to
+do what they want to do, and they want others to want the same
+thing.  If the others don't want it, then they like to make 'em
+have it; anyhow.  Dorindy is crazy on cleanin'.  She wouldn't live
+in a dirty house no more'n she'd live in a lobster pot.  It's the
+way she's made.  But a hen ain't made that way.  A hen LIKES dirt;
+she scratches in it and digs holes in it to waller in, and heaves
+it over herself all day long.  If you left it to the hens would
+THEY clean their house?  I guess not!  So, I say what's the use of
+cruelizin' 'em by makin' 'em live clean when they don't want to?
+I--"
+
+"Wait a minute," I interrupted.  "Lute, you're wasting your breath.
+It is Dorinda you should explain all this to, not to me.  And
+you're wasting my time.  I want you to take that envelope to Mr.
+Carver; and I want you to go now."
+
+"Well, I'm goin', ain't I?  I was only just sayin'--"
+
+"Say it when you come back.  And if Mr. Carver asks you why I sent
+that envelope to him be sure and give him the message I gave you.
+Do you remember it?"
+
+"Sartin.  That what you done wan't wuth so much."
+
+"Not exactly.  That what I saved wasn't worth it."
+
+"All right.  I'll remember.  But what did you save, Ros?  Dorindy
+says 'twas somethin' you found afloat in the bay.  If it was
+somethin' belongin' to them Coltons I'd have took the money, no
+matter what the thing was wuth.  They can afford to pay and, if I
+was you, I'd take the reward."
+
+"I have my reward.  Now go."
+
+I had my reward and I believed it worth much more than five
+dollars.  I had learned my lesson.  I knew now exactly how I was
+regarded by the occupants of the big house and by the townspeople
+as well.  I should cherish no more illusions as to my importance in
+their eyes.  I meant to be really independent from that time on.  I
+did not care--really did not care--for anything or anybody outside
+my immediate household.  I was back in the position I had occupied
+for years, but with one difference: I had an ambition now.  It was
+to make both sides in the Shore Lane controversy realize that
+George Taylor was right when he said I had the whip-hand.  By the
+Almighty, they should dance when I cracked that whip!
+
+My first opportunity to crack it came a day or two later, when
+Captain Dean called upon me.  He had a definite proposition to
+make, although his Yankee shrewdness and caution prevented his
+making it until he had discussed the weather and other unimportant
+trifles.  Then he leaned against the edge of my work-bench--we were
+in the boathouse--and began to beat up to windward of his proposal.
+
+"Ros," he said, "you remember I told you you was all right, when I
+met you at the bank t'other day."
+
+"I remember," I answered.
+
+"Yes.  Well, I cal'late you know what I meant by that."
+
+I did not pretend ignorance of his meaning.
+
+"I presume," I replied, "that you meant I was right in not selling
+that strip of land to Mr. Colton."
+
+"That's what I meant.  You kept your promise to me and I shan't
+forget it.  Nor the town won't forget it, neither.  Would you mind
+tellin' me just what happened between you and His Majesty?"
+
+"Not at all.  He said he wanted to buy the Shore Lane strip and I
+refused to sell it to him.  He said I was crazy and an infernal
+robber and I told him to go to the devil."
+
+"WHAT! you didn't!"
+
+"I did."
+
+Captain Jed slapped his knee and shouted in delight.  He insisted
+on shaking hands with me.
+
+"By the great and everlastin'!" he declared, between laughs,
+"you're all right, Ros Paine!  I said you was and now I'll swear to
+it.  Told old Colton to go to the devil!  If that ain't--oh, I wish
+I'd been there!"
+
+I went on sand-papering a valve plug.  He walked up and down the
+floor, chuckling.
+
+"Well," he said, at last, "you've made yourself solid in Denboro,
+anyhow.  And I told you you shouldn't lose nothin' by it.  The
+Selectmen held a meetin' last night and they feel, same as me, that
+that Shore Lane shan't be shut off.  You understand what that means
+to you, don't you?"
+
+I looked at him, coolly.
+
+"No," I answered.
+
+"You don't!  It means the town's decided to buy that strip of land
+of yours.  Definitely decided, practically speakin'.  Now what'll
+you sell it to us for?"
+
+I put down the valve plug.  "Captain," said I, "that land is not
+for sale."
+
+"Not for SALE?  What do you mean by that?"
+
+"I mean that I have decided not to sell it, for the present, at
+least.  Neither to Colton nor any one else."
+
+He could not believe it.  Of course I would not sell it to Colton.
+Colton was a stuck-up, selfish city aristocrat who thought all
+creation ought to belong to him.  But the town was different.  Did
+I realize that it was the town I lived in that was asking to buy
+now?  The town of which I was a citizen?  Think of what the town
+had done for me.
+
+"Very well," I answered.  "I'm willing to think.  What has it done
+for me?"
+
+It had--it had--well, it had done a whole lot.  As a citizen of
+that town I owed it a--a--
+
+"Look here, Captain Dean," I interrupted, "there's no use in our
+arguing the matter.  I have decided not to sell."
+
+"Don't talk so foolish.  Course you'll sell if you get money
+enough."
+
+"So Colton said, but I shan't."
+
+"Ros, I ain't got any authority to do it, but I shouldn't wonder if
+I could get you three hundred dollars for that strip."
+
+"It isn't a question of price."
+
+"Rubbish!  Anything's a question of price."
+
+"This isn't.  If it was I probably should have accepted Mr. Colton's
+offer of six hundred and fifty."
+
+"Six hun--!  Do you mean to say he offered you six hundred and
+fifty dollars for that little mite of land, and you never took him
+up?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, you must be a . . .  Humph!  Six hundred and fifty!  The
+town can't meet no such bid as that, of course."
+
+"I don't expect it to."
+
+He regarded me in silence.  He was chagrined and angry; his florid
+face was redder than ever; but, more than all, he was puzzled.
+
+"Well," he observed, after a moment, "this beats me, this does!
+Last time we talked you was willin' to consider sellin'.  What's
+changed you?  What's the reason you won't sell?  What business
+reason have you got for not doin' it?"
+
+I had no business reason at all.  Except for Mother's counsel not
+to sell, which was based upon sentiment and nothing else, and my
+own stubbornness, I had no reason at all.  Yet I was, if anything,
+more firm in my resolve.
+
+"How about the Lane?" he demanded.  "You know what that Lane means
+to Denboro?"
+
+"I know what you say it means.  The townspeople can continue to use
+the Lane, just as they always have, so long as they behave
+themselves.  There is no use of our talking further, Captain.  I've
+made up my mind."
+
+He went away, soon after, but he asked another question.
+
+"Will you do this much for me?" he asked.  "Will you promise me not
+to sell the land to Colton?"
+
+"No," I said, "I will make no promise of any kind, to anybody."
+
+"Oh," with a scornful sniff, "I see.  I'm on to you.  You're just
+hangin' out for a big price.  I might have known it.  You're on
+Colton's side, after all."
+
+I rose.  I was angry now.
+
+"I told you price had nothing to do with it," I said, sharply.  "I
+am on no one's side.  The town is welcome to use the Lane; that I
+have told you already.  There is nothing more to be said."
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"I don't make many mistakes," he observed, slowly; "but I guess
+I've made one.  You're a whole lot deeper'n I thought you was."
+
+So much for the proletariat.  I heard from the plutocrats next day.
+Sim Eldredge dropped in on me.  After much wriggling about the bush
+he intimated that he knew of Captain Jedediah's call and what had
+taken place.
+
+"You done just right, Ros," he whispered.  He had a habit of
+whispering as the Captain had of shouting.  "You done just right.
+Keep 'em guessin'; keep em guessin'.  Jed's all upsot.  He don't
+know whether he's keel down or on his beam ends.  He'll be makin' a
+higher bid pretty soon.  Say," with a wink, "I see Colton last
+night."
+
+"Did you?"
+
+"Yup.  Oh, I give him a jolt.  I hinted that the town had made you
+a fine offer and you was considerin' it."
+
+"What did you do that for?  Who gave you the right to--"
+
+"Sshh!  Don't holler.  Somebody might be listenin'.  I come through
+the woods and round the beach so's I wouldn't be seen.  What do you
+s'pose Colton said?"
+
+"I don't care what he said."
+
+"You will when I tell you.  He as much as offered a thousand
+dollars for that land.  My crimps! a thousand! think of that!  I
+presume likely you wouldn't take that, would you, Ros?"
+
+"Sim, I'll tell you, as I told Captain Jed, that land is not for
+sale."
+
+I tried to make that statement firm and sharp enough to penetrate
+even his wooden head; but he merely winked again.
+
+"All right," he whispered, hastily, "all right.  I guess perhaps
+you're correct in hangin' on.  Still, a thousand is a lot of money,
+even after you take out my little commission.  But you know best.
+You put your trust in me.  I'll keep her jumpin'.  I understand.
+Good-by."
+
+He went out hurriedly, and, though I shouted after him, he only
+waved and ducked behind a beach-plum bush.  He did not believe me
+serious in my refusal to sell; neither did Dean, or Colton, or,
+apparently, any one else.  They all thought me merely shrewd, a
+sharp trader driving a hard bargain, as they would have done in my
+place.  They might think so, if they wished; I should not explain.
+As a matter of fact, I could not have explained my attitude, even
+to myself.
+
+Yet this very attitude made a difference, a perceptible difference,
+in my position in Denboro.  I noticed it each time I went up to the
+village.  I saw the groups at the post-office and at the depot turn
+to watch me as I approached and as I went away.  Captain Jedediah
+did not mention the Lane again--at least for some time--but he
+always hailed me cordially when we met and seemed anxious to be
+seen in my company.  Eldredge, of course, was effusive; so was
+Alvin Baker.  And other people, citizens of consequence in the
+town, who had heretofore merely bowed, now stopped to speak with me
+on the street.  Members of the sewing circle called on Mother more
+frequently, and Matilda Dean, Captain Jed's wife, came regularly
+once a week.  Sometimes she saw Mother and sometimes she did not,
+depending upon Dorinda's state of mind at the time.
+
+Lute, always a sort of social barometer, noticed the change in the
+weather.
+
+"Everybody's talkin' about you, Ros," he declared.  "They cal'late
+you're a pretty smart feller.  They don't just understand what
+you're up to, but they think you're pretty smart."
+
+"No?" I commented, ironically.  "Lute, you astonish me.  Why am I
+smart?"
+
+"Well, they don't know exactly, but they cal'late you must be.  Oh,
+I hear things.  Cap'n Jed said t'other night you'd make a pretty
+good Selectman."
+
+"_I_ would?  A Selectman?"
+
+"Yup.  He as much as hinted that to me; wondered if you'd take the
+nomination provided he could fix it for you.  Sim Eldredge and
+Alvin and some more all said they'd vote for you if they got a
+chance.  ARE you figgerin' to charge toll on the Lane?"
+
+"Toll?  What put that idea in your head?"
+
+"Nothin', only some of the fellers wondered if you was.  You see,
+you won't sell, and so--"
+
+"I see.  That's a brilliant suggestion, Lute.  When I adopt it I'll
+appoint you toll-keeper."
+
+"By time!  I wish you would.  I'd make Thoph Newcomb pay up.  He
+owes me ten cents; bet it one time and never settled."
+
+Yes, my position in Denboro had changed.  But I took no pride in
+the change, as I had at first; I knew the reason for this sudden
+burst of popularity.  The knowledge made me more cynical than ever--
+cynical, and lonely.  For the first time since I came to the Cape
+I longed for a real friend, not a relative or an acquaintance, but
+a friend to trust and confide in.  Some one, with no string of his
+own to pull, who cared for me because I was myself.
+
+And all the time I had such a friend and did not realize it.  The
+knowledge came to me in this way.  Mother had one of her seizures,
+one of the now infrequent "sinking spells," as the doctor called
+them, on an evening when I was alone with her.  Dorinda and Lute
+had gone, with the horse and buggy, to visit a cousin in Bayport.
+They were to stay over night and return before breakfast the next
+morning.
+
+I was alone in the dining-room when Mother called my name.  There
+was something in her tone which alarmed me and I hastened to her
+bedside.  One glance at her face was enough.
+
+"Boy," she said, weakly, "I am afraid I am going to be ill.  I have
+tried not to alarm you, but I feel faint and I am--you won't be
+alarmed, will you?  I know it is nothing serious."
+
+I told her not to worry and not to talk.  I hurried out to the
+kitchen, got the hot water and the brandy, made her swallow a
+little of the mixture, and bathed her forehead and wrists with
+vinegar, an old-fashioned restorative which Dorinda always used.
+She said she felt better, but I was anxious and, as soon as it was
+safe to leave her, hurried out to bring the doctor.  She begged me
+not to go, because it was beginning to rain and I might get wet,
+but I assured her it was not raining hard, and went.
+
+It was not raining hard when I started, but there was every sign of
+a severe storm close at hand.  It was pitch dark and I was weary
+from stumbling through the bushes and over the rough path when I
+reached the corner of the Lane and the Lower Road.  Then a carriage
+came down that road.  It was an open wagon and George Taylor was
+the driver.  He had been up to the Deans' and was on his way home.
+
+I hailed the vehicle, intending to ask for a ride, but when Taylor
+discovered who his hailer was he insisted on my going back to the
+house.  He would get the doctor, he said, and bring him down at
+once.  I was afraid he would be caught in the storm, and hesitated
+in accepting the offer, but he insisted.  I did go back to the
+house, found Mother in much the same condition as when I left her,
+and had scarcely gotten into the kitchen again when Taylor once
+more appeared.
+
+"I brought Nellie along to stay with your mother," he said.  "The
+Cap'n and the old lady"--meaning Matilda--"were up at the meeting-
+house and we just left a note saying where we'd gone.  Nellie's all
+right.  Between you and me, she don't talk you deaf, dumb and blind
+like her ma, and she's good company for sick folks.  Now I'll fetch
+the doctor and be right back."
+
+"But it's raining pitchforks," I said.  "You'll be wet through."
+
+"No, I won't.  I'll have Doc Quimby here in no time."
+
+He drove off and Nellie Dean went into Mother's room.  I had always
+considered Nellie a milk-and-watery young female, but somehow her
+quiet ways and soft voice seemed just what were needed in a sick
+room.  I left the two together and came out to wait for Taylor and
+the doctor.
+
+But they did not come.  The storm was under full headway now, and
+the wind was dashing the rain in sheets against the windows.  I
+waited nearly an hour and still no sign of the doctor.
+
+Nellie came out of Mother's room and closed the door softly behind
+her.
+
+"She's quiet now," she whispered.  "I think she's asleep.  Where do
+you suppose George is?"
+
+"Goodness knows!" I answered.  "I shouldn't have let him go, a
+night like this."
+
+"I'm afraid you couldn't stop him if his mind was made up.  He's
+dreadful determined when he sets out to be."
+
+"He's a good fellow," I said, to please her.  She worshipped the
+cashier, a fact of which all Denboro was aware, and which caused
+gossip to report that she did the courting for the two.
+
+She blushed and smiled.
+
+"He thinks a lot of you," she observed.  "He's always talking to me
+about you.  It's a good thing you're a man or I should be jealous."
+
+I smiled.  "I seem to be talked about generally, just now," said I.
+
+"Are you?  Oh, you mean about the Shore Lane.  Yes, Pa can't make
+you out about that.  He says you've got something up your sleeve
+and he hasn't decided what it is.  I asked George what Pa meant and
+he just laughed.  He said whatever you had in your sleeve was your
+affair and, if he was any judge of character, it would stay there
+till you got ready to shake it out.  He always stood up for you,
+even before the Shore Lane business happened.  I think he likes you
+better than any one else in Denboro."
+
+"Present company excepted, of course."
+
+"Oh, of course.  If that wasn't excepted I should REALLY be
+jealous.  Then," more seriously, "Roscoe, does it seem to you that
+George is worried or troubled about something lately?"
+
+I thought of Taylor's sudden change of expression that day in the
+bank, and of his remark that he wished he had my chance.  But I
+concealed my thoughts.
+
+"The prospect of marriage is enough to make any man worried, isn't
+it?" I asked.  "I imagine he realizes that he isn't good enough for
+you."
+
+There was sarcasm in this remark, sarcasm of which I should have
+been ashamed.  But she took it literally and as a compliment.  She
+looked at me reproachfully.
+
+"Good enough for me!" she exclaimed.  "He!  Sometimes I wonder if
+it is right for me to be so happy.  I feel almost as if it was
+wrong.  As if something must happen to punish me for it."
+
+I did not answer.  To tell the truth, I was envious.  There was
+real happiness in the world.  This country girl had found it; that
+Mabel Colton would, no doubt, find it some day--unless she married
+her Victor, in which case I had my doubts.  But what happiness was
+in store for me?
+
+Nellie did most of the talking thereafter; principally about
+George, and why he did not come.  At last she went in to see if
+Mother needed her, and, twenty minutes later, when I looked into
+the bedroom, I saw that she had fallen asleep on the couch.
+Mother, too, seemed to be sleeping, and I left them thus.
+
+It was almost eleven o'clock when the sound of carriage wheels in
+the yard brought me to the window and then to the door.  Doctor
+Quimby had come at last and Taylor was with him.  The doctor, in
+his mackintosh and overshoes, was dry enough, but his companion was
+wet to the skin.
+
+"Sorry I'm so late, Ros," said the doctor.  "I was way up to
+Ebenezer Cahoon's in West Denboro.  There's a new edition of
+Ebenezer, made port this morning, and I was a little bit concerned
+about the missus.  She's all right, though.  How's your mother?"
+
+"Better, I think.  She's asleep now.  So is Nellie.  I suppose
+George told you she was with her."
+
+"Yes.  George had a rough passage over that West Denboro road.
+It's bad enough in daylight, but on a night like this--whew!  I
+carried away a wheel turning into Ebenezer's yard, and if George
+hadn't had his team along I don't know how I'd have got here.  I'll
+go right in and see Mrs. Paine."
+
+He left us and I turned to Taylor.
+
+"You're soaked through," I declared.  "Come out to the kitchen
+stove.  What in the world made you drive way up to that forsaken
+place?  It's a good seven miles.  Come out to the kitchen.  Quick!"
+
+He sat down by the stove and put his wet boots on the hearth.  I
+mixed him a glass of the brandy and hot water and handed him a
+cigar.
+
+"Why did you do it, George?" I said.  "I never would have thought
+of asking such a thing."
+
+"I know it," he said.  "Course you wouldn't ask it.  There's plenty
+in this town that would, but you wouldn't.  Maybe that's one reason
+I was so glad to do it for you."
+
+"I am almost sorry you did.  It is too great a kindness altogether.
+I'm afraid I shouldn't have done as much for you."
+
+"Go on!  Yes, you would.  I know you."
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"No, you don't," I answered.  "Captain Jed--your prospective
+father-in-law--said the other day that he had been mistaken; he
+thought he knew me, but he was beginning to find he did not."
+
+"Did he say that?  What did he mean?"
+
+"I imagine he meant he wasn't sure whether I was the fool he had
+believed me to be, or just a sharp rascal."
+
+Taylor looked at me over the edge of his glass.
+
+"You think that's what he meant, do you?"
+
+"I know it."
+
+He put the glass on the floor beside him and laid a hand on my
+knee.
+
+"Ros," he said, "I don't know for sure what the Cap'n meant, though
+if he thinks you're either one of the two he's the fool.  But _I_
+know you--better, maybe, than you know yourself.  At least I
+believe I know you better than any one else in the town."
+
+"That wouldn't be saying much."
+
+"Wouldn't it?  Well, maybe not.  But whose fault is it?  It's
+yours, the way I look at it.  Ros, I've been meaning to have a talk
+with you some day; perhaps this is as good a time as any.  You make
+a big mistake in the way you treat Denboro and the folks in it."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean just that.  Your whole attitude is wrong, has been wrong
+ever since you first came here to live.  You never gave any of us a
+chance to know you and like you--anybody but me, I mean, and even I
+never had but half a chance.  You make a mistake, I tell you.
+There's lots of good folks in this town, lots of 'em.  Cap'n Elisha
+Warren's one of 'em and there's plenty more.  They're countrymen,
+same as I am, but they're good, plain, sensible folks, and they'd
+like to like you if they had a chance.  You belong to the Town
+Improvement Society, but you never go to a meeting.  You ought to
+get out and mix more."
+
+I shrugged my shoulders.  "I guess my mixing wouldn't be very
+welcome," I said.  "And, besides, I don't care to mix."
+
+"I know you don't, but you ought to, just the same."
+
+"Nonsense!  George, I'm not blind, or deaf.  Don't you suppose I
+know what Warren and Dean and the rest think of me?  They consider
+me a loafer and no good.  I've heard what they say.  I've noticed
+how they treat me."
+
+"How you treat them, you mean.  You are as cold and freezing as a
+cake of ice.  They was willing to be friends but you wouldn't have
+it.  And, as for their calling you a loafer--well, that's your own
+fault, too.  You OUGHT to do something; not work, perhaps, but
+you'd be a whole lot better off if you got really interested in
+something.  Get into politics; get into town affairs; get out and
+know the people you're living with."
+
+"I don't care to know them; and I'm sure they don't care to know
+me."
+
+"Yes, they do.  I understand how you feel.  In this Shore Lane
+matter now: you think Cap'n Jed and Colton, because they pretend to
+call you a fool, don't respect you for taking the stand you have.
+They do.  They don't understand you, maybe, but they can't help
+respecting you and, if they knew you even as well as I do, they'd
+like you.  Come!  I ain't throwin' any bouquets, but why do you
+suppose I'd be willing to drive to West Denboro forty times over,
+on forty times worse nights than this, for you?  Why?"
+
+"Heaven knows!  Would you?"
+
+"I would.  I like you, Ros.  I took a shine to you the first time I
+met you.  I don't know why exactly.  Why does anybody like anybody
+else?  But I think a whole lot of you.  I know this sounds foolish,
+and you don't feel that way towards me, but it's the truth."
+
+I was amazed.  I had always liked George Taylor, but I never felt
+any strong affection for him.  I was a little less indifferent to
+him than to others in Denboro, that was all.  And I had taken it
+for granted that his liking for me was of the same casual, lukewarm
+variety.  To hear him declare himself in this way was astonishing--
+he, the dry, keen, Yankee banker.
+
+"But why, George?" I repeated.
+
+"I don't know why; I told you that.  It's because I can't help it,
+I suppose.  Or because, as I said, I know you better than any one
+else."
+
+I sighed.  "Nobody knows me here," I said.
+
+"One knows you, Ros.  I know you."
+
+"You may think you do, but you don't.  You can thank God for your
+ignorance."
+
+"Maybe I ain't so ignorant."
+
+I looked at him.  He was looking me straight in the eye.
+
+"What do you know?" I asked, slowly.
+
+"I know, for one thing, that your name ain't Paine."
+
+I could not answer.  I am not certain whether I attempted to speak
+or move.  I do remember that the pressure of his hand on my knee
+tightened.
+
+"It's all right, Ros," he said, earnestly.  "Nobody knows but me,
+and nobody ever shall know if I can help it."
+
+"How--how much do you know?" I stammered.
+
+"Why, pretty much all, I guess.  I've known ever since your mother
+was taken sick.  Some things I read in the paper, and the pictures
+of--of your father, put me on, and afterwards I got more certain of
+it.  But it's all right.  Nobody but me knows or shall know."
+
+I leaned my head on my hand.  He patted my knee, gently.
+
+"Are--are you sure no one else knows?" I asked.
+
+"Certain sure.  There was one time when it might have all come out.
+A reporter fellow from one of the Boston papers got on the track
+somehow and came down here to investigate.  Luckily I was the first
+man he tackled, and I steered him away.  I presume likely I lied
+some, but my conscience is easy so far as that goes."
+
+"And you have told no one?  Not even Nellie?"
+
+"No.  I tell Nellie most things, but not all--not all."
+
+I remembered afterwards that he sighed as he said this and took his
+hand from my knee; but then my agitation was too great to do more
+than casually notice it.  I rose to my feet.
+
+"George!  George!" I cried.  "I--I can't say to you what I should
+like.  But why--WHY did you shield me?  And lie for me?  Why did
+you do it?  I was hardly more than a stranger."
+
+He sighed.  "Don't know," he answered.  "I never could quite see
+why a man's sins should be visited on the widows and fatherless.
+And, of course, I realized that you and your mother changed your
+name and came down here to get away from gossip and talk.  But I
+guess the real reason was that I liked you, Ros.  Love at first
+sight, same as we read about; hey?"
+
+He looked up and smiled.  I seized his hand.
+
+"George," I said, chokingly, "I did not believe I had a real friend
+in the world, except Mother and Dorinda and Lute, of course.  I
+can't thank you enough for shielding us all these years; there's no
+use in my trying.  But if ever I can do anything to help YOU--
+anything--I'll do it.  I'll swear to that."
+
+He shook my hand.
+
+"I know you will, Ros," he said.  "I told you I knew you."
+
+"If ever I can do anything--"
+
+He interrupted me.
+
+"There's one thing you can do right now," he said.  "That's get out
+and mix.  That'll please me as much as anything.  And begin right
+off.  Why, see here, the Methodist society is going to give a
+strawberry festival on the meeting-house lawn next Thursday night.
+About everybody's going, Nellie and I included.  You come, will
+you?"
+
+I hesitated.  I had heard about the festival, but I certainly had
+not contemplated attending.
+
+"Come!" he urged.  "You won't say no to the first favor I ask you.
+Promise me you'll be on hand."
+
+Before I could answer, we heard the door of Mother's room open.
+George and I hastened into the dining-room.  Doctor Quimby and
+Nellie Dean were there.  Nellie rushed over to her lover's side.
+
+"You bad boy," she cried.  "You're wet through."
+
+Doctor Quimby turned to me.
+
+"Your ma's getting on all right," he declared.  "About all that
+ails her now is that she wants to see you."
+
+George was assisting Nellie to put on her wraps.
+
+"Got to leave you now, Ros," he said.  "Cap'n Jed and Matildy'll
+think we've eloped ahead of time.  Good-night.  Oh, say, will you
+promise me to take in the strawberry festival?"
+
+"Why" I answered, "I suppose--  Yes, Mother, I'm coming--  Why,
+yes, George, I'll promise, to please you."
+
+I have often wondered since what my life story would have been if I
+had not made that promise.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+The Methodist church stood on the slope of a little hill, back from
+the Main Road, and the parsonage was next door.  Between the church
+and the parsonage was a stretch of lawn, dotted with shrubs and
+cedars and shaded by two big silver-leaf poplars.  It was on this
+lawn that, provided the night was fair, the strawberry festival was
+to be held.  If the weather should be unpropitious the festival was
+to be in the church vestry.
+
+All that day Dorinda was busy baking and icing cake.  She was not
+going to the festival--partly because I was going and she could not
+leave Mother--but principally because such affairs were altogether
+too frivolous to fit in her scheme of orthodoxy.  "I don't
+recollect," she said, "that the apostles did much strawberry
+festivalin'; they had other things to attend to."  Lute, however,
+was going and if he had been invited to a Presidential reception he
+could not have been much more excited.  He was dressed and ready at
+supper time, although the festival did not begin until seven-
+thirty.
+
+"Think I'm all right, Dorindy, do you?" he queried, anxiously
+turning himself about for his wife's inspection.  "How about these
+new pants?  Fur enough down on my boots, be they?"
+
+Dorinda looked him over with a critical eye.  "Um-hm," she
+observed, "that end of 'em seems to be all right.  But I cal'late
+the upper end ain't been introduced to your vest yet.  Anyhow, the
+two don't seem to be well enough acquainted to associate close."
+
+Lute bent forward to inspect the hiatus between trousers and
+waistcoat.  "By time!" he exclaimed, "I told Sim Eldredge they was
+too short in the waist.  He said if they was any longer they'd
+wrinkle under the arms.  I don't know what to do.  If I hist 'em up
+they'll be what the fellers call high-water, won't them?"
+
+"Humph!  I'd ruther have 'em high-water than shoal in the middle of
+the channel.  You'll have to average up somehow.  I ought to have
+known better than to trust you to buy anything all by yourself."
+
+She condescended to approve of my appearance when, an hour later, I
+came downstairs, garbed in my best.
+
+"Humph!" she vouchsafed, after a long look.  "I declare!  I'd
+hardly know you, Roscoe.  You look more as you used to when you
+fust come here to live."
+
+"Thanks," I answered, drily.  "I'm glad to see that you respect old
+age.  This suit is venerable enough to command that kind of
+respect."
+
+"'Tain't the suit, though that's all right enough.  It's the way
+you wear it, I guess.  You look BETTER than you used to.  You're
+browned up and broadened out and it's real becomin'.  But," she
+added, with characteristic caution, "you must remember that good
+looks don't count for much.  My father used to say to me that
+handsome is that handsome does.  Not that I was so homely I'd scare
+the crows, but he didn't want me to be vain.  Now don't fall
+overboard in THAT suit, will you?"
+
+Mother noticed my unwonted grandeur when I went in to say good-
+night to her.
+
+"Why, Roscoe!" she exclaimed.  "You must consider this strawberry
+festival very important."
+
+"Why, Mother?"
+
+"Because you've taken such pains to dress for it."
+
+"It did not require a great deal of pains.  I merely put on what
+Dorinda calls my Sunday clothes.  I don't know why I did, either.
+I certainly don't consider the festival important."
+
+"I am glad you did.  I have been a little troubled about you of
+late, Boy.  It has seemed to me that you were growing--well, not
+careless, exactly, but indifferent.  As if you were losing interest
+in life.  I don't blame you.  Compelled to waste your time here in
+the country, a companion to a bedridden old woman like me."
+
+"Hush, Mother.  You're not old; and as to wasting my time--why,
+Mother, you know--"
+
+"Yes, yes, Boy, I know what you would say.  But it does trouble me,
+nevertheless.  I ought to bid you go back into the world, and take
+your place among men.  A hundred times I have been upon the point
+of telling you to leave me, but--but--I am SO selfish."
+
+"Hush, Mother, please."
+
+"Yes, I AM selfish and I know it.  I am growing stronger every day;
+I am sure of it.  Just a little longer, Roscoe, just a little
+longer, and then--"
+
+"Mother, I--"
+
+"There, there!" she stroked my hand.  "We won't be sad, will we.
+It pleases me to see you taking an interest in affairs.  I think
+this Shore Lane matter may be a good thing, after all.  Dorinda
+says that Luther tells her you are becoming very popular in town
+because of your independent stand.  Everyone recognizes your public
+spirit."
+
+"Did she tell you that?"
+
+"Not in those words.  You know Dorinda.  But what amounts to that.
+I am sure the Denboro people are very proud of you."
+
+I thought of my "popularity" and the admiration of my "public
+spirit" as manifested in the attentions of Captain Jed and Eldredge
+and their followers, and I turned my head away so that she might
+not see my face.
+
+"And I am glad you are going to the strawberry festival.  I can't
+remember when you attended such a function before.  Boy--"
+
+"Yes, Mother."
+
+"There isn't any reason, any special reason, for your going, is
+there?"
+
+"Why, what do you mean?"
+
+"I mean--well, you are young and I did not know but, perhaps, some
+one else was going, some one you were interested in, and--and--"
+
+I laughed aloud.  "Mother!" I said, reproachfully.
+
+"Why not?  I am very proud of my handsome boy, and I know that--"
+
+"There! there!  I haven't noticed that my beauty is so fascinating
+as to be dangerous.  No, Mother, there is no 'special reason' for
+my going to-night.  I promised George Taylor, that was all."
+
+"Well, I am sure you will have a good time.  Kiss me, Boy.  Good-
+night."
+
+I was by no means so sure of the good time.  In fact, I loitered on
+my way to the village and it was well past eight o'clock when I
+paid my fifteen cents admission fee to Elnathan Mullet at the gate
+of the church grounds and sauntered up the slope toward the lights
+and gaiety of the strawberry festival.
+
+The ladies of the Methodist society, under whose management the
+affair was given, were fortunate in their choice of an evening.
+The early risen moon shone from a cloudless sky and there was so
+little breeze that the Japanese lanterns, hung above the tables,
+went out only occasionally.  The "beauty and elite of Denboro"--see
+next week's Cape Cod Item--were present in force and, mingling with
+them, or, if not mingling, at least inspecting them with interest,
+were some of the early arrivals among the cottagers from South
+Denboro and Bayport.  I saw Lute, proudly conscious of his new
+lavender trousers, in conversation with Matilda Dean, and I
+wondered who was the winner in that wordy race.  Captain Jedediah
+strutted arm in arm with the minister.  Thoph Newcomb and Alvin
+Baker were there with their wives.  Simeon Eldredge had not yet put
+in an appearance but I knew that he would as soon as the evening
+mail was sorted.
+
+I found Nellie Dean in charge of a table, and George Taylor seated
+at that table.  I walked over and joined them.
+
+"Good evening, Nellie," said I.  "Well, George, here I am, you
+see."
+
+He shook my hand heartily.  "I see you are," he said.  "Good boy!
+How does it seem to splash into society?"
+
+"I haven't splashed yet.  I have only just arrived."
+
+"Oh, trying the feel of the water, hey?  Guess you won't find it
+very chilly.  As a preparatory tonic I'd recommend strawberries and
+cream.  Nellie, get Ros a saucer of those genuine home-raised
+berries, why don't you?"
+
+Nellie laughed.  "Roscoe," she said, "isn't he dreadful!  He knows
+we bought these berries in Boston.  It's much too early for the
+native ones.  But they really are very nice, though he does make
+such fun of them."
+
+She went into the vestry to get the berries and I sat down at the
+table beside Taylor and looked about me.
+
+"Most everybody's here," he observed.  "And they'll be glad to see
+you, Ros.  Get out and shake hands and be sociable, after you've
+done your duty by the fruit.  How are things at home?"
+
+"Mother is herself again, I am glad to say.  George, I have
+scarcely thought of anything except what you told me the other
+night."
+
+"Then it's time you did.  That's one reason why I wanted you to
+come here.  You've been thinking too much about yourself."
+
+"It isn't of myself, but of Mother.  If you had dropped a hint when
+that Boston reporter came--"
+
+"Now, look here, Ros, would YOU have dropped hints if things had
+been the other way around?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"I know you wouldn't.  What's the use of giving the Denboro gossip
+mill a chance to run over time?  Great heavens! it works twelve
+hours a day as 'tis."
+
+"It was mighty good of you, just the same."
+
+"No, it wasn't.  The whole affair was your business and nobody
+else's."
+
+"Well, as I said before, if ever I have an opportunity to do as
+much for you--not that I ever will."
+
+"How do you know you won't?  Anybody's liable to be gossiped about
+some time or other."
+
+"Not you.  You are Denboro's shining light.  The mothers and
+fathers here point you out as an example of what industry and
+ambition and honest effort may rise to.  I--"
+
+"Shut up!"  He said it almost savagely.  "There!" he added,
+quickly, "let's change the subject.  Talk about something worth
+while.  Humph!  I guess they must be opening another crate of those
+Boston 'homegrowns,' judgin' by the time it takes Nellie to get
+your sample."
+
+"I am in no hurry.  How are affairs at the bank?"
+
+"Oh, so, so.  Don't know a good man who wants a job, do you?  Henry
+Small's going to leave the middle of next month."
+
+"Small, the bookkeeper?  Why?"
+
+"Got a better chance up to the city.  I don't blame him.  Don't
+tell anybody yet; it's a secret.  Say, Ros, DO you know of a good,
+sharp, experienced fellow?"
+
+I smiled.  "Is it likely?" I asked.  "How large is my acquaintance
+among sharp, experienced fellows down here?"
+
+"Not so large as it ought to be, I'll give in to that.  But you
+know one."
+
+"Do I, indeed?  Who is he?"
+
+"Yourself.  You wouldn't take Small's job, would you?"
+
+"I?"  I laughed aloud.
+
+"It's no joke.  You've had a lot of banking experience.  I've heard
+about it among my city friends, who don't know I know you.  Course
+I realize the place is way beneath what you ought to have, but--"
+
+"Oh, don't be sarcastic.  No, thank you, George."
+
+"All right, if you say so.  But I meant it.  You don't need the
+salary, I know.  But--Ros, do you mind if I talk plain for a
+moment?"
+
+I wondered what was coming now.  "No," I answered.  "Go ahead and
+talk."
+
+"Well then, I tell you, as a friend, that 'twould be a good thing
+for you if you did take that job, or some other one.  Don't make
+much matter what it is, but you ought to do something.  You're too
+clever a fellow to be hanging around, shooting and fishing.  You're
+wasting your life."
+
+"That was wasted long ago."
+
+"No, it wasn't.  But it will be if you don't change pretty soon.  I
+tell you you ought to get interested in something that counts.  You
+might make a big name for yourself yet."
+
+"That's enough of that.  I have a name already.  You know it, and
+you know what was made of it."
+
+"YOU didn't make it that kind of a name, did you?  And you're young
+enough to make it something altogether different.  You ought to.
+You owe it to your mother and you owe it to yourself.  As it is, if
+you keep on, you'll--"
+
+"George, you've said enough.  No one but you would have been
+permitted to say as much.  You don't understand."
+
+"Maybe not, but, Ros, I don't like to have people around here call
+you--"
+
+"I don't care a continental what they call me.  I don't want them
+to know who I am, but for public opinion generally I care nothing."
+
+He leaned back in his chair.  His face was in shadow and I could
+not see it, but his tone was grave enough.
+
+"You think you don't," he said, slowly, "but there may come a time
+when you will.  There may come a time when you get so interested in
+something, or some person, that the thought of what folks would say
+if--if anything went wrong would keep you awake night after night.
+Oh, I tell you, Ros--  Hello, Nellie! thought you'd gone South to
+pick those berries yourself.  Two saucers full!  Well, I suppose I
+must eat the other to save it--unless Ros here wants both."
+
+I said one would be quite sufficient for the present, and we three
+chatted until Mrs. Dean came over and monopolized the chat.
+
+"Don't go, Roscoe," protested the matron.  "The Cap'n's here and
+he'll want to talk to you.  He's dreadful interested in you just
+now.  Don't talk about nobody else, scurcely.  You set still and
+I'll go fetch him."
+
+But I refused to "set."  I knew the cause of Captain Jedediah's
+interest, and what he wished to talk about.  I rose and announced
+that I would stroll about a bit.  Taylor spoke to me as I was
+leaving.
+
+"Ros," he said, earnestly, "you think of what I told you, will
+you?"
+
+I saw a group of people hurrying toward the entrance of the grounds
+and I followed them, curious as to the cause of the excitement.  An
+automobile had stopped by the gate.  Sim Eldredge came hastening up
+and seized me by the arm.
+
+"Gosh! it's Ros," he exclaimed, in his mysterious whisper.  "I
+hadn't seen you afore; just got here myself.  But I'm glad you ARE
+here.  I'll see that you and him get a chance to talk private."
+
+"Who?" I asked, trying to pull my arm free.
+
+"Why, Mr. Colton.  Didn't you know?  Yes, sir, that's his car.
+He's come and so's his daughter and that young Carver feller.  I
+believe they've come to take in the sociable.  There they be!  See
+'em!  See 'em!"
+
+I saw them.  Colton and Victor had already alighted and Miss Colton
+was descending from the tonneau.  There were two other men in the
+car, beside Oscar, the chauffeur.
+
+"Who are those other people?" I asked.
+
+"I don't know," whispered Sim, excitedly.  "Stay where you be and
+I'll find out.  I'll be right back, now.  Don't you move."
+
+I did not move, not because he had ordered me to stay where I was,
+but because I was curious.  The spot where I stood was in shadow
+and I knew they could not see me.
+
+Colton and his daughter were talking with Victor, who remained by
+the step of the auto.
+
+"Well, Mabel," observed "Big Jim," "here we are, though why I don't
+know.  I hope you enjoy this thing more than I am likely to."
+
+"Of course I shall enjoy it, Father.  Look at the decorations.
+Aren't they perfectly WONDERFUL!"
+
+"Especially the color scheme," drawled Victor.  "Mabel, I call your
+attention to the red, blue and purple lanterns.  Some class?  Yes?
+Well, I must go.  I'll be back in a very short time.  If Parker
+wasn't starting for Europe to-morrow I shouldn't think of leaving,
+but I'm sure you'll forgive me, under the circumstances."
+
+"I forgive you, Victor," replied the girl, carelessly.  "But don't
+be too long."
+
+"No, don't," added her father.  "I promised Mrs. Colton that I
+should not be away more than an hour.  She's very nervous to-night
+and I may be sent for any time.  So don't keep us waiting."
+
+"No fear of that.  I'll be back long before you are ready to go.  I
+wouldn't miss this--er--affair myself for something.  Ah, our
+combination friend, the undertaking postmaster."
+
+Sim's hat was in his hand and he was greeting Mr. Colton.
+
+"Proud to see you amongst us, sir," said Sim, with unction.  "The
+Methodist folks are havin' quite a time to-night, ain't they?"
+
+"How d'ye do, Eldredge," was the great man's salutation, not at all
+effusive.  "Where does all this crowd come from?  Didn't know there
+were so many people in the neighborhood."
+
+"'Most everybody's out to-night.  Church'll make consider'ble
+money.  Good evenin', Miss Colton.  Mr. Carver, pleased to meet you
+again, sir."
+
+The young lady merely nodded.  Victor, whose foot was on the step
+of the car, did not deign to turn.
+
+"Thanks," he drawled.  "I am--er--embalmed, I'm sure.  All ready,
+Phil.  Let her go, Oscar."
+
+The auto moved off.  Mr. Colton gave his arm to his daughter and
+they moved through the crowd, Eldredge acting as master of
+ceremonies.
+
+"It's all right, Elnathan," ordered Sim, addressing the gate-
+keeper.  "Don't bother Mr. Colton about the admission now.  I'll
+settle with you, myself, later.  Now, Mr. Colton, you and the lady
+come right along with me.  Ain't met the minister yet, have you?
+He said you wan't to home when he called.  And you let me get you
+some strawberries.  They're fust-rate, if I do say it."
+
+He led the way toward the tables.  I watched the progress from
+where I stood.  It was interesting to see how the visitors were
+treated by the different groups.  Some, like Sim, were gushing and
+obsequious.  A few, Captain Jed among them, walked stubbornly by,
+either nodding coldly or paying no attention.  Others, like George
+Taylor and Doctor Quimby, were neither obsequious nor cold, merely
+bowing pleasantly and saying, "Good evening," as though greeting
+acquaintances and equals.  Yes, there WERE good people in Denboro,
+quiet, unassuming, self-respecting citizens.
+
+One of them came up to me and spoke.
+
+"Hello, Ros," said Captain Elisha Warren, "Sim's havin' the time of
+his life, isn't he?"
+
+"He seems to be," I replied.
+
+"Yes.  Well, there's some satisfaction in havin' a thick shell;
+then you don't mind bein' stepped on.  Yet, I don't know; sometimes
+I think fellers of Sim's kind enjoy bein' stepped on, provided the
+boot that does it is patent leather."
+
+"I wonder why they came here," I mused.
+
+"Who? the Coltons?  Why, for the same reason children go to the
+circus, I shouldn't wonder--to laugh at the clowns.  I laugh myself
+sometimes--though 'tain't always at their kind of clowns.  Speakin'
+of that, young Carver's in good company this evenin', ain't he?"
+
+"Who were those fellows in the auto?" I asked.
+
+"Didn't you recognize them?  One was Phil Somers--son of the rich
+widow who owns the big cottage at Harniss.  'Tother is a bird of
+the same flock down visitin' em.  Carver's takin' 'em over to
+Ostable to say good-by to another specimen, a college mate, who is
+migratin' to Europe tomorrow.  The chauffeur told Dan, my man,
+about it this afternoon.  The chauffeur figgered that, knowin' the
+crowd, 'twas likely to be a lively farewell.  Hello! there's Abbie
+hailin' me.  See you later, Ros."
+
+I knew young Somers by reputation.  He and his friends were a wild
+set, if report was true.
+
+Eldredge had hinted that he intended arranging an interview between
+Colton and myself.  The prospect did not appeal to me.  At first I
+decided to go home at once, but something akin to Captain Dean's
+resentful stubbornness came over me.  I would not be driven home by
+those people.  I found an unoccupied camp chair--one of Sim's,
+which he rented for funerals--and carried it to a dark spot in the
+shrubbery near the border of the parsonage lawn and not far from
+the gate.  There I seated myself, lit a cigar and smoked in
+solitude.
+
+Elnathan Mullet, evidently considering his labors as door-keeper
+over, was counting his takings by lantern light.  The moon was low
+in the west and a little breeze was now stirring the shrubbery.  It
+was very warm for the season and I mentally prophesied thunder
+showers before morning.
+
+I had smoked my cigar perhaps half through when a carriage came
+down the road and stopped before the gate.  The driver leaned
+forward and called to Mullet.
+
+"Hi, Uncle!" he shouted.  "You, by the gate!  Is Mr. Colton here?"
+
+Elnathan, who was, apparently, half asleep, looked up.
+
+"Hey?" he queried.  "Mr. Colton?  Yes, he's here.  Want him, do
+you?"
+
+"Yes.  Where is he?"
+
+"Up yonder somewheres.  There he is, by Sarah Burgess's table.  Mr.
+Colton!  Mr. Col--ton!  Somebody wants ye!"
+
+"What in blazes did you yell like that for?" protested the
+coachman, springing from the carriage.  "Stop it, d'ye hear?"
+
+"You said you wanted him, didn't you?  Mr. Colton!  Hi!  Come
+here!"
+
+Colton came hurrying down to the gate, his daughter following more
+slowly.
+
+"What's the matter?" he asked.
+
+The coachman touched his hat.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir," he said; "this man started yelling before
+I could stop him.  I was coming to tell you.  Mrs. Colton says
+she's very nervous, sir, and please come home at once."
+
+Colton turned with a shrug to his daughter.  "We might have
+expected it, Mabel," he said.  "Come."
+
+But the young lady seemed to hesitate.  "I believe I won't go yet,
+Father," she said.  "Mother doesn't need both of us.  Victor will
+be here very soon, and we promised to wait for him, you know."
+
+"We can leave word.  You'd better come, Mabel.  Heavens and earth!
+you don't want any MORE of this, do you?"
+
+It was evident that he had had quite enough of the festival.  She
+laughed lightly.
+
+"I'm finding it very entertaining," she said.  "I never saw so many
+quaint people.  There is one girl, a Miss Dean, whom I am really
+getting acquainted with.  She's as country as can be, but she's
+very interesting."
+
+"Humph! she must be.  Dean, hey?  Daughter of my particular friend,
+the ancient mariner, I suppose.  I don't like to leave you here.
+What shall I tell your mother?"
+
+"Tell her I am quite safe and in perfectly respectable company."
+
+"Humph!  I can imagine how respectable she'll think it is.  Well, I
+know it's useless to urge if you have made up your mind.  I don't
+see where you get your stubbornness from."
+
+"Don't you?  I can guess."
+
+"It isn't from your dad.  Now do be careful, won't you?  If Victor
+doesn't come soon I shall send the carriage."
+
+"Oh, he will come.  It's all right, Father, dear.  I am quite able
+to take care of myself."
+
+Her father shook his head.  "Yes," he observed, "I guess you are.
+All right, Jenkins."
+
+He got into the carriage and was driven off.  Miss Colton turned
+and walked back to the tables.  I relit my cigar.
+
+Another half-hour passed.
+
+Mullet finished his counting, took up his money box and lantern and
+left the gate unguarded.  Groups of home-going people began to come
+down the hill.  Horses, which had been standing under the church
+sheds or hitched in neighboring yards, appeared and the various
+buggies and two-seaters to which they were attached were filled and
+driven away.  Captain Warren and Miss Abbie Baker, his housekeeper,
+were among the first to leave.  Abijah Hammond, the sexton, began
+taking down the lanterns.  The strawberry festival was almost over.
+
+I rose from my camp chair and prepared to start for home.  As I
+stepped from behind the shrubbery the moonlight suddenly went out,
+as if it had been turned off like a gas jet.  Except for the few
+remaining lanterns and the gleams from the church windows and door
+the darkness was complete.  I looked at the western sky.  It was
+black, and low down along the horizon flashes of lightning were
+playing.  My prophecy of showers was to be fulfilled.
+
+The ladies of the Methodist Society, assisted by their husbands and
+male friends, were hurrying the tables and chairs indoors.  I
+picked up and folded the chair I had been occupying and joined the
+busy group.  It was so dark that faces were almost invisible, but I
+recognized Sim Eldredge by his voice, and George Taylor and I
+bumped into each other as we seized the same table.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" exclaimed the cashier.  "Thought you'd gone.  Going
+to have a tempest, ain't we."
+
+"Tempest" is Cape Cod for thunderstorm.  I agreed that one was
+imminent.
+
+"Hold on till I get this stuff into the vestry," continued Taylor,
+"and I'll drive you home.  I'll be ready pretty soon."
+
+I declined the invitation.  "I'll walk," I answered.  "You have
+Nellie to look after.  If you have a spare umbrella I'll borrow
+that.  Where is Nellie?"
+
+"Oh, she's over yonder with Miss Colton.  They have been making
+each other's acquaintance.  Say, Ros, she's a good deal of a girl,
+that Colton one, did you know it?"
+
+I did not answer.
+
+"Oh, I know you're down on the whole lot of 'em," he added,
+laughing; "but she is, just the same.  Kind of top-lofty and
+condescending, but that's the fault of her bringing-up.  She's all
+right underneath.  Too good for that Carver cub.  By the way, if he
+doesn't come pretty soon I'll phone her pa to send the carriage for
+her.  If I was Colton I wouldn't put much confidence in Carver's
+showing up in a hurry.  You saw the gang he was with, didn't you?
+They don't get home till morning, till daylight doth appear, as a
+usual thing.  Hello! that's the carriage now, ain't it?  Guess papa
+wasn't taking any chances."
+
+Sure enough, there were the lights of a carriage at the gate, and I
+heard the voice of Jenkins, the coachman, shouting.  Nellie Dean
+called Taylor's name and he hurried away.  A few moments later he
+returned.
+
+"She's off, safe and sound," he said.  "I judged she wasn't any too
+well pleased with her Victor for not showing up to look out for
+her."
+
+A sharp flash of lightning cut the sky and a rattling peal of
+thunder followed.
+
+"Right on top of us, ain't it!" exclaimed George.  "Sure you don't
+want me to drive you home?  All right; just as you say.  Hold on
+till I get you that umbrella."
+
+He borrowed an umbrella from the parsonage.  I took it, thanked
+him, and hastened out of the church grounds.  I looked up the road
+as I passed through the gate.  I could have seen an auto's lamps
+for a long distance, but there were none in sight.  With a
+malicious chuckle I thought that my particular friend Victor was
+not taking the surest way of making himself popular with his
+fiancee, if that was what she was.
+
+The storm overtook me before I was half-way down the Lower Road.  A
+few drops of rain splashed the leaves.  A lightning stroke so near
+and sharp that I fancied I could hear the hiss was accompanied by a
+savage thunder-clap.  Then came the roar of wind in the trees by
+the roadside and down came the rain.  I put up my umbrella and
+began to run.  We have few "tempests" in Denboro, those we do have
+are almost worthy of the name.
+
+I had reached the grove of birches perhaps two hundred yards from
+the Shore Lane when out of the wet darkness before me came plunging
+a horse drawing a covered carriage.  I had sprung to one side to
+let it go by when I heard a man's voice shouting, "Whoa!"  The
+voice did not come from the carriage but from the road behind it.
+
+"Whoa!  Stop him!" it shouted.
+
+I jumped back into the road.  The horse saw me appear directly in
+front of him, shied and reared.  The carriage lamps were lighted
+and by their light I saw the reins dragging.  I seized them and
+held on.  It was all involuntary.  I was used to horses and this
+one was frightened, that was all.
+
+"Whoa, boy!" I ordered.  "Whoa!  Stand still!"
+
+The horse had no intention of standing still.
+
+He continued to rear and plunge.  I, clinging to the reins, found
+myself running alongside.  I had to run to avoid the wheels.  But I
+ran as slowly as I could, and my one hundred and ninety pounds made
+running, on the animal's part, a much less easy exercise.
+
+The voice from the rear continued to shout and, in another moment,
+a man seized the reins beside me.  Together we managed to pull the
+horse into a walk.  Then the man, whom I recognized as the Colton
+coachman, vented his feelings in a comprehensive burst of
+profanity.  I interrupted the service.
+
+"What is the matter?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, this blessed--"or words to that effect--"horse is scared of
+thunder; that's all.  He's a new one; we just bought him before we
+came down here and I hadn't learned his little tricks.  Whoa! stand
+still, or I'll break your dumb neck!  Say," turning to me, "go
+back, will you, and see if she's all right."
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Miss Colton--the old man's daughter.  She got out when he began to
+dance and I was holding him by the bridle.  Then came that big
+flash and he broke loose.  Go back and see to her, will you?  I
+can't leave this horse."
+
+For just a moment I hesitated.  I am ashamed of my hesitation now,
+but this is supposed to be a truthful chronicle.  Then I went back
+down the road.  By another flash of lightning I saw the minister's
+umbrella upside down in the bushes where I had dropped it, and I
+took it with me.  I was about as wet as I well could be but I am
+glad to say I remembered that the umbrella was a borrowed one.
+
+After I had walked, or stumbled, or waded a little way I stopped
+and called.
+
+"Miss Colton," I called.  "Where are you?"
+
+"Here," came the answer from just ahead.  "Is that you, Jenkins?"
+
+I did not reply until I reached her side.
+
+"You are not hurt?" I asked.
+
+"No, not at all.  But who is it?"
+
+"I am--er--your neighbor.  Paine is my name."
+
+"Oh!" the tone was not enthusiastic.  "Where is Jenkins?"
+
+"He is attending to the horse.  Pardon me, Miss Colton, but won't
+you take this umbrella?"
+
+This seemed to strike her as a trifle absurd.  "Why, thank you,"
+she said, "but I am afraid an umbrella would be useless in this
+storm.  Is the horse all right?"
+
+"Yes, though he is very much frightened.  I--"
+
+I was interrupted by another flash and terrific report from
+directly overhead.  The young lady came closer to me.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed.
+
+I had an idea.  The flash had made our surroundings as light as day
+for an instant and across the road I saw Sylvanus Snow's old house,
+untenanted, abandoned and falling to decay.  I took Miss Colton's
+arm.
+
+"Come!" I said.
+
+She hung back.  "Where are you going?" she asked.
+
+"Just across the road to that old house.  On the porch we shall be
+out of the rain."
+
+She made no further objections and together we stumbled through the
+wet grass and over Sylvanus's weed-grown flower beds.  I presume I
+shall never again smell the spicy fragrance of "old maids' pinks"
+without thinking of that night.
+
+I found the edge of the piazza by the direct process of barking my
+shins against it, and helped her up on to the creaking boards.  My
+sanguine statement that we should be out of the rain proved not
+quite true.  There was a roof above us, but it leaked.  I unfurled
+the wet umbrella and held it over her head.
+
+For some moments after we reached the piazza neither of us spoke.
+The roar of the rain on the shingles of the porch and the splash
+and gurgle all about us would have made conversation difficult,
+even if we had wished to talk.  I, for one, did not.  At last she
+said:
+
+"Do you see or hear anything of Jenkins?"
+
+I listened, or tried to.  I was wondering myself what had become of
+the coachman.
+
+"No," I answered, "I don't hear him."
+
+"Where do you suppose he is?  He could not have been far away when
+you met him."
+
+"He was not.  And I know he intended to come back at once."
+
+"You don't suppose Caesar--the horse--ran away again?  When that
+second crack came?"
+
+I was wondering that very thing.  That particular thunder clap was
+louder and more terrifying than those preceding it.  However, there
+was no use in alarming her.
+
+"I guess not," I answered.  "He'll be here soon, I am sure."
+
+But he did not come.  The storm seemed to be passing over.  The
+flashes were just as frequent, but there was a longer interval
+between each flash and its thunder peal.  The rain was still a
+steady downpour.
+
+Miss Colton was plainly growing more anxious.
+
+"Where can he be?" she murmured.
+
+"Don't be frightened," I urged.  "He is all right.  I'll go and
+look him up, if you don't mind being left alone."
+
+"Can't--can't we go together?"
+
+"We could, of course, but there is no use in your getting wetter
+than you are.  If you are willing to stay here I will run up the
+road and see if I can find him."
+
+"Thank you.  But you will get wet yourself."
+
+"Oh, I am wet already.  Take the umbrella.  I'll be back in a
+minute."
+
+I pressed the handle of the umbrella into her hand--it was as
+steady as mine--and darted out into the flood.  I think she called
+me to come back, but I did not obey.  I ran up the road until I was
+some distance beyond the point where I had stopped the runaway, but
+there were no signs of horse, carriage or coachman.  I called
+repeatedly, but got no reply.  Then, reluctantly, I gave it up and
+returned to the porch.
+
+She gave a little gasp of relief when I reached her side.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed, "did you find him?"
+
+"No," I answered.  "He seems to have gone on.  He cannot have gone
+far.  It is only a little way to the Corners."
+
+"Is--isn't there a house, a house with people living in it, near
+this place?"
+
+"No nearer than your house, Miss Colton.  We seem to have chosen
+the most forsaken spot in Denboro to be cast away in.  I am very
+sorry."
+
+"I am not frightened for myself.  But I know my father and mother
+will be alarmed if I don't come soon.  I am sure Caesar must have
+run away again, and I am afraid Jenkins must be hurt."
+
+I had thought of that, too.  Only an accident could explain the
+coachman's non-appearance or, at least, his not sending help to his
+mistress.
+
+"If you are really not afraid to remain here, Miss Colton," I said,
+"I will go to your house myself."
+
+"Oh no!  Some one will come soon.  I can't understand where Victor--
+Mr. Carver--can be.  He was to have joined me at the church."
+
+I did not answer.  Knowing Mr. Carver's associates and the errand
+upon which he had gone, I imagined I could guess the cause of his
+delay.  But I did not speak my guess.
+
+"The storm is not as severe just now," I said.  "I can get to your
+house in a little while, if you are willing I should leave you."
+
+She put her hand on my arm.  "Come," she said.  "Shall we start
+now?"
+
+"But you must not go.  You couldn't get there on foot, such a night
+as this."
+
+"Yes, I can.  I mean to.  Please come."
+
+I still hesitated.  She took her hand from my arm and stepped out
+into the rain.  "Are you coming?" she said.
+
+I joined her, still protesting.  We splashed on through the mud and
+water, she clinging lightly to my arm and I holding the perfectly
+useless umbrella over her head.  The rain was descending steadily
+and the sky overhead was just black, but along the western horizon,
+as I caught a glimpse of it between the trees, I fancied the
+blackness was a little less opaque.  The storm was passing over,
+sure enough.
+
+But before it passed it gave us one goodby salute.  We had about
+reached the point on the Shore Lane where I first met her and
+Carver in the auto.  The shaky bridge over Mullet's cranberry brook
+was just ahead.  Then, without warning, the black night split wide
+open, a jagged streak of fire shot from heaven to earth and seemed
+to explode almost in our faces.  I was almost knocked off my feet
+and my fingers tingled as if I had been holding the handles of an
+electric battery.  The umbrella flew out of my hands and, so far as
+I was concerned, vanished utterly.  I believe Elnathan picked up
+the ruin next day, but just then I neither knew nor cared what had
+become of it.  I had other things to think of.
+
+But for a moment I could not think at all.  I was conscious of a
+great crashing and rustling and splintering directly in front of me
+and then I realized that the young lady was no longer clinging to
+my arm.  I looked about and up through the darkness.  Then down.
+She was lying at my feet.
+
+I bent over her.
+
+"Miss Colton!" I cried.  "Miss Colton!  Are you hurt?"
+
+She neither answered nor moved.  My brain was still numb from the
+electric shock and I had a dazed fear that she might be dead.  I
+shook her gently and she moaned.  I spoke again and again, but she
+did not answer, nor try to rise.  The rain was pouring down upon us
+and I knew she must not lie there.  So once more, just as I had
+done in the dingy, but now under quite different circumstances and
+with entirely different feelings, I stooped and lifted her in my
+arms.
+
+My years of outdoor life in Denboro had had one good effect at
+least; they had made me strong.  I carried her with little effort
+to the bridge.  And there I stopped.  The bridge was blocked,
+covered with a mass of wet leafy branches and splintered wood.  The
+lightning bolt had missed us by just that much.  It had overthrown
+and demolished the big willow tree by the brook and to get through
+or over the tangle was impossible.
+
+So again history repeated itself.  I descended the bank at the side
+of the bridge and waded through the waters with Mabel Colton in my
+arms.  I staggered up the opposite bank and hurried on.  She lay
+quiet, her head against my shoulder.  Her hat had fallen off and a
+wet, fragrant strand of her hair brushed my cheek.  Once I stopped
+and bent my head to listen, to make sure that she was breathing.
+She was, I felt her breath upon my face.  Afterwards I remembered
+all this; just then I was merely thankful that she was alive.
+
+I had gone but a little way further when she stirred in my arms and
+spoke.
+
+"What is it?" she asked.  "What is the matter?"
+
+"Nothing," I answered, with a sigh of relief.  "It is all right.
+We shall be there soon."
+
+"But what is the matter?  Why are you--let me walk, please."
+
+"You had better stay as you are.  You are almost home."
+
+"But why are you carrying me?  What is the matter?"
+
+"You--you fainted, I think.  The lightning--"
+
+"Oh yes, I remember.  Did I faint?  How ridiculous!  Please let me
+walk now.  I am all right.  Really I am."
+
+"But I think--"
+
+"Please.  I insist."
+
+I set her gently on her feet.  She staggered a little, but she was
+plucky and, after a moment, was able to stand and walk, though
+slowly.
+
+"You are sure you can manage it?" I asked.
+
+"Of course!  But why did I faint?  I never did such a thing before
+in my life."
+
+"That flash was close to us.  It struck the big willow by the
+brook."
+
+"Did it!  As near as that?"
+
+"Yes.  Don't try to talk."
+
+"But I am all right . . . I am not hurt at all.  Are we almost
+home?"
+
+"Yes.  Those are the lights of your house ahead there."
+
+We moved on more rapidly.  As we turned in at the Colton walk she
+said, "Why; it has stopped raining."
+
+It had, though I had not noticed it.  The flash which smashed the
+willow had been the accompaniment of what Lute would call the
+"clearing-up shower."  The storm was really over.
+
+We stepped up on the portico of the big house and I rang the bell.
+The butler opened the door.  His face, as he saw the pair of
+dripping, bedraggled outcasts before him, was worth looking at.  He
+was shocked out of his dignity.
+
+"Why!  Why, Miss Mabel!" he stammered, with almost human agitation.
+"What--"
+
+A voice, a petulant female voice, called from the head of the
+stairs.
+
+"Johnson," it quavered, "who is it?  Mabel, is that you?"
+
+The library door flew open and Mr. Colton himself appeared.
+
+"Eh?  What?" he exclaimed.  "By George!  Mabel, where have you
+been?  I have been raising heaven and earth to locate you.  The
+'phone seems to be out of order and--  Great Scott, girl! you're
+wet through.  Jenkins, what--?  Hey?  Why, it isn't Jenkins!"
+
+The fact that his daughter's escort was not the coachman had just
+dawned upon him.  He stared at me in irate bewilderment.  Before he
+could ask a question or his daughter could speak or explain there
+came a little shriek from the stairs, a rustle of silken skirts,
+and a plump, white-faced woman in an elaborate house gown rushed
+across the hall with both white arms outstretched.
+
+"Mabel!" she cried, "where HAVE you been.  You poor child!  I have
+been almost beside myself, and--"
+
+Miss Colton laughingly avoided the rush.  "Take care, Mother," she
+warned.  "I am very wet."
+
+"Wet?  Why! you're absolutely drenched!  Jenkins--  Mabel, where is
+Jenkins?  And who is this--er--person?"
+
+I thought it quite time for me to withdraw.
+
+"Good night, Miss Colton," I said, and stepped toward the door.
+But "Big Jim" roared my name.
+
+"It's that--it's Paine!" he exclaimed.  "Here! what does this mean,
+anyway?"
+
+I think his daughter was about to explain, when there came another
+interruption.  From the driveway sounded the blare of an auto horn.
+Johnson threw open the door just as the big car whirled up to the
+porch.
+
+"Here we are!" laughed Carver, emerging from behind the drawn
+curtains of the machine.  "Home again from a foreign shore.  Come
+in, fellows, and have a drink.  We've had water enough for one
+night.  Come in."
+
+He stumbled as he crossed the sill, recovered his balance, laughed,
+and then all at once seemed to become aware of the group in the
+hall.  He looked about him, swaying a little as he did so.
+
+"Ah, Mabel!" he exclaimed, genially.  "Got here first, didn't you?
+Sorry I was late, but it was all old Parker's fault.  Wouldn't let
+us say goodby.  But we came some when we did come.  The bridge is
+down and we made Oscar run her right through the water.  Great ex-
+experience.  Hello!  Why, what's matter?  Who's this?  What? it's
+Reuben, isn't it!  Mabel, what on earth--"
+
+She paid no attention to him.  I was at the door when she overtook
+me.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said, "I am very grateful for your kindness.  Both
+for what you have done tonight and for your help the other
+afternoon.  Thank you."
+
+She held out her hand.  I took it, scarcely knowing that I did so.
+
+"Thank you," she said, again.  I murmured something or other and
+went out.  As I stepped from the porch I heard Victor's voice.
+
+"Well, by Jove!" he exclaimed.  "Mabel!"
+
+I looked back.  He was standing by the door.  She went past him
+without replying or even looking at him.  From the automobile I
+heard smothered chuckles and exclamations.  The butler closed the
+door.
+
+I walked home as fast as I could.  Dorinda was waiting up for me.
+What she said when she saw the ruin of my Sunday suit had better
+not be repeated.  She was still saying it when I took my lamp and
+went up to bed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+The strawberry festival and the "tempest" were, of course, the
+subjects most discussed at the breakfast table next morning.  Lute
+monopolized the conversation, a fact for which I was thankful, for
+it enabled me to dodge Dorinda's questions as to my own adventures.
+I did not care to talk about the latter.  My feelings concerning
+them were curiously mixed.  Was I glad or sorry that Fate had
+chosen me to play once more the role of rescuer of a young female
+in distress?  That my playing of the role had altered my standing
+in Mabel Colton's mind I felt reasonably sure.  Her words at
+parting with me rang true.  She was grateful, and she had shaken
+hands with me.  Doubtless she would tell her father the whole story
+and he, too, in common decency, would be grateful to me for helping
+his daughter.  But, after all, did I care for gratitude from that
+family?  And what form would that gratitude take?  Would Colton,
+like Victor Carver, offer to pay me for my services?  No, hardly
+that, I thought.  He was a man of wide experience and, if he did
+offer payment, it would be in some less crude form than a five
+dollar bill.
+
+But I did not want payment in any form.  I did not want condescension
+and patronizing thanks.  I did not want anything--that was it.  Up
+to now, the occupants of the big house and I had been enemies, open
+and confessed.  I had, so far as possible, kept out of their way and
+hoped they would keep out of mine.  But now the situation was more
+complicated.  I did not know what to expect.  Of course there was no
+chance of our becoming friends.  The difference in social position,
+as they reckoned it, made that too ridiculous to consider as a
+possibility, even if I wished it, which I distinctly did not.  But
+something, an interview, awkward and disagreeable for both sides, or
+a patronizing note of thanks, was, at the very least, certain to
+follow the happenings of the previous night.  I wished I had gone
+home when the Coltons first came to the festival.  I wished I had
+not promised Taylor that I would attend that festival.  I wished--I
+wished a great many things.  The thought of young Carver's public
+snubbing before his friends was my one unmixed satisfaction.  I
+rather imagined that he was more uncomfortable than I was or could
+be.
+
+Lute crowed vaingloriously over his own good judgment in leaving
+for home early.
+
+"I don't know how 'twas," he declared.  "Somethin' seemed to tell
+me we was in for a turrible tempest.  I was settin' talkin' with
+Alvin Baker and eatin' my second sasser of berries, when--"
+
+"SECOND sasser?" interrupted Dorinda, sharply.  "Where'd you get
+money for two sassers?  I gave you thirty cents when you started
+for that festival.  It cost you fifteen to get inside the gate, and
+Matildy Dean told me the church folks was cal'latin' to charge
+fifteen for a helpin' of berries and cream.  And you had two
+sassers, you say.  Who paid for the second one?"
+
+Her husband swallowed half a cup of coffee before replying.  Then
+his reply had nothing to do with the question.
+
+"I don't know how 'twas," he went on.  "I just had the feelin',
+that's all.  Sort of a present--presentuary, I guess, come over me.
+I looked up at the sky and 'twas gettin' black, and then I looked
+to the west-ard and I see a flash of lightnin'.  'Nothin' but heat
+lightnin',' says Alvin.  'Heat lightnin' nothin'!' says I, 'I tell
+you--"
+
+"Who paid for that second sasser of berries?" repeated his wife,
+relentlessly.
+
+"Why now, Dorindy--"
+
+"Who paid for 'em?  If 'twas Alvin Baker you ought to be ashamed of
+yourself, spongin' on him for your vittles."
+
+"Alvin!  Good land! did you ever know him to pay for anything he
+didn't have to?"
+
+"Never mind what I know.  Did you get trusted for 'em?  How many
+times have I told you--"
+
+"I never got trusted.  I ain't that kind.  And I didn't sponge 'em,
+neither.  I paid cash, right out of my own pocket, like a man."
+
+"You did!  Um-hm.  I want to know!  Well then--MAN, where did the
+cash in that pocket come from?"
+
+Lute squirmed.  "I--I--" he stammered.
+
+"Where did it come from?  Answer me."
+
+"Well--well, Dorindy, you see--when you sent me up to the store
+t'other day after the brown sugar and--and number 50 spool cotton
+you give me seventy-five cents.  You remember you did, yourself."
+
+"Yes, and I remember you said there was a hole in your pocket and
+you lost the change.  I ain't likely to forget it, and I shouldn't
+think you'd be."
+
+"I didn't forget.  By time! my ears ain't done singin' yet.  But
+that shows how reckless you talk to me.  I never lost that change
+at all.  I found it afterwards in my vest, so all your jawin' was
+just for nothin'.  Ros, she ought to beg my pardon, hadn't she?
+Hadn't she now?"
+
+Dorinda saved me the trouble of answering.
+
+"Um-hm!" she observed, dryly.  "Well, I'll beg my own pardon
+instead, for bein' so dumb as not to go through your vest myself.
+So THAT'S where the other fifteen cents come from!  I see.  Well,
+you march out to the woodpile and chop till I tell you to quit."
+
+"But, Dorindy, I've got one of my dyspepsy spells.  I don't feel
+real good this mornin'.  I told you I didn't."
+
+"Folks that make pigs of themselves on stolen berries hadn't ought
+to feel good.  Exercise is fine for dyspepsy.  You march."
+
+Lute marched, and I marched with him as far as the back yard.
+There I left him, groaning before the woodpile, and went down to
+the boat house.
+
+The Comfort's overhauling was complete and I had launched her the
+week before.  Now she lay anchored at the edge of the channel.  For
+the want of something more important to do I took down my shot gun
+and began to polish its already glittering barrels.
+
+Try as I might I could not get the memory of my adventure in the
+"tempest" out of my head.  I reviewed it from end to end, thinking
+of many things I might have done which, in the light of what
+followed, would have been better and more sensible.  If, instead of
+leaving the coachman, I had remained to help him with the frightened
+horse, I should have been better employed.  Between us we could have
+subdued the animal and Miss Colton might have ridden home.  I
+wondered what had become of Jenkins and the horse.  I wondered if
+the girl knew I carried her through the brook.  Victor had said the
+bridge was down; she must know.  I wondered what she thought of the
+proceeding; probably that splashing about with young ladies in my
+arms was a habit of mine.
+
+I told myself that I did not care what she thought.  I resolved to
+forget the whole affair and to focus my attention upon cleaning the
+gun.  But I could not forget.  I waded that brook a dozen times as
+I sat there.  I remembered every detail; how still she lay in my
+arms; how white her face looked as the distant lightning flashes
+revealed it to me; how her hair brushed my cheek as I bent over
+her.  I was using a wad of cotton waste to polish the gun barrel,
+and I threw it into a corner, having the insane notion that, in
+some way, the association of ideas came from that bunch of waste.
+It--the waste--was grimy and anything but fragrant, as different
+from the dark lock which the wind had blown against my face as
+anything well could be, but the hurry with which I discarded it
+proves my imbecility at that time.  Confound the girl! she was a
+nuisance.  I wanted to forget her and her family, and the
+sulphurous personage to whose care I had once consigned the head of
+the family apparently took a characteristic delight in arranging
+matters so that I could not.
+
+The shot gun was, at last, so spotless that even a pretense of
+further cleaning was ridiculous.  I held it level with my eye and
+squinted through the barrels.
+
+"Don't shoot," said a voice from the doorway; "I'll come down."
+
+I lowered the gun, turned and looked.  "Big Jim" Colton was
+standing there, cigar in mouth, cap on the back of his head and
+both hands in his pockets, exactly as he had appeared in that same
+doorway when he and I first met.  The expected had happened, part
+of it at least.  He had come to see me; the disagreeable interview
+I had foreseen was at hand.
+
+He nodded and entered without waiting for an invitation.
+
+"Morning," he said.
+
+"Good morning," said I, guardedly.  I wondered how he would begin
+the conversation.  Our previous meeting had ended almost in a
+fight.  We had been fighting by proxy ever since.  I was prepared
+for more trouble, for haughty condescension, for perfunctory
+apology, for almost anything except what happened.  His next remark
+might have been addressed to an acquaintance upon whom he had
+casually dropped in for a friendly call.
+
+"That's a good looking gun you've got there," he observed.  "Let's
+see it."
+
+I was too astonished to answer.  "Let's look at it," he repeated,
+holding out his hand.
+
+Mechanically I passed him the gun.  He examined it as if he was
+used to such things, broke it, snapped it shut, tried the locks
+with his thumb and handed it back to me.
+
+"Anything worth shooting around here?" he asked, pulling the
+armchair toward him and sitting.
+
+I think I did not let him see how astonished I was at his attitude.
+I tried not to.
+
+"Why yes," I answered, "in the season.  Plenty of coots, some black
+duck, and quail and partridge in the woods."
+
+"That so!  Peters, that carpenter of mine, said something of the
+sort, I remember, but I wouldn't believe him under oath.  I could
+shoot HIM with more or less pleasure, but there seems to be no open
+session for his species.  Where's your launch?"
+
+"Out yonder."  I pointed to the Comfort at her moorings.  He
+looked, but made no comment.  I rose and put the gun in the rack.
+Then I returned to my chair.  He swung around in his seat and
+looked at me.
+
+"Well," he said, grimly, but with a twinkle in his eye, "the last
+time you and I chatted together you told me to go to the devil."
+
+This was quite true and I might have added that I was glad of it.
+But what would be the use?  I did not answer at all.
+
+"I haven't gone there yet," he continued.  "Came over here instead.
+Got dry yet?"
+
+"Dry?"
+
+"Yes.  You were anything but dry when I saw you last night.  Have
+many such cloudbursts as that in these parts?"
+
+"Not many.  No."
+
+"I hope not.  I don't want another until I sell that horse of mine.
+The chap who stuck me with him is a friend of mine.  He warranted
+the beast perfectly safe for an infant in arms to drive and not
+afraid of anything short of an earthquake.  He is a lovely liar.  I
+admire his qualifications in that respect, and hope to trade with
+him again.  He bucks the stock market occasionally."
+
+He smiled as he said it.  There was not the slightest malice in his
+tone, but, if I had been the "friend," I should have kept clear of
+stocks for awhile.
+
+"What became of the horse?" I asked.
+
+"Ran away again.  Jenkins had just got back into the carriage when
+another one of those thunder claps started more trouble.  The horse
+ran four miles, more or less, and stopped only when the wheels got
+jammed between two trees.  I paid nine hundred dollars for that
+carriage."
+
+"And the coachman?"
+
+"Oh, he lit on his head, fortunately, and wasn't hurt.  Spent half
+the night trying to find a phone not out of commission but failed.
+Got home about four o'clock, leading the horse.  Paine--"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Of course you know what I've come here for.  I'm much obliged to
+you."
+
+"That's all right.  You're welcome."
+
+"Maybe I am, but I am obliged, just the same.  Not only for the
+help you gave Mabel--my daughter--last night, but for that business
+in the bay the other afternoon."
+
+So she had told him the whole story.  Remembering her last words,
+as I left her in the hall, I had rather imagined she would.
+
+"That didn't amount to anything," I said, shortly.
+
+"Why, yes, it did.  It might have amounted to a whole lot.  I asked
+Peters some questions about the tides out here and, from what he
+said, I judge that being stuck on the shoals in a squall might not
+be altogether a joke.  Mabel says you handled the affair mighty
+well."
+
+I did not answer.  He chuckled.
+
+"How did young Carver enjoy playing second fiddle?" he asked.
+"From what I've seen of him he generally expects to lead the band.
+Happy, was he?"
+
+I remained silent.  He smiled broadly.
+
+"He isn't any too happy this morning," he went on.  "That young man
+won't do.  I never quoted him within twenty points of par, but
+Mabel seemed to like him and her mother thought he was the real
+thing.  Mrs. C. couldn't forget that his family is one of the
+oldest on the list.  Personally I don't gamble much on families;
+know a little about my own and that little is enough.  But women
+are different.  However, family or not, he won't do.  I should tell
+him so myself, but I guess Mabel will save me the trouble.  She's
+got a surprising amount of common-sense, considering that she's an
+only child--and who her parents are.  By the way, Paine, what did
+Carver say when you put him ashore?"
+
+"He--he said--oh, nothing of importance."
+
+"Yes, I know that.  I listened to his explanations last night.  But
+did he say anything?"
+
+"Why, he offered to pay me for my work."
+
+"Did he?  How much?"
+
+"I did not wait to find out."
+
+"And you haven't heard from him since?"
+
+I hesitated.
+
+"Have you?" he repeated.
+
+"Well, I--I received a note from him next day."
+
+"Humph!  Offering apologies?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Sent you money, didn't he?"
+
+I looked at him in surprise.  "Did he tell you?" I asked.
+
+"No, nobody told me.  I'm only trying to find out whether or not I
+have lost all my judgment of human nature since I struck this sand
+heap.  He did send you money then.  How much?"
+
+"Mr. Colton, I--"
+
+"Come now!  How much?"
+
+"Well--he sent me five dollars."
+
+"No! he didn't!"
+
+"I am telling you the truth."
+
+"Yes," slowly, "I know you are.  I've got that much judgment left.
+Sent you five dollars, did he.  And you sent it back."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Any message with it?"
+
+I was tired of being catechized.  I had not meant to tell him
+anything.  Now I decided to tell him all.  If it angered him, so
+much the better.
+
+"I sent him word that what I saved wasn't worth the money."
+
+To my amazement he was not angry.  Instead he slapped his knee and
+laughed aloud.
+
+"Ho! ho!" he shouted.  "Humph!  Well, that was. . . .  I'd like to
+have seen his face when he got that message.  No, that young man
+won't do.  He won't do at all."
+
+It was not for me to dispute this conclusion, even if I had
+disagreed with him, which I did not.  I said nothing.  He rubbed
+his knee for a moment and then changed the subject.
+
+"How did you happen to be on the Lower Road at that time of the
+night?" he asked.  "I'm mighty glad you were there, of course, but
+where did you come from?"
+
+"I left the festival rather late and--"
+
+"Festival?  Oh, that thing up at the church.  I didn't see you
+there."
+
+I had taken pains that he should not see me.
+
+"Do you mean to tell me," he continued, "that you enjoy a thing
+like that?  What in blazes made Mabel want to go I don't see!  She
+and Carver were set on going; and it would be the treat of a
+lifetime, or words to that effect.  I can't see it myself.  Of all
+the wooden headed jays I ever laid eyes on this town holds the
+finest collection.  Narrow and stubborn and blind to their own
+interests!"
+
+This was more like what I expected from him and I resented it.  It
+may seem odd that I, of all persons, should have taken upon myself
+the defense of Denboro and its inhabitants, but that is what I did.
+
+"They are no more narrow and stubborn in their way than city people
+are in theirs," I declared.  "They resent being ordered about as if
+their opinions and wishes counted for nothing, and I honor them for
+it."
+
+"Do, hey?"
+
+"Yes, I do.  Mr. Colton, I tell you that you are all wrong.  Simply
+because a man lives in the country it does not follow that he is a
+blockhead.  No one in Denboro is rich, as you would count riches,
+but plenty of them are independent and ask no help from any one.
+You can't drive them."
+
+"Can't I?"
+
+"No, you can't.  And if you want favors from men here you must ask
+for them, not try to bully."
+
+"I don't want favors.  I want to be treated decently, that's all.
+When I came here I intended doing things to help the town.  I
+should have enjoyed doing it.  I told some of them so.  Look at the
+money I've spent.  Look at the taxes I'll pay.  Why, they ought to
+be glad to have me here.  They ought to welcome me."
+
+"So they would if you had not behaved as if you were what some of
+them call you--'Emperor of New York'.  I tell you, Mr. Colton,
+you're all wrong.  I know the people here."
+
+"So?  Well, from what I've been able to learn about you, you
+haven't associated with many of them.  You've been playing a little
+at the high and mighty yourself."
+
+Chickens do come home to roost.  My attitude of indifference and
+coldness toward my fellow citizens had been misinterpreted, as it
+deserved to be.  George Taylor was right when he said I had made a
+mistake.
+
+"I have been foolish," I said, hotly, "but not for the reason you
+suppose.  I don't consider myself any better than the people here--
+no, nor even the equal of some of them.  And, from what I have seen
+of you, Mr. Colton, I don't consider you that, either."
+
+Even this did not make him angry.  He looked at me as if I puzzled
+him.
+
+"Say, Paine," he said, "what in the world are you doing down in a
+place like this?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Just that.  You upset my calculations.  I thought I spotted you
+and put you in the class where you belonged when you and I first
+met.  I can usually size up a man.  You've got me guessing.  What
+are you doing down here?  You're no Rube."
+
+If he intended this as a compliment I was not in the mood to accept
+it as such.  I should have told him that what I was or was not was
+no business of his.  But he went on without giving me the
+opportunity.
+
+"You've got me guessing," he repeated.  "You talk like a man.  The
+way you looked out for my daughter last night and the way,
+according to her story, you handled her and Victor the other
+afternoon was a man's job.  Why are you wasting your life down
+here?"
+
+"Mr. Colton, I don't consider--"
+
+"Never mind.  You're right; that's your affair, of course.  But I
+hate to quit till I have the answer, and nobody around here seems
+to have the answer to you.  Ready to sell me that land yet?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Going to sell to the public-spirited bunch?  Dean and the rest?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You mean that?  All right--all right.  Say, Paine, I admire your
+nerve a good deal more than I do your judgment.  You must
+understand that I am going to close that fool Lane of yours some
+time or other."
+
+"Your understanding and mine differ on that point."
+
+"Possibly, but they'll agree before I'm through.  I am going to
+close that Lane."
+
+"I think not."
+
+"I'm going to close it for two reasons.  First, because it's a
+condemned nuisance and ought to be closed.  Second, because I make
+it a point to get what I go after.  I can't afford not to.  It is
+doing that very thing that has put me where I am."
+
+There was nothing to be said in answer to a statement like that.  I
+did not try to answer it.
+
+"Where you're holding down a job like mine," he continued, crossing
+his knees and looking out across the bay, "you have to get what you
+go after.  I'm down here and I mean to stay here as long as I want
+to, but I haven't let go of my job by a good deal.  I've got
+private wires--telegraph and telephone--in my house and I keep in
+touch with things in the Street as much as I ever did.  If anybody
+tries to get ahead of the old man because they think he's turned
+farmer they'll find out their mistake in a hurry."
+
+This seemed to be a soliloquy.  I could not see how it applied to
+me.  He went on talking.
+
+"Sounds like bragging, doesn't it?" he said, reading my thoughts as
+if I had spoken them.  "It isn't.  I'm just trying to show you why
+I can't afford not to have my own way.  If I miss a trick, big or
+little, somebody else wins.  When I was younger, just butting into
+the game, there was another fellow trying to get hold of a lead
+mine out West that I was after.  He beat me to it at first.  He was
+a big toad in the puddle and I was a little one.  But I didn't
+quit.  I waited round the corner.  By and by I saw my chance.  He
+was in a hole and I had the cover to the hole.  Before I let him
+out I owned that mine.  It cost me more than it was worth; I lost
+money on it.  But I had my way and he and the rest had found out
+that I intended to have it.  That was worth a lot more than I lost
+in the mine.  Now this Lane proposition is a little bit of a thing;
+it's picayune; I should live right along if I didn't get it.  But
+because I want it, because I've made up my mind to have it, I'm
+going to have it, one way or another.  See?"
+
+I shrugged my shoulders.  "This seems to me like wasting time, Mr.
+Colton," I said.
+
+"Then your seeing is away off.  Look here, Paine, I'm through
+fiddling with the deal.  I'm through with that undertaker
+postmaster or any other go-between.  I just wanted you to
+understand my position; that's why I've told you all this.  Now
+we'll talk figures.  I might go on bidding, and you'd go on saying
+no, of course.  But I shan't bid.  I'll just say this:  When you
+are ready to sell--and I'll put you where you will be some day--"
+
+I rose.  "Mr. Colton," I said, sharply, "you had better not say any
+more.  I'm not afraid of you, and--"
+
+"There! there! there! who said anything about your being afraid?
+Don't get mad.  I'm not--not now.  This is a business matter
+between friends and--"
+
+"Friends!"
+
+"Sure.  Business friends.  I'm talking to you as I would to any
+other chap I intended to beat in a deal; there's nothing personal
+about it.  When I get you so you're ready to sell I'll give you
+five thousand dollars for that strip of land."
+
+I actually staggered.  I said what Lute had said to me.
+
+"You're crazy!" I cried.  "Five thousand dollars for that land!"
+
+"Yes.  Oh, I know what it's worth.  Five hundred is for the land
+itself.  The other forty-five hundred is payment for the privilege
+of having my own way.  Want to close with me now?"
+
+It took me some time to answer.  "No," is a short and simple word,
+but I found it tremendously difficult to pronounce.  Yet I did
+pronounce it, I am glad to say.  After all that I had said before I
+would have been ashamed to do anything else.
+
+He did not appear surprised at my refusal.
+
+"All right," he said.  "I'm not going to coax you.  Just remember
+that the offer holds good and when you get ready to accept it, sing
+out.  Well!" looking at his watch, "I must be going.  My wife will
+think I've fallen into the bay, or been murdered by the hostile
+natives.  Nerves are mean things to have in the house; you can take
+my word for that.  Good-by, Paine.  Thank you again for last night
+and the rest of it.  Mabel will thank you herself when she sees
+you, I presume."
+
+He was on his way to the door when I recovered presence of mind
+sufficient to remember ordinary politeness.
+
+"Your daughter--er--Miss Colton is well?" I stammered.  "No ill
+effects from her wetting--and the shock?"
+
+"Not a bit.  She's one of the kind of girls they turn out nowadays.
+Athletics and all that.  Her grandmother would have died probably,
+after such an upset, but she's as right as I am.  Oh . . . er--
+Paine, next time you go shooting let me know.  Maybe I'd like to go
+along.  I used to be able to hit a barn door occasionally."
+
+He stopped long enough to bite the end from a cigar and strolled
+away, smoking.  I sat down in the armchair.  "Five thousand
+dollars!" . . .  "Carver won't do." . . .  "I will have the Lane
+some time or other" . . .  "Five thousand dollars!" . . .  "Next
+time you go shooting." . . .  "Friends!" . . .  "Five thousand
+dollars!"
+
+Oh, this was a nightmare!  I must wake up before it got any worse.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Mother was the only one to whom I told the whole story of my
+experience in the "tempest" and of Colton's call.  She and I had a
+long talk.  She was as surprised to hear of the five thousand
+dollar offer as I had been, but that I had refused it did not
+surprise her.  She seemed to take my refusal as a matter of course,
+whereas I was more and more doubtful of my sanity at the time.  I
+knew well enough what the opinion of others would be concerning
+that sanity and I wondered whether or not they might be right.  In
+fact, I rather resented her calm certainty.
+
+"Mother," said I, "you speak as if the offer had been five cents
+instead of five thousand dollars."
+
+"What difference does it make, Boy?" she asked.  "If it had been
+only a matter of price you would have sold for six hundred and
+fifty.  That is a good deal more than the land is worth, isn't it."
+
+"I suppose so.  But five thousand is a small fortune to us.  I am
+not sure that we have the right to refuse it."
+
+"Roscoe, if you were alone in this matter--if I were not here to be
+considered at all--would you have sold the land, no matter what he
+offered?"
+
+"I don't know, Mother.  I think, perhaps, I should."
+
+"I know you would not.  And I know the only reason you feel the
+refusal may be wrong is because you are thinking what the money
+might do for me.  Do you suppose I will permit you to sacrifice a
+principle you know is right simply that I may have a few more
+luxuries which I don't need?"
+
+"But you do need them.  Why, there are so many things you need."
+
+"No, I don't need one.  So long as I have you I am perfectly happy.
+And it would not make me more happy to know that you accepted a
+bribe--that is what it is, a bribe--because of me.  No, Boy, you
+did exactly right and I am proud of you."
+
+"I am not particularly proud of myself."
+
+"You should be.  Can't you see how differently Mr. Colton regards
+you already?  He does not condescend or patronize now."
+
+"Humph! he is grateful because I helped his daughter out of a
+scrape, that's all."
+
+"It is more than that.  He respects you because you are what he
+called you, a man.  I fancy it is a new experience to him to find
+some one, down here at any rate, to whom his millions make
+absolutely no difference."
+
+"I am glad of it.  It may do him good."
+
+"Yes, I think it will.  And what you told him about the townspeople
+may do him good, too.  He will find, as you and I have found, that
+there are no kinder, better people anywhere.  You remember I warned
+you against misjudging the Coltons, Roscoe.  They, too, I am sure,
+are good people at heart, in spite of their wealth."
+
+"Mother, you are too charitable for this earth--too unworldly
+altogether."
+
+"Haven't you and I reason to be charitable?  There! there! let us
+forget the land and the money.  Roscoe, I should like to meet this
+Miss Colton.  She must be a brave girl."
+
+"She is brave enough."
+
+"I suppose poor Mr. Carver is in disgrace.  Perhaps it was not his
+fault altogether."
+
+This was a trifle too much.  I refused to be charitable to Victor.
+
+I heard from him, or of him, next day.  I met Captain Jed Dean at
+the bank, where I had called to see Taylor and inquire concerning
+how he and Nellie got home from the festival.  They had had a damp,
+though safe, journey, I learned, and the Methodist ladies had
+cleared seventy-four dollars and eighty-five cents from the
+entertainment.
+
+Captain Jed entered the door as I left the cashier's gate.
+
+"Ship ahoy, Ros!" hailed the captain, genially.  "Make port safe
+and sound after the flood?  I'd have swapped my horse and buggy for
+Noah's Ark that night and wouldn't have asked any boot neither.
+Did you see Mullet's bridge?  Elnathan says he cal'lates he's got
+willow kindlin' enough to last him all summer.  Ready split too--
+the lightnin' attended to that.  Lute Rogers don't talk about
+nothin' else.  I cal'late he wishes lightnin' would strike your
+woodpile; then he'd be saved consider'ble labor, hey?"
+
+He laughed and I laughed with him.
+
+"I understood Princess Colton was out in the wust of it," went on
+Captain Jed.  "Did you hear how her horse ran away?"
+
+"Yes," I answered, shortly; "I heard about it."
+
+"Never stopped till it got half way to West Bayport.  The coachman
+hangin' onto the reins and swearin' at the top of his lungs all the
+time.  'Bije Ellis, who lives up that way, says the road smells
+like a match factory even yet--so much brimstone in the air.  The
+girl got home somehow or other, they tell me.  I cal'late her fine
+duds got their never-get-over.  Nellie says the hat she was wearin'
+come from Paris, or some such foreign place.  Well, the rain falls
+on the just and unjust, so scriptur tells us, and it's true enough.
+Only the unjust in this case can afford new hats better'n the just,
+a consider'ble sight.  Denboro's lost a promisin' new citizen; did
+you know it?"
+
+"Whom do you mean?"
+
+"Hadn't you heard?  That young Carver feller shook the dust--the
+mud, I mean--of our roads off his shoes this mornin'.  He went away
+on the up train."
+
+Here was news.  "The up train?" I repeated.  "You mean he has gone
+for good?"
+
+"I should call it for good, for our good, anyhow.  Yes, he's gone.
+Went to the depot in Colton's automobile.  His majesty went with
+him fur's the platform.  The gang that saw the proceedin's said the
+good-bys wan't affectin'.  Colton didn't shed any tears and young
+Carver seemed to be pretty down at the mouth."
+
+"But what makes you think he has gone for good?" I asked.
+
+"Why, Alvin Baker was there, same as he usually is, and he managed
+to be nigh enough to hear the last words--if there had been any."
+
+"And there were not?"
+
+"Nothin' to amount to much.  Nothin' about comin' back, anyhow.
+Colton said somethin' about bein' remembered to the young feller's
+ma, and Carver said, 'Thanks,' and that was all.  Alvin said 'twas
+pretty chilly.  They've got it all figgered out at the post-office;
+you see, Carver was to come back to the meetin' house and pick up
+his princess, and he never come.  She started without him and got
+run away with.  Some of the folks paddlin' home from the festival
+saw the auto go by and heard the crowd inside singin' and laughin'
+and hollerin'.  Nobody's goin' to sing a night like that unless
+they've got cargo enough below decks to make 'em forget the wet
+outside.  And Beriah Doane was over to Ostable yesterday and he
+says it's town talk there that young Parker--the boy the auto crowd
+was sayin' good-by to at the hotel--had to be helped up to his
+room.  No, I guess likely the Colton girl objected to her feller's
+gettin' tight and forgettin' her, so he and she had a row and her
+dad, the emperor, give him his discharge papers.  Sounds reasonable;
+don't you think so, yourself?"
+
+I imagined that the surmise was close to the truth.  I nodded and
+turned away.  I did not like Carver, I detested him, but somehow I
+no longer felt triumph at his discomfiture.  I wondered if he
+really cared for the girl he had lost.  It was difficult to think
+of him as really caring for any one except himself, but if I had
+been in his place and had, through my own foolishness, thrown away
+the respect and friendship of such a girl. . . .  Yes, I was
+beginning to feel a little of Mother's charity for the young idiot,
+now that he could no longer insult and patronize me.
+
+Captain Jed followed me to the bank door.
+
+"Say, Ros," he said, "changed your mind about sellin' that Lane
+land yet?"
+
+"No," I answered, impatiently.  "There's no use talking about that,
+Captain Dean."
+
+"All right, all right.  Humph! the fellers are gettin' consider'ble
+fun out of that Lane."
+
+"In what way?"
+
+He laughed.  "Oh, nothin'," he observed, with a wink, "only. . . .
+Heard any extry hurrahin' over to your place lately?"
+
+"No.  Captain, what do you mean?"
+
+"I don't mean nothin'.  But I shouldn't wonder if the Great
+Panjandrum and his folks was reminded that that Lane was still
+open, that's all.  Ho! ho!  So long, Ros."
+
+I did not catch his meaning at the time.  A few days later I
+discovered it by accident.  I had been up to the village and was on
+my way home by the short cut.  As I crossed the field behind
+Sylvanus Snow's abandoned house, the spot where Miss Colton and I
+had waited on the porch the night of the thunder shower, I heard
+the rattle of a cart going down the Lane.  There was nothing
+unusual in this, of itself, but with it I heard the sound of loud
+voices.  One of these voices was so loud that I caught the words:
+
+"Now, boys, start her up!  Three cheers for the Star Spangled
+Banner and make 'em loud.  Let her go!"
+
+The cheers followed, uproarious ones.
+
+"Try it again," commanded the voice.  "And keep her up all the way
+along.  We'll shake up the 'nerves' I guess.  Hooray!"
+
+This was enough.  I understood now what Dean had meant by the
+Coltons realizing that the Lane was still open.  I ran at full
+speed through the scrub and bushes, through the grove, and emerged
+upon the Lane directly opposite the Colton estate.  The wagon--Zeb
+Kendrick's weir cart--was approaching.  Zeb was driving and behind
+him in the body of the cart were four or five young fellows whom I
+recognized as belonging to the "billiard room gang," an unorganized
+society whose members worked only occasionally but were responsible
+for most of the mischief and disorder in our village.  Tim Hallet,
+a sort of leader in that society, with the reputation of having
+been expelled from school three times and never keeping a job
+longer than a fortnight, was on the seat beside Kendrick, his back
+to the horse.  Zeb was grinning broadly.
+
+The wagon came nearer, the horse barely moving.  Tim Hallet waved
+his arm.
+
+"Now, boys," he shouted, "let's have some music."
+
+     "'Everybody works but father,
+       And he sets around all day.'--
+
+Whoop her up!"
+
+They whooped her up.  I stepped out into the road.
+
+"Here!" I shouted.  "Stop that!  Stop it, do you hear!  Kendrick,
+what is all this?"
+
+The song stopped in the middle of the verse.  Zeb jerked the reins
+and shouted "Whoa!"  Hallet and his chorus turned.  They had been
+gazing at the big house, but now they turned and looked at me.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" said Kendrick, still grinning, but rather sheepishly.
+"How be you?  Got quite a band aboard, ain't I."
+
+"Hello!" cried Hallet.  "It's Ros himself!  Ros, you're all RIGHT!
+Hi, boys! let's give three cheers for the feller that don't toady
+to nobody--millionaires nor nobody else--hooray for Ros Paine!"
+
+The cheering that followed was not quite as loud as the previous
+outburst--some of the "gang" may have noticed my attitude and
+expression--but it was loud enough.  Involuntarily I glanced toward
+the Colton mansion.  I saw no one at the windows or on the veranda,
+and I was thankful for that.  The blood rushed to my face.  I was
+so angry that, for the moment, I could not speak.
+
+Tim Hallet appeared to consider my silence and my crimson cheeks as
+acknowledgments of the compliment just paid me.
+
+"Cal'late they heard that over yonder," he crowed.  "Don't you
+think so, Ros.  We've showed 'em what we think of you; now let's
+give our opinion of them.  Three groans for old Colton!  Come on!"
+
+Even Zeb seemed to consider this as going too far, for he
+protested.
+
+"Hold on, Tim!" he cautioned.  "A joke's a joke, but that's a
+little too much; ain't it, Ros."
+
+"Too much be darned!" scoffed Hallet.  "We'll show 'em!  Now,
+boys!"
+
+The groans were not given.  I sprang into the road, seized the
+horse by the bridle and backed the wagon into the bank.  Tim,
+insecurely balanced, fell off the seat and joined his comrades on
+the cart floor.
+
+"Hi!" shouted the startled driver.  "What you doin', Ros?  What's
+that for?"
+
+"You go back where you come from," I ordered.  "Turn around.  Get
+out of here!"
+
+I saved him the trouble by completing the turn.  When I dropped the
+bridle the horse's head was pointing toward the Lower Road.
+
+"Now get out of here!" I repeated.  "Go back where you come from."
+
+"But--but, Ros," protested Zeb, "I don't want to go back.  I'm
+goin' to the shore."
+
+"Then you'll have to go some other way.  You can't cross my
+property."
+
+Hallet, on his knees, looked out over the seat.
+
+"What's the matter with you?" he asked, angrily.  "Didn't you say
+the town could use this Lane?"
+
+"Yes.  Any one may use it as long as he behaves himself.  When he
+doesn't behave he forfeits the privilege.  Kendrick, you hear me!
+Go back."
+
+"But I don't want to go back, Ros.  If I do I'll have to go clear
+round by Myrick's, two mile out of my way."
+
+"You should have thought of that before you brought that crowd with
+you.  I won't have this Lane made a public nuisance by any one.
+Zeb, I'm ashamed of you."
+
+Zeb turned to his passengers.  "There!" he whined, "I told you so,
+Tim.  I said you hadn't ought to act that way."
+
+"Aw, what are you givin' us!" sneered Hallet.  "You thought 'twas
+as funny as anybody, Zeb Kendrick.  Look here, Ros Paine!  I
+thought you was down on them Coltons.  We fellers are only havin' a
+little fun with 'em for bein' so stuck-up and hoggish.  Can't you
+take a joke?"
+
+"Not your kind.  Go back, Zeb."
+
+"But--but can't I use the Lane NO more?" pleaded the driver.  "I
+won't fetch 'em here agin."
+
+"We'll see about that.  You can't use it this time.  Now go."
+
+Zeb reluctantly spoke to his horse and the wagon began to move.
+Hallet swore a string of oaths.
+
+"I'm on to you, Paine!" he yelled.  "You're standin' in with 'em,
+after all.  You wait till I see Captain Jed."
+
+In three strides I was abreast the cart-tail.
+
+"See him then," said I.  "And tell him that if any one uses this
+Lane for the purpose of wilfully annoying those living near it I'll
+not only forbid his using it, but I'll prosecute him for trespass.
+I mean that.  Stop!  I advise you not to say another word."
+
+I did not intend to prosecute Jim, he was not worth it, but I
+should have thoroughly enjoyed dragging him out of that wagon and
+silencing him by primitive methods.  My anger had not cooled to any
+extent.  He did not speak to me again, though I heard him muttering
+as the cart moved off.  I remained where I was until I saw it turn
+into the Lower Road.  Then I once more started for home.
+
+I was very much annoyed and disturbed.  Evidently this sort of
+thing had been going on for some time and I had just discovered it.
+It placed me in a miserable light.  When Colton had declared, as he
+had in both our interviews, that the Lane was a nuisance I had
+loftily denied the assertion.  Now those idiots in the village were
+doing their best to prove me a liar.  I should have expected such
+behavior from Hallet and his friends, but for Captain Dean to
+tacitly approve their conduct was unexpected and provoking.  Well,
+I had made my position plain, at all events.  But I knew that Tim
+would distort my words and that the idea of my "standing in" with
+the Coltons, while professing independence, would be revived.  I
+was destined to be detested and misunderstood by both sides.  Yes,
+Dorinda was right in saying that I might find sitting on the fence
+uncomfortable.  It was all of that.
+
+I entered the grove and was striding on, head down, busy with these
+and similar reflections, when some one said:  "Good morning, Mr.
+Paine."
+
+I stopped short, came out of the day dream in which I had been
+giving Captain Jed my opinion of his followers' behavior, looked
+up, and saw Miss Colton in the path before me.
+
+She was dressed in white, a light, simple summer gown.  Her straw
+hat was simple also, expensive simplicity doubtless, but without a
+trace of the horticultural exhibits with which Olinda Cahoon, our
+Denboro milliner, was wont to deck the creations she prepared for
+customers.  Matilda Dean would have sniffed at the hat and gown;
+they were not nearly as elaborate as those Nellie, her daughter,
+wore on Sundays.  But Matilda or Nellie at their grandest could not
+have appeared as well dressed as this girl, no matter what she
+wore.  Just now she looked, as Lute or Dorinda might have said, "as
+if she came out of a band box."
+
+"Good morning," she said, again.  She was perfectly self-possessed.
+Remembrance of our transit of Mullet's cranberry brook did not seem
+to embarrass her in the least.  Nellie Dean would have giggled and
+blushed, but she did not.
+
+_I_ was embarrassed, I admit it, but I had sufficient presence of
+mind to remove my hat.
+
+"Good morning," said I.  There flashed through my mind the thought
+that if she had been in that grove for any length of time she must
+have overheard my lively interview with Kendrick and Tim Hallet.  I
+wondered if she had.
+
+Her next remark settled that question.
+
+"I suppose," she said, soberly, but with the same twinkle in her
+eye which I had observed once or twice in her father's, "that I
+should apologize for being here, on your property, Mr. Paine.  I
+judge that you don't like trespassers."
+
+I was more nettled at Zeb and his crowd than ever.  "So you saw
+that performance," I said.  "I'm sorry."
+
+"I saw a little of it, and I'm afraid I heard the rest.  I was
+walking here by the bluff and I could not help seeing and hearing."
+
+"Humph!  Well, I hope you understand, Miss Colton, that I did not
+know, until just now, this sort of thing was going on."
+
+She smiled.  "Oh, I understand that," she said.  "You made that
+quite plain.  Even those people in the wagon understood it, I
+should imagine."
+
+"I hope they did."
+
+"I did not know you could be so fierce, Mr. Paine.  I had not
+expected it.  You almost frightened me.  You were so very--well,
+mild and long-suffering on the other occasions when we met."
+
+"I am not always so mild, Miss Colton.  However, if I had known you
+were within hearing I might not have been quite so emphatic."
+
+"Then I am glad you didn't know.  I think those ruffians were
+treated as they deserved."
+
+"Not half as they deserved.  I shall watch from now on and if there
+are any more attempts at annoying you or your people I shall do
+more than talk."
+
+"Thank you.  They have been troublesome--of late.  I am sure we are
+very much obliged to you, all of us."
+
+"Not at all."
+
+"Oh yes, we are.  Not only for this, but for--all the rest.  For
+your help the other night especially; I want to thank you for
+that."
+
+"It was nothing," I answered, awkwardly.
+
+"Nothing!  You are not very complimentary, Mr. Paine."
+
+"I mean--that is, I--"
+
+"You may consider rescuing shipwrecked young ladies, afloat and
+ashore, nothing--perhaps you do it so often that it is of little
+consequence to you; but I am not so modest.  I estimate my safety
+as worth something, even if you do not."
+
+"I did not mean that, of course, Miss Colton.  You know I did not.
+I meant that--that what I did was no more than any one else would
+have done under the same circumstances.  You were in no danger; you
+would have been safe enough even if I had not happened along.
+Please don't say anything more about it."
+
+"Very well.  But I am very glad you happened along, nevertheless.
+You seem to have the faculty of happening along just at the right
+time."
+
+This sounded like a reference to the episode in the bay, and I did
+not care to discuss that.
+
+"You--I believe your father said you were not ill after your
+experience," I observed hastily.
+
+"Not in the least, thank you.  And you?"
+
+"Oh, I was all right.  Rather wet, but I did not mind that.  I sail
+and fish a good deal, and water, fresh or salt, doesn't trouble
+me."
+
+This was an unlucky remark, for it led directly to the subject I
+was trying to avoid.
+
+"So I should imagine," she answered.  "And that reminds me that I
+owe you another debt of thanks for helping me--helping us out of
+our difficulty in the boat.  I am obliged to you for that also.
+Even though what you saved was NOT worth five dollars."
+
+I looked up at her quickly.  She was biting her lips and there was
+a smile at the corners of her mouth.  I could not answer
+immediately for the life of me.  I would have given something if I
+had not told Colton of Victor's message and my reply.
+
+"Your father misrepresented my meaning, I'm afraid," I stammered.
+"I was angry when I sent that message.  It was not intended to
+include you."
+
+"Thank you.  Father seemed inclined to agree with your estimate--
+part of it, at least.  He is very much interested in you, Mr.
+Paine."
+
+"Yes," I answered, dryly.  "I can understand that."
+
+Her smile broke into a ripple of laughter.
+
+"You are quite distinctive, in your way," she said.  "You may not
+be aware of it, but I have never known father to be so disturbed
+and puzzled about any one as he is about you."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"Yes, he is, indeed."
+
+"I am sorry that I am the cause of so much mental strain."
+
+"No, you are not.  From what I have learned about you, from him, I
+think you enjoy it.  You must.  It is great fun."
+
+"Fun!  Well, perhaps.  Does your--does Mrs. Colton find it funny?"
+
+She hesitated.  "Well," she answered, more slowly, "to be perfectly
+frank--I presume that is what you want me to be--I think Mother
+blames you somewhat.  She is not well, Mr. Paine, and this Lane of
+yours is her pet bugbear just now.  She--like the rest of us--
+cannot understand why you will not sell, and, because you will not,
+she is rather--rather--"
+
+"I see.  I'm not sure that I blame her.  I presume she has blamed
+me for these outrageous disturbances in the Lane such as you have
+just witnessed."
+
+She hesitated again.  "Why yes," she said, more slowly still; "a
+little, I think.  She is not well, as I said, and she may have
+thought you were, if not instigating them, at least aware of what
+was going on.  But I am sure father does not think so."
+
+"But you, Miss Colton; did you believe me responsible for them?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because, from what I have seen of you, you did not seem to me like
+that kind of a man.  You kept your temper that day in the boat,
+though you had a good reason for losing it.  All this," with a
+gesture toward the Lane, "the shouting and noise and petty insults,
+was so little and mean and common.  I did not believe you would
+permit it, if you knew.  And, from what I have learned about you, I
+was sure you would not."
+
+"From what you learned about me?  From your father?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then from whom, pray?"
+
+"From your friends.  From that Mr. Taylor and Miss Dean and the
+others.  They spoke of you so highly, and of your mother and your
+care of her.  They described you as a gentleman, and no gentleman
+would countenance THAT."
+
+I was so astonished that I blurted out my next question without
+thinking.
+
+"You were speaking to them about ME?" I cried.
+
+Her manner changed.  Possibly she thought I was presuming on our
+chance acquaintance, or that she made a mistake in admitting even a
+casual interest; I might consider that interest to be real, instead
+of merely perfunctory.  At any rate, I noticed a difference in her
+tone.  It was as if she had suddenly withdrawn behind the fence
+which marked the border of our social line.
+
+"Oh," she said, carelessly, "I did not cross-question, of course.
+Puzzles are always interesting, more or less.  And a puzzle which
+perplexed my father was certainly unique.  So I was a trifle
+curious, that's all."
+
+I came to earth with a thud.
+
+"I see," I said, curtly.  "Well, I presume I should thank my
+friends for the testimonials to my character.  And I promise you
+that you shall not be annoyed again.  Good morning, Miss Colton."
+
+I was turning away when she spoke my name.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said.
+
+"Yes, Miss Colton."
+
+"I have not explained why I was here, on your land, this morning."
+
+"That is all right.  You are quite welcome to be here at any time."
+
+"Thank you.  I told you I was walking by the bluff; that is true,
+but it isn't the whole truth.  I was trying to muster courage to
+call on your mother."
+
+I looked at her in amazement.
+
+"Call on Mother!" I repeated.
+
+"Yes, I have heard a great deal about your mother, and nothing
+except the very best.  I think I should like to know her.  Do you
+think she would consider me presuming and intrusive if I did call?"
+
+"Why, Miss Colton, I--"
+
+"Please be frank about it, Mr. Paine.  And please believe that my
+call would not be from idle curiosity.  I should like to know her.
+Of course, if this disagreement about the land makes a difference,
+if she feels resentful toward us, I will not think of such a thing.
+Does she?  Why do you smile?  I am in earnest."
+
+"I did not mean to smile, Miss Colton.  The idea of Mother's
+feeling resentment toward any one seemed absurd to me, that was
+all."
+
+"Then may I call on her?"
+
+"Certainly.  That is, if--if you think it wise.  If your mother--"
+
+"Oh, Mother has long ago given up trying to solve me.  I am a
+greater puzzle to her than you seem to be to everyone, Mr. Paine.
+I have spoken to my father about it and he is quite willing.  His
+difference with you is purely a business one, as you know."
+
+Some of the "business" had been oddly conducted, but I did not
+raise the point.  I could not reason just then.  That this spoiled,
+city-bred daughter of "Big Jim" Colton should wish to know my
+mother was beyond reasoning.
+
+She said good morning and we parted.  I walked home, racking my
+brains to find the answer to this new conundrum.  It was a whim on
+her part, of course, inspired by something George or Nellie had
+told her.  I did not know whether to resent the whim or not,
+whether to be angry or indifferent.  If she intended to inspect
+Mother as a possible object of future charity I should be angry and
+the first call would be the last.  But Mother herself would settle
+all questions of charity; I knew that.  And the girl had not spoken
+in a patronizing way.  She had declared that idle curiosity had no
+part in her wish.  She seemed in earnest.  What would Mother say
+when I told her?
+
+Lute was just coming through the gate as I approached it.  He was
+in high good humor.
+
+"I'm goin' up street," he declared.  "Anything you want me to fetch
+you from the store, Ros?"
+
+I looked at my watch.  It was only eleven o'clock.
+
+"Up street?" I repeated.  "I thought you were slated to wash
+windows this forenoon.  I heard Dorinda give you your orders to
+that effect.  You haven't finished washing them already?"
+
+"No," with a broad grin, "I ain't finished 'em.  Fact is, I ain't
+begun 'em yet."
+
+"So!  Does Dorinda know that you are going up street?"
+
+"Um-hm.  She knows.  Anyhow, she knows I'm goin' somewheres.  She
+told me to go herself."
+
+"She did!  Why?"
+
+"Don't ask ME.  I was all ready to wash the windows; had the bucket
+pumped full and everything.  But when I come into the dinin'-room
+she sung out to know what I was doin' with all that water on her
+clean floor.  'Why, Dorindy!' I says, 'I'm a-goin' to wash them
+windows same's you told me to.'  'No, you ain't,' says she.  'But
+what will I do?' says I.  'I don't care,' says she.  'Clear out of
+here, that's all.'  'But where'll I clear out to?' I wanted to
+know.  'I don't care!' she snaps again, savage as a settin' hen,
+'so long's you clear out of my sight.'  So here I be.  Don't ask me
+why she changed her mind: _I_ don't know.  Nothin' you want to the
+store?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Say, Ros, you know what I think?"
+
+"Far be it from me to presume to guess your thoughts, Lute."
+
+"Well, I think this is a strange world and the strangest thing in
+it is a woman.  You never can tell what they'll do ten minutes at a
+stretch.  I--"
+
+"All right, Lute.  I'll hear the rest of the philosophy later."
+
+"Philosophy or not, it's the livin' truth.  And when you're as old
+as I be you'll know it."
+
+I went in through the dining-room, steering clear of Dorinda, who
+scarcely looked up from her floor scrubbing.
+
+"Mother," said I, entering the darkened bedroom, "I just met the
+Colton girl and what do you suppose she told me?"
+
+"That she was very grateful to you for coming to her rescue the
+other night."
+
+"That, of course.  But she told me something else.  She said she
+was coming to call on you.  On YOU, Mother!"
+
+I don't know what answer I expected.  I flung the announcement like
+a bombshell and was ready for almost any sort of explosion at all.
+
+"Did she?" observed Mother, placidly.  "I am very glad.  I have no
+doubt I shall like her."
+
+My next remark had nothing to do with Miss Colton.
+
+"Well, by George!" I exclaimed, with emphasis.  "Lute IS a
+philosopher, after all.  I take off my hat to him."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+I met Mabel Colton several times during the following week.  Once,
+at the place where I had met her before, in the grove by the edge
+of the bluff, and again walking up the Lane in company with her
+father.  Once also on the Lower Road, though that could scarcely be
+called a meeting, for I was afoot and she and her father and mother
+were in the automobile.
+
+Only at the meeting in the grove were words exchanged between us.
+She bowed pleasantly and commented on the wonderful view.
+
+"I am trespassing again, you see," she said.  "Taking advantage of
+your good-nature, Mr. Paine.  This spot is the most attractive I
+have found in Denboro."
+
+I observed that the view from her verandas must be almost the same.
+
+"Almost, but not quite," she said.  "These pines shut off the inlet
+below, and all the little fishing boats.  One of them is yours, I
+suppose.  Which?"
+
+"That is my launch there," I replied, pointing.
+
+"The little white one?  You built it yourself, I think Father
+said."
+
+"He was mistaken, if he said that.  I am not clever enough to build
+a boat, Miss Colton.  I bought the Comfort, second-hand."
+
+I don't know why I added the "second-hand."  Probably because I had
+not yet freed my mind from the bitterness--yes, and envy--which the
+sight of this girl and her people always brought with it.  It is
+comparatively easy to be free from envy if one is what George
+Taylor termed a "never-was"; for a "has been" it is harder.
+
+The boat's name was the only portion of my remark which attracted
+her attention.
+
+"The Comfort?" she repeated.  "That is a jolly name for a pleasure
+boat."
+
+"It is my mother's name," I answered.
+
+"Is it?  Why, I remember now.  Miss Dean told me.  I beg your
+pardon, Mr. Paine.  It is a pretty name, at all events."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"I must have misunderstood Father.  I was sure he said that boat
+building was your business."
+
+"No.  He saw me overhauling the engine, and perhaps that gave him
+the impression that I was a builder.  I told him I was not, but no
+doubt he forgot.  I have no business, Miss Colton."
+
+I think she was surprised.  She glanced at me curiously and her
+lips opened as if to ask another question.  She did not ask it
+however, and, except for a casual remark or two about the view and
+the blueness of the water in the bay, she said nothing more.  I
+rather expected she would refer to her intention of calling on
+Mother, but she did not mention the subject.  I inferred that she
+had thought better of her whim.
+
+On the other occasions when we met she merely bowed.  "Big Jim"
+nodded carelessly.  Mrs. Colton, from her seat in the auto, nodded
+also, though her majestic bow could scarcely be termed a nod.  It
+was more like the acknowledgment, by a queen in her chariot, of the
+applauding citizen on the sidewalk.  She saw me, and she deigned to
+let me know that I was seen, that was all.
+
+But when I inferred that her daughter had forgotten, or had decided
+not to make the call at our house, I misjudged the young lady.  I
+returned, one afternoon, from a cruise up and down the bay in the
+Comfort, to find our small establishment--the Rogers portion of it,
+at least--in a high state of excitement.  Lute and Dorinda were in
+the kitchen and before I reached the back door, which was open, I
+heard their voices in animated discussion.
+
+"Why wouldn't I say it, Dorinda?" pleaded Lute.  "You can't blame
+me none.  There I was, with my sleeves rolled up and just settin'
+in the chair, restin' my arms a jiffy and thinkin' which window I'd
+wash next, when there come that knock at the door.  Thinks I, 'It's
+Asa Peters' daughter's young-one peddlin' clams.'  That's what come
+to my mind fust.  That idee popped right into my head, it did."
+
+"Found plenty of room when it got there, I cal'late," snapped
+Dorinda.  "Must have felt lonesome."
+
+"That's it! keep on pitchin' into me.  I swan to man! sometimes I
+get so discouraged and wore out and reckless--hello! here's Ros.
+You ask him now!  Ros, she's layin' into me because I didn't
+understand what--"
+
+"Roscoe," broke in his wife, "I never was more mortified in all my
+born days.  He--"
+
+"Let me tell you all about it, Ros.  I went to the door--thinkin'
+'twas a peddler, you know; had this old suit on, all sloshed up
+with soapsuds and water, and a wet rag in my hand; and there she
+stood, styled up like the Queen of Sheby.  Well, sir! I'll leave it
+to you if 'tain't enough to surprise anybody.  HER! comin' HERE!"
+
+"That wan't any reason why you should behave like a natural born--"
+
+"Hold on! you let me finish tellin' Roscoe.  'Good afternoon,' says
+she.  'Is Mrs. Paine in?'  Said it just like that, she did.  I was
+so flustered up from the sight of her that I didn't sense it right
+off and I says, 'What ma'am?'  'Is Mrs. Paine in?' says she.  'In?'
+says I--"
+
+"Just like a poll parrot," interjected Dorinda.
+
+"Are you goin' to let me tell this or ain't you?  'In?' says I;
+hadn't sensed it yet, you see.  'Is Mrs. Paine to home?' she says.
+Now your ma, Ros, ain't never been nowheres else BUT home sence
+land knows when, so I supposed she must mean somebody else.  'Who?'
+says I, again.  'Mrs. Comfort Paine,' says she.  She raised her
+voice a little; guessed I was deef, probably."
+
+"If she'd guessed you was dumb she wouldn't have been fur off,"
+commented Dorinda.  I had not seen her so disturbed for many a day.
+
+Her husband disdained to notice this interruption.
+
+"'Mrs. Comfort Paine,' says she," he continued.  "'She is in?  And
+I says 'In?'"
+
+"No, you didn't.  You said, 'In where?'  And she had all she could
+do to keep from laughin'.  I see her face as I got to the door, and
+it's a mercy I got there when I did.  Land knows what you'd have
+said next!"
+
+"But, Dorindy, I tell you I thought--"
+
+"YOU thought!  I know what SHE must have thought.  That she'd made
+a mistake and run afoul of an asylum for the feeble-minded."
+
+"Umph!  I should have GOT feeble-minded if I'd had any more of that
+kind of talk.  What made her ask if a sick woman like Comfort was
+'in' and 'to home'?  Couldn't be nowheres else, could she?"
+
+"Rubbish! she meant could Mrs. Paine see folks, that's all."
+
+"See 'em!  How you talk!  She ain't blind."
+
+"Oh, my soul and body!  She was tryin' to ask if she might make a
+call on Comfort."
+
+"Well then, why didn't she ask it; 'stead of wantin' to know if she
+was in?"
+
+"That's the high-toned way TO ask, and you'd ought to have known
+it."
+
+"Humph!  Do tell!  Well, I ain't tony, myself.  Don't have no
+chance to be in this house.  Nothin' but work, work, work! tongue,
+tongue, tongue! for me around here.  I'm disgusted, that's what I
+am."
+
+"YOU'RE disgusted!  What about, me?"
+
+I had listened to as much of this little domestic disagreement as I
+cared to hear.
+
+"Wait a minute," I said.  "What is all this?  Who has been here to
+see Mother?"
+
+Both answered at once.
+
+"That Colton girl," cried Lute.
+
+"That Mabel Colton," said Dorinda.
+
+"Miss Colton?  She has been here? this afternoon."
+
+"Um-hm," Dorinda nodded emphatically.  "She stayed in your ma's
+room 'most an hour."
+
+"'Twas fifty-three minutes," declared Lute.  "I timed her by the
+clock.  "And she fetched a great, big bouquet.  Comfort says she--"
+
+I waited to hear no more, but went into Mother's room.  The little
+bed chamber was fragrant with the perfume of flowers.  A cluster of
+big Jacqueminot roses drooped their velvety petaled heads over the
+sides of the blue and white pitcher on the bureau.  Mother loved
+flowers and I frequently brought her the old fashioned posies from
+Dorinda's little garden or wild blossoms from the woods and fields.
+But roses such as these were beyond my reach now-a-days.  They grew
+in greenhouses, not in the gardens of country people.
+
+Mother did not move as I entered and I thought she was asleep.  But
+as I bent over the roses she turned on the pillow and spoke.
+
+"Aren't they beautiful, Roscoe?" she said.
+
+"Yes," I answered.  "They are beautiful."
+
+"Do you know who brought them to me?"
+
+"Yes, Mother.  Lute told me."
+
+"She did call, you see.  She kept her word.  It was kind of her,
+wasn't it?"
+
+I sat down in the rocking chair by the window.
+
+"Well," I asked, after a moment, "what did she say?  Did she
+condescend to pity her pauper neighbors?"
+
+"Roscoe!"
+
+"Did she express horrified sympathy and offer to call your case to
+the attention of her cousin in charge of the Poor Ward in the City
+General Hospital, like that woman from the Harniss hotel last
+summer?"
+
+"Boy!  How can you!"
+
+"Oh, well; I am a jealous beast, Mother; I admit it.  But I have
+not been able to bring you flowers like that and it galls me to
+think that others can.  They don't deserve to have all the
+beautiful things in life, while the rest of us have none."
+
+"But it isn't her fault that she has them, is it?  And it was kind
+to share them with us."
+
+"I suppose so.  Well, what did she say to you?  Dorinda says she
+was with you nearly an hour.  What did you and she talk about?  She
+did not offer charity, did she?"
+
+"Do you think I should have accepted it, if she had?  Roscoe, I
+have never seen you so prejudiced as you are against our new
+neighbors.  It doesn't seem like you, at all.  And if her father
+and mother are like Miss Mabel, you are very wrong.  I like her
+very much."
+
+"You would try to like any one, Mother."
+
+"I did not have to try to like her.  And I was a little prejudiced,
+too, at first.  She was so wealthy, and an only child; I feared she
+might be conceited and spoiled.  But she isn't."
+
+"Not conceited!  Humph!"
+
+"No, not really.  At first she seemed a trifle distant, and I
+thought her haughty; but, afterward, when her strangeness and
+constraint had worn away, she was simple and unaffected and
+delightful.  And she is very pretty, isn't she."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She told me a great deal about herself.  She has been through
+Vassar and has traveled a great deal.  This is the first summer
+since her graduation which she has not spent abroad.  She and I
+talked of Rome and Florence.  I--I told her of the month I spent in
+Italy when you were a baby, Roscoe."
+
+"You did not tell her anything more, Mother?  Anything she should
+not know?"
+
+"Boy!" reproachfully.
+
+"Pardon me, Mother.  Of course you didn't.  Did she tell you why
+she called on us--on you, I mean?"
+
+"Yes, in a way.  I imagine--though she did not say so--that you
+are responsible for that.  She and Nellie Dean seem to be well
+acquainted, almost friendly, which is odd, for I can scarcely think
+of two girls more different.  But she likes Nellie, that is
+evident, and Nellie and George have told her about you and me."
+
+"I see.  And so she was curious concerning the interesting invalid.
+Probably anything even mildly interesting is a godsend to her, down
+here.  Did she mention the Shore Lane rumpus?"
+
+"Yes.  Although I mentioned it first.  It was plain that she could
+not understand your position in the matter, Roscoe, and I explained
+it as well as I could.  I told her that you felt the Lane was a
+necessity to the townspeople, and that, under the circumstances,
+you could not sell.  I told her how deeply you sympathized with her
+mother--"
+
+"Did you tell her that?"
+
+"Why, yes.  It is true, isn't it?"
+
+"Humph!  Mildly so, maybe.  What more did she say?"
+
+"She said she thought she understood better now.  I told her about
+you, Boy, and what a good son you had been to me.  How you had
+sacrificed your future and your career for my sake.  Of course I
+could not go into particulars, at all, but we talked a great deal
+about you, Roscoe."
+
+"That must have been deliriously interesting--to her."
+
+"I think it was.  She told me of your helping her home through the
+storm, and of something else you had not told me, Boy: of your
+bringing her and Mr. Carver off the flat in the boat that day.  Why
+did you keep that a secret?"
+
+"It was not worth telling."
+
+"She thought it was.  She laughed about it; said you handled the
+affair in a most businesslike and unsentimental way; she never felt
+more like a bundle of dry-goods in her life, but that that appeared
+to be your manner of handling people.  It was a somewhat startling
+manner, but very effective, she said.  I don't know what she meant
+by that."
+
+I knew, but I did not explain.
+
+"You don't mean to say, Mother, that you glorified me to her for an
+hour?" I demanded.
+
+"No, indeed.  We talked of ever so many things.  Of books, and
+pictures, and music.  I'm afraid I was rather wearisome.  It seemed
+so good to have some one--except you, of course, dear--to discuss
+such subjects with.  Most of my callers are not interested in
+them."
+
+I was silent.
+
+"She is coming again, she says," continued Mother.  "She has some
+new books she is going to lend me.  You must read them to me.  And
+aren't those roses wonderful?  She picked them, herself, in their
+conservatory.  I told her how fond you were of flowers."
+
+I judged that the young lady must have gone away with the idea that
+I was a combination of longshore lout and effeminate dilettante,
+with the financial resources of the former.  She might as well have
+that idea as any other, I supposed, but, in her eyes, I must be
+more of a freak than ever.  I should take care to keep out of the
+sight of those eyes as much as possible.  But that the millionaire's
+daughter had made a hit on the occasion of her first call was plain.
+Not only had Mother been favorably impressed, but even the practical
+and unromantic Dorinda's shell was dented.  She deigned to observe
+that the young lady seemed to have "consider'ble common-sense,
+considerin' her bringin' up."  This, from Dorinda, was high praise,
+and I wondered what the caller had said or done to win such a
+triumph.  Lute made the matter clear.
+
+"By time!" he said, when he and I were together, "that girl's a
+smart one.  I'd give somethin' to have her kind of smartness.
+Dorindy was terrible cranky all the time she was in your ma's room
+and I didn't know what would happen when she come out.  But the
+fust thing she done when she come out was to look around the dinin'
+room and say, 'Oh! what a pleasant, homey place!  And so clean!
+Why, it is perfectly spotless!'  Land sakes! the old lady thawed
+out like a cranberry bog in April.  After that they talked about
+housekeepin' and cookin' and such, sociable as could be.  Dorindy's
+goin' to give her her receipt for doughnuts next time she comes.
+And I bet that girl never cooked a doughnut in her life or ever
+will.  If I could think of the right thing to say, like that,
+'twould save me more'n one ear-ache.  But I never do think of it
+till the next day, and then it's too late."
+
+He borrowed my tobacco, filled his pipe, and continued:
+
+"Say, Ros," he asked, "what's your idea of what made her come here?"
+
+"To see Mother, of course," I answered.
+
+"That's your notion, is it?"
+
+"Certainly.  What else?"
+
+"Humph!  There's other sick folks in town.  Why don't she go to see
+them?"
+
+"Perhaps she does.  I don't know."
+
+"I bet you ten cents she don't.  No, I've been reasonin' of it out,
+same as I gen'rally do, and I've got some notions of my own.  You
+don't cal'late her pa sent her so's to sort of soft soap around
+toward his gettin' the Shore Lane?  You don't cal'late 'twas part
+of that game, do you?"
+
+That supposition had crossed my mind more than once.  I was ashamed
+of it and now I denied it, indignantly.
+
+"Of course not," I answered.
+
+"Well, I don't think so, myself.  But if 'tain't that it's another
+reason.  She may be interested in Comfort; I don't say she ain't;
+but that ain't all she's interested in."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Never mind.  I ain't said nothin'.  I'm just waitin' to see,
+that's all.  I have had some experience in this world, I have.
+There's different times comin' for this family, you set that down
+in your log-book, Ros Paine."
+
+"Look here, Lute; if you are hinting that Miss Colton or her people
+intend offering us charity--"
+
+"Who said anything about charity?  No; if she had that idee in her
+head, her talk with your ma would drive it out.  'Tain't charity, I
+ain't sayin' what 'tis. . . .  I wonder how 'twould seem to be
+rich."
+
+"Lute, you're growing more foolish every day."
+
+"So Dorindy says; but she nor you ain't offered no proof yet.  All
+right, you wait and see.  And say, Ros, don't mention our talk to
+Dorindy.  She's more'n extry down on me just now, and if I breathe
+that Mabel Colton's name she hops right up in the air.  How'd I
+know that askin' if a woman who's been sick in bed six year or more
+was 'in' meant could she have folks come to see her?"
+
+Mother would have discussed the Coltons with me frequently, but I
+avoided the subject as much as possible.  The promised books
+arrived--brought over by Johnson, the butler, who viewed our humble
+quarters with lofty disdain--and I read one of them aloud to
+Mother, a chapter each evening.  More flowers came also and the
+darkened bedroom became a bower of beauty and perfume.  If I had
+yielded to my own wishes I should have returned both roses and
+books.  It was better, as I saw it, that we and our wealthy
+neighbors had nothing to do with each other.  Real friendship was
+out of the question; the memory of Mrs. Colton's frigid bow and her
+reference to me as a "person" proved that.  Her daughter might
+think otherwise, or might think that she thought so, but I knew
+better.  However, I did not like to pain Mother by refusing
+offerings which, to her, were expressions of sympathy and regard,
+so I had no protest and tried to enthuse over the gifts and loans.
+After all, what did they amount to?  One tea-rose bred from
+Dorinda's carefully tended bush, or one gushful story book selected
+by Almena Doane from the new additions to the town library and sent
+because she thought "Mrs. Comfort might find it sort of soothin'
+and distractin'," meant more real unselfish thought and kindly
+feeling than all the conservatory exotics and new novels which the
+rich girl's whim supplied from her overflowing store.  I was
+surprised only that the whim lasted so long.
+
+Behind all this, I think, and confirming my feeling, was the fact
+that Miss Colton did not repeat her call.  A week or more passed
+and she did not come.  I caught glimpses of her occasionally in the
+auto, or at the post-office, but I took care that she should not
+see me.  I did not wish to be seen, though precisely why I could
+not have explained even to myself.  The memory of that night in the
+rain, and of our meetings in the grove, troubled me because I could
+not keep them from my mind.  They kept recurring, no matter what I
+did or where I went.  No, I did not want to meet her again.
+Somehow, the sight and memory of her made me more dissatisfied and
+discontented than ever.  I found myself moodily wishing for things
+beyond my reach, longing to be something more than I was--more than
+the nobody which I knew I must always be.  I remembered my feelings
+on the morning of the day when I first saw her.  Now they seemed
+almost like premonitions.
+
+I kept away; not only from her, but from George Taylor and Captain
+Dean and the townspeople.  I went to the village scarcely at all.
+Sim Eldredge, who had evidently received orders from headquarters
+to drop the Lane "agency," troubled me no more, merely glowering
+reproachfully when we met; and Alvin Baker, whose note had been
+renewed, although he hailed me with effusive cordiality, did not
+press his society upon me, having no axe to grind at present.  Zeb
+Kendrick was using the Lane again, but he took care to bring no
+more "billiard roomers" as passengers.  I had as yet heard nothing
+from my quarrel with Tim Hallet.
+
+I spent a good deal of my time in the Comfort, or wandering about
+the shore and in the woods.  One warm, cloudy morning the notion
+seized me to go up to the ponds and try for black bass.  There are
+bass in some of the larger ponds--lakes they would be called
+anywhere else except on Cape Cod--and, if one is lucky, and the
+weather is right, and the bait tempting, they may be caught.  This
+particular morning promised to furnish the proper brand of weather,
+and a short excursion on the flats provided a supply of shrimps and
+minnows for bait.  Dorinda, who happened to be in good humor, put
+up a lunch for me and, at seven o'clock, with my rod and landing
+net in their cases, strapped, with my fishing boots and coffee pot,
+to my back, and my bait pail in one hand and lunch basket in the
+other, I started on my tramp.  It was a long four miles to
+Seabury's Pond, my destination, and Lute, to whom, like most
+country people, the idea of a four-mile walk was sheer lunacy,
+urged my harnessing the horse and driving there.  But I knew the
+overgrown wood roads and the difficulty of piloting a vehicle
+through them, and, moreover, I really preferred to go afoot.  So I
+marched off and left him protesting.
+
+Very few summer people--and only summer people or irresponsible
+persons like myself waste time in freshwater fishing on the Cape--
+knew where Seabury's Pond was.  It lay far from macadam roads and
+automobile thoroughfares and its sandy shores were bordered with
+verdure-clad hills shutting it in like the sides of a bowl.  To
+reach it from Denboro one left the Bayport road at "Beriah Holt's
+place," followed Beriah's cow path to the pasture, plunged into the
+oak and birch grove at the southern edge of that pasture, emerged
+on a grass-grown and bush-encumbered track which had once been the
+way to some early settler's home, and had been forsaken for years,
+and followed that track, in all its windings, until he saw the
+gleam of water between the upper fringe of brush and the lower
+limbs of the trees.  Then he left the track and clambered down the
+steep slope to the pond.
+
+I am a good walker, but I was tired long before I reached the
+slope.  The bait pail, which I refilled with fresh water at
+Beriah's pump, grew heavier as I went on, and I began to think Lute
+knew what he was talking about when he declared me to be "plumb
+crazy, hoofin' it four mile loaded down with all that dunnage."
+However, when the long "hoof" was over, and I sat down in a patch
+of "hog-cranberry" vines for a smoke, with the pond before me, I
+was measurably happy.  This was the sort of thing I liked.  Here
+there were no Shore Lane controversies, but real independence and
+peace.
+
+After my smoke was finished and I had rested, I carried my
+"dunnage" around to the point where I intended to begin my fishing,
+put the lunch basket in a shady place beneath the bushes, and the
+bait pail in the water nearby, changed my shoes for the fishing
+boots, rigged my rod and was ready.
+
+At first the fishing was rather poor.  The pond was full of perch
+and they were troublesome.  By and by, however, I hooked a four-
+pound pickerel and he stirred my lagging ambition.  I waded on,
+casting and playing beyond the lily pads and sedge.  At last I got
+my first bass, a small one, and had scarcely landed him than a big
+fellow struck, fought, rose and broke away.  That was spur
+sufficient.  All the forenoon I waded about the shores of that
+pond.  When at half-past eleven the sun came out and I knew my
+sport was over, for the time at least, I had four bass--two of them
+fine ones--and two, pickerel.  Then I remembered my appetite and
+Dorinda's luncheon.
+
+I went back to the point and inspected the contents of the basket.
+Sandwiches, cold chicken, eggs, doughnuts and apple puffs.  They
+looked good to me.  Also there were pepper and salt in one paper,
+sugar in another, coffee in a third, and milk in a bottle.  I
+collected some dry chips and branches and prepared to kindle a
+fire.  As I bent over the heap of sticks and chips I heard the
+sound of horses' hoofs in the woods near by.
+
+I was surprised and annoyed.  The principal charm of Seabury Pond
+was that so few people visited it.  Also fewer still knew how good
+the fishing was there.  I was not more than ordinarily selfish, but
+I did not care to have the place overrun with excursionists from
+the city, who had no scruples as to number and size of fish caught
+and would ruin the sport as they had ruined it at other and better
+known ponds.  The passerby, whoever he was--a native probably--
+would, if he saw me, ask questions concerning my luck, and be
+almost sure to tell every one he met.  I left my fire unkindled,
+stepped back to the shade of the bushes and waited in silence,
+hoping the driver would go on without stopping.  There was no real
+road on this side of the pond, but there was an abandoned wood
+track, like that by which I had come.  The horse was approaching
+along the track; the sounds of hoofs and crackling branches grew
+plainer.
+
+The odd part of it was that I heard no rattle of wheels.  It was
+almost as if the person was on horseback.  This seemed impossible,
+because no one in Denboro or Bayport--no one I could think of, at
+least--owned or rode a saddle horse.  Yet the hoof beats grew
+louder and there was no squeak, or jolt, or rattle to bear them
+company.  They came to a point in the woods directly opposite where
+I sat in the shade of the bushes and there they stopped.  Then they
+recommenced and the crackle of branches was louder than ever.  The
+rider, whoever he was, was coming down the bank to the pond.
+
+A moment more and the tall swamp-huckleberry bushes at the edge of
+the sandy beach parted and between them stepped gingerly a clean-
+cut, handsome brown horse, which threw up its head at the sight of
+the water and then trotted lightly toward it.  The rider, who sat
+so easily in the saddle, was a girl.  And the girl was Mabel
+Colton!
+
+She did not notice me at first, but gave her attention to the
+horse.  The animal waded into the water to its knees and, in
+obedience to a pull on the reins, stopped, bent its head, and began
+to drink.  Then the rider turned in her seat, looked about her, saw
+the heap of wood for the fire, the open lunch basket, the rods and
+landing-net, and--me.
+
+I had stepped from the bushes when she first appeared and was
+standing motionless, staring, I imagine, like what Dorinda
+sometimes called her husband--a "born gump."  There was Fate in
+this! no doubt about it.  The further I went to avoid this girl,
+and the more outlandish and forsaken the spot to which I fled, the
+greater the certainty of our meeting.  A feeling of helplessness
+came over me, as if I were in the clutch of destiny and no effort
+of mine could break that clutch.
+
+For a moment she looked as if she might be thinking the same thing.
+She started when she saw me and her lips parted.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed, softly.  Then we gazed at each other without
+speaking.
+
+She was the first to recover from the surprise.  Her expression
+changed.  The look of alarm caused by my sudden appearance left her
+face, but the wonder remained.
+
+"Why!  Why, Mr. Paine!" she cried.  "Is it you?"
+
+I stepped forward.
+
+"Why, Miss Colton!" said I.
+
+She drew a breath of relief.  "It IS you!" she declared.  "I was
+beginning to believe in hallucinations.  How you startled me!  What
+are you doing here?"
+
+"That is exactly what I was going to ask you," I replied.  "I am
+here for a fishing excursion.  But what brought you to this out-of-
+the-way place?"
+
+She smiled and patted the horse's shoulder.  "Don here brought me,"
+she answered.  "He saw the water and I knew he was thirsty, so I
+came straight down the bank.  But I didn't expect to find any one
+here.  I haven't seen a horse or a human being for an hour.  What a
+pretty little lake this is.  What is its name?"
+
+"It is called Seabury's Pond.  How did you find it?"
+
+"I didn't.  Don found it.  He and I came for a gallop in the woods
+and I let him choose his own paths.  I have been in his charge all
+the morning.  I haven't the least idea where we are.  There, Don!
+you have had enough and you are splashing us dreadfully.  Come
+back!"
+
+She backed the horse out of the water and turned his head toward
+the woods.
+
+"It is great fun to be lost," she observed.  "I didn't suppose any
+one could be lost in Denboro."
+
+"But this isn't Denboro.  Seabury's Pond is in Bayport township."
+
+"Is it, really?  In Bayport?  Then I must be a long way from home."
+
+"You are; four miles and a half, at least.  More than that over the
+road."
+
+She looked at her watch and frowned slightly.
+
+"Dear me!" she said.  "And it is after twelve already.  I am
+perfectly sure I can't find the way back in time for luncheon."
+
+"I shall be glad to go with you and show you the way."
+
+"No, indeed!  Don and I will get home safely.  This isn't the first
+time we have been lost together, though not on Cape Cod.  Of course
+I shouldn't think of taking you from your fishing.  Have you had
+good luck?"
+
+"Pretty fair.  Some bass and two good-sized pickerel."
+
+"Really!  Bass?  I didn't know there were any about here.  May I
+see them?"
+
+"Certainly.  They are over there in the bushes."
+
+She swung lightly down from the saddle and, taking her horse by the
+bridle, led him toward the spot where my catch lay, covered with
+leaves and wet grass.  I removed the covering and she bent over the
+fish.
+
+"Oh, splendid!" she exclaimed, with enthusiasm.  "That big one must
+be a three-pounder.  I envy you.  Bass fishing is great sport.  Did
+you get these on a fly--the bass, I mean?"
+
+"No.  I use a fly in the spring and fall, but seldom in June or
+July, here.  Those were taken with live bait-shrimp.  The pickerel
+with minnows.  Are you fond of fishing, Miss Colton?"
+
+"Yes, indeed.  Whoa, Don! steady!  Yes, I fish a good deal in
+September, when we are at our lodge in the Adirondacks.  Trout
+there, principally.  But I have caught bass in Maine.  I thought I
+must give it up this year.  I did not know there were fish, in
+fresh water, on the Cape."
+
+"There are, a few.  The people about here pay no attention to them.
+They scorn such small fry.  Cod and pollock are more in their
+line."
+
+"I suppose so.  But that is all the better for you, isn't it?  Were
+you fishing when I interrupted you?"
+
+"No, I was just getting ready for lunch.  My fire was ready to
+kindle."
+
+"Fire?  Why did you need a fire?"
+
+"For my coffee."
+
+"Coffee!  You are a luxurious picnicer, Mr. Paine.  Hot coffee on a
+fishing trip! and without a guide.  And you are unfeeling, besides,
+for you remind me that I am very hungry.  I must go at once.  How
+far am I from home?  Four miles, did you say?"
+
+"Four and a half, or more, by road.  And the roads are like those
+you have been traveling this morning.  I doubt if you could find
+the way, even with your horse's help.  I must insist upon going
+with you as far as the main road between Denboro and Bayport."
+
+"I shall not permit it."
+
+"But I insist."
+
+Her answer was a little laugh.  She put her foot in the stirrup and
+vaulted to the saddle.
+
+"Your insisting is useless, you see," she said.  "You are on foot
+and I have the advantage.  No, Don and I will go alone, thank you.
+Now, will you please tell me the way?"
+
+I shrugged my shoulders.  "Go back along the road you came," I
+said, "until you reach the second, no, the third, path to the
+right.  Follow that to the second on the left.  Then follow that
+for two hundred yards or so until--well, until you reach a clump of
+bushes, high bushes.  Behind these is another path, a blind one,
+and you must take care to pick the right clump, because there is
+another one with a path behind it and that path joins the road to
+Harniss.  If you should take the Harniss road you would go miles
+out of your way.  Take the blind path I speak of and--"
+
+She interrupted me.  "Stop! stop!" she exclaimed; "please don't.  I
+am absolutely bewildered already.  I had no idea I was in such a
+maze.  Let me see!  Second to the right; third to the left--"
+
+"No, third to the right and second to the left."
+
+"And then the bushes and the choice of blind paths.  Don, I see
+plainly that you and I must trust to Providence.  Well, it is
+fortunate that the family are accustomed to my ways.  They won't be
+alarmed, no matter how late I may be."
+
+"Miss Colton, I am not going to allow you to go alone.  Of course I
+am not.  I can set you on the right road and get back here in
+plenty of time for fishing.  The fish are not hungry in the middle
+of the day."
+
+"No, but you are.  I know you must be, because--no, good day, Mr.
+Paine."
+
+She spoke to the horse and he began to move.  I took my courage
+between my teeth, ran after the animal and seized the bridle.
+
+"You are not going alone," I said, decidedly.  I was smiling, but
+determined.
+
+She looked at me in surprised indignation.
+
+"What do you mean?" she said.
+
+I merely smiled.  Her chin lifted and her brows drew together.  I
+recognized that look; I had seen it before, on that afternoon when
+I announced my intention of carrying her from the dingy to the
+skiff.
+
+"Will you be good enough to let go of my rein?" she asked.  Every
+word was a sort of verbal icicle.  I felt the chill and my smile
+was rather forced; but I held the bridle.
+
+"No," I said, serenely as I could.  For a minute--I suppose it was
+not longer than that, it seemed an hour to me--we remained as we
+were.  Then her lips began to curl upward at the corners, and, to
+my surprise, she burst out laughing.
+
+"Really, Mr. Paine," she said, "you are the most impossible person
+I ever met.  Do you always order people about this way?  I feel as
+if I were about five years old and you were my nurse.  Are we to
+stand here the rest of the afternoon?"
+
+"Yes; unless you permit me to go with you and show you the way."
+
+"But I can't.  I'm not going to spoil your picnic.  I know you want
+your lunch.  You must.  Or, if you don't, I want mine."
+
+"If you go alone, there are nine chances in ten that you will not
+get home in time for dinner, to say nothing of lunch."
+
+She looked at me oddly, I thought, and started to speak.  Whatever
+it was she was going to say she evidently thought better of it, for
+she remained silent.
+
+Then I had a new idea.  Whether or not it was her look which
+inspired it I do not know.  I think it must have been; I never
+would have dared such a thing without inspiration.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, hesitatingly, "if you really are not--if you
+are sure your people will not worry about you--I--I should be glad
+to share my lunch with you.  Then we could go home together
+afterward."
+
+She did not look at me now.  Instead she turned her head.
+
+"Are--are you sure there is enough for two?" she asked, in a
+curiously choked tone.
+
+By way of answer I led the horse to the bushes, drew the lunch
+basket from the shade, and threw back the cover.  Dorinda's picnic
+lunches were triumphs and she had never put up a more tempting one.
+
+Miss Colton looked down into the basket.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed.
+
+"There appears to be enough, doesn't there?" I observed, drily.
+
+"But--but I couldn't think of . . .  Are you sure I won't be . . .
+Thank you.  Yes, I'll stay."
+
+Before I could offer my hand to help her from the saddle she sprang
+to the ground.  Her eyes were sparkling.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said, in a burst of confidence, "it is shameless
+to tell you so, I know, but I was dreadfully afraid you weren't
+going to ask me.  I am absolutely STARVED."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+"And now," continued Miss Colton, after an interval during which,
+I presume, she had been waiting for some reply to her frank
+declaration concerning mind and appetite, "what must I do to help?
+Shall I unpack the basket?"
+
+I was struggling, as we say in Denboro, to get the ship under
+control.  I had been taken aback so suddenly that I had lost
+steerage way.  My slight experience with the vagaries of the
+feminine mind had not prepared me for the lightning changes of this
+kind.  Not two minutes before she had, if one might judge by her
+look and tone, been deeply offended, almost insulted, because I
+refused to permit her wandering off alone into the woods.  My
+invitation to lunch had been given on the spur of the moment and
+with no idea that it would be accepted.  And she not only accepted,
+but had expected me to invite her, had been fearful that I might
+not do so.  She told me so, herself.
+
+"Shall I unpack the basket?" she repeated.  She was looking at me
+intently and the toe of her riding boot was patting the leaves.
+"What is the matter?  Are you sorry I am going to stay?"
+
+It was high time for me to get under way.  There were squalls on
+the horizon.
+
+"Oh, no, no!" I exclaimed, hastily.  "Of course not.  I am
+delighted.  But you need not trouble to help.  Just let me attend
+to your horse and I will have lunch ready in a jiffy."
+
+I led Don over to the little green belt of meadow between the trees
+and the sand of the beach, unbuckled the reins and made him fast to
+a stout birch.  He bent his head and began to pull big mouthfuls of
+the rich grass.  He, too, was evidently glad to accept my
+invitation.
+
+When I returned to my camping ground I found the basket unpacked
+and the young lady arranging the eatables.
+
+"You shouldn't have done that," I said.  "I am the host here."
+
+She did not look up.  "Don't bother the table maid," she observed,
+briskly.  "That fire is not kindled yet."
+
+I lit the fire and, going over to the bushes, selected two of the
+fish, a bass and a pickerel.  I carried them down to the shore of
+the pond and began cleaning them, using my jacknife and a flat
+stone.  I was nearing the end of the operation when she came over
+to watch.
+
+"Why are you doing that?" she asked.  "You are not going to cook
+them--now--are you?"
+
+"I am going to try," I replied.
+
+"But how?  You haven't anything to cook them in."
+
+"I don't need it.  You don't appreciate the conveniences of this
+hotel, Miss Colton.  There! now we're ready."
+
+I rose, washed my hands in the pond, and picked up two other flat
+stones, large ones, which I had previously put aside.  These I
+carried to the fire and, raking aside the burning logs with a
+stick, laid the stones in a bed of hot coals.
+
+"Those are our frying pans," I informed her.  "When they are hot
+enough they will cook the fish.  At least, I hope they will.  Now
+for the coffee."
+
+But she waved me aside.  "The coffee is my affair," she said.  "I
+insist upon making the coffee.  Oh, you need not look at me like
+that.  I am not altogether useless.  I studied Domestic Science--a
+little--in my prep school course.  As much as I studied anything
+else," laughingly.
+
+"But--"
+
+"Mr. Paine, I am not on horseback now and you can't hold my bridle
+as you did Don's.  If you will fill the coffee pot and put it on to
+boil.  Thank you.  I am glad to see that even you obey orders,
+sometimes."
+
+I had cooked fish in out-of-door fashion often before, but I am
+quite sure I never took such pains as I did with these.  They were
+not culinary triumphs, even at that, but my guest was kind enough
+to pronounce them delicious.  The lunch basket contained two
+plates, but only one knife and fork.  These I insisted upon her
+using and I got on very well with sharpened sticks and a spoon.
+The coffee was--well, it had one qualification, strength.
+
+We conversed but little during the meal.  The young lady said she
+was too hungry to talk and I was so confounded with the strangeness
+of the whole affair that I was glad to be silent.  Sitting opposite
+me, eating Dorinda's doughnuts and apple puffs and the fish that
+I--_I_ had cooked, was "Big Jim" Colton's daughter, the automobile
+girl, the heiress, the "incarnation of snobbery," the young lady
+whose father I had bidden go to the devil and to whom, in company
+with the rest of the family, I had many times mentally extended the
+same invitation.  And now we were picnicing together as if we were
+friends of long standing.  Why, Nellie Dean could not appear more
+unpretentious and unconscious of social differences than this girl
+to-day!  What would her parents say if they saw us like this?  What
+would Captain Jed, and the rest of those in rebellion against the
+Emperor of New York, say?  That I was a traitor, hand and glove
+with the enemy.  Well, I was not; and I did not intend to be.  But
+for her to--
+
+She interrupted my meditations.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she observed, suddenly, "you will excuse my mentioning
+it, but you are distinctly not entertaining.  You have not spoken a
+word for five minutes.  And you are not attending to my needs.  The
+apple puffs are on your side of the--table."
+
+I hastened to pass the paper containing the puffs.
+
+"I beg your pardon," I said, hurriedly.  "I--I was daydreaming, I
+guess."
+
+"So I imagined.  I forgive you; this lunch would tempt me to
+forgive greater sins than yours.  Did that delightful old
+housekeeper of yours cook all these nice things?"
+
+"She did.  So you think Dorinda delightful, do you?"
+
+"Yes.  She is so sincere and good-hearted.  And so odd and bright
+and funny.  I could listen to her for hours."
+
+"Humph!  Well, if you were a member of her household you would have
+that privilege often.  I doubt if her husband considers it such a
+privilege."
+
+"Her husband?  Oh, yes! I met him.  He is a character, too, isn't
+he?"
+
+"Yes; a weak one."
+
+She put down her coffee cup and sighed, contentedly.
+
+"I think I never tasted anything so good as this lunch," she
+observed.  "And I'm quite sure I never ate so much at one sitting.
+I am going to help you clear away, but please don't ask me to do it
+just now.  Have you finished?  You may smoke, if you like."
+
+I had been longing for a smoke and now I filled my pipe and lighted
+it.
+
+"Now we can talk, can't we?" she said.  "I want you to tell me
+about your mother.  How is she?"
+
+"Just as she was when you saw her," I answered.  "Mother is always
+the same."
+
+"She is a dear.  I had heard so many nice things about her and I
+was not disappointed.  I intended to make only a short call and I
+stayed and stayed.  I hope I did not tire her."
+
+"Not at all.  Mother enjoyed your call exceedingly."
+
+"Did she?  I am so glad.  I really am.  I went to your house with a
+good deal of misgiving, Mr. Paine.  I feared that my coming might
+be considered an intrusion."
+
+"I told you that it would not."
+
+"I know.  But, under the circumstances--Father's disagreement with--
+considering all the--the--  Oh, what shall I call it?"
+
+"The late unpleasantness," I suggested.
+
+Again came the twinkle in her eye.  She nodded.
+
+"Thank you," she said.  "That is a quotation, but it was clever of
+you to think of it.  Yes, considering the late unpleasantness, I
+was afraid my visit might be misunderstood.  I was fearful that
+your mother or--someone--might think I came there with an ulterior
+motive, something connected with that troublesome Lane dispute.  Of
+course no one did think such a thing?"
+
+She asked the question quickly and with intense seriousness.  I
+remembered Lute's hint and my own secret suspicions, but I answered
+promptly.
+
+"Of course not," I said.
+
+"You did not think that, did you?"
+
+"No," unblushingly.
+
+"I came because from what I had heard of your mother I was sure she
+must be a wonderful woman.  I wanted to meet her.  And she IS
+wonderful; and so patient and sweet and good.  I fell in love with
+her.  Everyone must love her.  You should be proud of your mother,
+Mr. Paine."
+
+"I am," I answered, simply.
+
+"You have reason.  And she is very proud of you."
+
+"Without the reason, I'm afraid."
+
+She did not speak.  Her silence hurt.  I felt that I knew what she
+was thinking and I determined to make her say it.
+
+"Without the reason," I repeated.
+
+"I did not say that."
+
+"But you thought it."
+
+My stubborn persistence was a mistake.  Again, as at our meeting in
+the grove, I had gone too far.  Her answer was as completely
+indifferent as speech and tone could be.
+
+"Indeed?" she said, coldly.  "It is barely possible that I did not
+think about it at all. . . .  Now, Mr. Paine, if you are ready
+shall we clear away?"
+
+The clearing, most of it, was done silently.  I washed the plates,
+the coffee pot and other things, in the pond and she packed them in
+the basket.  As I returned with the knife and forks I found her
+looking at the coffee pot and smiling.
+
+"What is the matter?" I asked, sulkily.  I was provoked with myself
+for forgetting who and what I was, and with her for making me
+forget.  "Isn't it clean?"
+
+"Why, yes," she answered, "surprisingly so.  Did they teach
+Domestic Science at your college, too?"
+
+I started.  "MY college!" I repeated.  "How did you know I had been
+at college?  Did Mother tell you?"
+
+She laughed gleefully.
+
+"Did Mother tell you?" I demanded.  "If she did--"
+
+"Well, what if she did?  However, she did not.  But you have told
+me now.  Harvard, was it? or Yale?"
+
+I tossed the knife and fork into the basket and turned away.
+
+"Princeton, perhaps," suggested Miss Colton.
+
+I walked over and began to unjoint my rod.  I was a fool to be
+trapped like this.  No one in Denboro except Mother and George
+Taylor knew of my brief college career, and now I had, practically,
+told this girl of it.  She might--if she were sufficiently
+interested to remember, which was fortunately not probable--tell
+her father and he might ask other questions concerning my history.
+Where would those questions lead?
+
+I was angrily tugging at the rod when I heard her step behind me.
+I did not turn.
+
+"I beg your pardon," she said.
+
+I pretended not to hear.
+
+"I beg your pardon, Mr. Paine," she said again.
+
+"It's all right," I muttered.  "No apologies are necessary."
+
+I said it like a sullen schoolboy.  There was another moment of
+silence.  Then I heard her move away.  I looked over my shoulder.
+She was walking toward the meadow where Don, the horse, was
+picketed.  There was offended dignity in every line of her figure.
+
+For a moment I fought with my pride and injured self-respect.  Then
+I hurried after her.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said.
+
+"Well?" she neither turned nor stopped.
+
+"Miss Colton, I should not have answered like that.  I was rude."
+
+She stopped.  "You were," she said.
+
+"I know it.  I am sorry.  I apologize."
+
+"No apologies are necessary."
+
+Here was tit for tat.  I did not know what more to say, so I said
+nothing.
+
+"Do I understand that you ask my pardon?" she inquired, still
+without turning.
+
+"I do.  If you will permit me, I will explain.  I--"
+
+She whirled about and faced me.  To my astonishment she was smiling
+once more.
+
+"Of course you won't explain," she declared.  "I had no right to
+ask you about your college.  But I couldn't help guessing.  I told
+you that I liked puzzles.  We'll say no more about it.  I have
+enjoyed this picnic and I won't have it spoiled.  Now why are you
+taking your rod apart?"
+
+"Because I know you want to go home and I am going with you to show
+you the way."
+
+"But I don't have to go yet, do I?  It is not late.  And I thought
+perhaps you would let me see you catch another bass.  Won't you?
+Please."
+
+Once more she had me at a disadvantage.  I had no desire for more
+fishing, and I was fearful of further questions, but what could I
+do?  And it was not late--but a little past two o'clock.
+
+So I rigged the rod again and led the way down the shore to the
+spot where the sedge extended out into the pond, with the lily pads
+beyond it.  She walked beside me.  Then she seated herself on a
+fallen tree and I baited the hook with a lively minnow and cast.
+For some time I got not even a nibble.  As I waited she and I
+talked.  But now it was I who questioned.
+
+"Do you like Denboro?" I asked.
+
+"I am beginning to like it very much.  At first I thought it very
+dull, but now I am getting acquainted."
+
+"There are few cottagers and summer people here.  But in Harniss
+there is a large colony.  Very nice people, I believe."
+
+"Yes, I have met some of them.  But it was not the summer people I
+meant.  I am beginning to know the townspeople and to like some of
+them.  I met that delightful old Captain Warren the other day."
+
+"He is as good as they make."
+
+"Indeed he is.  And I had an interview with another captain, Miss
+Dean's father, yesterday.  We had an interesting encounter."
+
+"So I should imagine.  Captain Jed!  Whew!  It MUST have been
+interesting."
+
+"It was.  Oh, we were very fierce at first--at least he was, and I
+fought for my side as hard as I could.  He said Father was a
+selfish pig for wanting to close the Lane, and I said it was
+because of its use by the pigs that he wished to close it."
+
+"Ha! ha!  How did it end?"
+
+"Oh, we agreed to disagree.  I respect Captain Dean for his fight;
+but Father will win, of course.  He always does."
+
+"He won't win this time, Miss Colton."
+
+"Why not?  Oh, I actually forgot I was talking to the head and
+front of the opposition.  So you think he will not win, Mr. Paine?"
+
+"I am sure of it.  He cannot close that Lane until I sell it, and I
+shall not sell."
+
+She regarded me thoughtfully, her chin upon her hand.
+
+"It would be odd if he should not, after all," she said.  "He
+prides himself on having his own way.  It would be strange if he
+should be beaten down here, after winning so often in New York.
+Your mother told me something of your feeling in the matter, Mr.
+Paine.  Father has offered you a good price for the land, hasn't
+he?"
+
+"He has offered me a dozen times what it is worth."
+
+"Yes.  He does not count money when he has set his heart upon
+anything.  And you refused?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But Nellie Dean says the town also wished to buy and you refused
+its offer, too."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You don't seem to care for money, either, Mr. Paine.  Are all Cape
+Cod people so unmercenary?  Or is it that you all have money
+enough--. . .  Pardon me.  That was impolite.  I spoke without
+thinking."
+
+"Oh, never mind.  I am not sensitive--on that point, at least."
+
+"But I do mind.  And I am sorry I said it.  And I should like to
+understand.  I see why the townspeople do not want the Lane closed.
+But you have not lived here always.  Only a few years, so Miss Dean
+says.  She said, too, that that Mr. Taylor, the cashier, was almost
+the only intimate friend you have made since you came.  Others
+would like to be friendly, but you will not permit them to be.
+And, yet for these people, mere acquaintances, you are sacrificing
+what Father would call a profitable deal."
+
+"Not altogether for them.  I can't explain my feeling exactly.  I
+know only that to sell them out and make money--and heaven knows I
+need money--at their expense seems to me dead wrong."
+
+"Then why don't you sell to THEM?"
+
+"I don't know.  Unless it was because to refuse your father's offer
+and accept a lower one seemed a mean trick, too.  And I won't be
+bullied into selling to anyone.  I guess that is it, as much as
+anything."
+
+"My! how stubborn you must be."
+
+"I don't know why I have preached this sermon to you, Miss Colton.
+your sympathies in the fight are with your father, naturally."
+
+"Oh, no, they are not."
+
+I almost dropped the rod.
+
+"Not--with--" I repeated.
+
+"Not altogether.  They are with you, just at present.  If you had
+sold--if you had given in to Father, feeling as you do, I should
+not have any sympathy with you at all.  As it is--"
+
+"As it is?" I asked eagerly--too eagerly.  I should have done
+better to pretend indifference.
+
+"As it is," she answered, lightly, "I respect you as I would any
+sincere fighter for a losing cause.  And I shall probably feel some
+sympathy for you after the cause is lost.  Excuse my breaking in on
+your sermon, provided it is not finished, but--I think you have a
+bite, Mr. Paine."
+
+I had, very much of a bite.  The minnow on my hook had been
+forgotten and allowed to sink to the bottom, and a big pout had
+swallowed it, along with the hook and a section of line.  I dragged
+the creature out of the water and performed a surgical operation,
+resulting in the recovery of my tackle.
+
+"There!" I exclaimed, in disgust.  "I think I have had enough
+fishing for one day.  Suppose we call it off.  Unless you would
+like to try, Miss Colton."
+
+I made the offer by way of a joke.  She accepted it instantly.
+
+"May I?" she cried, eagerly.  "I have been dying to ever since I
+came.
+
+"But--but you will get wet."
+
+"No matter.  This is an old suit."
+
+It did not look old to my countrified eyes, but I protested no
+more.  There was a rock a little below where we then were, one of
+the typical glacial boulders of the Cape--lying just at the edge of
+the water and projecting out into it.  I helped her up on to this
+rock and baited her hook with shrimp.
+
+"Shall I cast for you?" I asked.
+
+"No indeed.  I can do it, thank you."
+
+She did, and did it well.  Moreover, the line had scarcely
+straightened out in the water when it was savagely jerked, the pole
+bent into a half-circle, and out of the foaming eddy beneath its
+tip leaped the biggest bass I had seen that day, or in that pond on
+any day.
+
+"By George!" I exclaimed.  "Can you handle him?  Shall I--"
+
+She did not look at me, but I received my orders, nevertheless.
+
+"Please don't!  Keep away!" she said sharply.
+
+For nearly fifteen minutes she fought that fish, in and out among
+the pads, keeping the line tight, handling him at least as well as
+I could have done.  I ran for the landing net and, as she brought
+her captive up beside the rock, reached forward to use it.  But she
+stopped me.
+
+"No," she said, breathlessly, "I want to do this all myself."
+
+It took her several more minutes to do it, and she was pretty well
+splashed, when at last, with the heavy net dragging from one hand
+and the rod in the other, she sprang down from the rock.  Together
+we bent over the fish.
+
+"A four-pounder, if he is an ounce," said I.  "I congratulate you,
+Miss Colton."
+
+"Poor thing," she mused.  "I am almost sorry he did not get away.
+He IS a beauty, isn't he!  Now I am ready to go home."
+
+That journey home was a strange experience to me.  She rode Don and
+bore the lunch basket and the net before her on the saddle.  I
+walked alongside, carrying the rod, boots, and the fish in the
+otherwise empty bait pail.  The sunshine, streaming through the
+leaves of the arching boughs overhead, dappled the narrow,
+overgrown paths with shifting blotches of light and shadow.  Around
+us was the deep, living green of the woods, the songs of birds, the
+chatter of red squirrels, and the scent of wild honeysuckle.  And
+as we moved onward we talked--that is, she did most of the talking
+and I listened.  Yet I must have talked more than I knew, because I
+remember expressing opinions concerning books and operas and
+pictures, subjects I had not discussed for years except occasionally
+with Mother, and then only because she was still interested in them.
+I seemed, somehow, to have become a different, a younger man, under
+the influence of these few hours with the girl I had professed to
+hate so cordially.  Our companionship--perfectly meaningless as it
+was, the mere caprice of an idle day on her part--had rejuvenated
+me.  During that homeward walk I forgot myself entirely, forgot that
+I was Ros Paine, the country loafer; forgot, too, that she was the
+only child of the city millionaire, that we had, or could have,
+nothing in common.  She, also, seemed to forget, and we chatted
+together as unconsciously and easily as if we had known each other
+all our lives.
+
+Yet it may be that her part in the conversation was not altogether
+without a purpose.  She led me to speak of Denboro and its people,
+of how they lived, and of the old days of sailing ships and deep
+sea skippers.  George Taylor's name was mentioned and I praised him
+highly, telling of his rise from poor boy to successful man, as we
+rated success locally.
+
+"He manages that bank well," I declared.  "Everyone says so.  And,
+from what I have seen of his management, I know it to be true."
+
+"How do you know?" she asked.
+
+"Because I have had some experience in banking myself.  I--"
+
+I stopped short.  My tongue was running away with me.  She did not
+ask the question which I dreaded and expected.  Instead she said,
+looking down at me:
+
+"You are a loyal friend, aren't you, Mr. Paine."
+
+"I have reason to be loyal to George," I answered, with feeling.
+
+"Are you as loyal to yourself?"
+
+I looked up at her in surprise.
+
+"What do you mean?" I asked.
+
+"I have been trying to understand you, Mr. Paine.  Trying to get
+the answer to the puzzle.  In one way I think I have it.  I
+understand your attitude in the Lane affair and I think I know why
+you came to Denboro and are staying here."
+
+I stopped short.  "You--you know THAT?" I cried.
+
+"I think I do.  You believe that your mother needs you and you will
+not leave her.  That is your reason for living here, I think.  But,
+in another way, I cannot understand you at all."
+
+She spoke to the horse and we moved on again.  I waited for her to
+continue, but she was silent.
+
+"How?  What is the other way!  The way in which you cannot
+understand me?" I asked.
+
+"Shall I tell you?  Do you wish me to be perfectly frank?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I cannot understand how a man such as you seem to be, young,
+educated, and with life before him, can be content to do as you do,
+spend your time in fishing, or sailing, or shooting.  To have no
+ambition at all.  My father was a poor country boy, like your
+friend, Mr. Taylor, but he worked night and day until he became
+what he is now.  And even now he works, and works hard.  Oh, I am
+proud of him!  Not because he is what he is, but because he has
+done it all himself.  If I were a man I would have some purpose in
+life; I would do SOMETHING worth while if it were only to sell fish
+from a cart, like that old fellow with the queer name--what is it?--
+Oh, yes!  Theophilus Newcomb."
+
+I did not answer.  She had said all that was necessary, and more.
+It was quite enough for me.
+
+"There!" she observed, after a moment.  "You asked me to tell you
+and I did.  If you never speak to me again it will be exactly what
+I deserve.  But I thought it and so I said it.  Expressing my
+thoughts is one of my bad habits. . . .  Oh, why, we are almost
+home, aren't we!"
+
+We had come to the edge of the grove bordering Beriah Holt's
+pasture.  The grove was on the west side of a little hill.  Before
+us the pasture sloped away to Beriah's house and barn, with the
+road beyond it.  And beyond that, in the distance, were the
+steeples and roofs of Denboro.  Among them the gables and tower of
+the Colton mansion rose, conspicuous and costly.
+
+She turned in the saddle.  "I presume I may leave you now, Mr.
+Paine," she said.  "Even you must admit that the rest of the way is
+plain sailing.  Thank you for your hospitality and for your
+services as guide.  I will send the basket and net over by one of
+the servants."
+
+"I will take them now," I said, shortly.
+
+"Very well, if you prefer.  Here they are."
+
+I took them from her.
+
+"Good afternoon," she said.  "And thanks once more for a very
+pleasant picnic."
+
+"You are quite welcome, I'm sure.  Thank you for your frank opinion
+of my--worthlessness.  It was kind of you to express it."
+
+The sarcasm was not lost upon her.
+
+"I meant it as a kindness," she replied.
+
+"Yes.  And it was true enough, probably.  Doubtless I shall derive
+great benefit from your--words of wisdom."
+
+Her patience, evidently, was exhausted.  She turned away.  "Oh,
+that," she said, indifferently, "is your affair.  I told you what I
+believed to be the truth, that was all.  What you do is not likely
+to be of vast importance to me, one way or the other.  Come, Don!"
+
+Don cantered down the slope.  I watched him and his rider disappear
+beyond the trees in the distance.  Then I picked up my pail and
+other burdens and followed in their wake.  The sun was behind a
+cloud.  It had been a strange day with a miserable ending.  I was
+furiously angry with her, but I was more angry with myself.  For
+what she had told me WAS the truth, and I knew it.
+
+I strode on, head down, through the village.  People spoke to me,
+asking what luck I had had and where I had been, but I scarcely
+noticed them.  As I reached the Corners and was passing the bank
+someone called my name.  I glanced up and saw George Taylor
+descending the steps.
+
+"Hold on, Ros," he hailed.  "Wait a minute.  What's your rush?
+Hold on!"
+
+I halted reluctantly.
+
+"Fishing again, I see," he observed, as he reached my side.  "Any
+luck?"
+
+"Fair," I told him.
+
+"What pond?"
+
+"Seabury's."
+
+"Go alone?"
+
+"Yes."  That I had not been alone since was no business of his.
+
+"Humph!  You ain't exactly what a fellow'd call talkative this
+afternoon, seems to me.  Anything wrong?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Tuckered out?"
+
+"I guess so."
+
+"Well, so am I, but I ain't had your fun getting that way.  Small
+and I have been at it night and day getting things in shape so he
+could leave.  He's gone.  Went this noon.  And that ain't the worst
+of it; I haven't got anybody yet to take his place.  I'll have to
+be cashier and bookkeeper too for a spell.  There's applicants
+enough; but they don't suit.  Guess likely you'll have to help me
+out, after all, Ros.  The job is yours if you say the word."
+
+He laughed as he said it.  Even to him the idea of my working was a
+joke.
+
+But the joke did not seem funny to me, just then.  I walked on for
+some distance without a word.  Then I asked a question.
+
+"What is expected of a man in that position?" I asked.
+
+"Expected?  Why, plain bank bookkeeping--not much else at first.
+Yet there's a good chance for a likely fellow to be considerable
+more, in time.  I need help in my part of the work.  That's why I
+haven't hired any of the dozen or so who are after the place.  What
+makes you ask?  You don't know of a good man for me, do you, Ros?"
+
+"When do you want him to begin?"
+
+"To-morrow morning, if he satisfies me."
+
+"Would I satisfy you?"
+
+"You!  Humph!  Try me and see, that's all I'd ask."
+
+"All right.  I'll be on hand in the morning."
+
+He stopped, looked at me, and then seized me by the arm.
+
+"See here!" he cried, "I'm lost in the fog, I guess likely.  What
+do you mean by that?  Is it time to laugh--or what?"
+
+"It may be; I don't know.  But I take the bookkeeper's position in
+your bank.  Now, good-by.  Don't talk to me.  I don't feel like
+talking."
+
+"But--but, Ros."
+
+"Good-by."
+
+I walked on.  I had taken but a few steps when he overtook me.
+
+"Ros," he said, "I ain't going to say but just one thing.  If you
+meant what you said I'm the most tickled man on the Cape.  But you
+ain't asked a word about the salary."
+
+"I know it.  I haven't asked because I don't care.  I'll be on hand
+in the morning."
+
+I left him standing there, and hurried down the Lower Road.  As I
+had said to him, I did not feel like talking.  I did not want even
+to see any one.  I wanted to be let alone.  But it was fated that I
+should not be, not yet.  Sim Eldredge was waiting for me around the
+corner.  He stepped out from behind the fence where he had been
+hidden.
+
+"Ros!" he whispered.  "Ros Paine!  Wait.  It's me, Sim.  I want to
+ask you somethin'.  Wan't that George Taylor you was speakin' to
+just now?"
+
+"Yes," I answered, impatiently.  "What of it?"
+
+"Say, Ros, you and me ain't pulled that Colton trade off, but it
+ain't my fault.  You ain't got no hard feelin's against me, I know.
+And I want you to do a little mite of favor for me.  Will you?"
+
+"What is it?  If it has anything to do with the Lane, I tell you
+now that--"
+
+"It ain't--it ain't.  It's about that bookkeepin' job in the bank,
+Henry Small's place, the one he's just quit.  I've got a third
+cousin, name of Josiah Badger, over to South Harniss.  He's a smart
+young chap, and an A-1 accountant at figgers.  He's been keepin'
+books down at the fish wharf--see?  Now, he'd like that job and,
+bein' as you and George are so thick, I cal'lated maybe you'd sort
+of use your influence along of George, and--and get it for him.
+There ain't nothin' in it for me--that is, nothin' much.  But I
+feel friendly toward Josiah and you know I like to do little
+kindnesses for folks.  So--"
+
+"There! there!" I interrupted.  "It's no use, Sim.  I can't help
+you."
+
+"Why! yes you can."
+
+"No, I can't.  I don't know your cousin, and besides--well, you are
+too late.  The place is filled."
+
+Sim's expression changed.  He looked surprised and crestfallen.
+
+"Filled?" he exclaimed.  "Why, no, 'tain't!  If 'twas I'd have
+known it, wouldn't I?  Who'd you hear had got it?  Whoever you
+heard, 'tain't so."
+
+"Yes, it is."
+
+"How do you know?  Who is it, then?"
+
+I hesitated.  Before noon of the next day every soul in Denboro
+would have heard the news.  Eldredge might as well hear it now.
+
+"I've taken the place myself," I said.
+
+"You?"  Sim actually forgot to whisper; he shouted the word.  "YOU!
+Ha! ha! ha!  Ros, quit your foolin'."
+
+"I'm not fooling.  I go to work in the bank to-morrow morning."
+
+"But--  Oh, my soul!  You!  Aw, I know better!  Say, Ros, don't
+let's waste time like this.  Fun's all right, but . . .  My heavens
+to Betsy!  YOU work for a livin'!  If I believed that I'd believe
+anything.  Tell me, now.  Who has got that job? . . .  Why don't
+you answer me?"
+
+I answered him.  "Shut up!" I said, fiercely.  Then I vaulted the
+fence and set out for home across lots.
+
+I heard the next day that Sim went back to the post-office and
+informed the gathering there that Ros Paine had taken to drinking.
+
+"He was tight as a biled owl," declared Sim; "and ugly--don't talk!
+Wanted to fight me because I wouldn't believe he was goin' to work.
+Him!  What in the everlastin' would HE want to work for?  My
+heavens to Betsy!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+I think Taylor was almost as surprised as Eldredge had been, when,
+at half-past eight the following morning, I appeared at the bank.
+He was already at his desk and, when he looked up and saw me, he
+whistled.
+
+"Whew!" he exclaimed.  "So.  I didn't dream it, after all.  You're
+here, ain't you."
+
+"I am here," I answered, opening the gate and stepping in behind
+the rail.
+
+"Going to take it back and say you never said it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Come to go to work?  Really?"
+
+"That is my intention, unless you have changed your mind."
+
+"Not me.  It ain't likely.  But, Ros, I--sit down a minute and
+let's talk.  What are you doing this for?"
+
+It was a question I had been asking myself at intervals during a
+restless night.  Now I gave the only truthful answer.
+
+"I don't know," I said.
+
+"You don't know!"
+
+"No.  And I don't seem to care.  Suppose we don't talk about it.  I
+am here, and I am ready to begin work.  That's enough, isn't it?"
+
+"Why, no; not quite.  You're not doing it just to help me out?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You don't need to work.  You've got money enough."
+
+"No, I haven't.  But money isn't my reason.  I haven't any reason.
+Now show me the books, will you?"
+
+"Don't be in a hurry.  What does your mother think about it?"
+
+"I haven't told her yet.  Time enough for that when I know that I
+really mean it and you know that I am competent to fill the
+position.  George, if you keep on cross-examining me I am likely to
+quit before I begin.  I don't know why I am doing this, but just
+now I think I am going to do it if I can.  However, I am not sure.
+So you had better be careful."
+
+"Humph!  What did you catch up at that pond yesterday?  I never saw
+a day's fishing make such a difference in a man in my life. . . .
+All right, Ros.  All right.  I won't pester you.  Too glad to have
+you here for that.  Now about the salary."
+
+"Before we speak of that there is one more point.  How about your
+directors?  Dean and the rest?  Do they know you offered me the
+position?"
+
+"Sure thing!  They put the whole affair in my hands.  They'll be
+satisfied.  And as for Cap'n Jed--why, he was the one that
+suggested hiring you in the first place."
+
+"Captain Jed!  Captain Jed Dean!  HE suggested it?"
+
+"Yup.  In a way, he did.  You may not know it, Ros, but you've made
+a good deal of a hit with the old man.  He ain't been used to
+having anybody stand up to him as you have.  As a general thing
+Denboro jumps when he snaps the whip.  You didn't, and he couldn't
+understand why.  He is the kind that respects anything they can't
+understand.  Then, too, Nellie likes you, and she's his idol, you
+know.  Ah hum!"
+
+He sighed and, for a moment, seemed to forget me altogether.  I
+reminded him by another question.
+
+"But why should the captain think of me for this place?" I asked.
+"Why should he dream that I would take it?  I gave you no
+encouragement."
+
+"I don't know as he did dream it.  But he and I were speaking of
+you and he said he'd like to do something to show you what the town
+thought of your holding out against Colton.  That tickled him down
+to the keel.  I said you'd be a first-class helper to me in this
+bank, that I heard you knew something about banking--"
+
+"George!"
+
+"It's all right.  I only mentioned that I heard rumors that you
+were in a city bank somewhere at one time.  He didn't ask any more
+and I shouldn't have told him if he had.  But the idea pleased him,
+I could see that.  'Why don't you try to get him?' says he.  'Maybe
+the days of miracles ain't past.  Perhaps even he'd condescend to
+work, if the right job came his way.'"
+
+"So that's what you call his suggesting me, do you?  Humph!"
+
+"Well, I told him about it last night, when I was up to see Nellie,
+and he was pleased as Punch.  Surprised, of course, but pleased.
+He's practically the whole board, as far as settling things is
+concerned, so it is all right.  He ain't the worst friend you've
+got, by a long shot."
+
+I imagined that I understood what Captain Jed's "friendship" meant.
+My accepting the bank position was one more bond binding me to his
+side in the Shore Lane battle.  And, so long as I was under
+Taylor's eye and his own, I could not be subject to the Colton
+influence.
+
+George and I discussed the question of salary, if his offer and my
+prompt acceptance might be called a discussion.  The pay was not
+large to begin with, but it was more than I had a right to expect.
+And I was perfectly honest when I said that money was not the
+consideration which led me to make the sudden change in my habit of
+life.  I was sick of idleness; I had longed for something to occupy
+my life and time; I might as well be doing this as anything;
+Taylor's offer had appealed to me when he first made it; these were
+the excuses I evolved for my own satisfaction and I tried to
+believe them real.  But one reason I would not admit, even in my
+thoughts, as a possibility.  It was not that girl, or anything she
+had said, which influenced me.  No! over and over again--no.
+
+Sam Wheeler, the young fellow who acted as assistant bookkeeper and
+messenger, came in, and Taylor, after showing me the books and
+giving me a few hints as to what my duties would be, turned me over
+to him for further instruction.  I found I needed but little.  The
+pages, with their rows of figures, seemed like old friends.  I
+almost enjoyed poring over them.  Was it possible that I was going
+to like this new venture of mine?
+
+Before noon I was fairly certain of it.  The work in a country bank
+is different from that in the large city institutions, in that it
+is by no means as specialized.  I found that, later on, I should be
+expected to combine the work of teller with that of bookkeeper.
+And this, too, seemed natural.  I worked as steadily as I could,
+considering interruptions, and the forenoon was over almost before
+I knew it.
+
+The interruptions, however, were numerous and annoying; some of
+them, too, were amusing.  Depositors came, saw me behind the bars
+of the window, and, after expressing their astonishment, demanded
+to know what I was doing there.  If I had answered all the
+questions put to me by the curious Denboroites I should have found
+time for little else.  But Taylor helped me by shooing the curious
+ones away.  "Don't bother the new hand," he said.  "If you want to
+know particulars ask me.  Anything I don't tell you you can read in
+next week's Item.  This is a bank, not a question box."
+
+Captain Elisha Warren came in and was as surprised as the rest.
+After an interview with the cashier he returned to my window and
+requested me to open up.  When I did so he reached in a big hand
+and seized mine.
+
+"Shake, Ros," he said, heartily.  "I'm glad for the bank and I'm
+gladder still for you.  Come hard at fust, does it?"
+
+"A little," I confessed.  "Not as hard as I expected, though."
+
+"Fust day or two out of port is always the toughest.  You'll get
+your sea legs on pretty soon.  Then you'll be glad you shipped, I
+cal'late."
+
+"I hope so," I answered, rather dubiously.
+
+"I know you will.  There's nothin' so tiresome as doin' nothin'.  I
+know, because that's been my job for quite a spell.  Seems
+sometimes as if I'd have a fit, I get so sick of loafin'."
+
+His idea of a "loaf" was rising at six and weeding his garden,
+superintending the labor on his cranberry swamps or about his barns
+and grounds, attending bank and Selectmen's meetings, and generally
+keeping busy until sunset.
+
+"I tell Abbie, my housekeeper," he continued, "that if 'twan't for
+my age I believe I'd go to sea again just to keep from fallin'
+apart with dry rot.  I asked her if she'd noticed how my timbers
+creaked, and she said I didn't keep still long enough for her to
+notice anything.  Ho! ho!  Nothin' makes her more provoked than for
+me to mention gettin' old or goin' to sea.  All the same, I envy
+you your youth, Ros.  You've got your life afore you, and I'm glad
+to see that you're goin' to make somethin' of it.  I always said
+you'd wake up if somebody give you a punch.  Who punched you, Ros?"
+
+My reply was non-committal.
+
+"Better mind my own business, hadn't I," he observed.  "All right,
+I will.  No offense meant, you understand.  But, you see, I've
+never believed that work was the cuss of mankind, like some folks,
+and no matter how much money a young feller's got I think he's
+better off doin' somethin'.  That's the gospel accordin' to Elisha.
+Well, good luck and a pleasant v'yage.  See you again soon.  Say,"
+turning back, "keep an eye on George, will you?  Folks in love are
+l'ble to be absent-minded, they tell me, and I should not want him
+to be absent with any of my money.  Hear that, do you, George?"
+
+Taylor, who was standing near, laughed and walked away.  A moment
+later I saw him looking out of the window with the same strange
+expression on his face which I had noticed several times before
+when his approaching marriage was hinted at.  Something was
+troubling him, that was plain.  He loved Nellie devotedly, I knew;
+yet he obviously did not like to hear the marriage mentioned.
+
+Sim Eldredge was one of the first visitors to the bank, but his
+visit was a short one.  He entered the door, walked straight to the
+teller's window and peered through the bars.  I heard him catch his
+breath.
+
+"Good morning, Sim," said I.  "What can I do for you?"
+
+"Do?" he repeated.  "Do for me?  Nothin'--nothin', 'special.  You--
+you meant it, then?"
+
+"I told you I did."
+
+"My soul!" was all the answer he made.  Then he turned and walked
+out.
+
+At about eleven o'clock I was half-way through the addition of a
+column of figures when I heard some one say, "Well, by time!" with
+such anguished fervor that it was almost like a prayer for help.  I
+looked up.  Lute Rogers was staring in at me, open-mouthed and
+horror-stricken.
+
+"Hello, Lute!" I said.
+
+Lute swallowed hard.
+
+"They told me 'twas so," he stammered.  "They said so and--and I
+laughed at 'em.  Ros, you ain't, be you?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Goin' to stay in there and--and take Henry's job?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You be!  And you never said nothin' to nobody?  To Dorinda?  Or
+even Comfort?"
+
+"No; not yet."
+
+"Nor to me.  To ME, by time!  You let them fellers at the store
+make a fool of me--"
+
+"No one could do that, Lute.  I have told you so often."
+
+"And you let them know it afore I did.  And me livin' right in the
+house with you!  By time!  I--I--"
+
+"There, there, Lute! don't cry.  I'll tell you all about it when I
+come home for dinner."
+
+"Yes, I should think you might do that much.  Treatin' your own
+family like--why did you tell Sim Eldredge?"
+
+"Sim asked me and so I told him, that was all.  Don't stand there
+fidgeting.  Run along home, there's a good fellow.  Mr. Taylor has
+his eye on you already."
+
+Lute glanced apprehensively toward the cashier's desk and turned to
+go.
+
+"Well!" he exclaimed, "I've said you was crazy more'n once, that's
+some satisfaction.  Say! can I tell 'em to home?"
+
+I hesitated.  "You may tell Dorinda if you like," I answered.  "But
+I prefer to tell Mother, myself."
+
+George rose from his desk just then and Lute hurried to the door.
+I smiled.  I imagined his arrival in our kitchen and how he would
+explode the sensational news upon his unsuspecting wife.
+
+But I was not altogether calm, though I did my best to appear so,
+when I entered that kitchen at a quarter past twelve.  Lute was
+seated in a chair by the window, evidently watching and waiting.
+He sprang up as I entered.
+
+"Set down," ordered Dorinda, who was taking a clam pie from the
+oven.  She merely nodded when I came in.  Dorinda often spoke in
+meeting against "sinful pride"; yet she had her share of pride,
+sinful or not.  She would not ask questions or deign to appear
+excited, not she.
+
+"But Dorinda," cried her husband, "it's Ros.  Don't you see?"
+
+"You set down, Lute Rogers.  Well," turning to me, "dinner's ready,
+if you are."
+
+"I shall be in a few minutes," I answered.  "I want to see Mother
+first."
+
+Breaking the news to Mother was a duty which I dreaded.  But it
+turned out to be not dreadful at all.  Mother was surprised, of
+course, but she did not offer a single objection.  Her principal
+feeling seemed to be curiosity as to my reasons for the sudden
+change.
+
+"Of course, Roscoe, if you are happier I shall be, too," she said.
+"I know it must have been very dull for you here.  My conscience
+has troubled me not a little all these years.  I realize that a
+man, a young man like you, needs an interest in life; he wants
+something more than the care and companionship of a useless
+creature like me."
+
+"Mother, how often have I told you not to speak like that."
+
+"But he does.  Many times, when you and I have been here together,
+I have been on the point of urging you to leave me and go back to
+the world and take your place in it.  More than once, you remember,
+dear, I have hinted at such a thing, but you have always chosen not
+to understand the hints, and I have been so weak and selfish that I
+have not pressed them.  I am glad you have done this, if it seems
+right to you.  But does it?  Are you sure?"
+
+"I think so, Mother.  I confess I am not sure."
+
+"This country bank is a pretty small place, isn't it?  Not big
+enough for my boy to prove his worth in."
+
+"It is quite big enough for that.  That doesn't require a
+Rothschild's establishment."
+
+"But your decision must have been a very sudden one.  You did not
+mention that you thought of such a thing.  Not even to me."
+
+"It was sudden," I answered.  "I took the position on the spur of
+the moment."
+
+"But why?  What led you to do it?"
+
+"I don't know, Mother."
+
+"What influenced you?  Has any one urged you?"
+
+"George Taylor offered me the place some time ago.  He urged me."
+
+"No one else?"
+
+I avoided the issue.  "You don't mind, then, Mother," I said.  "You
+are willing that I should try the experiment?"
+
+"I am glad, if it pleases you.  And you must let me say this now,
+Roscoe, because it is true and I mean it.  If another and better
+opportunity comes to you, one that might take you away from
+Denboro--and from me--for a time, of course, I want you to promise
+me that you will not refuse it on my account.  Will you promise?"
+
+"No.  Of course I shan't promise any such thing.  Is it likely that
+I would leave you, Mother?"
+
+"I know that you would not leave me unless I were willing for you
+to go.  I know that, Roscoe.  But I am much better and stronger
+than I was.  I shall never be well--"
+
+"Don't say that," I interrupted, hastily.
+
+"But I must say it, because it is true.  I shall never be well, but
+I am strong enough now to bear the thought of your leaving me and
+when the time comes I shall insist upon your doing so.  I am glad
+we have had this talk, dear.  I am glad, too, that you are going to
+be busy once more in the way you like and ought to be.  You must
+tell me about your work every day.  Now go, because your dinner is
+ready and, of course, you must be getting back to the bank.  Kiss
+me, Boy."
+
+And as I bent over her she put her arms about my neck.
+
+"Boy," she whispered, "I know there is some reason for your doing
+this, a reason which you have not told me.  You will tell me some
+day, won't you?"
+
+I straightened hurriedly and tried to laugh.  "Of course I'll tell
+you, Mother," I replied.  "If there is anything to tell."
+
+The clam pie was on the table in the dining-room and Dorinda was
+seated majestically before it.  Lute was fidgeting in his chair.
+
+"Here he is," he exclaimed, as I joined the pair at the table.
+"Ros, how did you ever come to do it?"
+
+His wife squelched him, as usual.  "If Roscoe's got anything to
+tell," she observed, with dignity, "he'll tell it without your help
+or anybody else's.  If he ain't, he won't.  This pie's colder than
+it ought to be, but that isn't my fault."
+
+As I ate I told them of my sudden determination to become a
+laboring man.  I gave the reasons that I had given Mother.
+
+"Um-hm," said Dorinda.
+
+"But I can't understand," pleaded Lute.  "You don't need to work,
+and I've sort of took a pride in your not doin' it.  If I was well-
+off, same as you be, I bet George Taylor'd have to whistle afore I
+wore out MY brains in his old bank."
+
+"He wouldn't have time to whistle more'n once," was Dorinda's
+comment.
+
+"Now, Dorinda, what kind of talk is that?  Wouldn't have time to
+whistle?  You do say more things without any sense to 'em!  Just
+talk to hear yourself, I cal'late.  What are you grinnin' at,
+Roscoe?"
+
+"I can't imagine, Lute.  This clam pie is a triumph.  May I have
+another helping, Dorinda?"
+
+Dorinda did not answer, but the second helping was a liberal one.
+She was so quiet and the glances she gave me from time to time were
+so odd that I began to feel uneasy.  I was fairly sure that she
+approved of my new venture, but why did she look at me like that?
+
+"Well," said I, looking at my watch and rising, "what do you think
+of it?  Am I doing right?"
+
+Lute leaned back in his chair.  "There's consider'ble to be said on
+that subject," he announced.  "Work, as a general thing, I consider
+all right; I've told you that afore.  But when it comes to--"
+
+"What do you think, Dorinda?" I interrupted.
+
+Dorinda stirred her tea.
+
+"Think?" she repeated.  "I think . . .  When's that Colton girl
+comin' to call on Comfort again?"
+
+I had taken my hat from the hook.  Now, with it in my hand, I
+turned and faced her.
+
+"How should I know that?" I demanded.  "That's a trifle off the
+subject, isn't it?"
+
+"Um-hm," said Dorinda.  "Maybe 'tis."
+
+I went out hurriedly.
+
+Within the week I was at home in my new position.  The strangeness
+of regular hours and regular employment wore away with surprising
+rapidity.  There were, of course, mornings when sea and sky and the
+freshness of outdoors tempted me and I wondered whether or not I
+had been foolish to give up my fine and easy life.  But these
+periods of temptation were shorter and less frequent as I became
+more and more familiar with my duties and with the routine of the
+bank.  I found myself taking a greater interest in the institution
+and, to my astonishment, I was actually sorry when Saturday came.
+It seemed odd enough to once more have money in my pocket which I
+had earned.  It was not a great amount, of course, but I felt it to
+be mine.  Yes, there was no doubt about it, I had done the right
+thing, and was glad.  I was grateful to Taylor for having given me
+the opportunity.  Perhaps I should have been grateful to the person
+whose brutal and impertinent frankness had piqued me into grasping
+that opportunity, but I was not.
+
+She made her second call upon Mother two days after our impromptu
+picnic at Seabury's Pond.  I heard all about it when I came home
+that afternoon.  It appeared that she had brought more flowers and
+a fresh supply of books.  She had remained even longer than on her
+first visit and she and Mother had talked about almost everything
+under the sun.  One topic, however, had not been discussed, a fact
+which my guarded questions made certain.  She, like myself, had
+said nothing concerning the day in the woods.
+
+"I told her of your consenting to help Mr. Taylor in his dilemma,"
+said Mother.
+
+"Did you?" said I.  "It was kind of you to put it in that way."
+
+"That was the truthful way of putting it, wasn't it?  She seemed
+very much interested."
+
+"Indeed.  And surprised, I presume."
+
+"Why, yes, I think so.  She seemed surprised at first; then she
+laughed; I could not understand why.  She has a very pleasant
+laugh, hasn't she?"
+
+"I have never noticed."  This was untrue.
+
+"She has.  She is a charming girl.  I am sorry you were not here
+when she called.  I told her you would be home soon and asked her
+to wait, but she would not."
+
+"I am glad she didn't."
+
+"Roscoe!"
+
+"I am, Mother.  That young lady comes here to see you merely
+because she has nothing else to do just now.  I shouldn't accept
+too many favors from her."
+
+Mother said I was unreasonable and prejudiced and I did not argue
+the point.  Lute and Dorinda discussed the caller at the supper
+table until I was constrained to leave the room.  Mabel Colton
+might amuse herself with Mother and the two members of our
+household whom she had described as "characters," she might delude
+them into believing her thoughtful and sympathetic and without
+false pride, but I knew better.  She had insulted me.  She had, in
+so many words, told me that I was lazy and worthless, just as she
+might have told her chauffeur or one of the servants.  That it was
+true made no difference.  Would she have spoken in that way to--to
+Victor Carver, for instance?  Hardly.  She was just what I had
+thought her at first, a feminine edition of Victor, with more
+brains than he possessed.
+
+Captain Jed Dean came into the bank the third day after my
+installation as bookkeeper and teller.  I was alone in the
+director's room, going over some papers, and he entered and shook
+hands with me.  The old fellow professed delight at my presence
+there.
+
+"George tells me you're takin' hold fust-rate," he said.  "That's
+good.  I'm glad to hear it."
+
+"Why?" I asked.  There was a trace of his old pomposity in the
+speech--or I imagined there was--and I chose to resent it.  These
+were the days when I was in the mood to resent almost anything.
+
+"Why?" he repeated, in surprise.  "What do you mean?"
+
+"Why are you glad?" I said.  "I can't see what difference it makes
+to you whether I succeed or not."
+
+He regarded me with a puzzled expression, but, instead of taking
+offense, he laughed.
+
+"You've got a chip on your shoulder, ain't you, Ros?" he observed.
+"Workin' you too hard at the start, are we?"
+
+"No," I answered, curtly.
+
+"Then what is the matter?"
+
+"Why, nothing, unless it is that everyone I meet seems to take such
+a great interest in my being here.  I believe all of Denboro talks
+of nothing else."
+
+"Not much else, I shouldn't wonder.  But that's to be expected,
+ain't it?  Everybody's glad you're makin' good."
+
+"Humph!  They all seem to regard that as the eighth wonder of the
+world.  The position doesn't require a marvel of intelligence;
+almost any one with a teaspoonful of brains could fill it."
+
+"Why no, they couldn't.  But that's nothin' to do with it.  I see
+what's the matter with you, Ros.  You think all hands are knocked
+on their beam ends because you've gone to work.  Some of 'em are,
+that's a fact, and you can't blame 'em much, considerin' how long
+you've lived here without doin' anything.  But all of 'em that
+amount to a three-cent piece are glad, and the rest don't count
+anyway.  You've made a good many friends in this town lately, son."
+
+I smiled bitterly.  "Friends," I said.
+
+"Why, yes, friends.  And friends are worth havin', especially if
+you make 'em without beggin' for their friendship.  I give in that
+you've surprised some of us.  We didn't know that you had it in
+you.  But your standin' up to old Colton was a fine thing, and we
+appreciated it."
+
+"That is because you were against his grabbing the Lane."
+
+"What of it?  And 'twan't that altogether.  I, for one, ain't
+complainin' because you stood up to me and wouldn't sell to the
+town.  By the way, Tim Hallet's gang haven't bothered you lately,
+have they?"
+
+"No.  And I advise them not to."
+
+He chuckled.  "I heard you advised 'em to that effect," he said.
+"I ain't complainin' at that, either, even though I knew what they
+was up to and thought 'twas more or less of a joke.  But I liked
+the way you fired 'em out of there, not carin' a tinker's darn who
+was behind 'em.  So long as a man stands square in his boots and
+don't knuckle to anybody he won't lose anything with Jed Dean.
+That's me!"
+
+"You ought to like Colton, then," I said.  "He hasn't knuckled,
+much."
+
+Captain Jed grinned.  "Well," he said, slowly, "I don't object to
+that in him.  He seems to be a fighter and that's all right.  Maybe
+if I was one of his tribe in New York I should like him.  But I
+ain't.  And you ain't, Ros.  We're both of us country folks, livin'
+here, and he's a city shark buttin' into the feedin' grounds.  He
+wants to hog the whole place and you and I say he shan't.  I'm
+thankful to him for one thing: his comin' here has waked you up,
+and it's goin' to make a man of you, or I miss my guess."
+
+I did not answer.
+
+"You mustn't get mad because I talk this way," he went on.  "I'm
+old enough to be your dad, Ros Paine, and I know what I'm talkin'
+about.  I never took much of a shine to you in the old days.  You
+was too much of what the story books call a 'gentleman' to suit me.
+I've had to scratch all my life for what I've got, but I've got it.
+When a young, able feller like you was contented to loaf around as
+you did and take no interest in nothin', I, naturally, figgered he
+was no-account.  I see now I was wrong.  All you needed was
+somethin' to stir you up and set you goin'.  KEEP goin', that's my
+advice to you.  And so long as you do, and don't bend when the
+pressure gets hard, you'll be somebody afore you die.  And the
+friends you've made'll stand back of you."
+
+"How about the enemies I have made?"
+
+"Enemies?  I suppose likely you have made some enemies, but what of
+it?  I've made enemies all my life.  It ain't because I'm popular
+here in Denboro that I'm what I am.  Now is it?"
+
+The truthful answer would have been no.  Captain Dean was not
+popular, but he was respected even by the many who disliked and
+disagreed with him.  I hesitated, trying to think what to say.
+
+"You know 'tain't that," he said.  "Popularity I never had, though
+it's a pleasant enough thing and sometimes I wish--  But there,
+this ain't experience meetin'.  I'm glad you're here in this bank.
+You're smart, and George says you are worth more than Henry Small
+ever was, even so early.  If you really are what it begins to look
+as if you are I'm glad for Denboro.  Maybe there'll be somebody
+besides George fit to run this town after I'm gone."
+
+I smiled.  The last remark was so characteristic that it was funny.
+He was turning away, but he noticed the smile and turned back.
+
+"That's a joke, hey?" he asked.
+
+"Captain," I said, "you are not consistent.  When you and I first
+talked about the Lane you said that you would not blame me if I
+closed it.  If it was yours you wouldn't have Tom, Dick, and Harry
+driving fish carts through it."
+
+"Did I say that?"
+
+"Yes.  And you said, on another occasion, that anyone would sell
+anything if they were offered money enough."
+
+"Humph!  Well, sometimes I say 'most anything but my prayers.
+Matildy says I forget them pretty often, but I tell her her Friday
+night speeches are long enough to make up.  Maybe I meant what I
+said to you at those times, Ros.  I shouldn't wonder if I did.  But
+'twas a lie just the same.  There are things I wouldn't sell, of
+course.  Nellie, my daughter's one of 'em.  She's goin' to get a
+good husband in George here, but her happiness means more to me
+than money.  She's one of the things I wouldn't sell.  And my
+Selectman's job is another.  I fought for that, not so much for the
+honor, or whatever you call it, but because--well, because I wanted
+to show 'em that I could get it if I set out to.  I don't presume
+likely you can understand that feelin'."
+
+"I think I can," I answered.  "Mr. Colton gave about the same
+reason for his determination to close the Lane.  You and he seem to
+be a good deal alike, after all."
+
+He looked at me from beneath his bushy brows.  His mouth twisted in
+a grim smile.
+
+"Say, son," he said, "if I hadn't been so free with my proclamations
+about bein' your friend you and me would have a settlement for
+that little bit of talk.  The Emperor and me alike!  Ugh!"
+
+The next afternoon he came in again and asked me to step outside
+the railing.  He had something to say to me, he declared.
+
+We sat down together on the settee by the wall.
+
+"Ros," he said, in a low tone, "have you had any new offer for your
+property?  Not from Colton or the town, but from anybody else?"
+
+"No," I answered.  "What do you mean?"
+
+"You ain't heard anything from a Boston firm claimin' to represent
+the Bay Shore Development Company, or some such?"
+
+"No.  What sort of a company is that?"
+
+"I don't know; that is, I don't know much about it.  But there's
+talk driftin' 'round that a Boston syndicate is cal'latin' to buy
+up all the shore front land from South Ostable to the Bayport line
+and open it up for summer house lots.  The name is the Bay Shore
+Development Company, or somethin' like that.  You ain't heard from
+'em, then?"
+
+"Not a word.  Where did your information come from?"
+
+"From nobody in particular.  It just seems to be in the air.  Alvin
+Baker heard it over to Ostable.  The feller that told him got it
+from somebody else, who got it from another somebody, and so on.
+There's talk about good prices bein' offered and, accordin' to
+Alvin, Ostable folks are pretty excited.  Elnathan Mullet, who owns
+that strip below your house, knows somethin' about it, I think.  I
+shouldn't wonder if he'd had an offer, or a hint, or somethin'.
+But Elnathan's mouth shuts tighter than a muskrat trap and I
+couldn't get nothin' out of him.  He just looked knowin' and that
+was all.  But, if it's so, it may mean a heap to Denboro."
+
+I was considering the news when he spoke again.
+
+"It might mean a lot to you, Ros," he whispered.
+
+"How so?"
+
+"Why, this way:  If this concern offered you enough money you might
+sell out to them, mightn't you?  Sell all your place, I mean; you
+could get another one easy enough.  You ain't particular about
+livin' by the shore."
+
+"But--you urge me to SELL!" I exclaimed.  "Sell the Shore Lane with
+the rest?"
+
+"Why not?  You wouldn't be sellin' to Colton.  And, if this
+development scheme is what they say it is, there'll be roads cut
+through all along shore.  The town could use any of 'em; at least
+that arrangement might be made.  Think it over, Ros.  If they do
+offer and offer enough, I'd sell, if I was you.  Say! that would be
+a reef under His Majesty's bows, hey?  Jolt him some, I cal'late."
+
+I did not answer.  This was a new possibility.  Of course his
+reason for advising my selling was plain enough, but, leaving the
+Coltons entirely aside, the idea was not without allurement.  The
+town's convenience in the matter of a road might be considered,
+just as he said.  And my scruples against selling at a profit were,
+after all, based upon that feature.
+
+"You think it over," he counseled.  "Don't say nothin' to nobody,
+but just think--and wait.  I'll keep my eye to wind'ard and see
+what I can find out.  I tell you honest, Ros, I'll feel safer when
+I know old Imperial's game's blocked for good and all."
+
+Old Imperial himself made his appearance before closing hours.  I
+looked up from my work to see him standing by the window.  He had
+not expected to see me there--evidently his daughter had not
+considered Mother's news of sufficient importance to repeat--and,
+at first, he did not recognize me.
+
+"Good afternoon, Mr. Colton," said I.
+
+He nodded.  "Cash this for me, will you," he said, pushing a check
+through the opening.  "What?  Hello!  What in blazes are you doing
+in there?"
+
+"I am employed here now," I answered.
+
+"Humph! how long since?"
+
+"Ten days, or such matter."
+
+"What are you doing in a bank?"
+
+"Banking was my business, at one time."
+
+"Thought you hadn't any business."
+
+"I haven't had any, for some years.  Now I have.  How do you wish
+this money?  In tens and fives?"
+
+"Yes.  Nothing bigger.  Down here it restricts the circulation if
+you spring a twenty dollar bill on them.  So you've taken to
+banking?  I was thinking of corraling you for a gunning trip one of
+these days.  Now it's all off, I suppose."
+
+"It looks that way.  Sorry I am to be deprived of the pleasure."
+
+"Humph!"  Then, with one of his sudden changes, "How big a business
+does this concern do?  What do your deposits amount to?"
+
+I gave him the figures, as printed in the yearly statement.  He
+made no comment.  Instead he observed, "You haven't been around to
+accept that offer of mine yet, Paine."
+
+"Not yet," I answered.
+
+"Suppose I ought to raise it, now that you're a financier yourself.
+However, I shan't."
+
+"I haven't asked you to."
+
+He smiled.  "No, you haven't," he said.  "Well, it is open--for a
+while.  If I were you I'd accept it pretty soon."
+
+"Possibly."
+
+"Meaning that I am not you, hey?  I'm not.  I haven't your high
+principles, Paine.  Can't afford 'em.  You're what they call a
+'Progressive' in politics, too, aren't you?"
+
+"Here is your money," I said, ignoring the question.
+
+"I'll bet you are!" he declared, taking the bills.  "I never saw
+one of you high-principled chaps yet that wasn't--until he got rich
+enough to be something else.  Progress is all right, maybe, but I
+notice that you fellows pay for it and the rest of us get it.  Just
+as I am going to get that land of yours."
+
+"You haven't got it yet," I said, serenely.  I had made up my mind
+that this time he should not provoke me into losing my temper.
+
+He seemed to divine my determination.  His eye twinkled.  "You're
+improving, Paine," he observed.  "I'll give you a piece of advice;
+it has cost me a good deal to learn, but I'll give it to you:
+Don't ever let the other fellow make you mad."
+
+I remembered our first interview and I could not resist the
+temptation to retort.
+
+"If my recollection is correct," I said, "you forgot that the first
+time we met."
+
+He laughed aloud.  "So I did," he admitted.  "Maybe if I hadn't it
+would not cost me so much to get my own way in your case."
+
+He walked out of the building.  I heard one exclamation from behind
+and, turning, saw Sam Wheeler, my youthful assistant, staring at
+me.
+
+"My--gosh!" exclaimed Sam, his tone a mixture of wonder and
+admiration, "I don't see how you dast to talk back to him like
+that, Ros.  He'll sic the--the 'System' onto you, won't he?"
+
+It was evident that Sam had been reading the magazines.
+
+I heard no more from Captain Jed and nothing from the mysterious
+"Development Company" for the remainder of that week.  But on
+Sunday, as I sat in the boat house, smoking my after dinner pipe
+and reading, Lute excitedly entered, followed by a well-dressed,
+smooth-shaven man of middle age, whom he introduced as Mr. Keene of
+Boston, "who's driven all the way from Ostable a-purpose to see
+you, Ros."
+
+Mr. Keene shook hands with me cordially and apologized for
+intruding upon my day of rest.  He intended returning to the city
+in the morning, he said, and, as he had a little matter to discuss
+with me, had taken the liberty of calling.  "I shan't take more
+than half an hour of your time, Mr. Paine," he explained.  "At
+least I feel certain that you and I can reach an agreement in that
+period.  If I might be alone with you--"
+
+This hint, evidently intended for Lute's benefit, was quite lost
+upon the last named individual, who had seated himself on the edge
+of the work bench and was listening with both ears.  I was obliged
+to tell him that his presence was superfluous and request his
+returning to the house, which he reluctantly did, moving slowly and
+looking back with an expression of grieved disappointment.  After
+he had gone I asked Mr. Keene what his "little matter" might be.
+
+His reply was prompt and to the point.  He gave me his card.  He
+was, it seemed, junior partner in the firm of Barclay and Keene,
+real estate brokers and promoters, Milk Street, Boston.  And, just
+now, he was acting as representative of the Bay Shore Development
+Company.  "A concern of which, in spite of all our precautions and
+attempts at secrecy, you may, perhaps, have heard, Mr. Paine," he
+added, smiling.
+
+I admitted that I had heard rumors concerning the company's
+existence.  But, except for these very vague rumors, I knew nothing
+about it.
+
+He expected that, he said, and was glad to give me further and
+complete information.  In fact, that was his reason for coming so
+many miles to see me.  If I would be good enough to listen he would
+tell me just what the Bay Shore Company was and what it contemplated
+doing.
+
+I listened and he talked.  According to him the Bay Shore
+syndicate--that is what it was, a syndicate of capitalists--
+represented one of the biggest real estate propositions ever
+conceived.  Those behind it were awake to the possibilities of the
+Cape as a summer resort.  Shore land, water front property in the
+vicinity, was destined to increase in value, provided it was
+properly exploited and developed.  The company's idea was to do
+just that--exploit and develop.
+
+"We've been quietly looking about," he continued, "and are all
+ready for the preliminaries.  And naturally, the first preliminary
+is to secure the land to develop.  You have some of that land, Mr.
+Paine.  We know just how much, as we do the holdings of every other
+party we have approached or intend to approach.  I am here to get
+your figures and, if possible, conclude the purchase of your
+property this afternoon.  It is Sunday, of course," he added, with
+a good-humored laugh, "and contracts signed to-day are not legal;
+but we can make a verbal contract and the papers may be signed
+later.  I will defer my departure until the afternoon train
+to-morrow for that purpose.  Now name your figure, Mr. Paine."
+
+Of course I had guessed what was coming.  If I intended to sell at
+all here was my opportunity to do so--to, as Captain Jed expressed
+it, "block Colton's game" without sacrificing the principle for
+which I had fought, and make a good bit of money for myself.
+Another home near by could be secured, I had no doubt, and to it
+Mother might be safely and easily moved.  Yet I hesitated to
+express even a qualified willingness.
+
+"You appear to be certain that I will sell," I observed.  "Isn't
+that taking a good deal for granted, Mr. Keene?"
+
+He smiled--in fact he smiled almost too often to please me.  There
+is such a thing as being too cordial and good-natured; and he was
+so very friendly on short acquaintance.
+
+"I understand," he said.  "I have heard about you, Mr. Paine.
+This, however, is a different matter.  We are not hogs, Mr. Paine,
+but business men.  If our plans go through, Denboro will be
+grateful to us and to you."
+
+"IF they go through?  I thought you were certain of their going
+through."
+
+"Certainly, certainly.  There is, of course, an 'if' in all human
+plans, but our particular 'if' is a small one.  I hope you will
+name your figure now, at once.  Don't be afraid.  We are disposed
+to be liberal.  And, understand, this is entirely a cash
+transaction.  You shall have the money in one hand as you sign the
+contract with the other.  Ha! ha!  What is the price to be?"
+
+But I would not name a price.  I seemed to feel as unreasonably
+reluctant to close with the Bay Shore Development Company as I had
+been with Captain Jed or Colton.
+
+"Shall I make a bid?" asked Keene.
+
+"No, not yet at any rate.  Tell me, this:  Whose land have you
+already bought?"
+
+He shook his head.  "That, of course," he said, with the same
+gracious smile, "I can hardly tell even to you.  Some of the deals
+are not yet closed, and, as a business man yourself, Mr. Paine,
+you--"
+
+"I am not a business man," I interrupted, impatiently.  "At least,
+not much of a one.  You say there are capitalists behind your
+scheme.  Who are they?"
+
+He laid his hand on my knee.  "Why, that," he said, "is a secret no
+one is supposed to know.  Men--financiers such as we are proud to
+serve--permit their names to be known only when the corporation is
+ready to begin actual operations.  That is natural enough.  If I
+were to mention names--well, some of your Yankee neighbors would
+want to become millionaires before selling."
+
+There was truth in this.  I imagine that he guessed he had made an
+impression, for he went on to shout his praises of the company and
+the greatness of its plan.  He talked and talked; in fact he talked
+too much.  I did not like to hear him.  I did not like HIM, that
+was the trouble.  He was too smooth and voluble altogether.  And he
+made a mistake in patting my knee.
+
+"Very well," said I, rising from my chair; "I'll think it over."
+
+He was plainly disappointed.  "I don't wish to hurry you, of
+course," he said, not moving from his chair, "but we are anxious to
+close.  This is to be cash, remember, and I stand ready to make an
+offer.  I am sure we can reach an agreement, satisfactory to both
+sides, Mr. Paine."
+
+"Perhaps, but I prefer to think the matter over before naming a
+price or hearing your offer."
+
+As a matter of fact I did not intend to sell, or consider selling,
+until I had discussed the whole affair with Mother.  But there was
+no need to tell him that.
+
+"I am sorry, I confess," he said.  "I hoped this particular deal
+might be closed.  We have so many of these little details, Mr.
+Paine, and time is money.  However, if you insist upon it, I
+presume the company will be willing to wait a few days."
+
+"I am afraid it will have to."
+
+"Very well, very well.  I shall be down again in a day or two.  Of
+course, waiting may have some effect upon the price.  To-day I was
+empowered to . . .  You don't care to hear?  Very well.  So glad to
+have met you, Mr. Paine.  Of course you will not mention the
+subject of our interview to anyone.  Business secrets, you know.
+Thank you, thank you.  And I will see you again--Thursday, shall we
+say?"
+
+I refused to say Thursday, principally because he had said it
+first.  I suggested Saturday instead.  He agreed, shook hands as if
+I were an old friend from whom he parted with regret, and left me.
+
+No, I did not like Mr. Keene.  He was too polite and too familiar.
+And, as I thought over his words, the whole prospectus of the Bay
+Shore Development Company seemed singularly vague.  The proposal to
+buy my land was definite enough, but the rest of it was, apparently,
+very much in the air.  There was too much secrecy about it.  No one
+was to tell anyone anything.  I was glad I had insisted upon time
+for consideration.  I intended to consider thoroughly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+When I left the boat house I did not go directly home, but wandered
+along the beach.  I had puzzled my brain with Mr. Keene and his
+errand until I determined not to puzzle it any longer that day.  If
+my suspicions were unfounded and existed merely because of my
+dislike of the Bay Shore Company's representative, then they were
+not worth worry.  If they were well founded I had almost a week in
+which to discover the fact.  I would dismiss the whole matter from
+my thoughts.  The question as to whether or not I would sell the
+land at all to anybody, which was, after all, the real question, I
+resolved to put off answering until I had had my talk with Mother.
+
+I walked on by the water's edge until I reached the Lane; turning
+into that much coveted strip of territory I continued until I came
+opposite the Colton mansion, where, turning again, I strolled
+homeward by the path through the grove.  Unconsciously my wandering
+thoughts strayed to Mabel Colton.  It was here that I had met her
+on two occasions.  I had an odd feeling that I should meet her here
+again, that she was here now.  I had no reason for thinking such a
+thing, certainly the wish was not father to the thought, but at
+every bend in the path, as the undergrowth hid the way, I expected,
+as I turned the corner, to see her coming toward me.
+
+But the path was, save for myself, untenanted.  I was almost at its
+end, where the pines and bushes were scattering and the field of
+daisies, now in full bloom, began, when I heard a slight sound at
+my left.  I looked in the direction of the sound and saw her.  She
+was standing beneath a gnarled, moss-draped old pine by the bluff
+edge, looking out over the bay.
+
+I stopped, involuntarily.  Then I moved on again, as noiselessly as
+I could.  But at my first step she turned and saw me.  I raised my
+hat.  She bowed, coldly, so it seemed to my supersensitive
+imagination, and I replaced the hat and continued my walk.  I
+thought I heard the bushes near which she stood rustle as if she
+had moved, but I did not look back.
+
+Then, close behind me, I heard her voice.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said.
+
+I turned.  She had followed me and was standing in the path, a bit
+out of breath, as if she had hurried.  I waited for her to speak,
+but she did not.
+
+"Good afternoon, Miss Colton," I said, awkwardly.  Some one had to
+speak, we could not stand staring at each other like that.
+
+She said "Good afternoon," also.  Then there was another interval
+of silence.
+
+"You--you wished to speak to me?" I stammered.
+
+"I DID speak to you," with significant emphasis on the "did."  "I
+thought you might, possibly, be interested to know that Don and I
+reached home safely the other day."
+
+Considering that she had called upon Mother since, it seemed to me
+that my knowledge of her reaching home safely might have been taken
+for granted; but I said:
+
+"I am very glad to hear it, Miss Colton."
+
+"We had no difficulty in finding the way after you left us."
+
+The way being almost straight, and over the main traveled roads,
+this, too, was fairly obvious.
+
+"I felt sure you would have no trouble--after I left you," I
+answered, with a significant emphasis of my own.
+
+She did not reply and, as I had nothing further to say, I waited
+for her to continue, or to break off the interview.  She did
+neither, but stood, as if irresolute, looking down and stirring
+with her foot the leaves at the edge of the path.  Suddenly she
+looked up.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said, "you are making it hard for me to say what I
+intended.  But I think I should say it, and so I will.  I beg your
+pardon for speaking as I did when I last saw you.  I had no right
+to judge or criticize you, none whatever."
+
+"You do not need to apologize, Miss Colton.  What you told me was
+probably true enough."
+
+The conventional answer to this would have been a half-hearted
+denial of my statement.  I presume I expected something of the
+sort.  But this girl was not conventional.
+
+"Yes," she said, thoughtfully, "I think it was.  If I had not
+thought so I should not have said it.  But that makes no difference.
+You and I are strangers, almost, and I had no right to speak as I
+did.  I am impulsive, I know it, and I often do and say things on
+impulse which I am sorry for afterward.  I offended you."
+
+"Oh no, no," I put in, hurriedly.  She had offended me, but this
+frank confession touched me more than the offense had hurt.  She
+was doing a hard thing and doing it handsomely.
+
+"Yes, I offended you," she repeated, firmly.  "I have considered
+the matter a good deal since then, and it seems to me that you were
+right to feel offended.  You had been very kind to me on several
+occasions and I had been your"--with a half smile--"your guest that
+day.  I should not have hurt your feelings.  Will you accept my
+apology?"
+
+"Why, yes, of course, since you insist, Miss Colton."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+She was turning to go; and I could not let her go thus.  Although
+she had apologized for speaking her thought she had not retracted
+the thought itself.  I was seized with a desire for justification
+in her eyes.  I wanted to explain; forgetting for the moment that
+explanations were impossible.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, impulsively.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"May I--may I say a word?"
+
+"Certainly, if you wish."
+
+She turned again and faced me.
+
+"Miss Colton, I--I--" I began, and paused.
+
+"Well?" she said, patiently, "What is it?"
+
+"Miss Colton," I blundered on, "you should not have apologized.
+You were right.  Your estimate of me was pretty nearly correct.  I
+realized that when you gave it and I have been realizing it ever
+since.  I deserved what I got--perhaps.  But I should not wish you
+to think--that is, I--well, I had reasons, they seemed to me
+reasons, for being what I was--what I am.  I doubt if they were
+altogether good reasons; I am inclined now to think they were not.
+But I had come to think them good.  You see, I--I--"
+
+I stopped, face to face with the fact that I could not give those
+reasons to her or any one else.  She was looking at me expectantly,
+and with, so it seemed to me, an expression of real, almost eager
+interest.  I faltered, tried to go on, and then surrendered,
+absolutely, to the hopelessness of the situation.
+
+"It is no use," I said, "I can't tell you what those reasons were."
+
+I turned as I said it.  I did not care to see her expression
+change.  I knew what she must be thinking and I had no desire to
+read the thought in her eyes.  I stood there, waiting for her to
+leave in disgust.
+
+"I can't tell you," I repeated, stubbornly.
+
+"Very well."  Her tone was as coldly indifferent as I had
+anticipated.  "Was that all you wished to say to me, Mr. Paine?"
+
+"Miss Colton, I should like to explain if I could.  But I cannot."
+
+"Pray don't trouble yourself.  I assure you I had no intentions of
+asking for your--reasons.  Good afternoon."
+
+I heard her skirts brush the leaves at the border of the path.  She
+was going; and the contemptuous slur at my "reasons" proved that
+she did not believe them existent.  She believed me to be a liar.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, sharply; "wait."
+
+She kept on.
+
+"Wait," I said again.  "Listen to me."
+
+She seemed to hesitate and then turned her head.
+
+"I am listening," she said.  "What is it?"
+
+"You have no right to disbelieve me."
+
+"I disbelieve you?  Why should you think I disbelieve you?  I am
+not sufficiently interested to believe or disbelieve, I assure
+you."
+
+"But you do.  You judge me--"
+
+"_I_ judge you!  You flatter yourself, Mr. Paine."
+
+"But you do.  You apologized just now for judging me without a
+hearing the other day.  You acknowledged that you should not have
+done it.  You are doing the same thing now."
+
+"I apologized for presuming to offer advice to a stranger.  I did
+not apologize for the advice itself.  I think it good.  I do not
+care to argue the matter further."
+
+"You are not asked to argue.  But your sneer at my reasons proves
+that you believe that I have none and am merely trying to justify
+myself with trumped up and lying excuses.  You are wrong, and since
+you presumed to judge me then you must listen to me now.  I have--
+or had--reasons for living as I have done, for being the idler and
+good-for-nothing you believe me to be.  I can't tell you what they
+are; I can tell no one.  But I do ask you to believe that I have
+them, that they are real, and that my being what you termed
+ambitionless and a country loafer is not my condition from choice.
+It is my right to insist upon your believing that.  Do you believe
+it?"
+
+At last I had made an impression.  My earnestness seemed to have
+shaken her contemptuous indifference.  She looked at me steadily,
+frowning a little, but regarding me less as if I were a clod and
+more and more as if I were the puzzle she had once declared me to
+be.  I did not shun her look now, but met it eye to eye.
+
+"Do you believe me?" I demanded.
+
+Slowly her frown was disappearing.
+
+"Do you believe me?" I said, again.  "You must."
+
+"Must?"
+
+"Yes, you must.  I shall make you.  If not now, at some other time.
+You must believe me, Miss Colton."
+
+The frown disappeared altogether and she smiled.
+
+"If you order me to I suppose I must," she said, with a shrug of
+mock resignation.  "I should have learned by this time that it is
+useless to say no when you say yes, Mr. Paine."
+
+"But do you?"
+
+She turned altogether and faced me.
+
+"I am very glad to believe you," she said, with simple directness.
+
+I stammered a "Thank you" and was silent.  I dared not trust myself
+to speak at the moment.  Somehow the sincerity of her words moved
+me far more than their trifling import warranted.  She had declared
+her belief that I was not a liar, that was all; and yet I stood
+there fighting down all sorts of ridiculous emotions.  The
+situation was decidedly strained, but, as usual, she saved it.
+
+"It seems to me," she said, with the twinkle which I had learned to
+recognize as a forerunner of mischief on her part, "that you are
+inclined to make mountains out of mole-hills, Mr. Paine.  Was there
+any need to be quite so fiercely tragic?  And, besides, I think
+that even now you have not told the whole truth."
+
+"The whole truth?  Why, Miss Colton, I have just explained that--"
+
+"Oh, not that truth!  Your mysterious 'reasons' are not my affair.
+And I have told you that I was willing to take those on trust.  But
+you have not been quite truthful in another particular.  You
+intimated that you were an idler.  I have been given to understand
+that you are far from being an idler just now."
+
+I was relieved.  "Oh, I see!" I exclaimed.  "You mean--some one has
+told you of my employment at the bank."
+
+"A number of persons have told me.  Surely you did not expect to
+keep THAT a secret--in Denboro?"
+
+"Well, scarcely," I admitted, with a laugh.  "That was known almost
+before I was sure of it myself.  You should have seen Eldredge's
+face when I announced my intention.  And Lute--Mrs. Rogers'
+husband--hasn't completely recovered yet.  The sight of me,
+actually trying to earn a living, was too much for him.  You see
+what a miracle worker you are, Miss Colton."
+
+"Did you really accept the position simply because of what I said
+to you?"
+
+"Yes.  The chance had been offered me before, but it was your
+frankness that shocked me into taking it."
+
+"Not really?  You are joking."
+
+"No, I'm not.  You are responsible.  Are you sorry?"
+
+Her answer was a question.
+
+"Are you?" she asked.
+
+"No.  At first it seemed ridiculous and strange, even to myself;
+but now I like the work.  It is like old times."
+
+"Old times?"
+
+I was forgetting myself again; talking too much was a dangerous
+train--for me.  I laughed, with pretended carelessness.
+
+"Why, yes; I was employed in a bank at one time.  I think I told
+you that.  Have you been motoring much of late, Miss Colton?"
+
+"Yes.  Tell me, please:  You really like your work?"
+
+"Yes, I do."
+
+"Then I will answer your question.  I am not a bit sorry.  I am
+glad I was impertinent and intrusive, especially now that I have
+apologized and you have accepted the apology.  I am very glad I
+told you you should do something worth while."
+
+"Even if it were nothing more than to follow Thoph Newcomb's
+example and sell fish."
+
+"Yes," laughingly, "even that.  I WAS impertinent, wasn't I!  I
+don't wonder you were offended."
+
+"I needed the impertinence, I guess.  But frankly, Miss Colton, I
+can't see why you should be glad because I have gone to work.  I
+can't see what difference my working or idling can possibly make to
+you."
+
+"Oh, it doesn't, of course--except on general principles.  I am a
+dreadful idler myself; but then, I am a woman, and idleness is a
+woman's right."
+
+I thought of Dorinda and of the other housewives of Denboro and how
+little of that particular "right" they enjoyed; which thought
+brought again and forcibly to my mind the difference between this
+girl's life and theirs--and Mother's--and my own.
+
+"A man," continued Miss Colton, sagely, "should not idle.  He
+should work and work hard--so that the rest of us may be as good
+for nothing as we please.  That is philosophy, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You were good enough not to say what sort of philosophy.  Thank
+you.  But seriously, Mr. Paine, I am fond of your mother--very
+fond, considering our short acquaintance--and when I saw her lying
+there, so patient, and deprived of the little luxuries and
+conveniences which she needs, and which a little more money might
+bring to her, it seemed to me . . .  Gracious! what a lot of
+nonsense I am talking!  What is the matter with me this afternoon?
+Do let's change the subject.  Have you sold your land yet, Mr.
+Paine?  Of course you haven't!  That is more nonsense, isn't it."
+
+I think she had again spoken merely on the impulse of the moment;
+doubtless there was no deliberate intention on her part to bring me
+to a realization of my position, the position I occupied in her
+thoughts; but if she had had such an intent she could not have done
+it more effectively.  She believed me to have been neglecting
+Mother, and her interest in my "doing something worth while" was
+inspired merely because she wished Mother to be supplied with those
+"luxuries and conveniences" she had mentioned.  Well, my question
+was answered; this was the difference my working or idling made to
+her.  And, for a minute or two, I had been foolish enough to fancy
+her interested, as a friend, in my success or failure in life.  I
+might have known better.  And yet, because of the novelty of the
+thing, because I had so few friends, I felt a pang of disappointment.
+
+But I resolved she should not know she had disappointed me.  I
+might have been a fool, but I would keep my foolishness a secret.
+
+"No, Miss Colton," I said, with a smile, "I haven't sold yet."
+
+"Father said he saw you at the bank.  Did he say anything about the
+land?"
+
+"He said his offer was still open, that was all."
+
+"You are resolved not to sell."
+
+"To him?  Yes, I am resolved.  I think he knows it.  I tried to
+make it plain."
+
+"You say to him.  Are you thinking of selling to any one else?  To
+the town?"
+
+"No.  Probably not to any one.  Certainly not to your father or the
+town."
+
+She looked at me, with an odd expression, and seemed to hesitate.
+
+"Mr. Paine," she said, slowly, "would you resent my giving you
+another bit of--advice?"
+
+"Not at all.  What is it this time?"
+
+"Why, nothing.  I must not give you any advice at all.  I won't.
+Instead I'll give you one of Father's pet proverbs.  It isn't an
+elegant one, but he is very fond of repeating it.  'There are more
+ways of killing a cat than choking it to death with butter.'
+There! you will admit it is not elegant."
+
+"But Miss Colton!  Killing a cat!  What in the world?"
+
+"You mustn't ask me.  I shouldn't have said even that.  But
+remember, it is father's pet proverb.  I must go.  Please give my
+love to your mother and tell her I shall call again soon.
+Good-by."
+
+She walked briskly away and did not look back.  I went home.  I
+thought a great deal during the evening and until late that night.
+When, at last, I did go to bed I had not made much progress in the
+problem of the cat, but I did believe that there was a rat in the
+vicinity.  I was beginning to scent one.  If I was not mistaken it
+called itself the Bay Shore Development Company.
+
+I said nothing to Mother of the new proposal to buy our land, but
+next morning at the bank I wrote a letter to the cashier of a bank
+in Boston, one of our correspondents, and with which our little
+institution was on very friendly terms.  I asked the cashier to
+make some guarded inquiries concerning the Bay Shore Company, to
+find out, if possible, who was behind it and also to inquire
+concerning Barclay and Keene, the real estate brokers of Milk
+Street.
+
+The reply to my letter reached me on Friday.  It was satisfactory,
+eminently so.  And when, on Saturday afternoon, Mr. Keene, bland
+and smiling as ever, made his appearance at the house, I was ready
+for him.  I stood on the step and made no move to invite him
+within.  "Well, Mr. Paine," he said, cordially, "are you ready to
+talk business?"
+
+"Quite ready," I answered.
+
+He beamed with satisfaction.
+
+"Good!" he exclaimed.  "Then what is your figure?"
+
+"My figure is a naught," I replied, with emphasis.  "You may tell
+your employer that I do not care to sell the land to him, no matter
+whether he calls himself James Colton or the Bay Shore Development
+Company.  Oh yes; and, if you like, you may add that this
+particular cat declines to be choked."
+
+Mr. Keene showed signs of choking, himself, and I shut the door and
+left him outside.  Lute, who had been listening at the dining-room
+window and had heard only fragments of the brief interview, was in
+a state of added incoherence.
+
+"Well, by time!" he gasped.  "What--what sort of talk was that?
+Chokin' a cat!  A cat!!  We ain't got no cat."
+
+"Haven't we?" I observed.  "Why, no, so we haven't!  Perhaps you
+had better explain that to Mr. Keene, Lute.  It may help him to
+understand the situation.  And add that I suggest his telling the
+person who sent him here that soft-soap is no improvement on
+butter."
+
+I think Lute did tell him just that, doubtless with all sorts of
+excuses for my insanity, for the next day, Sunday, as I walked
+along the beach, a big body came ploughing down the sandy slope and
+joined me.
+
+"Hello!" said Colton.
+
+"Good morning," said I.
+
+"How are independence and public spirit these days?"
+
+"Very well, thank you.  How are Development Companies developing?"
+
+He put back his head and laughed.  He did not seem a bit chagrined
+or discomfited.  The joke was on him, but he could enjoy it,
+nevertheless.  In spite of my antagonism toward this man I could
+not help admiring certain traits of his character.  He was big, in
+every way.  Little repulses or setbacks did not trouble him.
+
+"Say," he said, "how did you know about that cat?"
+
+"Saw his footprints," I replied.  "They were all over the scheme.
+And your friend Keene purred too loud."
+
+"I don't mean that.  Keene was a fool; that was plain enough for
+anyone to see.  I had to use him; if Barclay hadn't been sick it
+might have been different.  But how did you come to send me that
+message about the butter?  Man, that is one of my favorite sayings--
+the choking the cat thing!  How did you know that?  I never said
+it to you."
+
+"Oh, it is an old saying.  I have heard it often; and it did seem
+to fit in this case.  I imagined you would understand and
+appreciate."
+
+"Um--yes," dryly.  "I appreciated all right.  As to understanding--
+well, I'll understand later on.  That's another little conundrum
+for me to work out.  Somebody's been talking, of course.  Here!
+hold on!" as I was walking away:  "Don't go.  I want to talk to
+you."
+
+He characteristically did not ask whether or not I wanted to talk
+to him, but, as I happened to be in no hurry, I stopped and waited
+for him to continue.  He thrust his hands into his pockets and
+looked me over, very much as he might have looked over a horse he
+was thinking of buying.
+
+"Paine," he said, suddenly, "do you want to go to work?"
+
+"Work?" I repeated.  "I am at work already."
+
+"You've got a job, such as it is.  It might be work for the average
+jay, but it isn't for you.  I'll give you something to work at--
+yes, and work for."
+
+I stared at him in wondering suspicion.
+
+"What is this; another Development Company?" I demanded.
+
+"Ha! ha! not this time.  No, this is straight.  If you'll say that
+you'll work for me I'll make an opening for you in my New York
+office."
+
+I did not answer.  I was trying to fathom the motive behind this
+new move.
+
+"I'll put you to work in my office," he went on.  "It may not be
+much to begin with, but you can make it anything you like; that'll
+be up to you.  As to salary--well, I don't know what you're getting
+in that one-horse bank, but I'll double it, whatever it is.  That
+will be the start, of course.  After that it is up to you, as I
+said."
+
+"Mr. Colton this may be a good joke, but I don't see it--yet."
+
+"I don't joke often in business; can't afford to."
+
+"You are really serious?  You mean what you say?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But why?  You don't know anything about me."
+
+"I know all that is necessary.  And I have found out that you are
+all right, so far as bank work goes.  That fellow Taylor and some
+others told me that.  But I didn't need their telling.  Why, man,
+it is part of my trade to know men when I see them.  I have to know
+'em.  I said a while ago that you didn't belong in this forsaken
+hole of a town.  God knows it IS forsaken!  Even my wife is
+beginning to admit that, and she was the keenest to come here.
+Some day I shall get sick of it and sell out, I suppose."
+
+"Sell out?"
+
+"Oh, not yet.  Mabel--my daughter--seems to like it here, for some
+unknown reason, and wants to stay.  And I don't intend to sell
+until I've bought--what I set out to buy.  But I'm not the subject
+we're talking about just now.  You are.  Come! here's your chance
+to be somebody.  More chance than I had, I'll tell you that.  You
+can go to work in my office next week, if you want to.  Will you?"
+
+I laughed at the idea.  I believed I had found the motive I was
+seeking.  "Of course not," I said.  "You can't close the Lane by
+that kind of bribery, Mr. Colton."
+
+"Bribery be hanged!  Come, come, Paine!  Wake up, or I shall think
+your brains aren't up to standard, after all.  When I bribe I
+bribe.  When I ask a man to work for me there are no strings tied
+to the offer.  Forget your picayune land for a minute.  Time enough
+to remember that when I've got it, which will be some day or other,
+of course.  I'm making you this offer because I want you.  You're
+sharp; you saw through that Development game.  You're clever--your
+sending me that 'cat' message proves it.  And your not telling me
+where the idea for the message came from proves that you can keep
+your mouth shut.  I could use a dozen fellows like you, if I could
+get them.  You interested me right at the start.  A chap with sand
+enough to tell Jim Colton to go to the devil is always interesting.
+I'm offering you this chance because I think it is a good chance
+for both of us.  Yes, and because I like you, I suppose, in spite
+of your pig-headedness.  Will you take it?"
+
+"No, thank you," I answered.
+
+"Why?  Because you can't leave your sick mother?  She'll be all
+right.  I was talking with the doctor--Quimby, his name is, isn't
+it--and he happened to mention that he was encouraged about her.
+Said she had been distinctly better for the last month."
+
+I could not believe it.  Doctor Quimby had said nothing of the sort
+to me.  It was impossible.  Mother BETTER!
+
+"That doesn't mean she is going to be well and strong again, of
+course," he added, not unkindly.  "But I think Quimby believes she
+may be well enough to--perhaps--sit up one of these days.  Be
+wheeled about in a chair, or something of that sort . . .  Why!
+what is the matter?  You looked as if I had knocked you out.
+Hasn't the doctor said anything to you?"
+
+"No," I stammered.  I WAS knocked out.  I could not believe it.
+Mother, the bed-ridden invalid of six long years, to be well enough
+to sit up! to use a wheeled chair!  It could not be true.  It was
+too good to be true.
+
+"So, you see, you could leave her all right," went on Colton.  "If
+it was necessary you could get a nurse down here to look after her
+while you were away.  And you might get home every fortnight or so.
+Better take my offer, Paine.  Come!" with a grunt of impatient
+amusement, "don't keep me waiting too long.  I am not used to
+coaxing people to work for me; it is usually the other way around.
+This offer of mine happens to be pretty nearly a disinterested one,
+and," with one of his dry smiles, "all my offers are not that kind,
+as you ought to know.  Will you say yes now?  Or do you want till
+to-morrow to think it over?"
+
+The news concerning Mother had upset me greatly, but my common-
+sense was not all gone.  That there was something behind his offer
+I believed, but, even if there were not--if it was disinterested
+and made simply because my unearthing of the Bay Shore "cat" had
+caught his fancy--I did not consider for a moment accepting it.
+Not if Mother was like other women, well and strong, would I have
+accepted it.  In Denboro I was Roscoe Paine, and my life story was
+my own secret.  In New York how long would it be before that secret
+and my real name were known, and all the old disgrace and scandal
+resurrected?
+
+"What do you say?" asked Colton, again.  "Want more time to think
+about it, do you?"
+
+I shook my head.  "No," I answered.  "I have had time enough.  I am
+obliged for the offer and I appreciate your kindness, but I cannot
+accept."
+
+I expected him to express impatience or, perhaps, anger; at least
+to ask my reasons for declining.  But his only utterance was a
+"Humph!"  For a moment he regarded me keenly.  Then he said:
+
+"Haven't got the answer yet, have I?  All right.  Well," briskly,
+"when are you and I going on that shooting trip?"
+
+"There is no shooting at present," I answered, as soon as I could
+adjust my mind to this new switch in the conversation.
+
+"That so?  Any fishing?"
+
+"I believe the squiteague are running outside.  I heard they were."
+
+"What?  Squit--which?"
+
+"Squiteague.  Weakfish some people call them."
+
+"They are pretty fair sport, aren't they?"
+
+"Yes, fair.  Nothing like bluefish, however."
+
+"All right.  What is the matter with our going squint--squint--
+something or othering one of these days?  Will you go?  Or are you
+as pig-headed about that as you are about other things?"
+
+I laughed.  "Not quite," I said.  "I should be glad of your
+company, Mr. Colton."
+
+"Next Saturday suit you?"
+
+"Yes.  After bank hours."
+
+"All right.  I'll look after the boat.  You provide the bait and
+tackle.  That's fair, isn't it?  Right.  Be on hand at my dock at
+one o'clock.  Morning."
+
+He walked off.  Neither of us had thought of the tide--he,
+probably, not realizing that high water was an important factor,
+and I being too much agitated by what he had said about Mother, and
+the suddenness with which the fishing trip was planned, to think
+calmly of anything.
+
+That week was a strange one to me, and the first of many strange
+ones.  My manner of life was changing, although I did not realize
+it and although the change came through no effort of my own.  Our
+house, which had been so long almost a hermitage, if a home
+containing four persons might be called that, was gradually
+becoming a social center.  Matilda Dean had called once a week
+regularly for some time and this particular week Captain Jed came
+with her.  Captain Elisha Warren and his cousin and housekeeper,
+Miss Abbie Baker, drove down for a half-hour's stay.  George Taylor
+and Nellie spent an evening with us.  I feared the unaccustomed
+rush of company might have a bad effect upon Mother, but she seemed
+actually the better for it.  She professed to believe that Denboro
+was awakening to the fact of my merits as a man and a citizen.
+"They are finding you out at last, Boy," she said.  I laughed at
+her.  I knew better.  It was because of my position in the bank
+that these people came.  I was making good there, apparently, and
+the surprise at this caused Captain Warren and the rest to take a
+new, and no doubt transitory interest in me.
+
+And I thought I knew Captain Jed's reason for coming.  An interview
+between us gave me the inkling.  Matilda was in Mother's room and
+Dean and I were together in the dining-room.
+
+"Ros," said the captain, suddenly, "you ain't backin' water, are
+you?"
+
+"Backing water?  What do you mean by that?"
+
+"In this Lane business.  You ain't cal'latin' to sell out to
+Colton, after all?"
+
+"Well, hardly.  Why do you say that?"
+
+"Nothin', maybe.  But they tell me you're kind of thick with the
+R'yal family lately.  Beriah Holt says he see you and the Colton
+girl come out of the woods back of his place one afternoon a spell
+ago.  She was on horseback and you was walkin', but Beriah says you
+and she was mighty friendly."
+
+I might have expected this.  In Denboro one does few things
+unnoticed.
+
+"She had lost her way in the woods and I helped her to find the
+road home," I said, "that was all."
+
+"Hum!  You helped her to find the road the night of the strawberry
+festival, too, didn't you?"
+
+"How in the world did you find that out?"
+
+"Oh, it just sort of drifted around.  I've got pretty big ears--
+maybe you've noticed 'em--and they gen'rally catch some of what's
+blowin' past.  There was a coachman mixed up in that night's work
+and he talked some, I shouldn't wonder; most of his kind do."
+
+"Well, what of it?" I asked, sharply.  "I helped her as I would
+your daughter if she had been caught alone in a storm like that.  I
+should have been ashamed not to."
+
+"Sartin!  Needn't get mad about it.  What's this about your takin'
+his Majesty off fishin' next Saturday?"
+
+All of my personal affairs seemed to be common property.  I was
+losing my temper in spite of my recent good resolutions.
+
+"Look here, Captain Dean," I said, "I have a right to take any one
+fishing, if I choose.  Mr. Colton asked me to do it and I saw no
+reason for saying no."
+
+"Funny he should ask you.  He ain't asked anybody else in town."
+
+"I don't know that and I don't care.  I shall do as I please.  I
+have no grievance against the Coltons.  I shall not sell them my
+land, but I reserve the right to meet them--yes, and to associate
+with them--if I choose.  You and your friends may as well
+understand that, Captain."
+
+"There! there! don't get huffy.  I ain't got the right to say what
+your rights are, Ros.  And I don't think for a minute you'd back
+water on the Lane business a-purpose.  But I do think you're takin'
+chances.  I tell you, honest, I'm scart of old Colton, in a way,
+and I ain't scart of many folks.  He's a fighter and he's smart.
+He and I have had some talks--"
+
+"You have?" I interrupted.
+
+"Yup.  Lively squabbles they was, too.  Each of us expressin' our
+opinion of t'other and not holdin' back anything to speak of.  I
+don't know how he felt when we quit, but I know I respected him--
+for his out and open cussedness and grit, if nothin' else.  And I
+think he felt the same way about me.  But he's smart--consarn him,
+he is!  And HE never backs water.  That's why I think you're takin'
+chances in bein' too friendly with him.  He's layin' low and, if
+you get off your guard just once he'll grab."
+
+I hesitated; then I made up my mind.
+
+"Captain Dean," I said, "his smartness hasn't caught me yet.  I'm
+going to tell you something, but first you must promise not to tell
+anyone else."
+
+He promised and I told him of Mr. Keene and the Bay Shore Company.
+He listened, interrupting with chuckles and exclamations.  When I
+had finished he seized my hand and wrung it.
+
+"By the everlastin'!" he exclaimed, "that was great!  I say again,
+you're all right, Ros Paine.  Even _I_ swallered that Development
+Company, hook, line, and sinker.  But YOU saw through it!"
+
+"I tell you this," I said, "so that you will understand I have no
+intention of backing water."
+
+"I know you ain't.  Knew it afore and now I know it better.  But I
+can't understand what the Colton game is--and there is a game,
+sure.  That daughter of his, now--she may be in it or she may not.
+She's pretty and I will give in that she's folksy and sociable with
+us natives; it's surprisin', considerin' her bringin' up.  Nellie
+and Matildy like her, Nellie especial.  They're real chummy, as you
+might say.  Talk and talk, just as easy and common as you and I
+this minute.  I've heard 'em two or three times at my house when
+they thought I wasn't listenin' and twice out of the three they was
+talkin' about you."
+
+"About ME?" I repeated.
+
+"Yes.  I don't wonder you're surprised.  I was myself.  Asked
+Nellie about it and she just laughed.  Said you was the principal
+object of interest in town just now, which is more or less true.
+But it makes me suspicious, all the same.  Why should a girl like
+that Colton one talk about a feller like you?  You're as fur apart,
+fur's anything in common is concerned, as molasses is from vinegar.
+Ain't that so?"
+
+It was so, of course, but he need not have been so brutally frank
+in telling me.  However, I nodded and admitted that he was right.
+
+"Yes," he said.  "A blind horse could see there was no sensible,
+open and above-board reason for HER bein' interested in YOU.  So
+there's another reason, the way I look at it, and that's why I'd be
+mighty careful, mighty careful, Ros.  Her pa's got a new trick up
+his sleeve and she's helpin' him play it, that's my notion.  So be
+careful, won't you."
+
+"I'll be careful," said I.  I knew, as well as I knew my real name--
+which he did not--that Mabel Colton was not helping her father
+play any tricks.  I had seen enough of her to be certain she was
+not tricky.  And, besides, if she were in sympathy with her parent,
+why had she given me the hint which put me on the trail of the
+Development Company?  Why had she given me the hint at all?  That
+was the real riddle, and I had not, as yet, hit upon a plausible
+answer.  Those I had hit upon were ridiculous and impossible, and I
+put them from my mind.  But she was not tricky, that I knew.
+
+Captain Jed changed the subject and we talked of Nellie's wedding,
+which was to take place in a month.  The captain was full of
+various emotions, regret at losing his daughter and joy because of
+her getting such a good husband.  His last words were these:
+
+"Ros," he said, "be careful, for my sake full as much as yours.
+This Lane business and Nellie's gettin' married have sort of
+possessed me, same as the evil spirits did the swine, in scriptur'.
+I lay awake nights fussin' for fear the marriage won't turn out
+happy or for fear you'll sell the Lane after all.  And one's just
+as likely to happen as t'other--which means they're both impossible,
+I cal'late.  But look out for that Colton girl, whatever else you
+do.  She's a good deal better lookin' than her dad, but she's just
+as dangerous.  You mark my words, son, the feller that plays with
+fire takes chances.  So don't be TOO sociable with any of the
+tribe."
+
+And the very next afternoon the dangerous person herself called and
+she and I spent an hour in Mother's room, where the three of us
+chatted like old friends.  She had the rare power of making one
+forget self and personal worries and I could readily understand why
+Mother had been so completely won by her.  She was bright and
+cheery and sympathetic.  Here there was no trace of the pride of
+class and the arrogance which had caused me to hate her so heartily
+at first.  It seemed almost as if she had set herself the task of
+making me like her in spite of my prejudices.  My reason told me
+that this could not be; it was merely her fancy for Mother which
+caused her to notice me at all; she had as much as said so more
+than once.  But I did like her; I acknowledged it in my thoughts;
+and, after she had gone, the room, with its drawn shades, seemed
+doubly dark and gloomy.  Mother was silent for a few minutes and I,
+too, said nothing.  Then:
+
+"She is a wonderful girl, isn't she, Roscoe," said Mother.
+
+She was altogether too wonderful, that was the trouble.  A girl
+like her had no place in our lives.  I went out for a walk and a
+smoke by the bluff edge; and, almost before I knew it, I found
+myself standing at the border of the grove, looking at the great
+house and trying to guess which was her room and if she was there
+and of what or whom she might be thinking just then.  "Mark my
+words, son," Captain Jed had declared, "the feller that plays with
+fire takes chances."
+
+I turned on my heel and set out for home.  I would take no chances.
+I must not play with fire, even though the flames had, for the
+moment, dazzled me.  I had called myself a fool many times in the
+past few years, but I would not be so great a fool as that.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+So I resolved, more resolutely than ever, to keep out of her way,
+to see as little of her as possible! and, as had happened before to
+similar resolutions of mine with which she was concerned, this one
+was rendered non-effective, through no fault of my own, almost as
+soon as it was made.  For on Saturday afternoon, as I approached
+the Colton wharf, laden with bait and rods for the fishing
+excursion in the Colton boat, I saw her standing there beside her
+father, waiting for me.
+
+"We've got a passenger, Paine," said "Big Jim."  "You've met her
+before, I believe--on the water and in it.  No objections to my
+daughter's going along, have you?"
+
+What could I say; except to announce delight at the addition to our
+party?  Perhaps I did not say it as heartily as I might, for, Miss
+Colton, who was regarding me with a mischievous smile, observed
+demurely:
+
+"I am sure he must be delighted, Father.  Mr. Paine knows I am very
+fond of fishing; don't you, Mr. Paine?"
+
+"Yes; oh, yes, of course," I stammered.
+
+"He does, eh!"  Her father seemed surprised.  "How did he find that
+out?"
+
+I thought the question was addressed to her, so I did not answer.
+She seemed to think otherwise, for she said:
+
+"Did you hear, Mr. Paine?  Father asks how you knew I was fond of
+fishing."
+
+"Why--er--you told me so, Miss Colton," I replied.  If she had not
+related her Seabury Pond experience to her parents I did not
+propose to be trapped into doing so.  She laughed merrily.
+
+"Did I?" she asked.  "Yes, I believe I did."
+
+Mr. Colton looked at us, each in turn.
+
+"Humph!" he observed; "I don't seem to be aboard this train.
+What's the joke?"
+
+She saved me the problem of inventing a satisfactory answer.
+
+"Oh, it's a little joke of Mr. Paine's and my own," she explained.
+"I'll tell you about it by and by, Father.  It would take too long
+to tell now.  He saved my life once more, that's all."
+
+"Oh! that's all!  Humph!  And you did not think a trifle like that
+worth mentioning to me, I suppose.  Would you mind telling me what
+it was he saved you from this time?"
+
+"From starvation.  I was a famished wayfarer and he took me in.
+There, Daddy, don't puzzle your poor brain any longer.  It is all
+right and I'll tell you all about it when we get home.  Now I am
+sure we should be starting if we are to have any fishing at all.
+Shall we cast off, Mr.--that is, Captain Paine?"
+
+That fishing trip was not a huge success if judged solely by the
+size of the catch.  The weakfish were not hungry or we did not
+tempt them with bait to their taste that day.  We got a half dozen,
+of which I caught three, Miss Colton two, and her father but one.
+His, however, was a big one, much the biggest of the six, and he
+had a glorious time landing it.  He fished as he appeared to do
+everything else, with intense earnestness and determination.  He
+evidently considered the struggle a sort of personal disagreement
+between the fish and himself and, as usual, intended to have his
+way.  He succeeded after a while, and announced that he had not
+enjoyed anything as much since arriving in Denboro.
+
+His daughter also seemed to be enjoying herself.  She was quite as
+good a fisher as her father, and, when the sport was over, and we
+reeled in our lines preparatory to starting for home, rallied him
+not a little at having been the least successful of the party.  He
+took her teasing good-naturedly.
+
+"You think it is quite a feat to get the better of your old dad,
+don't you, my lady," he observed.
+
+"Of course I do.  It is, isn't it?"
+
+He chuckled.  "Well, maybe you're right," he admitted.  "You do it
+oftener than any one else, that is certain.  Paine, you might take
+lessons from her, if you are still hoping to keep up your end in
+the little fight you and I have on hand."
+
+She turned to me and smiled.  Her graceful head was silhouetted
+against the red glow of the sunset and a loosened strand of her
+hair waved in the light breeze.
+
+"I think Mr. Paine does not need lessons from any one," she said.
+"He seems to be holding his own very well."
+
+"But he's frightened, all the same.  Come, Paine, own up now.  You
+know you are frightened, don't you?"
+
+"Not very," I answered, truthfully.
+
+"So?  Then you aren't as sensible as you ought to be.  A wise man
+knows when to be scared.  Let's make a little bet on it.  I'll bet
+you two to one that I'll own that land of yours inside of six
+months."
+
+I shook my head.  "I never bet on certainties," I declared.  "I
+should be ashamed to collect my winnings."
+
+This seemed to amuse them both, for they both laughed.
+
+"Father," said Miss Colton, "I am afraid you don't learn by
+experience.  You have lost one bet already, you know."
+
+"That's so.  And I haven't paid it yet, either.  I must, or you'll
+be telling every one that I am a poor sport.  Paine, this young
+lady bet me a new pipe against a box of gloves that you wouldn't--"
+
+"Father," broke in the young lady, herself, "stop."
+
+"Oh, all right, all right.  Just as you say.  But I tell you this,
+Paine; SHE hasn't any scruples against betting on certainties."
+
+She was leaning against the cockpit rail, looking forward, and I
+could not see her face.  She spoke without turning.
+
+"You thought yours was the certainty," she said.  "You warned me
+that I was sure to lose."
+
+"Did I?  Well, you may, even yet.  On the whole, I think I'll wait
+a while before buying those gloves.  Remember, there was no time
+limit.  When you said that--"
+
+"Father," more firmly, "please be quiet.  You have said quite
+enough.  Mr. Paine is not likely to be interested in the family
+gambling."
+
+I was interested in this particular "gamble."  The wager had,
+obviously, something to do with me.  I suppose I should have felt
+flattered at being made the subject of a bet in such select
+circles, but I did not.  I had not been informed as to the details
+of that bet.
+
+There was nothing more said about it at the time and my passengers
+talked of other things as we sailed home before the fast dying
+breeze.  It died almost altogether as we passed the lighthouse at
+Crow Point and entered the bay and, for an hour, we barely held our
+own against the tide.  The sun set, twilight came, and the stars
+appeared one by one.  Colton, lying at full length on the deck
+forward of the cockpit, smoked in lazy enjoyment.  His only remark
+in ten minutes was to the effect that his wife had probably drowned
+us all, in her mind, a dozen times over by now.
+
+His daughter, sitting by the rail and looking out over the smooth,
+darkly glimmering water, bade him be quiet.
+
+"You must not talk," she said.  "This is the most wonderful night I
+ever experienced.  How still it is!  You can hear every sound.
+Hark!"
+
+From the dusk, to port, came the clear strokes of a church bell
+striking eight.
+
+"That is the clock at the Methodist Church, isn't it?" asked Miss
+Colton.
+
+"Yes," said I.
+
+"The church where the strawberry festival was held?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Colton struck a match to relight his cigar.
+
+"Shouldn't think that would be a pleasant reminder to either of
+you," he observed.  "I am mighty sure it wasn't to me."
+
+Miss Colton did not answer, nor did I.
+
+The breeze sprang up again soon after, from a different quarter
+this time, but the tide had ebbed so far that I was obliged to make
+the detour around the end of the flat upon which Victor had
+grounded the dingy.  "Big Jim" raised himself on his elbow.
+
+"Hello!" he exclaimed, "here's another joyful spot.  Mabel, it was
+along here somewhere that Paine acquired the habit of carrying you
+about like a bundle.  It must have been a picturesque performance.
+Wish I might have seen it."
+
+He laughed heartily.
+
+"Father," said the young lady, coldly, "don't be silly--please."
+
+He chuckled and lay down again, and no one spoke during the rest of
+the voyage.  It was after nine when I brought the boat up to the
+wharf, made her fast, and lowered and furled the sail.
+
+"Better come up to the house with us and have a bit to eat, Paine,"
+urged Colton.  "You must be hungry; I know I am."
+
+"Oh, no, thank you," said I.  "Supper will be waiting for me at
+home."
+
+"Glad to have you, if you'll come.  Tell him to come, Mabel."
+
+Miss Colton's invitation was not over-cordial.
+
+"I presume Mr. Paine knows what is best for him to do," she said.
+"Of course we shall be glad to have him, if he will come."
+
+I declined, and, after thanking me for the sail and the pleasure of
+the fishing trip, they left me, Colton carrying his big squiteague
+by the gills, its tail slapping his leg as he climbed the bluff.  A
+moment later I followed.
+
+The night was, as my feminine passenger had said, wonderfully
+quiet, and sounds carried a long way.  As I reached the juncture of
+the path and the Lane I heard a voice which I recognized as Mrs.
+Colton's.  She was evidently standing on the veranda of the big
+house and I heard every word distinctly.
+
+"You are so unthinking, James!  You and Mabel have no regard for my
+feelings at all.  I have been worried almost to death.  Do you
+realize the time?  I warned you against trusting yourself to the
+care of that common FELLOW--"
+
+The "fellow" heard no more.  He did not wish to.  He was tramping
+heavily through the dew-soaked undergrowth.  He needed now no
+counsel against "playing with fire."  The cutting contempt of Mrs.
+James W. Colton's remark was fire-extinguisher sufficient for that
+night.
+
+Miss Colton and I met again at the door of the bank a day or two
+later, just at closing time.  Sam Wheeler had already gone and I
+left George at his desk, poring over papers and busily figuring.
+He was working over time much of late and explained his industry by
+the fact of his approaching marriage and his desire to make things
+easy for me to handle while he was on his brief wedding trip.  I
+was not much alarmed by the prospect.  He was to be gone but a week
+and I had become sufficiently familiar with the routine to feel
+confident in assuming the responsibility.  Small, my predecessor,
+had a brother who had formerly been employed in the bank and was
+now out of work, and he was coming in to help during the cashier's
+absence.  I was not worried by the prospect of being left in
+charge, but I was worried about George.  He, so it seemed to me,
+had grown pale and thin.  Also he was nervously irritable and not
+at all like his usual good-natured self.  I tried to joke him into
+better humor, but he did not respond to my jokes.  He seemed, too,
+to realize that his odd behavior was noticeable, for he said:
+
+"Don't mind my crankiness, Ros.  I've got so much on my mind that
+I'd be mean to my old grandmother, if I had one, I guess likely.
+Don't let my meanness trouble you; it isn't worth trouble."
+
+I laughed.  "George," I said, "if I ever dreamed of such a thing as
+getting married myself, you would scare me out of it.  You ought to
+be a happy man, and act like one; instead you act as if you were
+about to be jailed."
+
+He caught his breath with a sort of gasp.  Then, after a pause and
+without looking up, he asked slowly:
+
+"Jailed?  What in the world made you say that, Ros?"
+
+"I said it because you act as if you were bound for state's prison
+instead of the matrimonial altar.  George, what IS troubling you?"
+
+"Troubling me?  Why--why, nothing special, of course.  Catching up
+with my work here makes me nervous and--and kind of absent-minded,
+I guess.  Act absent-minded, don't I?"
+
+He did, there was no doubt of that, but I did not believe it was
+his work which caused the absent-mindedness.
+
+"If there is any trouble, George," I said, earnestly; "if you're in
+any difficulty, personally, I shall be very glad to help you, if I
+can.  I mean that."
+
+For a moment I thought he hesitated.  Then he shook his head.
+
+"I know you mean it, Ros," he answered.  "I'm much obliged to you,
+too.  But there's nothing to help me with.  I'm just nervous and
+tired, that's all."
+
+I did not believe it, but I felt that I had said all I could,
+considering his attitude.  I bade him good night and left the
+building.  As I came down the steps Miss Colton was just crossing
+the road from Eldredge's store, a good sized brown paper parcel in
+her hand.
+
+Ever since the day when Captain Jed had given me his warning I had
+been strengthening my resolution.  The remark of Mrs. Colton's
+which I had overheard on the night of the fishing trip, although it
+revealed to me, as I believed, my real standing in the minds of my
+neighbors, whatever they might pretend when in my company, was,
+after all, only a minor detail.  I knew that I must break off my
+acquaintance with this girl.  By all that was sensible and sane it
+must be broken off.  I must not, for my own sake, continue to meet
+her, to see her and speak with her.  No; I would avoid her if I
+could, but, at all events, I would break off the association, even
+if I were obliged to offend her, deliberately offend her, to
+accomplish my purpose.  I swore it; and then I swore at myself for
+being so weak-minded as to need to swear.  That I should be afraid
+of a girl, a mere girl, ten years younger than I, who, as the
+casual pastime of an idle summer, had chosen to pretend an interest
+in me!  I was not afraid of her, of course; I was afraid of myself.
+Not that I was in danger of falling in love with her--that idea was
+too ridiculous to be even funny.  But she was becoming a disturbing
+influence in my life--that was it, a disturbing influence--and I
+must not permit myself to be disturbed.
+
+So now, as I saw the disturbing influence crossing the road in my
+direction, my first thought was to retreat to the bank.  But it was
+too late to retreat; she had seen me, and she bowed pleasantly as
+she approached.
+
+"Good afternoon," she said.
+
+I bowed and admitted that the afternoon was a good one, conscious
+as I did so that Sim Eldredge had followed her to the door of his
+store and was regarding us with marked interest.
+
+She exhibited the package.  "I am acting as my own errand boy, you
+see," she said, smiling.  "It was such a beautiful day that I
+refused to send any one for this, or even to ride.  I did not
+realize that a few yards of muslin would make such a bundle.  Now I
+must carry it, I suppose, in spite of appearances."
+
+I believed I saw an opportunity to escape.
+
+"I am going directly home," I said.  "Let me carry it down for you.
+I will send it over to your house by Lute."
+
+"Oh, no thank you.  I could not think of troubling Mr. Rogers.  But
+do you really want to carry it?  You may, for a while.  We will
+take turns.  I am going directly home, too; and we will walk down
+together.  Unless, of course, you are in a hurry."
+
+I think it was the expression of my face which led her to add the
+last sentence.  If I had had time to think, to summon my resolution,
+it is possible--yes, it is possible that I should have declared
+myself to be in a hurry and gone on alone.  But she had caught me
+unawares and resolution was wanting.  I announced that I was in no
+hurry at all, and took the parcel.
+
+We walked on together, she chatting easily, and I pretending to
+listen, although aware that our progress was watched by eager eyes
+and commented upon and exclaimed over by many tongues.  The drawn
+shades of parlor windows moved significantly as we passed and, as
+we turned into the Lower Road, I glanced over my shoulder and saw
+Sim Eldredge and his clerk and Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker on the
+store platform, staring after us.  As if this audience was not
+sufficient, and to make the affair complete, we met Captain Dean
+strutting importantly on his way to the post-office.  He bowed and
+said "Afternoon," but the look he gave me was significant.  There
+was surprise in it, and distrust.  I knew I should have to do more
+explaining at our next meeting.  And I knew, too, or could guess,
+what was being said that very moment at the store, and of the
+surmising and theorizing and strengthening of suspicions which
+would go on at a dozen supper tables that evening.
+
+My companion, however, appeared to be quite unconscious of all
+this.  That I might be suspected and misjudged because she had
+chanced to prefer my company to a walk home alone did not,
+evidently, occur to her.  There was no reason why it should, of
+course; she was not in the position where the opinion or suspicions
+of Denboro's inhabitants need concern her in the least.  But I,
+angry at Captain Jed for his look and with Sim Eldredge and his
+companions for their impudent stares and the trouble I knew their
+gossipy tongues would make for me, was gloomy and resentful.
+
+She did most of the talking and I walked beside her, putting in a
+word occasionally and doing my best to appear as unconcerned as she
+really was.  We crossed Elnathan Mullet's bridge and continued down
+the Shore Lane.  Suddenly I was aware that she had not spoken for
+some minutes.
+
+"Eh?  Yes, Miss Colton; what is it?" I stammered.  Then I realized
+that we were standing beside the granite posts marking the entrance
+to the Colton grounds.  I had been so wrapped in my unpleasant
+thoughts and forebodings that we had reached our journey's end
+without my noticing it.
+
+"Well!" I exclaimed, and then added the brilliant observation, "We
+are here, aren't we."
+
+"We are," she said, dryly.  "Didn't you know it?"
+
+"Why, I had not realized.  The walk has seemed so short."
+
+"Yes, I'm sure it must.  I think you have spoken exactly six words
+in the last five minutes.  Will you come in?"
+
+"Oh no; no, thank you."
+
+"Why not?  Father is in and will be glad to see you."
+
+"I--I must be getting on toward home.  Supper will be ready."
+
+She bit her lip.  "Far be it from me to criticize your domestic
+arrangements, Mr. Paine," she said, "but it does seem to me that
+your housekeeper serves meals at odd hours.  It is only a few
+minutes after four, by my watch."
+
+She had me at a disadvantage.  I imagined I must have appeared
+embarrassed.  I know I felt that way.
+
+"I did not realize . . . I thought it much later," I stammered.
+
+"Then you will come in?  Father will like to discuss the fishing
+with you, I know.  He has talked of little but his wonderful
+weakfish ever since he caught it."
+
+"No, thank you, Miss Colton.  Really, I must not stop."
+
+She took the parcel from my hands.
+
+"Very well," she said, indifferently; "as you please.  I thank you
+for your kindness in walking down with me.  Good afternoon, Mr.
+Paine."
+
+She turned away.  Here was the opportunity I had been waiting for,
+the opportunity of breaking off our acquaintance.  If I knew
+anything I knew the tone of that "Good afternoon" meant that, for
+some reason or other, she was offended, just as I had been certain
+I wished her to be.  Here was the opportunity, Heaven sent, to rid
+my life of its disturbing influence.  Just what I had prayed for
+had come to pass.
+
+And so, to prove the sincerity of my prayers and the worth of my
+high resolve, I--called her back.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said.
+
+She, apparently, did not hear me, so I called again.
+
+"Miss Colton."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"I seem somehow or other to have offended you."  And even as I said
+it I realized the completeness of the back-down, realized it and
+blushed.  I was ashamed of my weakness.  Yet when she asked me to
+repeat my words I did so.
+
+"You spoke to me?" she said, coldly.
+
+"I--I said I had not meant to offend you."
+
+"Why should you imagine that I am offended, pray?  You seem to
+think other people must necessarily regard you as seriously as you
+do yourself.  I am not offended."
+
+"But you are."
+
+"Very well; then I am.  We won't argue the matter; it is scarcely
+worth argument, is it?"
+
+This observation called for no answer in particular, at least I
+could not think of one.  While I was groping for a word she spoke
+again.
+
+"Don't let me detain you, Mr. Paine," she said.  "I am sure your--
+supper, was it?--must be waiting."
+
+"Miss Colton, you--you seem to resent my not accepting your
+invitation to visit your father.  I assure you I--I should be very
+glad to call upon him."
+
+"Thank you.  I will tell him so.  He will be grateful, doubtless.
+Your condescension is overwhelming, Mr. Paine."
+
+"Miss Colton, everything I say seems to be wrong this afternoon.  I
+don't know what I have done.  Twice you have spoken of my
+condescension."
+
+Her foot was beginning to pat the grass.  I recognized the battle
+signal, but I kept on.
+
+"I don't understand what you mean by condescension," I said.
+
+"Don't you, indeed?  You are very dense all at once, Mr. Paine."
+
+"Possibly.  But I don't understand."
+
+For an instant she hesitated.  Then she turned on me with a gust of
+fierce impatience which took my breath away.  Her eyes flashed.
+
+"You do," she declared.  "You do understand, I am not blind.  Do
+you suppose I could not see that you wished to avoid me when I met
+you at the bank just now?  That my company was neither welcome nor
+desired?  That you accepted my suggestion of walking down together
+merely because you could think of no excuse for declining?"
+
+This was a staggerer.  And the worst of it was its truth.
+
+"Miss Colton," I faltered, "I can't understand what you mean.  I--"
+
+"You do understand.  And please," with a scornful laugh, "oh,
+PLEASE understand that I am not troubled because of THAT.  Your
+charming and cultivated society is not indispensable to my
+happiness, Mr. Paine, strange as that may appear to you.  Really,"
+with cutting contempt, "it is not."
+
+"That I quite understand, Miss Colton," I said, "but--"
+
+"But you are like every one else in this horrid, narrow, bigoted
+place.  Don't you suppose that I see it everywhere I go!  Every one
+here hates us--every one.  We are intruders; we are not wanted
+here, and you all take pains to make us feel as uncomfortable as
+you can.  Oh, you are all snobs--all of you."
+
+I actually gasped.
+
+"Snobs!" I repeated.  "We--snobs?"
+
+"Yes.  That is exactly what you are.  When Father came here he
+meant to be a citizen, a good citizen, of the town.  He had
+intended to do all sorts of things to help the village and the
+people in it.  He and I discussed ever so many plans for doing good
+here.  And we wanted to be friendly with every one.  But how have
+you treated us!  No one comes to see us.  We are avoided as if we
+had the small-pox.  The majority of people scarcely speak to us on
+the street.  I am so lonely and--"
+
+She stopped.  I had never seen her so agitated.  As for me,
+astonishment is much too mild a term to use in describing my
+feelings.  That these people, these millionaires and aristocrats
+should feel that they had been avoided and slighted, that we
+Denboroites were the snobs, that THEY should be lonely because no
+one, or almost no one, came to call upon them--this was too much
+for my bewildered brain to grasp all at once.
+
+The young lady went on.
+
+"And you!" she exclaimed.  "You are as bad as the rest.  Father has
+called upon you several times.  I have called on your mother.
+Father and I have tried to be friendly and neighborly.  Not that we
+are lacking in friends.  We," haughtily, "are not obliged to BEG
+for friendship.  But we felt it our duty to--"
+
+I interrupted.  There is a limit to forbearance and I considered
+that limit reached.
+
+"Miss Colton," I declared, "you are talking nonsense.  Considering
+the manner in which your father treated me when we first met, I--"
+
+"How did you treat him?  How did you treat Mr. Carver and me when
+you first met us in the auto?  You insulted us.  It was plain
+enough then that you hated us."
+
+"I--why, Miss Colton, I did not know who you were."
+
+"Indeed!  Would it have made any difference if you had known?  I
+doubt it.  No, you are like the rest of the people here.  Because
+we have come from the city you have chosen to be as envious and
+petty and disagreeable as you can.  Even Nellie Dean, whom I know
+better than any one here, has never returned my call.  There is a
+concerted plan to make us feel we are neither welcome nor wanted.
+Very well," disdainfully, "we know it.  I, for one, shall not force
+my presence upon any one of you again.  And it is probable that I
+shall manage to exist even without the delights of Denboro society.
+Good-by, Mr. Paine."
+
+"But, Miss Colton--"
+
+"Good-by."
+
+"Miss Colton, listen to me.  You are wrong, all wrong, I tell you.
+There is no plan or plot to make you feel uncomfortable.  We are
+plain village people here, and you are wealthy and have been used
+to associating with those of your class.  Every one in Denboro knew
+that when you came, and they have been shy of intruding where they
+might not be welcome.  Then there was that matter of the Lane
+here."
+
+"Oh, that precious Lane!  I wish I had never seen it."
+
+"I have wished that a number of times in the past few months.  But
+it is here and the question overshadows everything else in the
+village just now.  It does not seem of much importance to you,
+perhaps; perhaps it is not so very important to me; but--"
+
+Again she interrupted me.
+
+"I think it is important enough to make you forget--ordinary
+courtesy," she declared.  "Yes, courtesy.  DON'T look at me like
+that!  You know what I mean.  As I told you before, I am not blind.
+Do credit me with some intelligence.  All the way during this
+cheerful walk of ours you scarcely spoke a word.  Did you suppose I
+did not know what was troubling you?  I saw how that Captain Dean
+looked at you.  I saw those people staring from the post-office
+door.  I knew what you were afraid of their saying: that you are
+altogether too companionable with Father and me; that you intend
+selling the land to us, after all.  That is what you thought they
+would say and you were afraid--AFRAID of their gossip.  Oh, it is
+humiliating!  And, for a time, I really thought you were different
+from the rest and above such things."
+
+I began to feel as if I were once more a small boy receiving a
+lecture from the governess.
+
+"I am not at all afraid of them, Miss Colton," I protested.
+
+"You are.  Why?  Your conscience is clear, isn't it?  You don't
+intend selling out to my father?"
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"Then why should you care what people like that may think?  Oh, you
+weary me!  I admired you for your independence.  There are few
+persons with the courage to face my father as you have done and I
+admired you for it.  I would not have had you sell us the land for
+ANYTHING."
+
+"You would not?" I gasped.
+
+"Certainly not!  I have been on your side all the time.  If you had
+sold I should have thought you, like all the rest, holding back
+merely for a higher price.  I respected you for the fight you were
+making.  You must have known it.  If I had not why do you suppose I
+gave you that hint about the Development Company?"
+
+"Goodness knows!" I exclaimed, devoutly.
+
+"And I was sure you could not be bribed by an offer of a position
+in Father's office.  It was not really a bribe--Father has, for
+some unexplainable reason, taken a fancy to you--but I knew you
+would believe it to be bribery.  That is why I was so positive in
+telling him that you would not accept.  And now you--oh, when I
+think of how I have LOWERED myself!  How I have stooped to . . .
+But there!  I am sure that supper of yours must be waiting.  Pray
+condescend to convey my regrets to the faithful--what is her name?
+Odd that I should forget a name like THAT.  Oh, yes! Dorinda!--Pray
+convey my regrets to the faithful Dorinda for being unwittingly the
+cause of the delay, and assure her that the offense will NOT be
+repeated.  Good-by, Mr. Paine."
+
+She walked off, between the granite posts and along the curved
+drive.  This time I made no attempt to call her back.  The storm
+had burst so unexpectedly and had developed into such a hurricane
+that I had had time to do little more than bend my head before it.
+But I had had time enough to grow angry.  I would not have called
+her back then for the world.  She had insulted me, not once only,
+but again and again.  I stood and watched her go on her way, and
+then I turned and went on my own.
+
+The parting had come.  The acquaintance was broken off; not precisely
+as I had intended it to be broken, but broken, nevertheless, and
+ended for good and all.  I was glad of it.  There would be no more
+fishing excursions, no more gifts of flowers and books, no more
+charity calls.  The "common fellow" was free from the disturbing
+influence and he was glad of it--heartily glad of it.
+
+Yet his gladness was not as apparent to others as it should, by
+all that was consistent, have been.  Lute, evidently, observed no
+traces of transcendent happiness, when I encountered him in the
+back yard, beside the woodpile, sharpening the kindling hatchet
+with a whetstone, a process peculiarly satisfying to his
+temperament because it took such a long time to achieve a
+noticeable result.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" he hailed.  "Why! what ails you?"
+
+"Ails me?" I repeated, crossly.  "Nothing ails me, of course."
+
+"Well, I'm glad to hear it.  You look as if you'd lost your last
+friend."
+
+"I haven't lost any friends.  Far from it."
+
+"Nobody's dead, then?"
+
+"No.  Though I could find some who are half dead without trying
+very hard."
+
+More perfectly good sarcasm wasted.  Lute inquired eagerly if I
+meant old Mrs. Lobelia Glover.  "I heard yesterday she was pretty
+feeble," he added.  "'Tain't to be expected she'll last a long
+spell, at her age.  Doctor Quimby says she had a spine in her back
+for twenty years."
+
+I made no comment upon poor Mrs. Glover's surprising affliction.  I
+merely grunted and went into the house.  Dorinda looked at me
+curiously.
+
+"What's the trouble?" she asked.
+
+"Trouble!  There isn't any trouble.  You and Lute seem to be
+looking for trouble."
+
+"Don't have to look far to find it, in this world.  Anything wrong
+at the bank?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Um-hm.  Settin' so long on the fence make you uneasy?  I told you
+the pickets would wear through if you roosted on 'em too long."
+
+"There is nothing the matter, I tell you.  How is Mother?"
+
+"She ain't any wuss.  If 'twan't an impossibility I'd say she was
+better the last month than I'd seen her since she was took.  Nellie
+Dean called on her this afternoon."
+
+"Humph!  I should think a next week's bride would be too busy to
+call on any one except possibly the dressmaker."
+
+"Um-hm.  Well, Nellie looks as if she'd been callin' on the
+dressmaker pretty often.  Anyhow she looked worried and Olindy
+Cahoon's dressmakin' gabble is enough to worry anybody.  She left a
+note for you."
+
+"Who?  Olinda?"
+
+"Land sakes! no!  What would Olindy be doin' down here?  There
+ain't any brides to dress in this house, or bridegrooms either
+unless you're cal'latin' to be one, or Lute turns Mormon.  That
+last notion ain't such a bad one," with a dry smile.  "Another wife
+or two to help me take care of him would come in handy."
+
+"Who did leave the note for me, then?"
+
+"Nellie, of course.  She wanted me to be sure you got it.
+Somethin' about that wonderful weddin', I s'pose.  I left it
+upstairs on your bureau."
+
+I found the note and put it in my pocket to read later on.  I did
+not feel like reading it then.  I did not feel like doing anything
+or seeing any one; yet least of all did I feel like being alone.
+For if I was alone I should think, and I did not want to think.  I
+prowled about my room for a time and then went down and spent a
+short time with Mother.  Her first question was concerning my day
+at the bank, and her second if I had seen any of the Coltons
+recently.  "I rather hoped Miss Mabel would come to see me to-day,"
+she added.  "I look forward to her visits so, I think she's a real
+friend of ours, Roscoe.  I know you don't, dear, or you try to
+believe you do not; but she is--I am convinced of it.  I wonder if
+she will come to-morrow."
+
+I could have put a stop to her wondering on that subject, but I was
+in no mood to do it then.  I went into the dining-room.  Dorinda
+warned me not to go far from the house because supper would be ready
+in a few minutes.  The word "supper" reminded me of my unfortunate
+choice of an excuse and the sarcastic reference to our odd domestic
+arrangements; which reminded me, in its turn, of other sarcasms
+which had followed it.  My "charming and cultivated society" was not
+necessary to her happiness . . .  When she thought of how she had
+lowered herself . . .  Other people did not necessarily regard me as
+seriously as I did myself . . .  And so on . . . until Dorinda
+called me in to sit at the table, and pretend to eat while she and
+Lute commented on my lack of appetite and my absent-mindedness.
+
+It was eight o'clock, and I had gone up to my room to escape from
+their solicitude and pointed questioning, when I happened to think
+of Nellie's note.  I had not been curious concerning its contents,
+for, as I had agreed to act as best man at the wedding, I assumed,
+as Dorinda had done, that she had written on that, to her, all-
+important topic.  I took the note from my pocket and tore open the
+envelope.
+
+Nellie had not written about the wedding.  Her letter was a long
+one, evidently written in great agitation and with words blotted
+and underscored.  Its subject was the man she loved, George Taylor.
+She was so anxious about him.  Did I remember, that night when my
+mother was ill, how she had spoken of him to me and asked if I had
+noticed how troubled and worried he seemed of late?
+
+"And, Roscoe," she wrote, "I have noticed it more and more since
+then.  He IS in trouble.  There is something on his mind, something
+that he will not tell me and that I can see is worrying him
+dreadfully.  He is not like himself at all.  I KNOW something is
+wrong, and I cannot find out what it is.  I want to help him SO
+much.  Oh, please, Roscoe, don't think this is just a foolish
+girl's imagination, and does not amount to anything.  It does.  I
+know it does.  You are his best friend.  Can't YOU find out what is
+troubling him and help him, for my sake?  I have meant to speak to
+you about this ever so many times, but I seldom see you alone and I
+could not speak while he was with me.  So I decided to write this
+letter.  If you will try, just TRY to find out what ails him and
+help him I shall never, NEVER forget your kindness.  Perhaps he
+does not want to marry me.  Perhaps he does not care for me as much
+as he thought he did and will not tell me because he does not want
+me to feel bad.  If that is it tell him not to mind my feelings at
+all.  I want him to be happy.  If it would make him happier to have
+me give him up I will do it, even though I shall pray to die right
+away.  Oh can't you help him and me, Roscoe?  Please, PLEASE try.
+A girl ought to be perfectly happy who is going to be married.  And
+I am so miserable.  I can't tell Mother and Father because they
+would not believe me.  They would think I just imagined it all.
+But YOU won't think that, will you?  You will see him and try to
+help him, for my sake."
+
+And so on, eight closely written pages, ending with another plea to
+me to see "poor George" and help him, and begging me to "burn this
+letter, because I should be so ashamed to have any one else see
+it."
+
+It was a pitiful letter and, even in the frame of mind I was then
+in, disgusted with humanity and hating the entire feminine sex, I
+could not help feeling sorry for Nellie Dean.  Of course I was
+surprised at receiving such a letter and I believed, just as she
+begged me not to believe, that the cause of her distress and
+anxiety was more imaginary than real.  But that something was
+troubling George Taylor I had felt certain for a good while.  The
+idea that he did not love Nellie I knew was preposterous.  That was
+not it.  There was something else, but what I could not imagine.  I
+wanted to help the girl if I could, but how could I ask George to
+tell me his secrets?  I, with a secret of my own.
+
+After pondering for some time I decided to walk up to George's
+boarding place and talk with him.  Nothing would come of the
+interview, probably, but I might as well do that as anything else.
+I must do something, something besides sit in that room and see
+mocking faces in every corner, faces with dark eyes and scornful
+lips which told me that my charming and cultivated society was not
+necessary to their happiness.
+
+Taylor rented the upper floor of a house a quarter of a mile from
+the bank.  His housekeeper answered my ring and informed me that
+her employer had not yet come home.
+
+"He did not even come home for supper," she said.  "Stayed over to
+Nellie's probably.  You'll most likely find him there."
+
+But I was pretty certain he was not at the Deans', for as I passed
+their house, I noticed the windows were dark, indicating that the
+family, like most of respectable Denboro, had already retired.  I
+walked on to the Corners.  Eldredge's store was closed, but the
+billiard room was radiant and noisy.  I could hear Tim Hallet's
+voice urging some one to take a new cue, "'cause that one ain't
+pocketed many balls yet."
+
+I looked across at the bank.  The front portion of it was black
+enough, but the window of the directors' room was alight.  I had
+located the object of my search; the cashier was there, working
+overtime, as he did so often nowadays.
+
+I had my key in my pocket and I unlocked the big door and entered
+quietly.  The door of the directors' room was open a little way and
+I tiptoed over and peeped in through the crack.  Taylor was seated
+in a chair beside the big table, his elbows upon the table and his
+head in his hands.  As I stood there, watching him, he took his
+hands away and I saw his face.  Upon it was an expression of abject
+misery and utter despair.  I opened the door and entered.
+
+He heard the sound of the opening door and leaped to his feet.  His
+chair fell backward on the floor with a clatter, but he paid no
+attention to it.
+
+"Good God!" he cried, wildly.  "Who's that?"
+
+He was deathly pale and trembling violently.  His appearance
+startled and alarmed me.
+
+"It's all right," I said, hastily.  "It is I--Paine.  I saw the
+light and knew you must be here.  What ails you?  What IS the
+matter?"
+
+For a moment he stood there staring.  Then he turned and picked up
+the fallen chair.
+
+"Oh, it's you, Ros, is it?" he faltered.  "I--I--Lord, how you
+scared me!  I--I--"
+
+"George! what IS the matter with you?  For heaven's sake! stand up,
+man!"  He was swaying and I thought he was going to faint.
+"George!  George Taylor!  Are you ill?  I am going for the doctor."
+
+"No, no!  Stay where you are.  I ain't sick.  I'll be all right in
+a minute.  You--you scared me, creeping in that way.  Sit down, sit
+down."
+
+He steadied himself with one hand on the table and with the other
+reached to shut a drawer which had been open beside him.  The
+drawer was almost full of papers, and, lying upon those papers, was
+a revolver.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+Before he could close the drawer completely I caught his arm and
+held it.
+
+"George," I cried, "George, what is the matter?  Tell me; you must
+tell me."
+
+He tried to pull his arm free.  Finding that I would not let him do
+this he gave up the attempt and, with a poor attempt at a laugh,
+answered, "Matter?  Why, nothing is the matter.  I am tired and
+nervous, same as I've told you I've been for the last two or three
+months, and you scared me, tiptoeing in like a sneak thief, this
+time of night."
+
+"Time of night!  It is but a little after nine.  What is the matter
+with you?"
+
+"Nothing is the matter, I tell you.  Let go of my arm, Ros.  What
+do you mean by holding on to me like this?"
+
+"What do YOU mean, George?  What does THAT mean?"
+
+I pointed to the drawer.  He looked and, with a sudden effort,
+jerked his arm free and closed the drawer.
+
+"That?" with a forced laugh.  "Oh, that's nothing.  It was late and
+I was alone here, so--"
+
+"I know better.  George, you're frightening us all.  Don't you
+suppose we can see that something is wrong with you?  I have seen
+it ever since I came here to work.  You are worrying your friends.
+You worry me.  Give us a chance to help you.  Give ME a chance.
+You owe me that.  Tell me your trouble and I'll pull you out of it;
+see if I don't."
+
+My confidence was, of course, only pretence, but my earnestness had
+some effect.  He looked at me wistfully, and shook his head.
+
+"Nobody can pull me out," he said.  "You're a good fellow to want
+to help, but you can't.  There ain't any trouble.  I'm just
+nervous--"
+
+"I know better.  You're lying, George.  Yes, you are; you're
+lying."
+
+"Humph!  You're pretty plain spoken, Ros Paine.  There ain't many
+people I'd take that from."
+
+"You'll take it from me, because you can't help it and because you
+know it is true.  Come, George; come.  You have been a friend to
+me; the only real friend I have had in years.  I have been looking
+for a chance to get even for what you have done for me.  Maybe here
+is the chance.  Let me help you.  I will."
+
+He was wavering; I could see it.  But again he shook his head.
+
+"Nobody can help me," he said.
+
+"George, for my sake--well, then, if not for my sake or your own,
+then for Nellie's, give me a chance.  You aren't treating her
+right, George.  You should think of her.  You--"
+
+"Stop!  Damn you, Ros Paine! what right have you to--"
+
+"The right of a friend, her friend and yours.  You're frightening
+the poor girl to death.  She is beginning to be afraid you don't
+care for her."
+
+"I?  I don't care for HER?  I don't--  Oh, my God!"
+
+To my utter amazement he began to laugh.  And then, all at once,
+his laughter ceased, he swayed, choked, and, suddenly collapsing in
+the chair, dropped his head upon his arms on the table and sobbed,
+sobs that shook him from head to heel.
+
+For one strong, healthy, normal man to see another cry is a
+disconcerting and uncomfortable experience.  Masculine tears do not
+flow easily and poor George, on the verge of hysterics, was a
+pitiful and distressing spectacle.  I was almost as completely
+disorganized as he.  I felt ashamed for him and ashamed of myself
+for having seen him in such a condition.  I wanted desperately to
+help him and I did not know what to do, so beyond patting him on
+the back and begging him repeatedly to brace up and not behave like
+that, I did nothing.  At last his sobs ceased and he was silent.  I
+had risen from my chair and now I stood there with a hand on his
+shoulder; the ticking of the ancient eight-sided clock on the wall
+sounded loud in the room.
+
+Suddenly he sat up and threw off my hand.
+
+"Well," he said, bitterly, "I'm a fine specimen of a man, ain't I.
+Ain't you proud of me?"
+
+"I am mighty sorry for you," I answered.  "And I mean to help you."
+
+"You can't."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Because I do know, Ros," he turned and looked me straight in the
+eye.  "I am going to give you some good advice.  Take it, for your
+own sake.  Clear out of here and leave me.  Don't have anything
+more to do with me.  Clear out."
+
+I did not move.
+
+"Are you going to do as I tell you?" he demanded.  "Mind, I'm
+telling you this for your own good.  Will you clear out and leave
+me?"
+
+I smiled.  "Of course not," I answered.
+
+"Don't be a fool.  You can't afford to be my friend.  Clear out and
+leave me, do you hear?"
+
+"I hear.  Now, George, what is it?"
+
+His fingers tapped the table.  I could see he was making up his
+mind.
+
+"You want to know?" he said.  "You won't be satisfied until you
+do?"
+
+"I have made that fairly plain, I hope.  At least I've tried to."
+
+His fist clenched and he struck the table.
+
+"Then, by the Almighty, I'll tell you!" he cried, fiercely.  "It'll
+be all over the county in a week.  You might as well know it now.
+I'm a crook.  I'm a thief.  I've stolen money from this bank and I
+can't pay it back because I haven't got it and can't get it.  I'm a
+crook, I tell you, and in a week or so it'll be the county jail for
+mine.  Unless--unless," with a significant glance at the drawer,
+"something else happens to me in the meantime.  There; now you
+know.  Are you satisfied?  Are you happy because you've found out?"
+
+I did not answer.  To tell the truth I was not entirely overcome by
+surprise at the disclosure.  I had begun to suspect something of
+the sort.  Yet, now that my suspicions were confirmed, I was too
+greatly shocked and horrified to speak at once.
+
+"Well?" he sneered.  "Now will you clear out and let me settle this
+my own way?"
+
+I pulled my chair forward and sat down.
+
+"Tell me all about it, George," I said, as calmly as I could.  "How
+much is it?"
+
+He stared at me aghast.  "You won't go?" he cried.  "You--you are
+going to stick by me even--even--"
+
+"There! there! pull yourself together, old fellow.  We won't give
+up the ship yet.  How much is it?  It can't be a great sum."
+
+"It ain't.  But, Ros--you--you can't--you mustn't be mixed up in
+this.  I shan't let you.  Don't you see?"
+
+I argued and pleaded and reasoned with him for what seemed a long
+time before he would consent to tell me the whole story.  And when
+it was told there was nothing new or novel in it.  The old tale of
+an honest man who had not meant to go wrong, but, tempted by one of
+those wiles of the devil, an "inside tip" on the stock market, had
+bought heavily on margins, expecting to clear a handsome profit in
+a short time.  The stock was Louisville and Transcontinental and
+the struggle for its control by certain big interests had made copy
+for financial writers for nearly a year.  George had bought at a
+time when one syndicate had, so it believed, secured the control.
+
+Then something went wrong in the deal and the shares began to
+decline in value.  He put up more margins and still more, but it
+continued to decline.  Finally under the spur of another "tip," the
+last of his own savings having gone to the insatiate brokers, he
+sent, to bolster his account and to save him from utter ruin, some
+bonds belonging to the bank.
+
+"Not much," he declared, "only about thirty-five hundred dollars'
+worth, that's all.  I never would have done it, Ros, but I was
+wild, desperate, you see.  Here I was, getting ready to be married;
+Nellie and Cap'n Jed and the rest believing me to be comfortably
+fixed.  It's easy enough now to say that I ought to have gone to
+her and told her.  If I hadn't been certain that the market would
+turn and I'd be all right in a week, I'd have done it.  But I was
+sure I'd be all right and I couldn't take the chance.  I knew what
+her father would say about her marrying a pauper, and I just
+couldn't take the risk of losing her; I couldn't.  She means more
+to me than--than--oh, wait until your time comes!  Wait until the
+girl comes along that you care for more than the whole world.  And
+then see what you'd do.  See what it would mean to give her up!
+Just wait--wait and see!"
+
+"Yes, yes," I put in, hastily.  "I understand, George.  But the
+stock, Louisville and Transcontinental, how is it now?"
+
+"Just the same.  It is dead, practically speaking.  It hasn't moved
+half a point for six weeks.  I've been expecting it would, but it
+hasn't.  It's all right; the value is there; I know it.  If I could
+only hang on and wait I could get my money back, part of it,
+anyhow.  But I can't.  I can't wait.  And the broker people have
+got those bonds.  Ros, I've been fighting this thing for weeks and
+weeks.  I ain't slept a night for years, or so it seems.  And next
+week--next WEEK I was to be married.  My God! think of it!"
+
+"Here, here!  Don't do that," I urged.  "Brace up.  You and I must
+work this out.  Wasn't there any one you could go to?  Anyone you
+could borrow the money of?  Thirty-five hundred isn't such a lot."
+
+"Whom could I go to?  I tried.  Lord knows I tried!  I did borrow a
+thousand of Cap'n Elisha Warren; trumped up some excuse or other
+and got that.  But that was all he could let me have.  And I know
+he thought my asking for that was queer."
+
+"Did you consider going straight to Cap'n Dean and--"
+
+"Dean?  Cap'n Jed?  Her father?  Oh, Ros, don't be a fool altogether!
+I beg your pardon, old man!  I don't mean it.  You mustn't mind.  I
+ain't responsible for what I say just now.  But I couldn't go to
+Cap'n Jed.  You know him.  He's as straight and square and honest as
+he is obstinate and cranky.  If I went to him I couldn't tell him
+the truth.  And if I lied he'd suspect and want to know why I needed
+to borrow money.  And Nellie--don't you see?  There's the real
+awfulness of the whole thing.  I couldn't go to her and tell her I
+was a thief.  I couldn't see her face when I told her.  And yet
+she's got to know it.  She's got to know it!"
+
+"But why?  The stock may go up any day and then you could withdraw
+part of your margin."
+
+He struck the table with another blow.  "The stock ain't moved for
+six weeks, I tell you," he declared.  "And, Ros," he leaned
+forward, his haggard face working with emotion, "those bonds ain't
+in our safe here, where they should be, and the bank examiner is
+due here within the next four days.  He's at Middleboro now.  I
+'phoned Bearse, the cashier there, this very forenoon on a matter
+of business, and he happened to mention that the examiner was in
+his bank and working his way down the Cape.  It's all up with me!
+All up!  And Nellie! poor girl; I can't be here when she finds it
+out.  I know you think I'm a poor specimen of a man, Ros, but I
+can't face the music.  No," desperately, "and I won't."
+
+He was giving way again, but I seized his shoulder and shook him.
+
+"Stop it!" I commanded.  "Stop it, George!  Let me think.  Be quiet
+now and let me think.  There must be a way out somewhere.  Let me
+think."
+
+He leaned back in his chair.  "All right," he said, hopelessly;
+"think, if you want to.  Though why you should want to think about
+a thing like me I don't see.  And I used to despise a crook as much
+as any one! and a coward still more!  And now I'm both a crook and
+a coward."
+
+I knew his cowardice was merely on Nellie's account.  George Taylor
+was no coward in the ordinary sense of the word, nor was he a
+crook.  I rose and paced up and down the room.  He watched me
+listlessly; it was plain that he felt no confidence whatever in my
+being able to help him.  After a time he spoke.
+
+"It's no use, Ros," he said.  "Don't worry your head about me; I
+ain't worth it.  If there was any way out, any way at all, I'd have
+sighted it long ago.  There ain't.  Take my advice and leave me.
+You don't want to be mixed up with an embezzler."
+
+I turned on him, impatiently.  "I have been mixed up, as you call
+it, with one before," I said, sharply.  "Is my own family record so
+clean that I need to pretend--there, George! don't be an idiot.
+Let me think."
+
+The clock chimed ten.  I stopped in my walk and turned to him.
+
+"George," I said, "tell me this:  If you had the money to buy back
+these bonds belonging to the bank you would be all right, wouldn't
+you?  If you had it in your hands by to-morrow morning, I mean."
+
+"Yes; IF I had it--but I haven't."
+
+"You could send the money to the brokers and--"
+
+"Send!  I wouldn't send; I'd go myself and fetch the bonds back
+with me.  Once I had them in that safe again I--"
+
+"And you would not take any more risks, even if the market dropped
+and they had to sell out your account?  Even if you lost every cent
+of your investment?"
+
+The fierce earnestness of his answer satisfied even me.  "What do
+you think I am?" he demanded.  "Investment be hanged!  It's my name
+as an honest man that I care about.  Once let me get that back
+again and I'll face the poorhouse.  Yes, and I'll tell Nellie the
+truth, all except that I was a thief; I can't tell her that.  But I
+will tell her that I haven't got a cent except my salary.  Then if
+she wants to give me up, all right.  I'll bear it as best I can.
+Or, if she doesn't, and I lose my job here, I'll get another one
+somewhere else; I'll work at anything.  She and I can wait and . . .
+But what is the use of talking like this?  I've been over every
+inch of the ground a thousand times.  There ain't a ray of light
+anywhere.  The examiner will be here, the bonds will be missing,
+and I--I'll be in jail, or in hell, one or the other."
+
+"No, you won't," I said, firmly.
+
+"I won't!  Why not?"
+
+"Because there IS a ray of light.  More than a ray.  George, you go
+home and go to bed.  To-morrow morning I may have news for you,
+good news."
+
+The blood rushed to his face.  He seized the arm of his chair.
+
+"Good news!" he gasped.  "Good news for ME!  Ros--Ros, for the
+Lord's sake, what do you mean?  You don't mean you see a way to--"
+
+"Never mind what I mean.  But I should like to know what you mean
+by not coming to me before?  What are friends for, if not to help
+each other?  Who told you that I was dead broke?"
+
+"You?  Why, you ain't got . . .  Have you?  Ros Paine, you ain't
+got thirty-five hundred to spare.  Why, you told me yourself--"
+
+"Shut up!  Get up from that chair and come with me.  Yes, you; and
+now, this minute.  Give me that thing you've got in the drawer
+there.  No, I'll take it myself.  You ought to be ashamed of its
+being there, George.  I am ashamed of you, and, if I thought you
+really meant to use it, I should be still more ashamed.  Come!
+don't keep me waiting."
+
+"But--but Ros--"
+
+"Will you do as I tell you?"
+
+I dragged him, almost literally dragged him, from the chair.  Then,
+after extinguishing the lamp, I led him to the door of the bank and
+locked it, putting the key in my pocket.
+
+"Now," said I, "I want you to make me a promise.  I want you to
+quit behaving like a coward, because you are not one, and promise
+me that you will go straight home and to bed.  I'll see you again
+the first thing in the morning.  Then, I think--yes, I think your
+troubles, the worst part of them, will be over."
+
+"But, Ros, PLEASE--I can't believe it!  Won't you tell me--"
+
+"Not a word.  Will you promise me to behave like a man and go home?
+Or must I go with you?"
+
+"No.  I'll--I'll promise.  I'll go straight home.  But, oh Ros, I
+can't understand--"
+
+"Good night."
+
+I left him standing there, stammering incoherently like a man
+awakening from a nightmare, and hurried away.
+
+I could not describe my progress down the dark Lower Road and along
+the Shore Lane.  I do not remember any portion of it.  I think I
+ran most of the way and if I met any one--which is not likely,
+considering the time--he or she must have thought me crazy.  My
+thoughts were centered upon one fixed purpose.  I had made up my
+mind to do a certain thing and, if possible, to do it that very
+night.  If I did not, if I had time in which to reflect, to
+consider consequences, I might lose my nerve and it would not be
+done at all.
+
+It was with a feeling of great relief that, as I came in sight of
+the Colton house, I saw lights in the rooms on the lower floor.
+The family, not being native born Denboroites, had not retired even
+though it was well after ten.  I hastened up the long drive, and
+stood before the big door, my hand upraised to the knocker.  And
+then, just for a moment, I hesitated.
+
+If I lifted that knocker and let it fall; if I summoned the servant
+and announced that I wished to speak with Mr. Colton; if I did what
+I had come there to do, it would be all over with me in the
+village.  My new born popularity, the respect which Cap'n Warren
+and Cap'n Jed and the rest of the townspeople had shown toward me
+of late, the cordial recognition which had been mine during the
+past few weeks and which, in spite of pretended indifference, I had
+come to expect and enjoy, all these would be lost if I persisted in
+my purpose.  My future in Denboro depended upon whether or not I
+knocked at that door.  And it was not too late to back out, even
+yet.  I had only to turn quietly away and tell George, when I saw
+him in the morning, that I could not help him as I had hoped.  And
+then I thought of his face as I saw it when I entered the bank--and
+of Nellie's letter to me.
+
+I seized the knocker and rapped sharply.
+
+For a few moments my knock was unanswered.  Then I heard footsteps
+and the door was opened.  Johnson, the butler, opened it, and his
+clerical countenance assumed a most astonished expression when he
+saw me standing before him.
+
+"Is Mr. Colton in?" I asked.
+
+"What?  What--sir?" stammered Johnson.  The "sir" was added under
+protest.  He did not wish to show more respect than was absolutely
+necessary to a countryman, but he scarcely dared speak as
+disrespectfully as he felt.  Therefore he compromised by voicing
+the respect and looking the other way.
+
+"Is Mr. Colton in?" I repeated.
+
+"I don't know.  I--I don't think so--sir."
+
+The windows at my left were, I knew, those of the library, the room
+where "Big Jim" and I had had our first lively discussion of the
+Shore Lane matter.  I glanced at them.
+
+"I think he is," I said.  "In fact I know it; there is his shadow
+on the curtain.  Tell him Mr. Paine wishes to speak with him."
+
+Johnson looked as insolent as he dared, and still hesitated.
+
+"It is very late," he said.  "Mr. Colton is not in the 'abit of
+receiving callers at this time of night and--"
+
+He was interrupted.  The door behind him, the door leading from the
+library to the hall, opened and Colton himself appeared.
+
+"What is it, Johnson?" he asked.  "Anything wrong?"
+
+The butler hastened to explain.
+
+"No sir," he said; "nothing wrong exactly, sir.  There is a person
+'ere to see you, sir, and--"
+
+"To see me, eh?  Who is it?  Why, hello, Paine! is that you?"
+
+"Mr. Colton," said I, "I am sorry to disturb you at such a late
+hour, but--"
+
+"Come in, come in," he interrupted.  "What are you standing out
+there for?  Johnson, why didn't you ask Mr. Paine in?  What do you
+mean by keeping him out there?"
+
+Mr. Johnson looked troubled.
+
+"It was so late, sir," he stammered, "I thought--"
+
+"You thought!  If I had wanted any one to think I never should have
+hired you.  Come in, Paine.  Come into the library."
+
+He led the way to the library and I followed him.  It was my second
+visit to the big, handsomely furnished room and again, as on the
+first occasion, the sight of the books and all the other refinements
+and luxuries which money brings to its possessor gave me a pang of
+envy and resentment.  It added increased bitterness to the
+humiliation of my errand.  I had left that room defiantly expressing
+my independence.  I had come back to it--"
+
+"Sit down," ordered Colton, pulling forward the big, leather-
+covered chair.  "Have a cigar?"
+
+"No thank you."
+
+"Humph!  That's what you said when you were here before.  You're
+young, Paine.  When you get to be as old as I am you'll never
+refuse a good cigar, or anything else that is good, when it is
+offered you.  Well, you're still standing.  Aren't going to refuse
+to sit down, are you?"
+
+That was exactly what I was going to do.  I would not sit down in
+that house.  I would not accept the slightest courtesy from this
+man or any of his people.  I would get rid of the unpleasant task I
+had come to do and then go away, never to return.  They might make
+the most of the triumph which was to be theirs, but I would compel
+them to understand that I was not seeking their favor.  I would not
+accept their patronage and they should know it.  This, as I look
+back at it now, seems silly and childish enough, but I was not
+myself that night.
+
+"Mr. Colton," said I, ignoring the proffered chair, "I have come to
+see you on a matter of business."
+
+"Business, eh?  Umph!  I thought probably you were going to ask me
+to go fishing with you again.  I'm all ready for another tussle
+with those--what do you call 'em--squid--squit--good Lord! what a
+name for a decent fish!  But I don't care a continental what you
+call 'em.  I'm ready to get at 'em when you say the word."
+
+"My business will not detain either of us long.  I--"
+
+"Sit down, man, sit down.  You make me nervous standing there."
+
+"No.  I won't sit."
+
+He looked at me.
+
+"What is the matter with you?" he asked.  "You haven't got a balky
+digestion, have you?  I've been fighting one for the last week.
+That fool of a country doctor tells me if I'm not careful what I
+eat I'll keel over pretty soon.  I told him I'd eaten what I dashed
+please ever since I'd had teeth and I wasn't going to quit now.
+But I do feel like the devil.  Look it, don't I?"
+
+He did look ill, that was a fact, though I had not noticed it
+before and was far from feeling pity for him then.  In fact I was
+rather glad to know that he was uncomfortable.  I wanted him to be.
+
+"What is the matter with you?" he demanded.  "You look as if you
+had seen your grandmother's ghost."
+
+I ignored the question.  "Mr. Colton," I began again.  "You made an
+offer not long ago."
+
+I had caught his attention at last.  He leaned back in his chair.
+
+"I did," he said.  "Ye-es, I did.  Do you mean you are going to
+accept it?"
+
+"In a way--yes."
+
+"In a way?  What do you mean by that?  I tell you frankly, Paine,
+if you go to work for me there must be no 'ifs' or 'buts' about it.
+You'll enter my office and you'll do as I, or the men under me,
+tell you to do."
+
+I was glad he said that, glad that he misunderstood me.  It gave me
+an opportunity to express my feelings toward him--as I was feeling
+then.
+
+"Don't let that trouble you," I said, sarcastically.  "There will
+be no 'ifs' and 'buts' so far as that is concerned.  I have no
+desire to work for you, Mr. Colton, and I don't intend doing so.
+That was not the offer I meant."
+
+He was surprised, I am sure, but he did not express astonishment.
+He bent forward and looked at me more keenly than ever.
+
+"There was only one other offer that I remember making you," he
+said, slowly.  "That was for that land of yours.  I offered you
+five thousand dollars for it.  Do you mean you accept that offer?"
+
+"Not exactly."
+
+"Humph!  Paine, we're wasting a lot of time here, it seems to me.
+My time is more or less valuable, and my digestion is, as I told
+you, pretty bad.  Come! get it over.  What do you mean?  Are you
+going to sell me that land?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+He puffed deliberately at his cigar.  His gaze did not leave my
+face.
+
+"Why?" he asked, after a moment.
+
+"That is my own affair.  I will sell you the land, but not for five
+thousand dollars."
+
+His expression changed.  He knocked the ashes from his cigar and
+frowned.
+
+"I see," he sneered.  "Humph!  Well, I've tried to make it plain to
+you fellows down here that I couldn't be held up.  I thought I'd
+done it, but evidently I haven't.  Five hundred is a good price for
+that land.  Five thousand is ridiculous, but I gave you my reasons
+for being willing to be robbed that much.  That, however, is the
+limit.  I'll give you five thousand, but not another cent.  You can
+take it or get out."
+
+This was better.  When he talked like that I could answer him and
+enjoy it.
+
+"I'll get out very shortly," I said.  "You are no more anxious to
+have that happen than I am.  I don't want your other cent.  I don't
+want your five thousand dollars.  I'll sell you the land on one
+condition--no, on two.  The first is that you pay me thirty-five
+hundred dollars for it."
+
+"WHAT?"
+
+I had upset his composure this time.  He forgot to sneer; he even
+forgot to smoke.
+
+"What?" he cried again.  "Thirty-five hundred!  Why, I offered you--"
+
+"I know your offer.  This is mine:  I will sell you the land for
+thirty-five hundred, and not another cent.  That, as you say, is
+the limit.  You can take it or--or I will follow your suggestion
+and get out."
+
+We looked at each other.  His fingers moved toward the match box on
+the table.  He took a match, scratched it, and held it to the end
+of his cigar.  Then he took the cigar from his lips, blew out the
+match and tossed the latter into the fireplace.
+
+"What is the second condition?" he asked, abruptly.
+
+"That you pay me in cash, in money and not by check, at once."
+
+"At once?  Now, do you mean?"
+
+"Yes, now.  To-night if possible; if not, no later than nine
+o'clock to-morrow morning."
+
+"Humph!  Do you think I carry thirty-five hundred loose in my
+change pocket?"
+
+"I don't know.  But that is the second condition."
+
+"Humph! . . .  Look here, Paine; what--?  I offered you the five
+thousand.  That offer holds good."
+
+"I don't accept it.  I will sell for thirty-five hundred; no more
+and no less."
+
+"But why not more?"
+
+"I don't know.  Yes, I do, too.  You said once that you were
+willing to pay forty-five hundred for the privilege of having your
+own way.  Perhaps I am willing to sacrifice fifteen hundred for the
+privilege of having mine.  At all events I mean what I say."
+
+"But why just thirty-five?  Wouldn't you take thirty-six?"
+
+"No.  It is useless to argue, Mr. Colton, and useless to ask my
+reasons.  I have them, and that is enough.  Will you accept MY
+offer?"
+
+He hesitated.  The sneer had left his face and his tone when he
+addressed me was respectful, though there was a curious note of
+chagrin or dissatisfaction in it.  I had expected him to be eager
+and, perhaps, mockingly triumphant.  He was not.  He seemed
+reluctant, almost disappointed.
+
+"I suppose I'll have to," he said.  "But, Paine, what is up?  Why
+are you doing this?  You're not afraid of me?  No, of course you're
+not.  You're not the kind to squeal and lie down because you think
+the odds are against you . . .  Confound you!" with a sudden burst
+of impatience, "you are enough to upset all the self-conceit a
+man's got in him.  Just as I think I'm beginning to size you up you
+break loose in a new place."
+
+"Pardon me," I put in, "but I don't see that you are helping to
+save that valuable time of yours.  I understand that you accept.
+Will you pay me now?"
+
+He rose, threw away his cigar, and, with his hands in his pockets,
+stood regarding me.
+
+"Your mind is made up, is it?" he asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Humph!  Have you thought of what our mutual friend Dean and the
+rest of the patriots may say when they find this out?"
+
+I had thought of little else all the way from the bank to his door.
+I was thinking of it then.
+
+"Of course," he added, "that is not my affair, but--"
+
+"It is not."
+
+"You're right; it isn't.  Still--hang it all, Paine!  I don't often
+feel any compunctions when I beat a fellow in a game like this, and
+I did intend to have my own way in this one--"
+
+"Well, you're having it, aren't you?" I put in.  "Why talk so much
+about it?"
+
+"Because I am not so sure I am having it.  Of course I can see
+that, for some reason or other, you need thirty-five hundred
+dollars.  Anyone but you, if they were going to sell, would get the
+last dime they could squeeze.  You won't, because you are as pig-
+headed as--as--"
+
+"Oh, do cut it short," I snapped.  And then, a trifle ashamed of my
+rudeness, "Excuse me, Mr. Colton, but this isn't exactly pleasant
+for me and I want to get it over.  Will you pay me now?"
+
+"Hold on; let me finish.  I was going to say that, if you needed
+the thirty-five, perhaps I could manage to let you have it."
+
+I stared at him.  "Let me have it!" I cried.  "Do you mean you'll
+lend it to me?"
+
+"Why, yes, maybe.  You and I have had such a first-rate, square,
+stand up fight that I rather hate to have it end.  I want to lick
+you, not have you quit before I've really begun to fight.  There's
+no fool philanthropy in this, understand; it is just for my own
+satisfaction."
+
+I was so taken aback by this totally unexpected offer from the man
+whom I had insulted a dozen times since I entered his house, that I
+found it almost impossible to answer.
+
+"What do you say?" he asked.
+
+"No," I faltered.  And then more firmly, "No; certainly not.  I--I
+am much obliged to you, Mr. Colton, but--no."
+
+"All right.  You know best.  I'll take your offer and I will hand
+you the money at the bank to-morrow morning.  Will that do?"
+
+"Not at the bank, Mr. Colton.  Send it over to the house, if you
+can conveniently."
+
+"I'll have it here before ten.  My lawyer will draw up the papers
+and arrange for transfer of title in a few days.  What?  Going, are
+you?  Good night.  Oh--er--Paine, remember that my other offer,
+that of the place in my office, is open when you're ready to take
+it."
+
+I shook my head.  I had turned to go, but now I turned back,
+feeling that, perhaps, I should apologize again for my rudeness.
+After all, he had been kind, very kind, and I had scarcely thanked
+him.  So I turned back to say something, I hardly knew what.
+
+My doing so was a mistake.  The door behind me opened and a voice
+said reproachfully, "Father, are you still here?  The doctor
+said . . .  Oh, I beg pardon."
+
+I recognized the voice.  Of all voices in the world I wished least
+to hear it just then.  My back was toward the door and I kept it
+so.  If she would only go!  If she would only shut that door and go
+away!
+
+I think she would have gone but her father called her.
+
+"Mabel," he cried, "Mabel, don't go.  It's all right.  Come in.
+Paine and I have finished our talk.  Nothing more you wished to
+say, was there, Paine?"
+
+"No," said I.  I was obliged to turn now; I could not get out of
+that room without doing it.  So turn I did, and we faced each
+other.
+
+"Good evening, Miss Colton," I said, with all the calmness I could
+muster.
+
+She said, "Good evening," distantly and without any enthusiasm, but
+I saw her glance at her father and then at me and I knew she was
+wondering what our being together could possibly mean.
+
+"Paine has been making me a little call," explained Colton, his eye
+twinkling.  "Mabel, I'll risk another bet that you can't guess why
+he came."
+
+"I shall not try," she said, disdainfully.
+
+"Oh, you'd better!  No?  You won't?  Well, then, I'll tell you.  He
+has just sold me that land of his . . .  Don't look at me like
+that; he has.  We had a little disagreement as to price, but," with
+a grin, "I met his figures and we closed the deal.  Aren't you
+going to congratulate him on having come to his senses at last?
+Come! he's waiting for congratulations."
+
+This was not true.  I was waiting for nothing; I was on my way to
+the door.  But, to reach it I was obliged to pass her and our eyes
+met.  My glance wavered, I know, but hers did not.  For a moment
+she looked at me.  Then she smiled.  Whenever I am tempted to be
+vain, even now, I remember that smile.
+
+"I congratulate him," she said.  "Come, Father; you must go to bed
+now."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+I am not going to attempt a description of my thoughts that night.
+It would take too long and the description would be wearisome.
+Other people's miseries are not interesting and I shall not catalog
+mine.  Morning came at last and I rose, bathed my hot face in cold
+water, and went down stairs.  Early as it was, not yet six, I heard
+Dorinda in the kitchen and, having no desire for conversation, I
+went out and walked up and down the beach until breakfast time.  I
+had to pretend to eat, but I ate so little that both Lute and
+Dorinda once more commented upon my lack of appetite.  Lute, who
+had never become fully reconciled to my becoming a member of the
+working class, hastened to lay the blame for my condition upon my
+labors at the bank.
+
+"The trouble is," he announced, dogmatically, "the trouble is,
+Roscoe, that you ain't fitted for bein' shut up astern of a deck.
+Look at yourself now!  Just go into Comfort's room and stand in
+front of her lookin' glass and look at yourself.  There you be,
+pale and peaked and wore out.  Look for all the world just as I
+done when I had the tonsils two winters ago.  Ain't that so,
+Dorindy?"
+
+His wife's answer was a contemptuous sniff.
+
+"If you mean to say that you looked peaked when you had sore
+throat," she announced, "then there's somethin' the matter with
+your mind or your eyesight, one or t'other.  You peaked?  Why, your
+face was swelled up like a young one's balloon Fourth of July Day.
+And as for bein' pale!  My soul!  I give you my word I couldn't
+scurcely tell where your neck left off and the strip of red flannel
+you made me tie 'round it begun."
+
+"Don't make no difference!  I FELT pale, anyhow.  And I didn't eat
+no more'n Ros does.  You'll have to give in to that, Dorindy.  I
+didn't eat nothin' but beef tea and gruel."
+
+"You et enough of them to float a schooner."
+
+"Maybe I did," with grieved dignity; "maybe I did.  But that's no
+reason why you should set there and heave my sufferin's in my
+face."
+
+"What is the man talkin' about now?  I didn't heave 'em in your
+face.  They come there themselves, same as sore throat sufferin's
+generally do, and if you hadn't waded around in the snow with leaky
+boots, because you was too lazy to take 'em to the shoemaker's to
+be patched, they wouldn't."
+
+Lute drew back from the table.  "It's no use!" he declared, "a man
+can't even be sick in peace in this house.  Some wives would have
+been sorry to see their husbands with one foot in the grave."
+
+"Your feet was in the cookstove oven most of the time.  There!
+there! the more you talk the further from home you get.  You
+started in with Roscoe and the bank and you're in the grave
+already.  If I was you I'd quit afore I went any further.  Land
+knows where you might fetch up if you kept on!  I . . .  Mercy on
+us! who's at the kitchen door this time in the mornin'?"
+
+Her husband, ever curious, was on his way to answer the knock
+already.  He came back, a moment later, sputtering with excitement.
+
+"It's that Mr. butler, the Johnson over to Mr. Colton's," he
+whispered.  "I mean it's that Jutler--that--  There, Dorindy! you
+see what sort of a state your hectorin' has worked me into!  It's
+that parson critter who opens Colton's door for him, that's who
+'tis.  And he wants to see Ros.  I tried to find out what for, but
+he wouldn't tell."
+
+Even Dorinda showed surprise.  She looked at the clock, "This hour
+of the mornin'!" she exclaimed; "what in the world--?"
+
+I hastened to the kitchen, closing the dining-room door behind me
+just in time to prevent Lute's following me.  Johnson, the butler,
+was standing on the mica slab at the threshold inspecting our
+humble premises with lofty disdain.
+
+"Mr. Colton sent this to you, sir," he said, handing me an
+envelope.  "He wishes you to send a receipt by me."
+
+I took the envelope and, stepping back out of sight, tore it open.
+Inside was a check on a New York bank for four thousand dollars.
+It was made payable to "Bearer."  With it was this brief note:
+
+
+Dear Paine:
+
+This is the best I can do for you, as I haven't the money on hand.
+Cash it yourself, take out your thirty-five hundred and hold the
+additional five hundred until I, or one of the family, call for it.
+I made the thing payable to Bearer because I imagined you would
+prefer it that way.  Send me some sort of receipt by Johnson;
+anything will do.  I will see my lawyer in a day or two.  Meanwhile
+have your papers, deeds, etc., ready when he calls for them.
+
+Yours truly,
+
+JAMES W. COLTON.
+
+
+For a minute I considered.  If I could cash the check at the bank
+without Taylor's knowledge and get him off to Boston on the early
+train, I might be able to cover my tracks.  It was necessary that
+they should be covered.  Knowing George as I did I knew that he
+would never consent to my sacrifice.  He would not permit me to
+wreck my future in Denboro to save him.  The money must be turned
+over to the Boston bankers and the bank's bonds once more in the
+vault where they belonged before he learned where that money came
+from.  Then it would be too late to refuse and too late to undo
+what had been done.  He would have to accept and I might be able
+to prevail upon him to keep silent regarding the whole affair.  I
+disliked the check with Colton's name upon it; I should have much
+preferred the cash; but cash, it seemed, could not be had without
+considerable delay, and with that bank examiner's visit imminent
+every moment of time was valuable.  I folded the check, put it in
+my pocketbook, and, hastily scribbling a receipt in pencil at the
+bottom of Colton's note, replaced the latter in the envelope and
+handed it to Johnson, who departed.
+
+Entering the dining-room I found Dorinda and Lute at the window,
+peering after the butler.
+
+"By time!" exclaimed Lute, "if I didn't know I should say he was a
+bigger big-bug than old Colton himself.  Look how he struts!  He
+sartin is a dignified lookin' man.  I don't see how he ever come to
+be just hired help."
+
+"Um-hm," sniffed the cynical Mrs. Rogers.  "Well; you can get an
+awful lot of dignity for its board and lodgin'!  There's nothin'
+much more dignified or struts much better'n a rooster, but it's the
+hens that lay the eggs.  What did he want, Roscoe?"
+
+I made some excuse or other for Mr. Johnson's early call and,
+taking my cap from the rack, hurried from the house.  I went
+"across lots" and, running a good part of the way, reached the bank
+just as Sam Wheeler was sweeping out.  He expressed surprise at my
+early arrival and wished to know what was up.
+
+"Ain't nothin' wrong, is there, Ros?" asked Sam anxiously.  "I saw
+by the paper that the market was feverish again yesterday."
+
+Sam was an ambitious youth and, being desirous of becoming a banker
+in the shortest possible time, read the financial page with
+conscientious thoroughness.  I assured him that the market's fever
+was not contagious--at least I had not contracted the disease--and
+sent him out to sweep the front steps.  As soon as he had gone I
+opened the safe, found, to my joy, that we had an abundance of
+currency on hand, cashed the Colton check and locked it securely in
+the drawer of my own desk.  So far I was safe.  Now to secure
+George's safety.
+
+He came in soon after, looking as if, as he had told me, he had not
+slept for years.  He bade Sam good morning and then walked over to
+my side.
+
+"Well, Ros?" he asked, laying a shaking hand on the desk beside me.
+
+"Not here, George," I whispered.  "Come into the directors' room."
+
+I led the way and he followed me.  I closed the door behind us,
+took the thirty-five hundred dollars in notes from my pocket and
+laid them on the table.
+
+"There's the money, George," I said.  "Now you've got just time
+enough to catch that nine o'clock train for Boston."
+
+I thought, for a moment, he was going to collapse altogether.  Then
+he pounced upon the money, counted it with fingers that trembled so
+he could scarcely control them, and turned to me.
+
+"Ros--Ros--" he stammered.  "Where did you--how did you--Great God,
+man!  I--I--"
+
+"There! there!" I interrupted.  "I told you I wasn't a pauper
+exactly.  Put that where you won't lose it and clear out.  You
+haven't any time to argue."
+
+"But--but, Ros, I hadn't ought to take this from you.  I don't see
+where you got it and--"
+
+"That's my business.  Will you go?"
+
+"I don't know as I ever can pay you.  Lord knows I'll try all my
+life, but--"
+
+I seized his arm.  "George," I urged, impatiently, "you fool, don't
+waste time.  Get that train, do you hear!  Those bonds must be in
+that safe by night.  Go!"
+
+The mention of the bonds did what my urging had failed to do.  He
+crammed the bills into his pocket book, thrust the latter into an
+inside pocket, and rushed from the room.  I followed him as far as
+the outer door.  He was running up the road like a wild man.  Sam
+stared after him.
+
+"For mercy sakes!" he cried, "what's the matter with the boss?  Has
+he gone loony?"
+
+"No," I said, turning back to my desk; "he's sane enough, I guess.
+He's after the train."
+
+"I should think he was after somethin'.  Did you see the face he
+had on him?  If he ain't crazy then you and I are, that's all I've
+got to say."
+
+"All right, Sam," I answered, drawing a long breath, "perhaps
+that's it.  Perhaps you and I are the crazy ones--one of us, at any
+rate."
+
+All that day I worked hard.  I did not go home for lunch, but sent
+Sam over to Eldredge's store for canned ham and crackers which I
+ate at my desk.  It was a fairly busy day, fortunately, and I could
+always find some task to occupy my mind.  Lute called, at two
+o'clock, to inquire why I had not been home and I told him that
+Taylor was away and I should be late for supper.  He departed,
+shaking his head.
+
+"It's just as I said," he declared, "you're workin' yourself sick,
+that's what you're doin'.  You're growin' foolish in the head about
+work, just the same as Dorindy.  And YOU don't need to; you've got
+money enough.  If I had independent means same as you've got I tell
+you I'd have more sense.  One sick invalid in the family's enough,
+ain't it?"
+
+"No doubt, Lute," I replied.  "At all events you must take care of
+your health.  Don't YOU work yourself sick."
+
+Lute turned on me.  "I try not to," he said, seriously; "I try not
+to, but it's a hard job.  You know what that wife of mine is
+cal'latin' to have me do next?  Wash the hen house window!  Yes
+sir! wash the window so's the hens can look at the scenery, I
+presume likely.  I says to her, says I, 'That beats any foolishness
+ever I heard!  Next thing you'll want me to put down a carpet in
+the pigsty, won't ye?  You would if we kept a pig, I know.'"
+
+"What did she say to that?" I inquired.
+
+"Oh, the land knows!  Somethin' about keepin' one pig bein' trouble
+enough.  I didn't pay much attention.  But I shan't wash no hen's
+window, now you can bet on that!"
+
+I shouldn't have bet much on it.  He went away, to spend the next
+hour in a political debate at Eldredge's, and I wrote letters,
+needlessly long ones.  Closing time came and Sam went home, leaving
+me to lock up.  The train was due at six-twenty, but it was nearly
+seven before I heard it whistle at the station.  I stood at the
+front window looking up the road and waiting.
+
+I waited only a few minutes, but they were long ones.  Then I saw
+George coming, not running this time, but walking with rapid
+strides.  The crowd, waiting on the post-office steps, shouted at
+him but he paid no attention.  He sprang up the steps and entered
+the bank.  I stepped forward and seized his hand.  One look at his
+face was enough; he had the bonds, I knew it.
+
+"Ros, you here!" he exclaimed.  "Is it all right?  The examiner
+hasn't showed up?"
+
+"No," I answered.  "You have them, George?"
+
+"Right in my pocket, thank the Lord--and you, Ros Paine.  Just let
+me get them into that safe and I--  What!  You're not going?"
+
+"Yes, I'm going.  I congratulate you, George.  I am as glad as you
+are.  Good night."
+
+"But Ros, I want to tell you about it.  I want to thank you again.
+I never shall forget . . .  Ros, hold on!"
+
+But I was already at the door.  "Good night," I called again, and
+went out.  I went straight home, ate supper, spent a half hour with
+Mother, and then went to my room and to bed.  The excitement was
+over, for good or bad the thing was done beyond recall, and I
+suddenly realized that I was very tired.  I fell asleep almost
+immediately and slept soundly until morning.  I was too tired even
+to think.
+
+I had plenty of time to think during the fortnight which followed
+and there was enough to think about.  The lawyer came and the
+papers were signed transferring to James W. Colton the strip of
+land over which Denboro had excited itself for months.  Each day I
+sat at my desk expecting Captain Dean and a delegation of indignant
+citizens to rush in and denounce me as a traitor and a turncoat.
+Every time Sam Wheeler met me at my arrival at the bank I dreaded
+to look him in the face, fearing that he had learned of my action
+and was waiting to question me about it.  In spite of all my boasts
+and solemn vows not to permit "Big Jim" Colton to obtain the Shore
+Lane I had sold it to him; he could, and it was to be expected that
+he would, close it at once; Denboro would make its just demand upon
+me for explanations, explanations which, for George and Nellie's
+sake, I could not give; and after that the deluge.  I was sitting
+over a powder mine and I braced myself for the explosion.
+
+But hours and days passed and no explosion came.  The fishcarts
+rattled down the Lane without hindrance.  Except for the little
+flurry of excitement caused by the coming wedding at the Dean
+homestead the village life moved on its lazy, uneventful jog.  I
+could not understand it.  Why did Colton delay?  He, whose one
+object in life was to have his own way, had it once more.  Now that
+he had it why didn't he make use of it?  Why was he holding back?
+Out of pity for me?  I did not believe it.  Much more likely that
+his daughter, whose pride I had dared to offend, had taken the
+affair in her hands and this agony of suspense was a preliminary
+torture, a part of my punishment for presuming to act contrary to
+her imperial will.
+
+I saw her occasionally, although I tried my best not to do so.
+Once we passed each other on the street and I stubbornly kept my
+head turned in the other direction.  I would risk no more looks
+such as she had given me when, in response to her father's would-be
+humorous suggestion, she had offered me her "congratulations."
+Once, too, I saw her on the bay, I was aboard the Comfort, having
+just anchored after a short cruise, and she went by in the canoe,
+her newest plaything, which had arrived by freight a few days
+before.  A canoe in Denboro Bay was a distinct novelty; probably
+not since the days of the Indians had one of the light, graceful
+little vessels floated there, and this one carried much comment
+among the old salts alongshore.  It was the general opinion that it
+was no craft for salt water.
+
+"Them things," said Zeb Kendrick, sagely, "are all right for ponds
+or rivers or cricks where there ain't no tide nor sea runnin'.
+Float anywheres where there's a heavy dew, they say they will.  But
+no darter of mine should go out past the flats in one of 'em if I
+had the say.  It's too big a risk."
+
+"Yup; well, Zeb, you ain't got the say, I cal'late," observed Thoph
+Newcomb.  "And it takes more'n say to get a skiff like that one.
+They tell me the metal work aboard her is silver-plated--silver or
+gold, I ain't sure which.  Wonder the old man didn't make it solid
+gold while he was about it.  He'd do anything for that girl if she
+asked him to.  And she sartin does handle it like a bird!  She went
+by my dory t'other mornin' and I swan to man if she and the canoe
+together wan't a sight for sore eyes.  I set and watched her for
+twenty minutes."
+
+"Um--ye-es," grunted Zeb.  "And then you charged the twenty minutes
+in against the day's work quahaugin' you was supposed to be doin'
+for me, I suppose."
+
+"You can take out the ten cents when you pay me--if you ever do,"
+said Newcomb, gallantly.  "'Twas wuth more'n that just to look at
+her."
+
+The time had been when I should have agreed with Thoph.  Sitting in
+the canoe, bare-headed, her hair tossing in the breeze, and her
+rounded arms swinging the light paddle, she was a sight for sore
+eyes, doubtless.  But it was not my eyes which were sore, just
+then.  I watched her for a moment and then bent over my engine.  I
+did not look up again until the canoe had disappeared beyond the
+Colton wharf.
+
+I did not tell Mother that I had sold the land.  I intended to do
+so; each morning I rose with my mind made up to tell her, and
+always I put off the telling until some other time.  I knew, of
+course, that she should be told; that I ought to tell her rather
+than to have her learn the news from others as she certainly would
+at almost any moment, but I knew, too, that even to her I could not
+disclose my reason for selling.  I must keep George's secret as he
+had kept mine and take the consequences with a close mouth and as
+much of my old indifference to public opinion as I could muster.
+But I realized, only too well, that the indifference which had once
+been real was now only pretense.
+
+I have said very little about George Taylor's gratitude to me, nor
+his appreciation of what I had done for him.  The poor fellow would
+have talked of nothing else if I had let him.
+
+"You've saved my good name and my life, Ros," he said, over and
+over again, "and not only my life, but what is a mighty sight more
+worth saving, Nellie's happiness.  I don't know how you did it; I
+believe yet that there is something behind all this, that you're
+keeping something from me.  I can't see how, considering all you've
+said to me about your not being well-off, you got that money so
+quick.  But I know you don't want me to talk about it."
+
+"I don't, George," I said.  "All I ask of you is just to forget the
+whole thing."
+
+"Forget!  I shan't forget while I live.  And, as soon as ever I can
+scrape it together, I'll pay you back that loan."
+
+He had kept his word, so far as telling Nellie of his financial
+condition was concerned.  He had not, of course, told her of his
+use of the bank bonds, but he had, as he said he would, told her
+that, in all probability, he should be left with nothing but his
+salary.
+
+"I told her she was free to give me up," he said, with emotion,
+"and what do you suppose she said to me?  That she would marry me
+if she knew she must live in the poorhouse the rest of her days.
+Yes, and be happy, so long as we could be together.  Well, I ain't
+worth it, and I told her so, but I'll do my best to be worth
+something; and she shan't have to live in the poorhouse either."
+
+"I don't think there's much danger of that," I said.  "And, by the
+way, George, your Louisville and Transcontinental speculation may
+not be all loss.  You may save something out of it.  There has been
+considerable trading in the stock during the past two days.  It is
+up half a point already, according to the papers.  Did you notice
+it?"
+
+"Yes, I noticed it.  But I tell you, Ros, I don't care.  I'll be
+glad to get some of my money back, of course; enough to pay you and
+Cap'n Elisha anyhow; but I'm so happy to think that Nellie need
+never know I was a thief that I don't seem to care much for
+anything else."
+
+Nellie was happy, too.  She came to me and told me of her happiness.
+It was all on George's account, of course.
+
+"The poor fellow had lost money in investments," she said, "and he
+thought I would not care for him if I found out he was poor.  He
+isn't poor, of course, but if he was it would make no difference to
+me.  I am so glad to see him without that dreadful worried look on
+his face that I--I--  Oh, you must think me awful silly, Roscoe!  I
+guess I am.  I know I am.  But you are the only one I can talk to
+in this way about--about him.  All Ma wants to talk about now is
+the wedding and clothes and such, and Pa always treats me as if I
+was a child.  I feel almost as if you were the closest friend I
+have, and I know George feels the same.  He says you have helped
+him out of his troubles.  I was sure you would; that is why I wrote
+you that letter.  We are both SO grateful to you."
+
+Their gratitude and the knowledge of their happiness were my sole
+consolations in this trying time.  They kept me from repenting what
+I had done.  It was hard not to repent.  If Colton had only made
+known his purchase and closed the Lane at once, while my resolution
+was red hot, I could have faced the wrath of the village and its
+inevitable consequences fairly well, I believed; but he still kept
+silent and made no move.  I saw him once or twice; on one occasion
+he came into the bank, but he came only to cash a check and did not
+mention the subject of the Lane.  He did not look well to me and I
+heard him tell Taylor something about his "damned digestion."
+
+The wedding day came.  I, as best man, was busy and thankful for
+the bustle and responsibility.  They occupied my mind and kept it
+from dwelling on other things.  George worked at the bank until
+noon, getting ready to leave the institution in my charge and that
+of Dick Small, Henry's brother, who had reported for duty that
+morning.  The marriage was to take place at half past one in the
+afternoon and the bridal couple were to go away on the three
+o'clock train.  The honeymoon trip was to be a brief one, only a
+week.
+
+Every able-bodied native of Denboro, man, woman and child, attended
+that wedding, I honestly believe.  It was the best sort of
+advertising for Olinda Cahoon and Simeon Eldredge, for Olinda had
+made the gowns worn by the bride and the bride's mother and a
+number of the younger female guests, and Sim had sold innumerable
+bottles of a peculiarly penetrating perfume, a large supply of
+which he had been talked into purchasing by a Boston traveling
+salesman.
+
+"Smell it, Ros, do ye?" whispered Sim, grinning triumphantly
+between the points of a "stand-up" collar.  "I give you my word
+when that slick-talkin' drummer sold me all that perfumery, I
+thought I was stuck sure and sartin.  But then I had an idee.
+Every time women folks come into the store and commenced to talk
+about the weddin' I says to 'em, says I, 'Can't sell you a couple
+of handkerchiefs to cry on, can I, Miss So-and-so?  Weddin's are
+great places for sheddin' tears, you know.'  If I sold 'em the
+handkerchiefs all well and good; but if they laughed and said they
+had a plenty, I got out my sample bottle of 'May Lilock', that's
+the name of the cologne, and asked 'em to smell of it.  'If you cry
+with that on your handkerchief,' says I, 'all hands will be glad to
+have you do it.  And only twenty cents a bottle!'  You wouldn't
+believe how much I sold.  You can smell this weddin' afore you come
+in sight of the house, can't ye now."
+
+You could, and you continued to smell it long after you left.  My
+best suit reeked of "May Lilac" weeks later when I took it out of
+the closet.
+
+Dorinda was there, garbed in rustling black alpaca, her Sunday gown
+for ten years at least, and made over and "turned" four or five
+times.  Lute was on deck, cutaway coat, "high water" trousers and
+purple tie, grand to look upon, Alvin Baker and Elnathan Mullet and
+Alonzo Black and Thoph Newcomb and Zeb Kendrick were, as the Item
+would say, "among those present" and if Zeb's black cutaway smelled
+slightly of fish it was, at least, a change from the pervading "May
+Lilac."
+
+Captain Jed strutted pompously about, monarch of the day.  He
+greeted me genially.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" he said.  "You out here?  Thought you'd be busy
+overhaulin' George's runnin' riggin' and makin' sure he was all
+ready to heave alongside the parson."
+
+"I have been," I answered.  "I am on my way back there now."
+
+"All right, all right.  Matildy give me fits for not stayin'
+upstairs until the startin' gun was fired, but I told her that,
+between her with her eyes full of tears and Olindy Cahoon with her
+mouth full of pins, 'twas no place for a male man.  So I cleared
+out till everything was shipshape.  Say, Ros," he laid his hand on
+my shoulder and bent to whisper in my ear:  "Say, Ros," he said,
+"I'm glad to see you're takin' my advice."
+
+"Taking your advice?" I repeated, puzzled.
+
+"Yes; about not playin' with fire, you know.  I ain't heard of you
+and the Princess cruisin' together for the past week.  Thought
+'twas best not to be too familiar with the R'yal family, didn't
+you?  That's right, that's right.  We can't take chances.  We've
+got Denboro and the Shore Lane to think about, ain't we?"
+
+I did not answer.  I did not risk looking him in the face.
+
+"She's liable to be here most any time, I cal'late," he went on.
+"Nellie would insist on invitin' her.  And I must say that, to be
+honest, the present she sent is the finest that's come aboard yet.
+The only thing I've got against her is her bad judgment in pickin'
+a father.  If 'twan't for that I--hello!  Who--Why, I believe--"
+
+There was a commotion among the guests and heads were turned toward
+the door.  The captain started forward.  I started back.  She had
+entered the room and was standing there, looking about her with
+smiling interest.  I had forgotten that, considering her friendship
+with Nellie, she was certain to be invited.
+
+She was dressed in a simple, but wonderful, white gown and wore a
+bunch of lilies of the valley at her bosom.  The doorway was
+decorated with sprays of honeysuckle and green boughs and against
+this background she made a picture that brought admiring whispers
+from the people near me.  She did not notice me at first and I
+think I should have escaped by the side door if it had not been for
+Sim Eldredge.  Simeon was just behind me and he darted forward with
+outstretched hand.
+
+"Why, how d'ye do, Miss Colton!" exclaimed Sim.  "You're just in
+time, ain't ye!  Let me get you a chair.  Alvin," to Mr. Baker,
+who, perspiring beneath the unaccustomed dignity of a starched
+shirt front, occupied a front seat, "get up and let Miss Colton set
+down."
+
+She looked in Sim's direction and saw me, standing beside him.  I
+had no opportunity to avoid her look now, as I had done when we met
+in the street.  She saw me and I could not turn away.  I bowed.
+She did not acknowledge the bow.  She looked calmly past me,
+through me.  I saw, or fancied that I saw, astonishment on the
+faces of those watching us.  Captain Jed stepped forward to greet
+her and I went into the adjoining room, where George was anxiously
+awaiting me.
+
+"Good land, Ros!" he exclaimed, with a sigh of relief, "I was
+beginning to be afraid you'd skipped out and left me to go through
+it all alone.  Say something to brace me up, won't you; I'm scared
+to death.  Say," with a wondering glance at my face, "what's struck
+YOU?  You look more upset than I feel."
+
+I believe I ordered him not to be an idiot.  I know I did not
+"brace him up" to any extent.
+
+It was a very pretty wedding.  At least every one said it was,
+although they say the same of all weddings, I am told.  Personally
+I was very glad when it was over.  Nellie whispered in my ear as I
+offered her my congratulations, "We owe it all to you, Roscoe."
+George said nothing, but the look he gave me as he wrung my hand
+was significant.  For a moment I forgot myself, forgot to be
+envious of those to whom the door for happiness was not shut.
+After all I had opened the door for these two, and that was
+something.
+
+I walked as far as the corner with Lute and Dorinda.  Dorinda's
+eyes were red and her husband commented upon it.
+
+"I thought a weddin' was supposed to be a joyful sort of thing," he
+said, disgustedly.  "It's usually cal'lated to be.  Yet you and the
+rest of the women folks set and cried through the whole of it.
+What in time was there to cry about?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know, Luther," replied Dorinda in, for her, an
+unusually tolerant tone.  "Perhaps it's because we've all been
+young once and can't forget it."
+
+"I don't forget, no more'n you do.  I ain't so old that I can't
+remember that fur back, I hope.  But it don't make me feel like
+cryin'."
+
+"Well, all right.  We won't argue about it.  Let's be pleasant as
+we can, for once."
+
+Now that is where Lute should have taken the hint and remained
+silent.  At least he should have changed the subject.  But he was
+hot and uncomfortable and, I suspect, his Sunday shoes were tight.
+He persisted.
+
+"Huh!" he sniffed; "I don't see's you've given me no sensible
+reason for cryin'.  If I recollect right you didn't cry at your own
+weddin'."
+
+His wife turned on him.  She looked him over from head to foot.
+
+"Didn't I?" she said, tartly.  "Well, maybe not.  But if I'd
+realized what was happenin' to me, I should."
+
+"Lute," said I, as I parted from them at the corner, "I am going to
+the bank for a little while.  Then I think I shall take a short run
+down the bay in the Comfort.  Did you fill her tank with gasolene
+as I asked you to?"
+
+Lute stopped short.  "There!" he exclaimed, "I knew there was
+somethin' I forgot.  I'll do it soon's ever I get home."
+
+"When you get home," observed Dorinda, firmly, "you'll wash that
+henhouse window."
+
+"Now, Dorinda, if that ain't just like you!  Don't you hear Roscoe
+askin' me about that gas?  I've had that gas in my head ever since
+yesterday."
+
+"Um-hm," wearily.  "Well, I shouldn't think a little extry more or
+less would make much difference.  Never mind, don't waste any more
+on me.  Get the gas out of your head, if Roscoe wants you to.  You
+can wash the window afterward."
+
+Lute's parting words were that he would fill that tank the very
+first thing.  If he had--but there! he didn't.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+The fog had come almost without warning.  When, after leaving the
+bank, at four o'clock or thereabouts, I walked down to the shore
+and pulled my skiff out to where the Comfort lay at her moorings,
+there had not been a sign of it.  Now I was near the entrance of
+the bay, somewhere abreast Crow Point, and all about me was gray,
+wet blankness.  Sitting in the stern of the little launch I could
+see perhaps a scant ten feet beyond the bow, no more.
+
+It was the sudden shift of the wind which had brought the fog.
+When I left the boat house there had been a light westerly breeze.
+This had died down to a flat calm, and then a new breeze had sprung
+up from the south, blowing the fog before it.  It rolled across the
+water as swiftly as the smoke clouds roll from a freshly lighted
+bonfire.  It blotted Denboro from sight and moved across the bay;
+the long stretch of beach disappeared; the Crow Point light and Ben
+Small's freshly whitewashed dwellings and outbuildings were
+obliterated.  In ten minutes the Comfort was, to all appearances,
+alone on a shoreless sea, and I was the only living creature in the
+universe.
+
+I was not troubled or alarmed.  I had been out in too many fogs on
+that very bay to mind this one.  It was a nuisance, because it
+necessitated cutting short my voyage, although that voyage had no
+objective point and was merely an aimless cruise in search of
+solitude and forgetfulness.  The solitude I had found, the
+forgetfulness, of course, I had not.  And now, when the solitude
+was more complete than ever, surrounded by this gray dismalness,
+with nothing whatever to look at to divert my attention, I knew I
+should be more bitterly miserable than I had been since I left that
+wedding.  And I had been miserable and bitter enough, goodness
+knows.
+
+Home and the village, which I had been so anxious to get away from,
+now looked inviting in comparison.  I slowed down the engine and,
+with an impatient growl, bent over the little binnacle to look at
+the compass and get my bearings before pointing the Comfort's nose
+in the direction of Denboro.  Then my growl changed to an
+exclamation of disgust.  The compass was not there.  I knew where
+it was.  It was on my work bench in the boat house, where I had put
+it myself, having carried it there to replace the cracked glass in
+its top with a new one.  I had forgotten it and there it was.
+
+I could get along without it, of course, but its absence meant
+delay and more trouble.  In a general way I knew my whereabouts,
+but the channel was winding and the tide was ebbing rapidly.  I
+should be obliged to run slowly--to feel my way, so to speak--and I
+might not reach home until late.  However, there was nothing else
+to do, so I put the helm over and swung the launch about.  I sat in
+the stern sheets, listening to the dreary "chock-chock" of the
+propeller, and peering forward into the mist.  The prospect was as
+cheerless as my future.
+
+Suddenly, from the wet, gray blanket ahead came a call.  It was a
+good way off when I first heard it, a call in a clear voice, a
+feminine voice it seemed to me.
+
+"Hello!"
+
+I did not answer.  I took it for granted that the call was not
+addressed to me.  It came probably, from the beach at the Point,
+and might be Mrs. Small hailing her husband, though it did not
+sound like her voice.  Several minutes went by before it was
+repeated.  Then I heard it again and nearer.
+
+"Hello!  Hello-o-o!  Where are you?"
+
+That was not Mrs. Small, certainly.  Unless I was away off in my
+reckoning the Point was at my right, and the voice sounded to the
+left.  It must come from some craft afloat in the bay, though
+before the fog set in I had seen none.
+
+"Hello-o!  Hello, the motor boat!"
+
+"Hello!" I answered.  "Boat ahoy!  Where are you?"
+
+"Here I am."  The voice was nearer still.  "Where are you?  Don't
+run into me."
+
+I shifted my helm just a bit and peered ahead.  I could see
+nothing.  The fog was thicker than ever; if that were possible.
+
+"Where are you?" repeated the unseen voyager, and to my dismay, the
+hail came from the right this time.
+
+"Don't move!" I shouted.  "Stay where you are.  I will keep
+shouting . . .  LOOK OUT!"
+
+Out of the fog to starboard a long dark shadow shot, silent and
+swift.  It was moving directly across the Comfort's bow.  I jammed
+the wheel over and the launch swung off, but not enough.  It struck
+the canoe, for it was a canoe, a glancing blow and heeled it down
+to the water's edge.  There was a scrape, a little scream, and two
+hands clutched at the Comfort's rail.  I let go the wheel, sprang
+forward and seized the owner of the hands about the waist.  The
+canoe, half full of water, disappeared somewhere astern.  I swung
+Mabel Colton aboard the launch.
+
+I think she spoke first.  I do not remember saying anything, and I
+think it must have been at least a full minute before either of us
+broke the silence.  She lay, or sat, upon the cockpit floor, her
+shoulders supported by the bench surrounding it, just where I had
+placed her after lifting her over the rail.  I knelt beside her,
+staring as if she were a spirit instead of a real, and rather damp,
+young lady.  And she stared at me.  When she spoke her words were
+an echo of my thought.
+
+"It IS you?" she gasped.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"This--this is the third time."
+
+"Yes."
+
+Another interval of silence.  Then she spoke once more and her tone
+was one expressing intense conviction.
+
+"This," she said, slowly, "is getting to be positively ridiculous."
+
+I did not deny it.  I said nothing.
+
+She sat up.  "My canoe--" she faltered.
+
+The mention of the canoe brought me partially to my senses.  I
+realized that I was kneeling on the deck of a launch that was
+pounding its way through the fog with no one at the helm.  I sprang
+to my feet and seized the wheel.  That my doing so would be of
+little use, considering that the Comfort might be headed almost
+anywhere by this time, did not occur to me.  Miss Colton remained
+where she was.
+
+"My canoe--" she repeated.
+
+I was awakening rapidly.  I looked out into the mist and shook my
+head.
+
+"I am afraid your canoe has gone," I said.  And then, as the
+thought occurred to me for the first time, "You're not hurt, I
+hope?  I dragged you aboard here rather roughly, I am afraid."
+
+"No, I am not hurt.  But--where are we?"
+
+"I don't know, exactly.  Somewhere near the mouth of the bay, that
+is all I can be sure of.  You, are certain you are not hurt?  You
+must be wet through."
+
+She got upon her feet and, leaning over the Comfort's rail, gazed
+about her.
+
+"I am all right," she answered.  "But don't you know where you
+are?"
+
+"Before the fog caught me I was nearly abreast the Point.  I was
+running at half speed up the channel when I heard your hail.  Where
+were you?"
+
+"I was just beyond your boat house, out in the middle of the bay.
+I had come out for a paddle before dinner.  I did not notice the
+fog until it was all about me.  Then I think I must have been
+bewildered.  I thought I was going in the direction of home, but I
+could not have been--not if you were abreast the Point.  I must
+have been going directly out to sea."
+
+She shivered.
+
+"You are wet," I said, anxiously.  "There is a storm coat of mine
+in the locker forward.  Won't you put that about your shoulders?
+It may prevent your taking cold."
+
+"No, thank you.  I am not wet, at all; or, at least, only my feet
+and the bottom of my skirt.  I shall not take cold."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Please don't worry.  I am all right, or shall be as soon as I get
+home."
+
+"I am very sorry about your canoe."
+
+"It doesn't matter."
+
+Her answers were short now.  There was a different note in her
+voice.  I knew the reason of the change.  Now that the shock and
+the surprise of our meeting were over she and I were resuming our
+old positions.  She was realizing that her companion was the
+"common fellow" whose "charming and cultivated society" was not
+necessary to her happiness, the fellow to whom she had scornfully
+offered "congratulations" and whom she had cut dead at the Deans'
+that very afternoon.  I made no more suggestions and expressed no
+more sympathy.
+
+"I will take you home at once," I said, curtly.
+
+"If you please."
+
+That ended conversation for the time.  She seated herself on the
+bench near the forward end of the cockpit and kept her head turned
+away from me.  I, with one hand upon the wheel--a useless
+procedure, for I had no idea where the launch might be headed--
+looked over the rail and listened to the slow and regular beat of
+the engine.  Suddenly the beat grew less regular.  The engine
+barked, hiccoughed, barked again but more faintly, and then stopped
+altogether.
+
+I knew what was the matter.  Before I reached the gasolene tank and
+unscrewed the little cover I knew it.  I thrust in the gauge stick
+and heard it strike bottom, drew it out and found it, as I
+expected, dry to the very tip.  I had trusted, like an imbecile, to
+Lute.  Lute had promised to fill that tank "the very first thing,"
+and he had not kept his promise.
+
+There was not a pint of gasolene aboard the Comfort; and it would
+be my cheerful duty to inform my passenger of the fact!
+
+She did not wait for me to break the news.  She saw me standing
+there, holding the gauge stick in my hand, and she asked the
+natural question.
+
+"What is the matter?" she demanded.
+
+I swallowed the opinion of Mr. Rogers which was on the tip of my
+tongue.
+
+"I am sorry," I stammered, "but--but--well, we are in trouble, I am
+afraid."
+
+"In trouble?" she said coldly.  "What trouble do you mean?"
+
+"Yes.  The fact is, we have run out of gasolene.  I told my man,
+Rogers, to fill the tank and he hasn't done it."
+
+She leaned forward to look at me.
+
+"Hasn't done it?" she repeated.  "You mean--why, this boat cannot
+go without gasolene, can it?"
+
+"Not very well; no."
+
+"Then--then what are we going to do?"
+
+"Anchor and wait, if I can."
+
+"Wait!  But I don't wish to wait.  I wish to be taken home, at
+once."
+
+"I am sorry, but I am afraid that is impossible."
+
+I was on my way forward to where the anchor lay, in the bow.  She
+rose and stepped in front of me.
+
+"Mr. Paine."
+
+"Yes, Miss Colton."
+
+"I tell you I do not wish you to anchor this boat."
+
+"I am sorry but it is the only thing to do, under the circumstances."
+
+"I do not wish it.  Stop!  I tell you I will not have you anchor."
+
+"Miss Colton, we must do one of two things, either anchor or drift.
+And if we drift I cannot tell you where we may be carried."
+
+"I don't care."
+
+"I do."
+
+"Yes," with scornful emphasis, "I presume you do."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean--never mind what I mean."
+
+"But, as I have explained to you, the gasolene--"
+
+"Nonsense!  Do you suppose I believe that ridiculous story?"
+
+"Believe it?"  I gazed at her uncomprehendingly.  "Believe it," I
+repeated.  "Don't you believe it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Miss Colton, do you mean that you think I am not telling you the
+truth?  That I am lying?"
+
+"Well," fiercely, "and if I did, would it be so astonishing,
+considering--considering the TRUTHS you have told me before?"
+
+I made no further effort to pass her.  Instead I stepped back.
+
+"Would you mind telling me," I demanded, with deliberate sarcasm,
+"what possible reason you think I might have for wishing to keep
+you here?"
+
+"I shall tell you nothing.  And--and I will not have you anchor
+this boat."
+
+"Is it your desire then that we drift--the Lord knows where?"
+
+"I desire you to start that engine and take me home."
+
+"I cannot start the engine."
+
+"I don't believe it."
+
+For a moment I hesitated.  Then I did what was perhaps the most
+senseless thing I ever did in all my life, which is saying
+considerable.  I turned my back on her and on the anchor, and
+seated myself once more in the stern sheets.  And we drifted.
+
+I do not know how long we drifted before I regained my sanity.  It
+must have been a good while.  When I first returned to my seat by
+the wheel it was with the firm determination to allow the Comfort
+to drift into the bottomless pit rather than to stir hand or foot
+to prevent it.  In fact that particular port looked rather inviting
+than otherwise.  Any torments it might have in store could not be
+worse than those I had undergone because of this girl.  I sat,
+silent, with my gaze fixed upon the motionless engine.  I heard my
+passenger move once or twice, but I did not look at her.
+
+What brought me to my senses was the boat hook, which had been
+lying on the seat beside me, suddenly falling to the floor.  I
+started and looked over the rail.  The water, as much of it as I
+could see through the fog, was no longer flat and calm.  There were
+waves all about us, not big ones, but waves nevertheless, long,
+regular swells in the trough of which the Comfort rocked lazily.
+There was no wind to kick up a sea.  This was a ground swell, such
+as never moved in Denboro Bay.  While I sat there like an idiot the
+tide had carried us out beyond the Point.
+
+With an exclamation I sprang up and hurried forward.  Miss Colton
+was sitting where I had left her.
+
+"What is it?" she asked.  "What are you going to do?"
+
+"I am going to anchor," I said.
+
+"I do not wish you to anchor."
+
+"I can't help that.  I must.  Please stand aside, Miss Colton."
+
+She tried to prevent me, but I pushed her away, not too gently I am
+afraid, and clambered forward to the bow, where the anchor lay upon
+its coil of line.  I threw it overboard.  The line ran out to its
+very end and I waited expectantly for the jerk which would tell me
+that the anchor had caught and was holding.  But no jerk came.
+Reaching over the bow I tried the line.  It was taut and heavy.
+Then I knew approximately how far we had drifted.  We were beyond
+the shoal making out from Crow Point over the deep water beyond.
+My anchor rope was not long enough to reach the bottom.
+
+Still I was not alarmed.  I was provoked at my own stubbornness
+which had gotten us into this predicament and more angry than ever
+at the person who was the cause of that stubbornness.  But I was
+not frightened.  There were other shoals further out and I left the
+anchor as it was, hoping that it might catch and hold on one of
+them.  I went back once more to my seat by the wheel.
+
+Then followed another interval of silence and inaction.  From
+astern and a good way off sounded the notes of a bell.  From the
+opposite direction came a low groan, indescribably mournful and
+lonely.
+
+My passenger heard it and spoke.
+
+"What was that?" she demanded, in a startled tone.
+
+"The fog horn at Mackerel Island, the island at the mouth of
+Wellmouth harbor," I answered.
+
+"And that bell?"
+
+"That is the fog bell at Crow Point."
+
+"At Crow Point?  Why, it can't be!  Crow Point is in Denboro Bay,
+and that bell is a long way behind us."
+
+"Yes.  We are a mile or more outside the Point now.  The tide has
+carried us out."
+
+"Carried us--  Do you mean that we are out at sea?"
+
+"Not at sea exactly.  We are in Cape Cod Bay."
+
+"But--why, we are still drifting, aren't we?  I thought you had
+anchored."
+
+"I tried to, but I was too late.  The water is too deep here for
+the anchor to reach bottom."
+
+"But--but what are you going to do?"
+
+"Nothing at present.  There is nothing I can do.  Sit down,
+please."
+
+"Nothing!  Nothing!  Do you mean that you propose to sit there and
+let us be carried out to sea?"
+
+"We shall not be carried far.  There is no wind.  When the tide
+turns we shall probably be carried in again."
+
+"But," sharply, "why don't you do something?  Can't you row?"
+
+"I have only one oar."
+
+"But you must do something.  You MUST.  I--I--  It is late! it is
+growing dark!  My people!  What will they think?"
+
+"I am sorry, Miss Colton."
+
+"Sorry!  You are not sorry!  If you were you would do something,
+instead of sitting there as--as if you enjoyed it.  I believe you
+do enjoy it.  You are doing it purposely to--to--"
+
+"To what, pray?"
+
+"Never mind."
+
+"But I do mind.  You have accused me of lying, Miss Colton, and of
+keeping you here purposely.  What do you mean by it?"
+
+"I mean that--that--  Oh, you know what I mean!  You hate me and
+you hate my father, and you are trying to--to punish us for--for--"
+
+I had heard enough.  I did not propose to hear any more.
+
+"Miss Colton," I interrupted, sternly, "stop! this is silly.  I
+assure you that I am as anxious to end this--excursion--of ours as
+you can be.  Your being afloat in Denboro Bay in a canoe was your
+own recklessness and not my fault.  Neither was it my fault that
+the launch collided with your canoe.  I called to you not to move,
+but to stay where you were.  And, moreover, if you had permitted me
+to anchor when I first attempted to do so we should not be in this
+scrape.  I shall get you out of it just as quick as I can.  In
+order that I may do so I shall expect you to stop behaving like a
+child and do as I tell you.  Sit down on that bench and keep
+still."
+
+This had the effect I meant it to.  She looked at me as if she
+could not believe she had heard aright.  But I met her gaze
+squarely, and, with a shudder of disgust, or fear, I do not know
+which, she turned her back upon me and was silent.  I went forward
+to the cuddy, found the tin horn which, until that moment, I had
+forgotten, and, returning, blew strident blasts upon it at
+intervals.  There was little danger of other craft being in our
+vicinity, but I was neglecting no precautions.
+
+The bell at Crow Point sounded further and further astern.  The
+twilight changed to dusk and the dusk to darkness.  The fog was as
+thick as ever.  It was nearly time for the tide to turn.
+
+Suddenly there was a jerk; the launch quivered, and swung about.
+
+"Oh! what was that?" demanded Miss Colton, shortly.
+
+"The anchor," I answered.  "We have reached the outer shoal."
+
+"And," hesitatingly, "shall we stay here?"
+
+"Yes; unless--"
+
+"Unless what?"
+
+"Unless . . .  Hush! listen!"
+
+There was an odd rushing sound from the darkness astern, a sort of
+hiss and low, watery roar.  I rushed to the bow and dragged the
+anchor inboard with all my strength.  Then I ran to the wheel.  I
+had scarcely reached it when I felt a hand on my arm.
+
+"What is it?" asked the young lady, her voice quivering.  "Oh, what
+is it?"
+
+"Wind," I answered.  "There is a squall coming.  Sit down!  Sit
+down!"
+
+"But--but--"
+
+"Sit down."
+
+She hesitated and I seized her arm and forced her down upon the
+bench beside me.  I threw the helm over.  The rushing sound grew
+nearer.  Then came a blast of wind which sent my cap flying
+overboard and the fog disappeared as if it had been a cloth
+snatched away by a mighty hand.  Above us was a black sky, with
+stars showing here and there between flying clouds, and about us
+were the waves, already breaking into foam upon the shoal.
+
+The Comfort rocked and wallowed in the trough.  We were being
+driven by the wind away from the shoal, but not fast enough.
+Somehow or other we must get out of that dangerous neighborhood.  I
+turned to my companion.  She had not spoken since the squall came.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, "give me your hands."
+
+I presume she could not imagine what I meant.  No doubt, too, my
+tone and the request frightened her.  She hesitated.  I seized her
+hands and placed them on the spokes of the wheel.
+
+"I want you to hold that wheel just as it is," I commanded.  "I
+must go forward and get steerage way on this craft somehow, or we
+shall capsize.  Can you hold it, do you think?"
+
+"Yes; I--I think so."
+
+"You must."
+
+I left her, went to the cuddy and dragged out the small canvas
+tarpaulin which I used to cover the engine at night.  With this, a
+cod line, the boathook, and my one oar I improvised a sort of jury
+rig which I tied erect at the forward end of the cockpit.  Then I
+went aft and took the wheel again.  The tarpaulin made a poor
+apology for a sail, but I hoped it might answer the purpose well
+enough to keep the Comfort before the wind.
+
+It did.  Tacking was, of course, out of the question, but with the
+gale astern the launch answered her helm and slid over the waves
+instead of rolling between them.  I sighed in relief.  Then I
+remembered my passenger sitting silent beside me.  She did not
+deserve consideration, but I vouchsafed a word of encouragement.
+
+"Don't be frightened," I said.  "It is only a stiff breeze and this
+boat is seaworthy.  We are all right now."
+
+"But why did you take up the anchor?"
+
+By way of answer I pointed aft over the stern.  In the darkness the
+froth of the shoal gleamed white.  I felt her shudder as she
+looked.
+
+"Where are we going now--please?" she asked, a moment later.
+
+"We are headed for the Wellmouth shore.  It is the only direction
+we can take.  If this wind holds we shall land in a few hours.  It
+is all deep water now.  There are no more shoals."
+
+"But," anxiously, "can we land when we reach there?  Isn't it a bad
+coast?"
+
+"Not very.  If we can make Mackerel Island we may be able to get
+ashore at the light or anchor in the lee of the land.  It is all
+right, Miss Colton.  I am telling you the truth.  Strange as it may
+seem to you, I really am."
+
+I could not help adding the last bit of sarcasm.  She understood.
+She drew away on the bench and asked no more questions.
+
+On drove the Comfort.  The first fierceness of the squall had
+passed and it was now merely what I had called it, a stiff breeze.
+Out here in the middle of the bay the waves were higher and we
+shipped some spray over the quarter.  The air was sharp and the
+chill penetrated even my thick jacket.
+
+"You must be cold," I said.  "Aren't you?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But you must be.  Take the wheel a moment."
+
+"I am not cold."
+
+"Take the wheel."
+
+She took it.  I groped about in the cuddy again, got out my storm
+coat, an old pea jacket which I wore on gunning expeditions, and
+brought it to her.
+
+"Slip this on," I said.
+
+"I do not care for it."
+
+"Put it on."
+
+"Mr. Paine," haughtily, "I tell you . . . . oh!"
+
+I had wrapped the coat about her shoulders and fastened the upper
+button.
+
+"Now sit down on the deck here," I ordered.  "Here, by my feet.
+You will be below the rail there and out of the wind."
+
+To my surprise she obeyed orders, this time without even a protest.
+I smiled grimly.  To see her obey suited my humor.  It served her
+right.  I enjoyed ordering her about as if I were mate of an old-
+time clipper and she a foremast hand.  She had insulted me once too
+often and she should pay for it.  Out here social position and
+wealth and family pride counted for nothing.  Here I was absolute
+master of the situation and she knew it.  All her life she would
+remember it, the humiliation of being absolutely dependent upon me
+for life and safety and warmth.  I looked down at her crouching at
+my feet, and then away over the black water.  The Comfort climbed
+wave after wave.
+
+"Mr. Paine."
+
+The tone was very low but I heard it.
+
+I came out of my waking dream--it was not a pleasant one--and
+answered.
+
+"Yes?" I said.
+
+"Where are we?"
+
+"We are making fair progress, everything considered.  Are you
+warmer now?"
+
+"Yes--thank you."
+
+She said no more, nor did I.  Except for the splash of the spray
+and the flapping of the loose ends of the tarpaulin, it was quiet
+aboard the Comfort.  Quiet, except for an odd sound in the shadow
+by my knee.  I stooped and listened.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, quickly.  "What is it?"
+
+No answer.  Yet I heard the sound again.
+
+"What is it, Miss Colton?" I repeated.  "What is the matter?  Why
+are you crying?"
+
+"I--I am NOT crying," indignantly.  And on the very heels of the
+denial came a stifled sob.
+
+That sob went to my heart.  A great lump rose in my own throat.  My
+brain seemed to be turning topsy-turvy.  A moment before it had
+been filled with bitterness and resentment and vengeful thoughts.
+Now these had vanished and in their place came crowding other and
+vastly different feelings.  She was crying, sobbing there alone in
+the dark at my feet.  And I had treated her like a brute!
+
+"Miss Colton," I pleaded, in an agony of repentance, "what is it?
+Is there anything I can do?  Are you still cold?  Take this other
+coat, the one I have on.  I don't need it, really.  I am quite
+warm."
+
+"I am not cold."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Oh, please don't speak to me!  PLEASE!"
+
+I closed my lips tightly and clutched the wheel with both hands.
+Oh, I had been a brute, a brute!  I should have known that she was
+not herself, that she was frightened and nervous and distraught.  I
+should have been considerate and forbearing.  I should have
+remembered that she was only a girl, hysterical and weak.  Instead
+I had--
+
+"Miss Colton," I begged, "please don't.  Please!"
+
+No answer; only another sob.  I tried again.
+
+"I have been a cad," I cried.  "I have treated you abominably.  I
+don't expect you to forgive me, but--"
+
+"I--I am so frightened!"  The confession was a soliloquy, I think;
+not addressed to me at all.  But I heard it and forgot everything
+else.  I let go of the wheel altogether and bent over her, both
+hands outstretched, to--the Lord knows what.  I was not responsible
+just then.
+
+But while I still hesitated, while my hands were still in the air
+above her, before they touched her, I was brought back to sanity
+with a rude shock.  A barrel or so of cold water came pouring over
+the rail and drenched us both.  The launch, being left without a
+helmsman, had swung into the trough of the sea and this was the
+result.
+
+I am not really sure what happened in the next few seconds.  I
+must, I imagine, have seized the wheel with one hand and my
+passenger with the other.  At any rate, when the smoke, so to
+speak, had cleared, the Comfort was headed on her old course once
+more, I was back on the bench by the wheel, Mabel Colton's head was
+on my shoulder, and I was telling her over and over that it was all
+right now, there was no danger, we were perfectly safe, and various
+inanities of that sort.
+
+She was breathing quickly, but she sobbed no more.  I was glad of
+that.
+
+"You are sure you are not hurt?" I asked, anxiously.
+
+"Yes--yes, I think so," she answered, faintly.  "What was it?  I--I
+thought we were sinking."
+
+"So did I for a moment.  It was all my fault, as usual.  I let go
+the wheel."
+
+"Did you?  Why?"
+
+"I don't know why."  This was untrue; I did.  "But you are wet
+through," I added, remorsefully.  "And I haven't another dry wrap
+aboard."
+
+"Never mind.  You are as wet as I am."
+
+"Yes, but _I_ don't mind.  I am used to it.  But you--"
+
+"I am all right.  I was a little faint, at first, I think, but I am
+better now."  She raised her head and sat up.  "Where are we?" she
+asked.
+
+"We are within a few miles of the Wellmouth shore.  That light
+ahead is the Mackerel Island light.  We shall be there in a little
+while.  The danger is almost over."
+
+She shivered.
+
+"You are cold!" I cried.  "Of course you are!  If I only had
+another coat or something.  It is all my fault."
+
+"Don't say that," reproachfully.  "Where should I have been if it
+had not been for you?  I was paddling directly out toward those
+dreadful shoals.  Then you came, just as you have done before, and
+saved me.  And," in a wondering whisper, "I knew it was you!"
+
+I did not ask her what she meant; I seemed to understand perfectly.
+
+"Yes," I said.
+
+"But I tell you I knew it was you," she repeated.  "I did not know--
+I did not suspect until the moment before the collision, before
+the launch came in sight--then, all at once, I knew."
+
+"Yes.  That was when I knew."
+
+She turned and gazed at me.
+
+"YOU knew?" she gasped, hysterically.  "Why--what do you mean?"
+
+"I can't explain it.  Just before your canoe broke through the fog
+I knew, that is all."
+
+It was unexplainable, but it was true.  Call it telepathy or what
+you will--I do not know what it was--I am certain only that,
+although I had not recognized her voice, I had suddenly known who
+it was that would come to me out of the fog.  And she, too, had
+known!  I felt again, with an almost superstitious thrill, that
+feeling of helplessness which had come over me that day of the
+fishing excursion when she rode through the bushes to my side.  It
+was as if she and I were puppets in the hands of some Power which
+was amusing itself at our expense and would have its way, no matter
+how we might fight against it.
+
+She spoke as if she were struggling to awaken from a dream.
+
+"But it can't be," she protested.  "It is impossible.  Why should
+you and I--"
+
+"I don't know . . .  Unless--"
+
+"Unless what?"
+
+I closed my lips on the words that were on the tip of my tongue.
+That reason was more impossible than all else.
+
+"Nothing," I stammered.
+
+She did not repeat her question.  I saw her face, a dainty
+silhouette against the foam alongside, turned away from me.  I
+gazed at it until I dared gaze no longer.  Was I losing my senses
+altogether?  I--Ros Paine--the man whose very name was not his own?
+I must not think such thoughts.  I scarcely dared trust myself to
+speak and yet I knew that I must.  This silence was too dangerous.
+I took refuge in a commonplace.
+
+"We are getting into smoother water," I said.  "It is not as rough
+as it was, do you think?"
+
+If she heard the remark she ignored it.  She did not turn to look
+at me.  After a moment she said, in a low voice:
+
+"I can't understand."
+
+I supposed her to be still thinking of our meeting in the fog.
+
+"I cannot understand myself," I answered.  "I presume it was a
+coincidence, like our meeting at the pond."
+
+She shook her head.  "I did not mean that," she said.  "I mean that
+I cannot understand how you can be so kind to me.  After what I
+said, and the way I have treated you; it is wonderful!"
+
+I was obliged to wait another moment before I could reply.  I
+clutched the wheel tighter than ever.
+
+"The wonderful part of it all," I said, earnestly, "is that you
+should even speak to me, after my treatment of you here, to-night.
+I was a brute.  I ordered you about as if--"
+
+"Hush!  Don't! please don't.  Think of what I said to you!  Will
+you forgive me?  I have been so ungrateful.  You saved my life over
+and over again and I--I--"
+
+"Stop!  Don't do that!  If you do I shall--Miss Colton, please--"
+
+She choked back the sob.  "Tell me," she said, a moment later, this
+time looking me directly in the face, "why did you sell my father
+that land?"
+
+It was my turn to avoid her look.  I did not answer.
+
+"I know it was not because of the money--the price, I mean.  Father
+told me that you refused the five thousand he offered and would
+accept only a part of it; thirty-five hundred, I think he said.  I
+should have known that the price had nothing to do with it, even if
+he had not told me.  But why did you sell it?"
+
+I would have given all I had, or ever expected to have, in this
+world, to tell her the truth.  For the moment I almost hated George
+Taylor.
+
+"Oh, I thought I might as well, give in then as later," I answered,
+with a shrug.  "It was no use fighting the inevitable."
+
+"That was not it.  I know it was not.  If it had been you would
+have taken the five thousand.  And I know, too, that you meant what
+you said when you told me you never would sell.  I have known it
+all the time.  I know you were telling me the truth."
+
+I was astonished.  "You do?" I cried.  "Why, you said--"
+
+"Don't!  I know what I said, and I am so ashamed.  I did not mean
+it, really.  For a moment, there in the library, when Father first
+told me, I thought perhaps you--but I did not really think it.  And
+when he told me the price, I KNEW.  Won't you tell me why you
+sold?"
+
+"I can't.  I wish I could."
+
+"I believe I can guess."
+
+I started.  "You can GUESS?" I repeated.
+
+"Yes.  I think you wanted the money for some purpose, some need
+which you had not foreseen.  And I do not believe it was for
+yourself at all.  I think it was for some one else.  Wasn't that
+it?"
+
+I could not reply.  I tried to, tried to utter a prompt denial, but
+the words would not come.  Her "guess" was so close to the truth
+that I could only stammer and hesitate.
+
+"It was," she said.  "I thought so.  For your mother, wasn't it?"
+
+"No, no.  Miss Colton, you are wrong.  I--"
+
+"I am not wrong.  Never mind.  I suppose it is a secret.  Perhaps I
+shall find out some day.  But will you forgive me for being so
+hateful?  Can you?  What is the matter?"
+
+"Nothing--nothing.  I--you are too good to me, that is all.  I
+don't deserve it."
+
+"Hush!  And we will be friends again?"
+
+"Yes. . . . .  Oh, no! no!  I must not think of it.  It is
+impossible."
+
+"Must not think of it?  When I ask you to?  Can't you forgive me,
+after all?"
+
+"There was nothing to forgive."
+
+"Yes, there was, a great deal.  Is there something else?  Are you
+still angry with me because of what I said that afternoon at the
+gate?"
+
+"No, of course not."
+
+"It was hateful of me, I know.  But I could see that you wished to
+avoid me and I was provoked.  Besides, you have punished me for
+that.  You have snubbed me twice since, sir."
+
+"_I_ snubbed YOU?"
+
+"Yes--twice.  Once when we met in the street.  You deliberately
+turned away and would not look at me.  And once when I passed you
+in the canoe.  You saw me--I know you did--but you cut me dead.
+That is why I did not return your bow to-day, at the wedding."
+
+"But you had said--I thought--"
+
+"I know.  I had said horrid things.  I deserved to be snubbed.
+There! now I have confessed.  Mayn't we be friends?"
+
+"I . . .  Oh, no, we must not, for your sake.  I--"
+
+"For my sake!  But I wish it.  Why not?"
+
+I turned on her.  "Can't you see?" I said, despairingly.  "Look at
+the difference between us!  You are what you are and I--"
+
+She interrupted me.  "Oh," she cried, impatiently, "how dare you
+speak so?  How dare you believe that money and--all the rest of it
+influences me in my friendships?  Do you think I care for that?"
+
+"I did not mean money alone.  But even that Miss Colton, that
+evening when we returned from the trip after weakfish, you and your
+father and I, I heard--I did not mean to hear but I did--what your
+mother said when she met you.  She said she had warned you against
+trusting yourself to 'that common fellow,' meaning me.  That shows
+what she thinks.  She was right; in a way she was perfectly right.
+Now you see what I mean by saying that friendship between us is
+impossible?"
+
+I had spoken at white heat.  Now I turned away.  It was settled.
+She must understand now.
+
+"Mr. Paine."
+
+"Yes, Miss Colton."
+
+"I am sorry you heard that.  Mother--she is my mother and I love
+her--but she says foolish things sometimes.  I am sorry you heard
+that, but since you did, I wish you had heard the rest."
+
+"The rest?"
+
+"Yes.  I answered her by suggesting that she had not been afraid to
+trust me in the care of Victor--Mr. Carver.  She answered that she
+hoped I did not mean to compare Mr. Carver with you.  And I said--"
+
+"Yes?  You said--?"
+
+"I said," the tone was low but I heard every syllable, "I said she
+was right, there was no comparison."
+
+"You said THAT!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You said it!  And you meant--?"
+
+"I meant--I think I meant that I should not be afraid to trust you
+always--anywhere."
+
+Where were my good resolutions--my stern reasons to remember who
+and what I was--to be sane, no matter at what cost to myself?  I do
+not know where they were; then I did not care.  I seized her hand.
+It trembled, but she did not draw it away.
+
+"Mabel--" I cried.  "Mabel--"
+
+"BUMP!"
+
+The Comfort shook as the bow of a dory scraped along her starboard
+quarter.  A big red hand clasped the rail and its mate brandished a
+good-sized club before my eyes.
+
+"Now," said a determined voice, "I've got ye at last!  This time
+I've caught ye dead to rights!  Now, by godfreys, you'll pay me for
+them lobsters!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+If I had been giving undivided attention to my combined duties as
+steersman and pilot, instead of neglecting them for other and more
+engrossing matters, I should, doubtless, have seen the dory before.
+As it was I had not seen it at all, nor heard the oars.  It had
+sneaked up on the Comfort out of the darkness and its occupant had
+laid us aboard as neatly as you please.
+
+I was, to say the least, startled and surprised.  I dodged the
+threatening club and turned a dazed face toward the person
+brandishing it.  He appeared to be a middle-sized, elderly person,
+in oilskins and souwester, and when he spoke a gray whisker wagged
+above the chin strap of the souwester.
+
+"Who in blazes are you?" I demanded, as soon as I could get the
+words together.
+
+"Never you mind that.  You know who I be all right enough.  Be you
+goin' to pay me for them lobsters?  That's what _I_ want to know."
+
+"What lobsters?"
+
+"Them lobsters you've been stealin' out of my pots for the last
+fortnight."
+
+"_I_ have been stealing?"
+
+"Yes, you.  I been layin' for you all night long.  I don't know who
+you be, but you'll pay for them lobsters or come along with me to
+the lock-up, one or t'other."
+
+I looked about, over the water.  The light toward which I had been
+trying to steer blazed dead ahead, surprisingly near and bright.
+Except for that, however, there was no sign of anything except
+darkness and waves.
+
+"Look here, my man," I said.  "I haven't stolen your lobsters; but--"
+
+"I know better.  I don't know who you be, but I'd know you was a
+thief if I run acrost you in prayer-meetin'.  Just to look at you
+is enough."
+
+I heard a hysterical giggle from the bench beside me.  Evidently
+the person with the club heard it, too, for he leaned forward to
+look.
+
+"So there's two of ye, eh!" he said.  "Well, by godfreys, I don't
+care if there's a million!  You'll pay for them lobsters or go to
+the lock-up."
+
+I laughed aloud.  "Very well," I said.  "I am agreeable."
+
+"You're agreeable!  What do you mean by that?  This ain't no
+laughin' matter, I'll tell you that."
+
+I laughed again.  "I don't care what you tell me," I observed.
+"And if you will take us somewhere ashore--to the lock-up or
+anywhere else--I shall be much obliged."
+
+The occupant of the dory seemed to be puzzled.  He leaned forward
+once more.
+
+"What sort of talk is that?" he demanded.  "Where's my lobsters? . . .
+Hey!  What?  I swan to man, I believe one of ye's a woman!
+Have the females turned thieves, too?"
+
+"I don't know.  See here, my friend, my name is Paine, and I'm the
+only lobster aboard this craft.  This lady and I belong in Denboro.
+My launch has run out of gasolene and we have been drifting about
+the bay since five o'clock.  Now, for heaven's sake, don't talk any
+more, but take us to the lock-up and be quick about it."
+
+The unknown paid no attention to my entreaty.  Instead he leaned
+still further over the Comfort's rail.  The dory careened until I
+expected to see her capsize.
+
+"I swan to man!" he muttered.  "I swan to man!  'Tain't possible
+I'm mistook!"
+
+"It scarcely seems possible, I admit.  But I'm afraid it is true."
+
+I heard the club fall with a clatter.
+
+"My--godfreys!  Do you mean to say--?  From Denboro?  Out of
+gasolene!  Why--why, you've got sail up!"
+
+"Nothing but a tarpaulin on an oar."
+
+"And you've been cruisin' all night?  Through the fog--the squall--
+and all?"
+
+"Yes," wearily, "yes--yes--yes."
+
+"But--but ain't you drownded?"
+
+"Not quite.  If you don't let go of that rail we shall be soon."
+
+"Driftin' all night!  Ain't you wet through?"
+
+"Yes.  Might I suggest that we postpone the rest of the catechism
+until we reach--the lock-up?"
+
+This suggestion apparently was accepted.  Our captor suddenly
+became very much alive.
+
+"Give me a line," he ordered.  "Anchor rope'll do.  Where is it?
+up for'ard?"
+
+He pawed the dory along, hand over hand, until he reached the
+Comfort's bow.  I heard the thump of the anchor as he dragged it
+into the dory.  Then came the creak and splash of oars.  His voice
+sounded from somewhere ahead.
+
+"Head for the light," he shouted.  "I'm goin' to tow you in."
+
+"In where?"
+
+"In ashore.  That's Mack'rel Island light.  My name's Atwood.  I'm
+keeper of it."
+
+I turned to my passenger.
+
+"It looks," I said, "as if our voyage was almost over."
+
+And it was.  Mr. Atwood had a tough job on his hands, towing the
+launch.  But the make-shift sail helped some and I did my best to
+steer in his wake.  Miss Colton and I had no opportunity to talk.
+The gentleman in the dory kept up a running fire of remarks,
+shouted between grunts, and embroidered with cheerful profanity.
+We caught fragments of the monologue.
+
+"I swan to man--ugh--I thought ye was thieves, for sartin.  Some
+everlastin', dam--ugh--have been sneakin' out nights and haulin' my
+lobster pots.  Ugh--if I'd caught 'em I was cal'latin' to--ugh--
+break their--ugh--ugh--  This dory pulls like a coal barge--I--
+Wet through, ain't ye?  And froze, I cal'late--  Ugh--and hungry,
+too--  Ugh--ugh--  My old woman's tendin' light.  She--ugh--  Here
+we be!  Easy now!"
+
+A low shore loomed black across our bows.  Above it the lighthouse
+rose, a white chalk mark against the sky with a red glare at its
+upper end.  Mr. Atwood sprang overboard with a splash.  The launch
+was drawn in at the end of its anchor rope until its keel grated on
+the sand.
+
+"Now then!" said our rescuer.  "Here we be!  Made harbor at last,
+though I did think I'd crack my back timbers afore we done it.
+I'll tote the lady ashore.  You can wade, can't ye?"
+
+I could and I was very glad of the opportunity.  I turned to take
+Miss Colton in my arms, but she avoided me.
+
+"Here I am, Mr. Atwood," she said.  "Oh, thank you."
+
+She was swung into the air and moved shoreward to the accompaniment
+of mighty splashings.
+
+"Don't be scart, ma'am," said Mr. Atwood.  "I shan't let ye drop.
+Lord sakes!  I've toted more women in my time than you can shake a
+stick at.  There's more da--that is, there's more summer folks try
+to land on this island at low tide than there is moskeeters and
+there's more of them than there's fiddles in--  Hi! come on, you,
+Mr. What's-your-name!  Straight as you go."
+
+I came on wading through eelgrass and water until I reached a sandy
+beach.  A moment later we stood before a white door in a very white
+little house.  Mr. Atwood opened the door, revealing a cosy little
+sitting room and a gray-haired, plump, pleasant-faced woman sitting
+in a rocking chair beside a table with a lamp upon it.
+
+"Hello, Betsy!" bellowed our rescuer, stamping his wet rubber boots
+on the braided mat.  "Got company come to supper--or breakfast, or
+whatever you want to call it.  This is Mr. Paine from Denboro.
+This is his wife, Mrs. Paine.  They've been cruisin' all the way
+from Cape Cod to Kamchatky in a motor boat with no power to it.
+Don't that beat the Old Scratch, hey?"
+
+The plump woman rose, without a trace of surprise, as if having
+company drop in at three o'clock in the morning was nothing out of
+the ordinary, and came over to us, beaming with smiles.
+
+"I'm real glad to see you, Mrs. Paine," she exclaimed.  "And your
+husband, too.  You must be froze to death!  Set right down while I
+fix up a room for you and hunt up some dry things for you to put
+on.  I won't be but a minute."
+
+Before I could offer explanations, or do more than stammer thanks,
+and rather incoherent ones at that, she had bustled out of the
+room.  I caught one glimpse of Mabel Colton's face; it was crimson
+from neck to brow.  "Mrs. Paine!"  "Your husband!"  I was grateful
+to the doughty Mr. Atwood, but just then I should have enjoyed
+choking him.
+
+The light keeper, quite unaware that his unfortunate misapprehension
+of the relationship between his guests might be embarrassing, was
+doing his best to make us feel at home.
+
+"Take off your boots, Mr. Paine," he urged.  "The old lady'll fetch
+you a pair of my slippers and some socks in a minute.  She'll make
+your wife comf'table, too.  She's a great hand at makin' folks
+comf'table.  I tell her she'd make a cake of ice feel to home on a
+hot stove.  She beats--"
+
+The "old lady" herself interrupted him, entering with a bottle in
+one hand and a lamp in the other.
+
+"Joshua!" she said, warningly.
+
+"Well, what is it, Betsy?"
+
+"Be careful how you talk."
+
+"Talk!" with a wink at me.  "I wan't goin' to say nothin'."
+
+"Yes, you was.  Mrs. Paine, you mustn't mind him.  He used to go
+mate on a fishin' schooner and, from all I can learn, they use
+pretty strong language aboard these boats."
+
+"Pick it up same as a poll parrot," cut in her husband.  "Comes
+natural when you're handlin' wet trawl line in February.  Can't
+seem to get no comfort out of anything milder."
+
+"He's a real good-hearted man, Joshua is, and a profession' church
+member, but he does swear more'n he ought to.  But, as I tell the
+minister, he don't mean nothin' by it."
+
+"Not a damn thing!" said Mr. Atwood, reassuringly.  The bottle, it
+appeared, contained Jamaica ginger, a liberal dose of which Mrs.
+Atwood insisted upon our taking as a precaution against catching
+cold.
+
+"There's nothin' better," she said.
+
+"You bet there ain't!" this from the lightkeeper.  "A body can't
+get within forty fathoms of a cold with a swallow of that amidships.
+It's hotter than--"
+
+"Joshua!"
+
+"The Fourth of July," concluded her husband, triumphantly.
+
+"And now, Mrs. Paine," went on the lady of the house, "your room's
+all ready.  I've laid out some dry things for you on the bed and
+some of Joshua's, too.  You and your husband--"
+
+I thought it high time to explain.
+
+"The lady is not my wife," I said, quickly.
+
+"She ain't!  Why, I thought Joshua said--"
+
+"He--er--made a mistake.  She is Miss Colton, a summer resident and
+neighbor of mine in Denboro."
+
+"Sho! you don't say!  That's just like you, Joshua!"
+
+"Just like me!  Well, how'd I know?  I beg your pardon, Miss, I'm
+sure.  Shan't beg your hus--I mean Mr. Paine's pardon; he ought to
+thank me for the compliment.  Haw! haw!"
+
+Miss Colton herself made the next remark.
+
+"If my room is ready, Mrs. Atwood," she said,, without even a
+glance in my direction, "I think I will go to it.  I AM rather
+wet."
+
+"Wet!  Land sakes, yes!  I guess you be!  Come right in, Joshua,
+take them clothes of yours into our room and let Mr. Paine put 'em
+on."
+
+Her husband obeyed orders.  After I was alone in the room to which
+he conducted me and enjoying the luxury of dry socks, I heard him
+justifying his mistake in stentorian tones.
+
+"I couldn't help it, Betsy," I heard him say.  "I took it for
+granted they was married.  When I hove alongside that motor boat
+they was a-settin' close up together in the stern sheets and so, of
+course, I thought--"
+
+"You hadn't any business to.  You made that poor young lady blush
+somethin' dreadful.  Most likely they're just keepin' company--or
+engaged, or somethin'.  You ought to be more careful."
+
+I wondered if the young lady herself heard all this.  I didn't see
+how she could help it.
+
+Kinder-hearted people than these two never lived, I do believe.  It
+was after three in the morning, both had been up all night, we were
+absolute strangers to them, and yet, without a word of complaint,
+they gave the remainder of the hours before daylight to making us
+comfortable.  When I dressed as much of myself as a suit of Mr.
+Atwood's--his Sunday best, I presume--would cover, and, with a pair
+of carpet slippers about the size and shape of toy ferry boats on
+my feet, emerged from the bedroom, I found the table set in the
+kitchen, the teapot steaming and Mrs. Atwood cooking "spider bread"
+on the stove.  When Miss Colton, looking surprisingly presentable--
+considering that she, too, was wearing borrowed apparel four sizes
+too large for her--made her appearance, we sat down to a simple
+meal which, I think, was the most appetizing I ever tasted.
+
+The Atwoods were bursting with curiosity concerning our getting
+adrift in the motor boat.  I described the adventure briefly.  When
+I told of Lute's forgetfulness in the matter of gasolene the
+lightkeeper thumped the table.
+
+"There, by godfreys!" he exclaimed.  "I could see it comin'!  That
+feller's for all the world like a cook I had once aboard the Ezry
+H. Jones.  That cook was the biggest numskull that ever drawed the
+breath of life.  Always forgettin' somethin', he was, and always at
+the most inconvenient time.  Once, if you'll believe it, I had a
+skipper of another vessel come aboard and, wishin' to be sort of
+hospitable, as you might say, I offered him a glass of rum."
+
+"Joshua!"
+
+"Oh, it's all right, Betsy.  This was years ago.  I'm as good a
+teetotaler now as you be, and I never was what you'd call a soak.
+But I've SEEN fellers--  Why, I knew one once that used to go to
+bed in the dark.  He was so full of alcohol he didn't dast to light
+a match fear he'd catch a-fire.  Fact!  He was eighty-odd then, and
+he lived to be nigh a hundred.  Preserved, you understand, same as
+one of them specimens in a museum.  He'd kept forever, I cal'late,
+if he hadn't fell off the dock.  The water fixed him; he wasn't
+used to it.  He was the wust--"
+
+"Never mind him.  Stick to the cook."
+
+"Yes, yes.  Well, I sent that cook for the rum and when he fetched
+it, I thought it smelt funny.  And when I TASTED it--godfreys!
+'Twas bay rum; yes, sir, bay rum! same as they put on your hair.
+You see, he'd forgot to buy any rum when we was in our last port
+and, havin' the bay rum along he fetched that.  'Twas SOME kind of
+rum and that was enough for him.  I WAS mad, but that visitin'
+skipper, he didn't care.  Drank it down and smacked his lips.  'I'm
+a State of Maine man,' he says, 'and that's a prohibition state.
+This tastes like home,' he says.  'If you don't mind I'll help
+myself to another.'  'I don't mind,' says I, 'but I'm sorry I ain't
+got any hair-ile.  If I had you might have a barber-shop toddy.'
+Yes, sir!  Ho-ho! that's what I said.  But he didn't mind.  He was--"
+
+And so on.  The yarns were not elegant, but, as he told them, they
+were funny.  Mabel Colton laughed as heartily as the rest of us.
+She appeared to be in fine spirits.  She talked with the Atwoods,
+answered their questions, and ate the hot "spider bread" and butter
+as if she had never tasted anything as good.  But with me she would
+not talk.  Whenever I addressed a remark to her, she turned it with
+a laugh and her next speech was pretty certain to be addressed to
+the lightkeeper or his wife.  As for our adventure in the launch,
+that she treated as a joke.
+
+"Wan't you awful scared when that squall struck so sudden?"
+inquired Mrs. Atwood.
+
+"Dreadfully."
+
+"Humph!" this from Joshua; "I cal'late Mr. Paine was some scart
+too.  What did you do, Mr. Paine?"
+
+"I rigged that canvas on the oar as soon as possible," I answered.
+
+"Um-hm.  That was good judgment."
+
+"Tell me, Mr. Atwood," asked the young lady innocently, "are all
+seafaring men very dictatorial under such circumstances?"
+
+"Very--which?"
+
+"I mean do they order people about and make them do all sorts of
+things, whether they wish to or not?"
+
+"Sartin.  Godfreys!  I never asked nobody what they wished aboard
+the Ezry H. Jones."
+
+"And do they tell them to 'sit down and keep still'?"
+
+"Gen'rally they tell 'em to get up and keep movin'.  If they don't
+they start 'em pretty lively--with a rope's end."
+
+"I see.  Even when they are--ladies?"
+
+"Ladies?  Godfreys! we never had but one woman aboard the Ezry.
+Had the skipper's wife one v'yage, but nobody ever ordered her
+around any to speak of.  She was six feet tall and weighed two
+hundred.  All hands was scart to death of her."
+
+"Suppose she had been ordered to 'sit down and keep still'; what do
+you think would have happened?"
+
+"Don't know.  If 'twas one of the hands I guess likely she'd have
+hove him overboard.  If 'twas the skipper I shouldn't wonder if
+she'd have knocked him down--after she got over the surprise of his
+darin' to do such, a thing.  She had HIM trained, I tell ye!"
+
+"Miss Colton thinks me rather a bully, I am afraid," I said.  "I
+did order her about rather roughly."
+
+Mr. Atwood burst into a laugh.  "That Ezry Jones woman was the
+skipper's wife," he declared.  "Makes a lot of diff'rence, that
+does.  I was considerable of a bully myself afore Betsy got me on
+the parson's books.  Now I'm the most peaceable critter ever you
+see.  Your turn's comin', Miss Colton.  All you got to do is be
+patient."
+
+"Joshua!" said Mrs. Atwood, in mild reproof.  "You mustn't mind his
+talk, Miss Colton.  He's a terrible joker."
+
+Miss Colton changed the subject.  She did not so much as look at me
+again during the meal and, after it was over, she went to her room,
+explaining that she was very tired and would try to get a little
+sleep.
+
+I had discovered that the lighthouse, being close to the mainland,
+was equipped with a telephone.  Now I begged permission to use it.
+I called up Denboro and asked to be connected with the Colton home.
+I felt very sure that there would be no sleep in the big house that
+night and I wished to relieve their anxiety and to send word to
+Mother.  Mr. Colton himself answered my call.
+
+I announced my identity and explained where I was and that his
+daughter was in my care and perfectly safe.
+
+"Thank God!" was the fervent exclamation at the other end of the
+wire, and the voice which uttered it was shaking with emotion.
+"Stay where you are a moment, Paine.  Let me tell my wife.  She is
+almost crazy.  Hold the wire."
+
+I held the wire and waited.  The next voice which reached my ears
+was Mrs. Colton's.  She asked a dozen questions, one after the
+other.  Was Mabel safe?  Was I sure she was safe?  Wasn't the poor
+child almost dead after all she'd been through?  What had happened?
+What was she doing away over there in that dreadful place?  Why had
+I taken her there?
+
+I answered as well as I could, telling briefly of the collision in
+the fog and what followed.  The explanation appeared to be rather
+unsatisfactory.
+
+"You take the wire, James," I heard the lady say.  "I can't make it
+all out.  Mabel is at some horrid lighthouse and there is no
+kerosene, or something.  The poor child!  Alone there, with that
+man!  Tell him she must be brought home at once.  It is dreadful
+for her!  Think what she must have suffered!  And with HIM!  What
+will people say?  Tell him to bring her home!  The idea!  I don't
+believe a word--"
+
+"Hello--hello, Paine!"  Colton was at the 'phone once more.  "Can
+you get Mabel--Miss Colton, over to Wellmouth, do you think?"
+
+"Yes.  I will get a boat as soon as I can.  Miss Colton is in her
+room, asleep I hope.  She is very tired and I think she should rest
+until daylight.  I will get her to Wellmouth in time for the
+morning train."
+
+"Never mind the train.  I'll come after her in the auto.  I will
+start now.  I will meet you at the landing--at the wharf, if there
+is one."
+
+"Very well.  Will you be good enough to send word to my mother that
+I am safe and sound?  She will be worried."
+
+"Yes, yes, I'll send word.  Tell Mabel to be careful and not take
+cold. . . .  Yes, Henrietta, I am attending to everything.  Good-
+by, Paine."
+
+That was all, not a word of thanks.  I did not expect thanks and I
+made allowances for the state of mind at the mansion; but that
+telephone conversation, particularly Mrs. Colton's share in it,
+cast a gloom over my spirits.  I did not care to hear more of Mr.
+Atwood's yarns and jokes.  I went to my own room, but I did not
+sleep.
+
+At half-past five I was astir again.  The lightkeeper, it appeared,
+had an auxiliary engine in a catboat which he owned and could let
+me have a sufficient supply of gasolene to fill the Comfort's tank.
+When this was done--and it took a long time, for Joshua insisted
+upon helping and he was provokingly slow--I returned to the sitting
+room and asked Mrs. Atwood to call Miss Colton.
+
+"Land sakes!" was the cheery answer, "I didn't have to call her.
+She's been up for fifteen minutes.  Said she was goin' to take a
+cruise around the lighthouse.  I cal'late you'll find her out there
+somewheres.  Go and fetch her here.  You two must have a bite--a
+cup of hot coffee and a biled egg, anyhow--afore you leave.  Yes,
+you must.  I shan't listen to a no from either of you."
+
+I went out and crossed the sandy yard to the whitewashed lighthouse.
+There was no sign of Miss Colton in the yard, but the door of the
+lighthouse was open and I entered.  No one there.  The stairs,
+winding upward, invited me to climb and I did so.  The little room
+with the big lantern, the latter now covered with a white cloth, was
+untenanted also.  I looked out of the window.  There she was, on the
+iron gallery surrounding the top of the tower, leaning on the rail
+and gazing out over the water.  She had not heard me.  For a moment
+I stood there, watching her.
+
+She was not wearing Mrs. Atwood's gown now, but her own, wrinkled
+and stained from its last night's drenching in salt water, but dry
+now.  She was bareheaded and her brown hair was tossing in the sea
+breeze.  The sun, but a little way above the horizon and shining
+through the morning haze, edged her delicate profile with a line of
+red gold.  I had never seen her look more beautiful, or more
+aristocratic and unapproachable.  The memory of our night in the
+launch seemed more like an unbelievable dream than ever, and the
+awakening more cruel.  For I was awake now.  What I had heard over
+the 'phone had awakened me thoroughly.  There should be no more
+dreaming.
+
+I stepped out upon the gallery.
+
+"Good morning," I said.
+
+She turned quickly, and I heard her catch her breath with a little
+gasp.
+
+"I beg pardon," said I; "I'm afraid I startled you."
+
+She was startled, that was evident, and, it seemed to me, a trifle
+embarrassed.  But the embarrassment was but momentary.
+
+"Good morning," she said.  "How very silent you can be when you
+choose, Mr. Paine.  How long have you been standing there, pray?"
+
+"Only a moment.  I came to call you to breakfast."
+
+"To breakfast?"
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Atwood insists upon our breakfasting before I take you
+ashore."
+
+"Oh!  Why didn't you call me?  I would have come down."
+
+"I did not see you until I reached the lantern room.  My silence
+was not premeditated.  I made noise enough, or so it seemed to me;
+but you were so wrapped in your thoughts--"
+
+"Nonsense!"  She interrupted me almost sharply.  "I was not
+'wrapped' in anything, except the beauty of this view.  It IS
+beautiful, isn't it?"
+
+"Very," I answered, but fear I was not looking at the view.  It may
+be that she noticed this, for she said:
+
+"You have come into your own again, I see.  So have I."
+
+She indicated her gown with a smile and a gesture.  I laughed.
+
+"Yes," I said.  "I have returned unto Joshua that which was his."
+
+"You should have kept it.  You have no idea what a picturesque
+lightkeeper you make, Mr. Paine."
+
+Somehow or other this harmless joke hurt.
+
+"Yes," I answered, drily, "that is about my measure, I presume."
+
+Her eyes twinkled.  "I thought the measure rather scant," she
+observed, mischievously.  "I wish I might have a snap-shot of you
+in that--uniform."
+
+"I am afraid the opportunity for that is past."
+
+"But it--" with a little bubble of mirth, "it was so funny."
+
+"No doubt.  I am sorry I can't oblige you with a photograph."
+
+She looked at me, biting her lip.
+
+"Is your bump of humor a dent, Mr. Paine?" she inquired.  "I am
+afraid it must be."
+
+"You may be right.  I don't appreciate a joke as keenly as--well,
+as Mr. Carver, for instance."
+
+She turned her back upon me and led the way to the door.
+
+"Shall we go to breakfast?" she asked, in a different tone.
+
+Breakfast was a silent meal, so far as we two were concerned.  The
+Atwoods, however, talked enough to make up the deficiency.
+
+As we rose from the table the young lady turned to the lightkeeper.
+
+"Mr. Atwood," she said, "I presume you are going to be kind enough
+to take me to Wellmouth?"
+
+"Why, Miss, I--I wan't cal'latin' to.  Mr. Paine here, he's got all
+the gas he needs now and he'll take you over in his launch."
+
+"Oh!  But you will go, if I ask you to?"
+
+"Sartin sure."
+
+"You have been so very kind that I dislike to ask another favor;
+but I hoped you would send a telegram for me.  My father and mother
+will be very much alarmed and I must wire them at once.  You will
+have to send it 'collect,' for," with a rueful smile, "I haven't my
+purse with me."
+
+"Land sakes! that'll be all right.  Glad to help you out."
+
+I put in a word.  "It will not be necessary," I said, impatiently.
+"I have money enough, Miss Colton."
+
+I was ignored.
+
+"Thank you so much, Mr. Atwood.  You will come with me and look out
+for the telegram?"
+
+"Yes.  Yes--yes.  But I don't see what you need to send no telegram
+for.  Mr. Paine here, he telephoned to your folks last night."
+
+She looked at me and then at Joshua.
+
+"Last night?" she repeated.
+
+"Why yes--or this mornin' after you'd gone to bed.  He was dead set
+on it.  I could see he was 'most tired and wore out, but he
+wouldn't rest till he'd 'phoned your folks and told 'em you was
+safe and sound.  Didn't seem to care nothin' about himself, but he
+was bound your pa and ma shouldn't worry."
+
+She turned to me.
+
+"Did you?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," I answered.  "Your father is to meet us at the Wellmouth
+wharf."
+
+"Why didn't you tell me?"
+
+"I intended to.  I meant to tell you when I saw you in the
+lighthouse, but--I forgot it."
+
+She said no more, but when Joshua, hat and boots on, met us at the
+door she spoke to him.
+
+"You need not go, Mr. Atwood," she said.  "It will not be
+necessary--now."
+
+"Godfreys!  I'd just as soon as not.  Ruther, if anything."
+
+He hurried down to the beach.  I was about to follow when a hand
+touched my arm.  I turned, to find a pair of brown eyes, misty but
+wonderful, looking into mine.
+
+"Thank you," said Miss Colton.
+
+"Don't mention it."
+
+"But I shall.  It was thoughtful and kind.  I had forgotten, or--at
+least--I took it for granted there was no 'phone here.  But you did
+not forget.  It was thoughtful, but--it was like you."
+
+I was breathing hard.  I could not look at her.
+
+"Don't," I said, roughly.  "It was nothing.  Anyone with common
+sense would have thought of it and done it, of course."
+
+"I did not.  But you--  Oh, it was like you!  Always some one else
+and never yourself.  You were worn out.  You must have been, after--"
+with a shudder--"last night.  Oh, I have so much to thank you
+for!  I--"
+
+"Come on!  Heave ahead!"  It was Mr. Atwood, bellowing from the
+beach.  "All aboard for Wellmouth and pints alongshore."
+
+Betsy appeared in the door behind us.
+
+"All ready, be you?" she asked.
+
+I could not have answered, but my companion was once more as calm
+and cool as the morning itself.
+
+"All ready," she answered.  "Good-by, Mrs. Atwood.  And thank you
+over and over again.  You have been so kind."  With a sudden flash
+of enthusiasm.  "Every one is kind.  It is a beautiful world.
+Good-by."
+
+She ran lightly down the slope and I followed.
+
+The trip to Wellmouth was of but a half hour's duration.  Atwood
+talked all the time.  Miss Colton laughed at his stories and seemed
+to be without a care.  She scarcely looked at me during the
+passage, and if she caught me looking at her and our glances met
+she turned away.  On the wharf was a big automobile, surrounded by
+a gaping crowd of small boys and 'longshore loafers.
+
+We drew up beside the landing.  Our feminine passenger sprang
+ashore and ran up the steps, to be seized in her father's arms.
+Mrs. Colton was there also, babbling hysterically.  I watched and
+listened for a moment.  Then I started the engine.
+
+"Shove off," I ordered.  The lightkeeper was astonished.
+
+"Ain't ye goin' ashore?" he demanded.
+
+"No," I answered, curtly.  "I'm going home.  Shove off."
+
+The launch was fifty feet from the pier when I heard a shout.
+Colton was standing on the wharf edge, waving his hand.  Beside him
+stood his daughter, her mother's arms about her.
+
+"Here! Paine!" shouted Colton.  "Come back!  Come back and go home
+with us in the car.  There is plenty of room."
+
+I did not answer.
+
+"Come back!  Come back, Paine!" he shouted again.  Mrs. Colton
+raised her head from her daughter's shoulder.
+
+"James!  James!" she cautioned, without taking the trouble to lower
+her voice, "don't make a scene.  Let him go in his dreadful boat,
+if he prefers to."
+
+"Paine!" cried her husband again.
+
+"I must look out for the launch," I shouted.  "I shall be home
+almost as soon as you are.  Good-by."
+
+I left the lightkeeper at his island.  He refused to accept a cent
+from me, except in payment for the gasolene, and declared he had
+had a "fust-rate night of it."
+
+"Come and see us again, Mr. Paine," he said.  "Come any time and
+fetch your lady along.  She's a good one, she is, and nice-lookin',
+don't talk!  You're a lucky critter, did you know it?  Haw! haw!
+Good-by."
+
+The Comfort never made better time than on that homeward trip.  I
+anchored her at her moorings, went ashore in the skiff, and
+hastened up to the house.  It was past ten o'clock and I would be
+over an hour late at the bank.  A fine beginning for my first day
+in charge of the institution!
+
+The dining-room door was open, but no one was in the dining-room.
+The kitchen door, however, was shut and from behind it I heard
+Dorinda's voice.
+
+"You can get right out of this house," she said.  "I don't care if
+you've got a mortgage on the rest of the Cape!  You ain't got one
+on this house, and you nor nobody else shall stay in it and talk
+that way.  There's the door."
+
+"Dorindy!" wailed another voice--Lute's.  "You mustn't talk so--to
+him!  Don't you realize--"
+
+"I realize that if I had a husband instead of a jellyfish I
+shouldn't have to talk.  Be still, you!"
+
+A third voice made itself heard.
+
+"All right," it growled.  "I ain't anxious to stay here any longer
+than is necessary.  Bein' an honest, decent man, I'm ashamed to be
+seen here as it is.  But you can tell that low-lived sneak, Ros
+Paine, that--"
+
+I opened the door.
+
+"You may tell him yourself, Captain Dean," said I.  "What is it?"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+My unexpected entrance caused a sensation.  Lute, sitting on the
+edge of one of the kitchen chairs, an agonized expression on his
+face, started so violently that he almost lost his balance.
+Dorinda, standing with her back toward me, turned quickly.  Captain
+Jedediah Dean, his hand on the knob of the door opening to the back
+yard, showed the least evidence of surprise.  He did not start, nor
+did he speak, but looked at me with a countenance as grim and set
+and immovable as if it had been cast in a mould.
+
+Lute, characteristically enough, uttered the first word.
+
+"By time!" he gasped.  "It's Ros himself!  Ros--Ros, you know what
+he says?"  He pointed a shaking finger at the captain.  "He says
+you--"
+
+"Keep still!"  Dorinda struck her palms together with a slap, as if
+her husband had been what she often called him, a parrot.  Then,
+without another glance in his direction, she stepped backward and
+took her stand beside me.
+
+"I'm real glad to see you home safe and sound, Roscoe," she said,
+calmly.
+
+"Thank you, Dorinda.  Now, Captain Dean, I believe you were sending
+a message to me just now.  I am here and you can deliver it.  What
+is it you have to say?"
+
+Before he could answer Dorinda spoke once more.
+
+"Lute," she said, "you come along with me into the dinin'-room."
+
+"But--but, Dorindy, I--"
+
+"You come with me.  This ain't any of my business any more, and it
+never was any of yours.  Come! move!"
+
+Lute moved, but so slowly that his progress to the door took almost
+a full minute.  His wife paid no heed to the pleading looks he gave
+her and stood majestically waiting until he passed her and crossed
+the sill.  Then she turned to me.
+
+"If you want me, just speak," she said.  "I shall be in the dining-
+room.  There ain't no need for Comfort to know about this.  She
+doesn't know that you've been away and hasn't been worried at all.
+I'll look out for her.  Lute'll be with me, so you needn't fret
+about him, either."
+
+She closed the door.
+
+"Now, Captain Dean," I repeated, "what is it you have to say?"
+
+The captain's grim mouth twisted in a savage sneer.
+
+"You know what I'm goin' to say as well as I do," he answered.
+
+"Possibly, but you had better say it."
+
+"It won't take me long.  You've sold that Shore Lane land to Jim
+Colton, ain't you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+My calm affirmative seemed to astonish him.  I think he expected a
+denial.  His hand left the doorknob and he stepped toward me.
+
+"You--HAVE!" he cried.  "You don't even take the trouble to--  You
+have the face to stand there and tell me--"
+
+He almost choked.
+
+"Captain Dean," I interrupted, quickly, "wait a moment.  Listen to
+me.  I have sold Colton the land.  I did not intend selling it at
+all, least of all to him, but circumstances compelled me to change
+my mind.  I did it because I was obliged to.  It is done.  I am
+sorry I had to do it, but, under the same conditions, I should do
+it again.  I am not ashamed."
+
+He leaned forward, steadying himself with a hand upon the table,
+and stared at me.
+
+"You ain't ashamed?" he repeated.  "You ain't ashamed!  Why, you--
+Didn't you tell me you'd never sell that land?  Didn't you promise
+me?"
+
+"I did not promise anything.  At first I promised not to sell
+without letting you know of my intention.  Afterward I took back
+that promise."
+
+"But why did you sell?  You said it wan't a question of price at
+all.  You made your brags that it wan't!  To me, over and over, you
+made 'em.  And then you sneak off and--"
+
+"Stop!  I did think it was not a question of price.  Then I found
+out that it was."
+
+He clenched his fist.
+
+"Damn you!" he shouted, furiously.  "You liar!  You sneak!  After
+I--"
+
+"That is enough, Captain.  This has gone far enough.  I have sold
+the land--for what seemed to me a good reason--and your calling me
+names will not change the situation.  I don't care to hear them.
+You had better go."
+
+"WHAT?"
+
+"I say you had better go."
+
+"_I_ go?  You'll put me out?"
+
+"No, certainly not.  But there is nothing to be gained by a
+quarrel, and so, for both our sakes, I think you had better go
+away."
+
+For a moment I thought he would strike me.  Then his fist fell
+heavily upon the table.  His lips were quivering like those of an
+infirm person.  He looked old, and I had never before considered
+him an old man.
+
+"What made you do it?" he cried, desperately.  "What made you do
+it?  Is it all settled?  Can't you back out?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But--but why didn't you sell to me--to the town?  If you had to
+sell why didn't you do that?  Why did you go to him?"
+
+"Because he would pay me what I needed; because his price was
+higher than any you or the town could offer."
+
+"How did you know that?  My heavens above!  I'd have paid--I'd have
+paid most anything--out of my own pocket, I would.  I tell you this
+meant everything to me.  I'm gettin' along in years.  I ain't been
+any too well liked here in Denboro, and I knew it.  You think that
+didn't make no difference to me, maybe I pretended it didn't, but
+it did; by the Almighty, it did!  I intended for folks to be
+thankful to me for--I--  Oh, WHY did you do it, Ros?"
+
+I shook my head.  I was sorry for him now--sorry and astonished.
+He had given me a glimpse of the real Jedediah Dean, not the
+pompous, loud-voiced town politician and boss, but the man desirous
+of fighting his way into the esteem and liking of his neighbors.
+
+"I'm sorry, Captain," I said.  "If I had known--if I had had time
+to think, perhaps I might have acted differently.  But I had no
+time.  I found that I must have the money which that land would
+bring and that I had to have it immediately.  So I went where I
+knew I could get it."
+
+"Money?  You needed money?  Why didn't you come to me?  I'd have
+lent it to you."
+
+"You?"
+
+"Yes, me.  What do you cal'late I've been backin' you all this
+summer for?  What did I get you that job in my bank for?"
+
+"YOU?  George Taylor engaged me for that place."
+
+"Maybe so.  But do you suppose he did it on his own hook?  HE
+couldn't hire you unless the directors said so and the directors
+don't say anything, the majority of 'em, unless I say it first.
+_I_ put the notion in George's head.  He didn't know it, but I did.
+And I put it in the directors' heads, too.  Ros Paine, I always
+liked you, though I did use to think you was a gentleman loafer.
+There was a somethin' about you even then, a kind of hands-off,
+mind your own business independence about you that I liked, though
+I knew mighty well you never liked me.  And after you and me got
+together on this Lane thing I liked you more and more.  You could
+tell me to go to the devil as well as you could anybody else, and
+I'll shake hands with a feller that'll do that.  I always wanted a
+boy of my own.  Nellie's a good girl, no better afloat or ashore,
+but she is a girl.  George is a good feller, too, but somehow, or
+'nother, I'd come to think of you as the kind of son I'd have had,
+if the Almighty had give me one.  Oh, what did you do this for?"
+
+I could not answer.  He had overwhelmed me.  I never felt meaner or
+more wicked.  I had been ready to face him, ready for the interview
+with him which I knew was inevitable and which I had foreseen, but
+not this kind of an interview.
+
+He took his hand from the table and stood erect.
+
+"Money!" he said.  "You wanted money.  You must have wanted it bad.
+What did you want it for?"
+
+"I can't tell you."
+
+"You had better.  It's your only chance, I tell you that!"
+
+"I can't help it, Captain Dean.  I can't tell you.  I wish I
+could."
+
+He regarded me in silence for a moment.  Then:  "All right," he
+said, solemnly.  "I'm through with you, Ros Paine.  In one way I'm
+through with you.  In another I ain't.  I cal'late you was
+figgerin' to go straight up to the bank, as bold as brass, and set
+down at George Taylor's desk and draw your wages like an honest
+man.  Don't you ever dare set foot in that bank again.  You're
+fired! bounced! kicked out!  Do you understand?"
+
+"Very well; I understand."
+
+"You will understand, whether you do now or not.  Colton's got the
+Shore Lane and you've got his dirty money in your pocket.  He's
+paid you, but the town ain't.  The town you sold out ain't paid
+you--but I'm goin' to see that it does.  Ros Paine, I'm goin' to
+drive you out of Denboro."
+
+He turned on his heel, strode to the door, went out, and slammed it
+behind him.
+
+I went back to the dining-room.  Lute was nowhere in sight, but
+Dorinda was standing by the mantel, dusting, as usual, where there
+was no dust.  I did not speak but walked toward the door leading to
+the stairs.  Dorinda stepped in front of me.
+
+"Roscoe," she said, sharply, "can he do it?"
+
+"Do it?" I repeated.  "What do you mean?"
+
+"Can he give you your walkin' papers at that bank?  Oh, I heard
+him!  I tried not to, but he hollered so I couldn't help it.  That
+kitchen door ain't much thicker'n a sheet of paper, anyhow.  Can he
+do it?"
+
+"I guess so.  He seems to be boss of that institution."
+
+"But can't 'Lisha Warren or some of the other directors help you?
+Jed Dean don't boss 'Lisha Warren--not much."
+
+"I shan't ask for help.  Please don't trouble me, Dorinda."
+
+I tried to pass her, but she would not permit it.
+
+"I shan't trouble you, Ros," she said.  "I guess you've got
+troubles enough without me.  But you let me ask you this:  Are you
+goin' to let him drive you out of town?"
+
+I shrugged my shoulders.  "It may not take much driving," I
+announced, listlessly, "if it were not for Mother I should be only
+too glad to go."
+
+Again I tried to pass, but this time she seized my arm.
+
+"Roscoe Paine," she cried, "don't you talk like that.  I don't want
+to hear another word like that.  Don't you let Jed Dean or nobody
+else drive you out of Denboro.  You ain't done nothin' to be
+ashamed of, have you?"
+
+"I sold that land to Mr. Colton.  I don't know how Captain Jed
+found it out, but it is true enough; I did exactly what he said I
+did."
+
+"Found out!  He found out from somebody over to Ostable where the
+deed was recorded, that is how he found out.  He said so.  But I
+don't care for that.  And I don't care if you sold the Lane ten
+times over.  You didn't do it for any mean or selfish reason, that
+I know.  There ain't a selfish bone in your body, Roscoe.  I've
+lived along with you all these years and I know.  Nobody that was
+mean or selfish would give up their chances in life and stay here
+in this one-hoss town because his ma was sick and had took a notion
+that she couldn't bear to part with him.  Don't you mind Jed Dean--
+pig-headed old thing!--or anybody else in Denboro.  Hold up your
+head and show 'em you don't care for the whole caboodle of 'em.
+Let 'em talk and act like fools, if they want to.  It comes natural
+to most of 'em, I cal'late, and they'll be sorry some day.  Don't
+you let 'em drive you out.  They won't come inside THIS house with
+their talk, not while I'm here, I tell you that!"
+
+Her eyes, behind the brass-rimmed spectacles, flashed fire.  This
+was the longest speech I had ever heard her make.
+
+"There, Dorinda," I said, smiling, "don't worry on my account.  I'm
+not worth it.  And, whatever I do, I shall see that you and Lute
+are provided for."
+
+Instead of calming her this statement seemed to have the exactly
+opposite effect.
+
+"Stop it!" she snapped.  "The idea!  Do you suppose it's for myself
+I'm talkin' this way to you?  I guess 'tain't!  My soul!  I'll look
+out for myself, and Lute, too, long's I'm able to walk; and when I
+can't walk 'twill be because I've stopped breathin'.  It's for you
+I'm talkin', for you and Comfort.  Think of her."
+
+I sighed.  "I have been thinking of her, Dorinda," I declared.
+"She doesn't know a word about this."
+
+"Then tell her."
+
+"I can't tell her my reason for selling, any more than I can tell
+you--or Dean."
+
+"Tell her what you can, then.  Tell her as much of the truth as you
+can.  She'll say you done right, of course.  Whatever you do is
+right to her."
+
+I made no reply.  She regarded me keenly.
+
+"Roscoe," she went on, "do you WANT to go somewheres else?"
+
+"I don't know, Dorinda.  I might as well be here as anywhere,
+perhaps.  I am rather blue and discouraged just now, that's all."
+
+"I can't blame you much.  But bein' discouraged don't do any good.
+Besides, it's always darkest just afore dawn, they say; anyhow,
+I've had that preached to me ever since I was a girl and I've tried
+to believe it through a good many cloudy spells.  Roscoe, don't you
+let old Jed or anybody DRIVE you out of Denboro, but, if you WANT
+to go--if you think you'd ought to go, to earn money or anything,
+don't you worry about leavin' Comfort.  I'll look out for her as
+well as if she was my own.  Remember that."
+
+I laid my hand on hers.  "Thank you," I said, earnestly.  "Dorinda,
+you are a good woman."
+
+To my surprise the eyes behind the spectacles became misty.  Tears
+in Dorinda's eyes!  When she spoke it was in, for her, a curiously
+hesitating tone.
+
+"Roscoe," she faltered, "I wonder if you'd be cross if I asked
+about what wan't any of my business.  I'm old enough to be your
+grandma, pretty nigh, so I'm goin' to risk it.  You used to be
+independent enough.  You never used to care for the town or anybody
+in it.  Lately you've changed.  Changed in a good many ways.  Is
+somethin' besides this Lane affair frettin' you?  Is somebody
+frettin' you?  Are you worried about--that one?"
+
+She had caught me unawares.  I felt the blood tingle in my cheeks.
+I tried to laugh and made a failure of the attempt.
+
+"That one?" I repeated.  "I--  Why, I don't understand, Dorinda."
+
+"Don't you?  Well, if you don't then I'm just talkin' silly, that's
+all.  If you do, I . . . .  Humph!  I might have known it!"
+
+She turned like a shot and jerked the door open.  There was a
+rattle, a series of thumps, and a crash.  Lute was sprawling upon
+the floor at our feet.  I gazed at him in open-mouthed astonishment.
+Dorinda sniffed scornfully.
+
+"I might have known it," she repeated.  "Sittin' on the stairs
+there, listenin', wan't you?"
+
+Lute raised himself to his knees.
+
+"I think," he panted, "I--I swan!  I shouldn't wonder if I'd broke
+my leg!"
+
+"Um-hm!  Well, if you'd broke your neck 'twouldn't have been no
+more'n you deserve.  Shame on you!  Sneakin' thing!"
+
+"Now, Dorindy, I--I wan't listenin'.  I was just--"
+
+"Don't talk to me.  Don't you open your mouth.  And if you open it
+to anybody else about what you heard I'll--I declare I'll shut you
+up in the dark closet and keep you there, as if you was three year
+old.  Sometimes I think your head ain't any older than that.  Go
+right out of this house."
+
+"But where'll I go?"
+
+"I don't care where you go.  Only don't let me set eyes on you till
+dinner time.  March!"
+
+Lute backed away as she advanced, waving both his hands and
+pleading and expostulating.
+
+"Dorindy, I tell you . . .  WHAT makes you so unlikely? . . .  I
+was just . . .  All right then," desperately, "I'll go!  And if you
+never set eyes on me again 'twon't be my fault.  You'll be sorry
+then.  If you never see me no more you'll be sorry."
+
+"I'll set eyes on you at dinner time.  I ain't afraid of that.
+Git!"
+
+She followed him to the kitchen and then returned.
+
+"Ah hum!" she sighed, "it's pretty hard to remember that about
+darkest just afore dawn when you have a burden like that on your
+shoulders to lug through life.  It's night most of the time then.
+Poor critter! he means well enough, too.  And once he was a likely
+enough young feller, though shiftless, even then.  But he had a
+long spell of fever three year after we was married and he's never
+been good for much since.  I try to remember that, and to be
+patient with him, but it's a pretty hard job sometimes."
+
+She sighed again.  I had often wondered how a woman of her sense
+could have married Luther Rogers.  Now she was telling me.
+
+"I never really cared for him," she went on, looking toward the
+door through which the discomfited eavesdropper had made his exit.
+"There was somebody else I did care for, but he and I quarreled,
+and I took Luther out of spite and because my folks wanted me to.
+I've paid for it since.  Roscoe," earnestly, "Roscoe, if you care
+for anybody and she cares for you, don't let anything keep you
+apart.  If she's worth a million or fifty cents that don't make any
+difference.  It shouldn't be a matter of her folks or your folks or
+money or pride or anything else.  It's a matter for just you and
+her.  And if you love each other, that's enough.  I tell you so,
+and I know."
+
+I was more astonished than ever.  I could scarcely believe that
+this was the dry, practical Dorinda Rogers who had kept house for
+Mother and me all these years.  And with my astonishment were other
+feelings, feelings which warned me that I had better make my escape
+before I was trapped into betraying that which, all the way home
+from Mackerel Island, I had been swearing no one should ever know.
+I would not even admit it to myself, much less to anyone else.
+
+I did not look at Dorinda, and my answer to her long speech was as
+indifferent and careless as I could make it.
+
+"Thank you, Dorinda," I said.  "I'll remember your advice, if I
+ever need it, which isn't likely.  Now I must go to my room and
+change my clothes.  These are too badly wrinkled to be becoming."
+
+When I came down, after an absence of half an hour, she was sitting
+by the window, sewing.
+
+"Comfort's waitin' to see you, Roscoe," she said.  "I've told her
+all about it."
+
+"YOU'VE told her--what?" I demanded, in amazement.
+
+"About your sellin' the Lane and losin' your job, and so on.  Don't
+look at me like that.  'Twas the only common-sense thing to do.
+She'd heard old Leather-Lungs whoopin' out there in the kitchen and
+she'd heard you and me talkin' here in the dinin'-room.  I hoped
+she was asleep, but she wan't.  After you went upstairs she called
+for me and wanted to know the whole story.  I told her what I knew
+of it.  Now you can tell her the rest.  She takes it just as I knew
+she would.  You done it and so it's all right."
+
+"Roscoe, is that you?"
+
+It was Mother calling me.  I went into the darkened room and sat
+down beside the bed.
+
+She and I had much to say to each other.  This time I kept back
+nothing, except my reason for selling the land.  I told her frankly
+that that reason was a secret, and that it must remain a secret,
+even from her.
+
+"I hate to say that to you, Mother," I told her.  "You don't know
+how I hate it.  I would tell you if I could."
+
+She pressed my hand.  "I know you would, Roscoe," she said.  "I am
+quite content not to know.  That your reason for selling was an
+honorable one, that is all I ask."
+
+"It was that, Mother."
+
+"I am sure of it.  But," hesitatingly, "can you tell me this:  You
+did not do it because you needed money--for me?  Our income is the
+same as ever?  We have not met with losses?"
+
+"No, Mother.  Our income is the same that it has been for years."
+
+"Then it was not because of me; because you felt that I should have
+those 'luxuries' you talk about so often?  Oh, I don't need them,
+Roscoe I really don't.  I am--I scarcely dare say it for fear it
+may not be true--but I THINK I am better than I have been.  I feel
+stronger."
+
+"I know you are better, Mother.  Doctor Quimby is very much
+encouraged."
+
+"Is he?  I am so glad!  For your sake, Boy.  Perhaps the time will
+come when I may not be your Old Man Of the Sea as I am now.  But
+you did not sell the land because of me?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You did not sell it for yourself, that I know.  I wonder . . .
+But, there!  I mustn't wonder, and I won't.  Captain Dean was very
+angry and unreasonable, Dorinda says.  I suppose his pride is hurt.
+I'm afraid he will make it unpleasant for you in the village."
+
+"He will do his best, I'm sure of that."
+
+"You poor boy!  As if you did not have enough to bear without that!
+He has asked you to resign from the bank?"
+
+I smiled.  "He has pitched me out, neck and crop," I answered.  "I
+expected that, of course."
+
+"But what will you do?  Can't Mr. Taylor help you?  Perhaps he will
+use his influence with the captain."
+
+"I don't need his influence, Mother.  I took the place merely
+because of a whim.  Now that I have lost it I am no worse off than
+I was before."
+
+"But you enjoyed the work?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+I was only beginning to realize how much I had enjoyed it.  I
+sighed, involuntarily.
+
+Mother heard the sigh and the pressure of her hand on mine
+tightened.
+
+"Poor boy!" she said again.  Then, after a moment, "I wish I might
+talk with Miss Colton about this."
+
+I started violently.  What had put that idea in her head?
+
+"Miss Colton!" I exclaimed.  "Mother, whatever you do, don't speak
+to her--about me."
+
+"Why not?  She has not called on us for some time, but she is
+interested in you, I know.  And perhaps her father could--"
+
+"Mother, don't."
+
+She was silent for an instant.  Then she said, quietly.  "Boy, what
+is it?  Is there something else you haven't told me?  Something
+about--her?"
+
+"No, no," I stammered.
+
+"Isn't there?  Are you sure?"
+
+I do not know what reply I should have made.  Her question, coming
+so close upon the heels of Dorinda's hints, upset me completely.
+Was it written upon my face, for everyone to see?  Did I look the
+incredible idiot that I knew myself to be?  For I did know it.  In
+spite of my determination not to admit it even in my innermost
+thoughts, I knew.  I was in love with Mabel Colton--madly, insanely,
+hopelessly in love with her, and should be until my dying day.
+I had played with fire too long.
+
+Before I could answer there came a knock at the door.  It opened
+and Dorinda's head appeared.  She seemed, for her, excited.
+
+"There's somebody to see you, Ros," she said.  "You'd better come
+out soon's you can.  He's in a hurry."
+
+"Someone to see me," I repeated.  "Who is it?"
+
+Dorinda glanced at Mother and then at me.  She did not so much as
+whisper, but her lips formed a name.  I rose from my chair.
+
+Mother looked at me and then at Dorinda.
+
+"Who is it, Roscoe?" she asked.
+
+"Just a caller on a business matter," I answered, hurriedly.  "I'll
+be out at once, Dorinda."
+
+"But who is it, Roscoe?"
+
+"It's Mr. Colton, Mother.  He has probably come to--"
+
+"Dorinda," Mother interrupted me, "ask Mr. Colton to come in here."
+
+"But, Mother--"
+
+"Ask him to come in here, Dorinda.  I should like to meet him."
+
+Dorinda hesitated, but when Mother spoke in that tone none of us
+hesitated long.  She disappeared.  A moment later the door opened
+wide and Colton entered.  The sudden transition from sunlight to
+semidarkness bewildered him for a moment, doubtless, for he stood
+there without speaking.  Dorinda, who had ushered him in, went out
+and closed the door.  I stepped forward.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. Colton," I said, as calmly as I could.  "You
+have never met my mother, I think.  Mother, this is Mr. Colton, our
+neighbor."
+
+Colton turned toward the bed and murmured a few words.  For once, I
+think, he was startled out of his customary cool self-possession.
+And when Mother spoke it seemed to me that she, too, was disturbed.
+
+"Roscoe," she said, quickly, "will you draw that window-shade a
+little more?  The light is rather strong.  Thank you.  Mr. Colton,
+I am very glad to meet you.  I have heard of you often, of course,
+and I have met your daughter.  She has been very kind to me, in
+many ways.  Won't you sit down?"
+
+I drew forward a chair.  Our visitor accepted it.
+
+"Thank you, Mrs. Paine," he said.  "I will sit.  To be honest, I'm
+very glad of the opportunity.  I have been under the doctor's care
+for the past few weeks and last night's performance is not the best
+sort of treatment for a tender digestion.  The doctor told me what
+I needed was rest and sleep and freedom from care.  I told him I
+probably shouldn't get the last item till I was dead.  As for the
+rest--and sleep--  Humph!" with a short laugh, "I wonder what he
+would have said if he had seen me last night."
+
+Mother's face was turned away from him on the pillow.  "I am sorry
+to hear that you have been ill, Mr. Colton," she said.
+
+"Ill!  I'm not ill.  I have never been sick in my life and I don't
+propose to begin now.  If the crowd in New York would let me alone
+I should be all right enough.  There is a deal on there that is
+likely to come to a head pretty soon and my people at the office
+are nervous.  They keep 'phoning and telegraphing and upsetting
+things generally.  I'll have to run over there myself in a day or
+two and straighten it out.  But there!  I didn't come here to worry
+you with my troubles.  I feel as if I knew you, Mrs. Paine."
+
+"Knew me?  Knew ME, Mr. Colton?"
+
+"Yes.  I have never had the pleasure of meeting you before, but my
+daughter has spoken of you often.  She is a great admirer of yours.
+I won't tell you all the nice things she has said about you, for
+she has probably said them to you or to your son, already."
+
+"You should be very proud of your daughter, Mr. Colton.  She is a
+charming girl."
+
+"Thanks.  Just among us three I'll admit, in confidence, that I
+think you're right.  And I'll admit, too, that you have a pretty
+good sort of a son, Mrs. Paine.  He is inclined to be," with a
+glance in my direction, "a little too stubborn and high-principled
+for this practical world, but," with a chuckle, "he can be made to
+listen to reason, if you give him time enough.  That is so, isn't
+it, Paine?"
+
+I did not answer.  Mother spoke for me.
+
+"I am not sure that I understand you, Mr. Colton," she said,
+quietly.  "I presume you are referring to the sale of the land.  I
+do not know why Roscoe changed his mind in that matter, but I do
+know that his reason was a good one, and an honest one."
+
+"He hasn't told it to you, then?"
+
+"No.  But I know that he thought it right or he never would have
+sold."
+
+I broke in here.  I did not care to hear my own praises.
+
+"Did you call to discuss the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton?" I inquired.
+"I thought that affair settled."
+
+"It is.  No, I didn't come to discuss that.  Mrs. Paine, I don't
+know why your son sold me that land, but I'm inclined to think,
+like you, that he wouldn't have done it unless he thought it was
+right.  I know mighty well he wasn't afraid of me.  Oh, you needn't
+laugh, young man.  There ARE people in that fix, plenty of 'em.
+No, I didn't come to talk 'Lane.'  That bird is dead.  I came,
+first of all, to thank you for what you did for my daughter last
+night."
+
+Mother turned her head and looked at him.
+
+"For your daughter?  Last night?  Roscoe, what does he mean?"
+
+"Nothing, Mother, nothing," I said, hastily.  "I was unlucky enough
+to run the Comfort into Miss Colton's canoe in the bay yesterday
+afternoon in the fog.  Fortunately I got her into the launch and--
+and--"
+
+"And saved her from drowning, then and a dozen times afterward.  He
+hasn't told you, Mrs. Paine?  No, I can see that he hasn't.  All
+right, I will.  Paine, if your ingrowing modesty won't stand the
+pressure you had better leave the room.  This is about what
+happened, Mrs. Paine, as Mabel tells it."
+
+I tried to prevent him, but it was no use.  He ignored me
+altogether and went on to tell of the collision in the fog, the
+voyage across the bay, and my telephone from the lighthouse.  The
+story, as he told it, magnified what he called my coolness and
+common-sense to a ridiculous extent.  I lost patience as I
+listened.
+
+"Mr. Colton," I interrupted, "this is silly.  Mother, the whole
+affair was more my fault than my good judgment.  If I had anchored
+when it first happened we should have been home in an hour, instead
+of drifting all night."
+
+"Why didn't you anchor, then?" asked Colton.
+
+"Because I--I--"
+
+I stopped short.  I could not tell him why I did not anchor.  He
+laughed aloud.
+
+"That's all right," he said.  "I guess Mabel's story is near enough
+to the truth for all practical purposes.  Mrs. Paine," with a
+sudden change to seriousness, "you can understand why I have come
+here this morning.  If it had not been for your son's pluck, and
+cool head, and good judgment I--Mrs. Colton and I might have been--
+God knows in what state we might have been to-day!  God knows!  I
+can't think of it."
+
+His voice trembled.  Mother put out a hand and took mine.
+
+"Roscoe," she said, "Roscoe."
+
+"So I came to thank him," went on our visitor.  "This isn't the
+first time he has done something of the sort.  It seems almost as
+if he--  But never mind that.  I'm not going to be foolish.  Your
+son and I, Mrs. Paine, have been fighting each other most of the
+summer.  That's all right.  It was a square fight and, until this
+newest freak of his--and he has got me guessing as to what it
+means--I admit I thought he was quite as likely to lick me as I was
+to lick him.  I've watched him pretty closely and I am a pretty
+fair judge of a man, I flatter myself.  Did he tell you that, a
+while ago, I offered him a place in my office?"
+
+"In your office?  You offered him that?  No, he did not tell me.
+Roscoe!" reproachfully.
+
+"I did not tell you, Mother, because it was not worth while.  Of
+course I could not accept the offer."
+
+She hesitated and, before she spoke, Colton broke in.
+
+"Why not?  That was what you were going to say, Mrs. Paine, I take
+it.  That is what _I_ said--why not?  And I say it again.  Paine,
+that offer is still open."
+
+I shook my head.  "I told you then that I could not accept," I
+said.  "It is impossible."
+
+"Why is it impossible?  So far as I am concerned I believe you
+would be a mighty good investment."
+
+"Impossible," I said again.
+
+"Nothing is impossible.  We won't waste words.  I am going to be
+plain and I think Mrs. Paine will excuse me.  You think you should
+not leave your mother, perhaps.  I understand that reason.  It
+would be a good one, except that--well, that it isn't good any
+longer.  Your mother is much better than she was.  Quimby--her
+doctor and mine--says so.  I shall see that she is well looked
+after.  If she needs a nurse she shall have one, the best we can
+get.  Oh, be still and let me finish!  You can talk afterward.
+You're not going so far away.  New York isn't the end of the earth;
+it is only the center, or it thinks it is.  You'll be in close
+touch with Denboro all the time and you can come here whenever you
+want to.  Now will you take my offer?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Young man, if I didn't know there were brains inside that head of
+yours I should think it was, as the boys say, solid ivory.
+Confound you!  Here, Mrs. Paine," turning to Mother, "you take him
+in hand.  Tell him he must come with me."
+
+"Mother--" I protested.  He cut my protest short.
+
+"Tell him," he ordered.
+
+Mother looked at me.  "I think, perhaps, you should accept,
+Roscoe," she said, slowly.
+
+"Accept!  Mother!"
+
+"Yes.  I--I think you should.  I am sure everyone else would think
+so.  I should not wish you to do so if Mr. Colton was merely trying
+to be kind, to help you from motives of gratitude, or charity--"
+
+"Don't use that word, please," snapped "Big Jim."  "When I lose my
+mind I may take to charity, but not before.  Charity!  Good Lord!"
+
+"But it is not charity.  I am better, Roscoe; I realize it every
+day; and with Dorinda I shall get on perfectly well.  I have been
+thinking of something like this for a long time.  You owe it to
+yourself, Roscoe.  The chance is one that many men would be very,
+very glad to have come their way.  I shall not urge you, Boy.  You
+must decide for yourself, and I know you will; but, Roscoe, I shall
+be quite contented--yes, glad and proud, if you say yes to Mr.
+Colton."
+
+The gentleman named nodded emphatic approval.  "That's the talk!"
+he exclaimed.  "Mrs. Paine, I congratulate you on your common-
+sense."
+
+"I think, like you, that you will have made a good investment, Mr.
+Colton," was Mother's answer.
+
+I rose to my feet.  This must be ended now, for all time.
+
+"I thank you, Mr. Colton," I said, though not as steadily as I
+could have wished.  "I am greatly obliged to you and I realize that
+you offer me an exceptional opportunity, or what would be one for
+another man.  But I cannot accept."
+
+"Look here, Paine!  I'll speak plainer still.  I understand that
+that Shore Lane trade of ours has become common property, or, at
+any rate, it will be common property soon.  If I see the situation
+clearly, Denboro is likely to be a rather unpleasant place for you.
+That fellow Dean has a lot of influence here--heaven knows why!--
+and he hates me worse than Old Nick hates holy water.  Oh, I know
+you're not afraid of him!  But what is the use of taking the rough
+road when the smooth one is right before your feet?  Say yes, and
+let's end it."
+
+"No," said I, stubbornly.  "No, Mr. Colton."
+
+"You mean it?  Very well, I leave you in your Mother's hands.  She
+will probably bring you to your senses before long.  Mrs. Paine,
+you can handle him, I have no doubt.  I am glad to have met you,
+and, with your permission, I shall call on you again.  So will
+Mabel.  As for you, young man, I thank you for last night's work.
+You will, perhaps, accept thanks if you refuse everything else.
+Good morning."
+
+He rose, bowed, and walked to the door.  As he opened it he
+staggered, perceptibly.  I thought, for an instant, that he was
+going to fall, and I sprang to his assistance.
+
+"It's all right," he said, gruffly.  "This digestion of mine sets
+my head spinning sometimes.  That doctor says I shall upset
+completely unless I rest.  I told him he was a fool and I intend to
+prove it.  Let me be.  I can walk, I should hope.  When I can't
+I'll call the ambulance--or the hearse.  I'll find the way out,
+myself.  Good-by."
+
+The door closed behind him.
+
+"Roscoe," said Mother, quickly, "come here."
+
+I turned toward her.  She was looking at me with a strange
+expression.
+
+"What is it, Mother?" I asked, anxiously.
+
+"Roscoe," she whispered, "I know him.  I have met him before."
+
+"Know him!  You have met Mr. Colton--before?  Where?"
+
+"At our home in the old days.  He came there once with--with your
+father.  He was our guest at dinner."
+
+I could scarcely believe it.  Then, as the thought of what this
+might mean flashed to my mind, I asked anxiously:
+
+"Did he know you, do you think?"
+
+"No, I am sure he did not.  We met but once and I have," with a
+little sigh, "changed since then.  But I recognized him.  The name
+of Colton was familiar to me when you first mentioned it, some time
+ago, but I did not remember where I had heard it.  Of course, I did
+not connect this Mr. Colton with--that one."
+
+I frowned.  This complicated matters still more, and further
+complications were superfluous.
+
+"And, knowing this, knowing that he might recognize you at any
+time, you urged me to accept his offer," I said, reproachfully.
+"Mother!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Mother, how can you?  Would you have me go to New York and enter a
+banking house where, any hour of any day, I might be recognized by
+some of the men I once knew?  Where I might expect at any moment to
+be called by my real name?  How can you?"
+
+She gazed at me earnestly.  "Why not tell him, Roscoe?" she asked.
+
+I stared at her, aghast.  "Tell him!" I repeated.  "Tell him who I
+am?  Tell him our story, the story that--  Mother, are you crazy?"
+
+"No.  I believe I am sane, at least.  I have been thinking a great
+deal of late.  As I have been growing stronger I have been thinking
+more and more and I am not sure that you and I have been right in
+hiding here as we have done.  It was all my fault, I know, but I
+was weak and--and I dreaded all the gossip and scandal.  But, Boy,
+it was a mistake.  After all, we have done no wrong, you and I--we,
+personally, have nothing to be ashamed of.  Why not end all this?
+Go to Mr. Colton, tell him who you are, tell him our story; then,
+if he still wants you--"
+
+I interrupted.  "No, Mother," I said, "no, no!  It is impossible.
+Even if he knew, and it made no difference, I could not do it.  I
+may go away!  I may feel that I must go, if you are well enough for
+me to leave you, but I can not go with him.  I ought not to see him
+again.  I must not see HER. . . . .  Oh, don't you understand?
+Mother, I--I--"
+
+She understood.  I had seized her hand and now she stroked it
+gently with her own.
+
+"So it is true," she said, quietly.  "You love her, Roscoe."
+
+"Yes! yes! yes!" I answered, desperately.  "Oh, don't speak of it,
+Mother!  I am insane, I think."
+
+"Does she care for you, Boy?  Have you spoken to her?"
+
+"MOTHER!  Is it likely?"
+
+"But I think she does care, Roscoe.  I think she does.  She must."
+
+This was so characteristic that, although I was in anything but a
+laughing mood, I could not help smiling.
+
+"How could she help it? I presume you mean," I observed,
+sarcastically.  "There, Mother, don't worry.  I did not intend that
+you or anyone else should know what an idiot I am, but don't worry--
+I shan't do anything ridiculous or desperate.  I may go somewhere,
+to get away from Denboro, and to earn a living for you and me, but
+that is all.  We won't speak of her again."
+
+"But if she does care, Boy?"
+
+"If she does--  Of course, she doesn't--but, if she does, can't you
+see that only makes it worse?  Think who she is and who and what I
+am!  Her family--  Humph! you have not met her mother; I have."
+
+"But if she loves you--"
+
+"Do you think I should permit her to ruin her life--for me?"
+
+"Poor boy!  I am SO sorry!"
+
+"It is all right, Mother.  There! we won't be foolish any longer.
+I am going for a walk and I want you to rest.  I am glad, we have
+had this talk; it has done me good to speak what I have been
+thinking.  Good-by.  I will be back soon."
+
+She would have detained me, but I broke away and went out.  My walk
+was a long one.  I tramped the beach for eight long miles and,
+though one might think that my adventures of the night before had
+provided exercise enough, this additional effort seemed to do no
+harm.  I forgot dinner entirely and supper was on the table when I
+returned to the house.
+
+I found Dorinda in a condition divided between anxiety and
+impatience.
+
+"Have you seen anything of that man of mine?" she demanded.  "I
+ain't seen hide nor hair of him since I pitched him out of this
+room this mornin'!"
+
+I was surprised and a little disturbed.  I remembered Lute's threat
+about "never seein' me no more."
+
+"You don't suppose he has run away, or anything like that, do you?"
+I asked.
+
+"He wouldn't run far; runnin's too much like work.  But why he
+wan't home for dinner I don't understand.  I never knew him to miss
+a meal's vittles afore.  I hope nothin' ain't happened to him,
+that's all.  Well, we'll have our supper, anyhow.  After that we'll
+see."
+
+But we did not have to see.  We were at the table when we heard the
+sound of hurrying footsteps on the walk.  The gate closed with a
+bang.  Dorinda rose from her chair.
+
+"I swan!  I believe that's him now!" she exclaimed.
+
+"If it is, he is certainly running this time," I observed.  "What--"
+
+The door was thrown open and the missing member of the household
+appeared.  He was red-faced and panting, but there was a curious
+air of dignified importance in his bearing.  Dorinda's lips shut
+tightly.
+
+"Well, Lute," said I, "where have you been?"
+
+Lute struggled for breath.
+
+"Don't ask me where I've been!" he gasped.  "Don't waste no time
+askin' ME questions.  Get your hat on, Ros!  Get your hat on this
+minute!  Where did I put that?  Where in time did I put it?"
+
+He was fumbling in his pockets.  Dorinda and I looked at each
+other.  She shook her head.
+
+"He's gone stark foolish at last!" she said, with decision.  "Well,
+I've been expectin' it!  Lute Rogers, stop pawin' yourself over and
+act sensible, if you can.  What is the matter with you?"
+
+"Matter with me!  Nothin's the matter with ME; but there's
+somethin' the matter with other folks, I tell you that!  Doctor
+Quimby's been there twice already, and the telephone's been goin',
+and--and--  My time! you ought to seen her face!  'Twas just as
+white as--as--  WHERE did I put that letter?"
+
+His "pawing" became more frantic than ever.  His wife stepped
+forward and seized him by the arm.
+
+"Stop it, I tell you!" she commanded.  "Stop it!  Who's sick?
+Whose telephone's ringin'?  What letter are you talkin' about?
+Answer me!  Stop that Saint Vitus dancin' and answer me this
+minute!"
+
+She gave him a shake and his cap fell to the floor.  From it fell
+an envelope.  Lute pulled himself free and pounced upon it.
+
+"There 'tis!" he exclaimed.  "By time! I was scart I'd lost it!
+Read it, Ros! read it!"
+
+He handed me the envelope.  It bore my name.  I tore it open--took
+out the sheet of notepaper which it inclosed, and read as follows:
+
+
+"Dear Mr. Paine:
+
+"Father is very ill, and I am in great trouble.  I think you,
+perhaps, can help us both.  Will you come over at once?  PLEASE do.
+
+"Hastily yours,
+
+"MABEL COLTON."
+
+
+"And--and--" panted Lute, "she told me to tell you to please hurry.
+And you'd ought to seen her face!  She--"
+
+I heard no more.  I did not wait to get my hat, as the excited
+bearer of the note had urged me to do.  Bareheaded, I hurried out
+of the dining-room and along the path toward the Colton mansion.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+It was early in the evening, but the big house was lighted as if
+for a reception; lights in the rooms above, lights in the library
+and hall and drawing-room.  Doctor Quimby's horse and buggy stood
+by one of the hitching posts and the Colton motor car was drawn up
+by the main entrance.  From the open windows of the servants'
+quarters came the sounds of excited voices.  I hastened to the
+front door.  Before I could push the button of the electric bell
+the door was opened.  Johnson, the butler, peered out at me.  Most
+of his dignity was gone.
+
+"Is it you, Mr. Paine?" he asked, anxiously.  "Come in, sir,
+please.  Miss Mabel has been asking for you not a minute ago, sir."
+
+I entered the hall.  "What is it, Johnson?" I asked, quickly.  "How
+is Mr. Colton?"
+
+The butler looked behind him before replying.  He shook his head
+dubiously.
+
+"He's awful ill, sir," he whispered.  "The doctor's been with him
+for an hour; 'e's unconscious and Mrs. Colton is takin' on
+something terrible.  It's awful, sir, ain't it!"
+
+His nervousness was sufficient indication of the general
+demoralization of the household.  And from one of the rooms above
+came the sobs of a hysterical woman.
+
+"Brace up, man," I whispered in reply.  "This is no time for you to
+go to pieces.  Where is Miss Colton?"
+
+"She's with her father, sir.  Step into the library and I'll call
+her."
+
+He was not obliged to call her, for, at that moment, I heard her
+voice speaking from the head of the stairs.
+
+"Who is it, Johnson?" she asked, in a low tone.
+
+"It's Mr. Paine, Miss Mabel."
+
+I heard a little exclamation, of relief it seemed to me.  Then she
+appeared, descending the staircase.  Her face was, as Lute had
+said, pale, but her manner was calm, much calmer than the butler's.
+
+She came to me and extended her hand.  "Thank you for coming," she
+said.  "I was sure you would."
+
+"How is your father, Miss Colton?" I asked.
+
+"He is no worse.  Come into the library, please.  Johnson, if
+Mother or the doctor need me, I shall be in the library.  Come, Mr.
+Paine."
+
+We entered the library together.  The room in which I had had my
+two memorable encounters with "Big Jim" Colton was without its
+dominant figure now.  His big armchair was drawn up beside the
+table and the papers and writing materials were in the place where
+I had seen them.  A half-burned cigar lay in the ash tray.  But the
+strong fingers which had placed it there were weak enough now and
+the masterful general of finance was in his room upstairs fighting
+the hardest battle of his life, fighting for that life itself.  A
+door at the end of the library, a door which I had not noticed
+before, was partially open and from within sounded at intervals a
+series of sharp clicks, the click of a telegraph instrument.  I
+remembered that Colton had told me, in one of his conversations,
+that he had both a private telephone and telegraph in his house.
+
+Miss Colton closed the door behind us, and turned to me.
+
+"Thank you for coming," she said, again.  "I need help and I could
+think of no one but you.  You have hurried dreadfully, haven't
+you!"
+
+She was looking at my forehead.  I caught a glimpse of my face in
+the mirror above the mantel and reached for my handkerchief.
+
+"I must have run every step of the way," I answered.  "I didn't
+realize it.  But never mind that.  Tell me about your father."
+
+"He was taken ill soon after he returned from your house.  He was
+in the library here and I heard him call.  When I reached him he
+was lying upon the couch, scarcely able to speak.  He lost
+consciousness before we could get him to his room.  The doctor says
+it is what he has feared, an attack of acute indigestion, brought
+on by anxiety and lack of rest.  It was my fault, I am afraid.
+Last night's worry--  Poor Father!"
+
+For just a moment I feared she was going to break down.  She
+covered her eyes with her hand.  But she removed it almost
+immediately.
+
+"The doctor is confident there is no great danger," she went on.
+"Danger, of course, but not the greatest.  He is still unconscious
+and will be for some time, but, if he is kept perfectly quiet and
+not permitted to worry in the least, he will soon be himself
+again."
+
+"Thank God for that!" I exclaimed, fervently.  "And your mother--
+Mrs. Colton--how, is she?"
+
+Her tone changed slightly.  I inferred that Mrs. Colton's condition
+was more trying than serious.
+
+"Mother is--well, in her nervous state any shock is disturbing.
+She is bearing the anxiety as well as we should expect."
+
+I judged that not much was expected.
+
+"It was not on account of Father's illness that I sent for you, Mr.
+Paine," she went on.  "If he had not been ill I should not have
+needed you, of course.  But there is something else.  It could not
+have happened at a more unfortunate time and I am afraid you may
+not be able to give me the help I need.  Oh, I hope you can!  I
+don't know what to do.  I know it must be dreadfully important.
+Father has been troubled about it for days.  He has been saying
+that he must go to New York.  But the doctor had warned us against
+his going and so we persuaded him to wait.  And now . . .  Sit
+down, please.  I want to ask your advice."
+
+I took the chair she indicated.  She drew another beside me and
+seated herself.
+
+"Mr. Paine--" she began.  Then, noticing my expression, she asked,
+"What is it?"
+
+"Nothing," I answered, "nothing except--  Isn't that the telegraph
+instrument I hear?  Isn't someone calling you?"
+
+"Yes, yes, it is Mr. Davis, Father's confidential man, his broker,
+in New York.  He is trying to get us, I am sure.  He telephoned an
+hour ago.  I got a part of his message and then the connection was
+broken off.  Central says there is something the matter with the
+wire, a big storm in Connecticut somewhere.  It may take a whole
+day to repair it.  And it is SO important!  It may mean--I don't
+know WHAT it may mean!  Oh, Mr. Paine, DO you know anything about
+stocks?"
+
+I looked at her blankly.
+
+"Stocks?" I repeated.
+
+"Yes, yes," a trifle impatiently.  "Stocks--the stock market--
+railroad shares--how they are bought and sold--do you know anything
+about them?"
+
+I was more puzzled than ever, but I answered as best I could.
+
+"A very little," I replied.  "I used to know a good deal about them
+once, and, of late, since I have been in the Denboro bank, my
+knowledge has been brushed up a bit.  But I am afraid it is pretty
+fragmentary."
+
+"Do you know anything about Louisville and Transcontinental?"
+
+I started.  Louisville and Transcontinental was the one stock about
+which I did know something.  Of late I had read everything the
+papers printed concerning it.  It was the stock in which George
+Taylor had risked so much and which had come so near to ruining
+him.  No wonder I was startled.  Why did she mention that
+particular stock?
+
+"What?" I stammered.
+
+"Louisville and Transcontinental," she repeated, eagerly.  "DO you
+know anything about it?  Why do you look at me like that?"
+
+I must be careful.  It was not possible that she could have learned
+George's secret.  No one knew that except George himself, and his
+brokers, and I.  Yet--yet why did she ask that question?  I must be
+on my guard.
+
+"I did not realize that I was looking at you in any extraordinary
+way, Miss Colton," I answered.
+
+"But you were.  Why?  Do you know anything about it?  If you do--
+oh, if you do you may be able to help me, to advise me!  And, for
+Father's sake, I want advice so much."
+
+For her father's sake!  That did not sound as if her question
+concerned George or me.  A trifle reassured, I tried to remember
+something of what I had read.
+
+"I know, of course," I answered, slowly, "what every one knows,
+that the California and Eastern has been, or is reported to have
+been, trying to get control of the L. and T.  Its possession would
+give the California people the balance of power and mean the end of
+the present rate war with the Consolidated Pacific.  The common
+stock has fluctuated between 30 and 50 for months and there have
+been all sorts of rumors.  So much the newspapers have made common
+property.  That is all I know."
+
+"You did not know then that Father and his associates control the
+California and Eastern?"
+
+I leaned back in my chair.
+
+"No," I said, "I did not know that.  Then your father--"
+
+"Father tells me a great deal concerning his business affairs.  I
+have been very much interested in this.  It seems almost like a
+great war and as if Father were a general.  He and his associates
+have gradually bought up the C. and E. until they practically own
+it.  And they have been working to get the Louisville road.  Last
+winter, you remember, there was a great excitement and the stock
+went up and then down again.  That was when it looked as if the
+other side--the Consolidated Pacific--had beaten Father, but they
+had not.  You remember that?"
+
+I remembered it.  That is to say, George had told me of the rise
+and fall of the stock.  It was then that he had bought.
+
+"Yes," I said, "I remember something of it."
+
+"If Father had stayed in New York he would have won before this.
+Oh," with a burst of pride, "they can NEVER beat him when he is
+leading the fight himself!  He has, through his brokers, been
+selling--what do they call it?  Oh, yes, selling the Louisville
+stock 'short' ever since.  I am not sure just what that means, but
+perhaps you know."
+
+"I think I do," I answered, thoughtfully.  "He has been selling,
+quietly, so as to force the stock down, preparatory to buying in.
+I remember the papers have said that the C. and E. were reported as
+having lost interest in the Louisville.  That was only a blind, I
+presume."
+
+"Yes.  Father never gives up, you know that.  But he was very
+anxious that the Consolidated Pacific people should think he had.
+And now--now, when he is so ill--comes this!  Mr. Davis telephoned
+that--  Yes, what is it?"
+
+There had been a knock at the door.  It opened and the butler
+appeared.
+
+"A telegram for Mr. Colton, Miss Mabel," he said.
+
+"Give it to me.  Tell the man to wait, Johnson.  It is from Mr.
+Davis," she exclaimed, turning to me.  "I am sure it is.  Yes.
+See!"
+
+She handed me the yellow telegram.  I read the following aloud:
+
+
+"James W. Colton,
+
+"Denboro, Mass.
+
+"Galileo potato soap currency tomato deeds command army alcohol
+thief weather family--"
+
+
+"What on earth--!" I exclaimed.
+
+"That is in the code, Father's private code.  Don't you see?  The
+code book is here somewhere.  I must find it."
+
+She was rummaging in the drawer of the desk.  With a sigh of relief
+she produced a little blue leather-covered book.
+
+"Here it is," she said.  "Now read me the telegram and I will write
+the translation.  Hurry!"
+
+I read again:
+
+"'Galileo'--"
+
+"That means 'Consolidated Pacific'.  Go on."
+
+It took us five minutes to translate the telegram.  When we had
+finished the result was:
+
+"Consolidated Pacific crowd wise situation.  Strong buying close
+market to-day.  Expect worse to-morrow.  We are bad shape.  Can
+deliver only part.  Sure big advance opening and more follow.  What
+shall I do?  Why do not you answer private telegraph line?
+Telephone out order.  Wire instructions immediately.  Better still
+come yourself.  Davis."
+
+"Is that all?" asked Miss Colton.  "What answer shall we make?"
+
+"Wait.  Wait, please, until I dig some sort of sense out of all
+this.  'Wise situation'--"
+
+"Wise TO situation, I presume that means.  The Consolidated Pacific
+is wise to the situation.  'Wise' is slang, isn't it?  It used to
+be at college."
+
+"It is yet, even in Denboro.  Humph! let me think.  'Sure big
+advance opening.'  I suppose that means the market will open with
+Louisville and Transcontinental at a higher figure and that the
+price is sure to advance during the day."
+
+"Yes.  Yes, it must mean that.  But why should Mr. Davis be so
+excited about it?  He said something about 'ruin' over the 'phone.
+What does 'We are bad shape' mean?  And 'Can deliver only part'?"
+
+"I don't know . . . unless . . .  Humph!  If we had some particulars.
+Why don't you answer on the private telegraph, as he says?"
+
+"Because I can't.  Don't you see?  I can't.  There is no telegraph
+operator in the house.  When we first came Father had a secretary,
+who could use the telegraph; but he sent him back to New York.
+Said he was sick of the sight of him.  They did not get on well
+together."
+
+"But your father must have used the telegraph since."
+
+"Yes.  Father used it himself.  He was a telegraph operator when he
+was a young man.  Oh, you don't know what a wonderful man my father
+is!  His story is like something in a book.  He--  But never mind
+that.  Hark! there is the instrument going again.  It must be
+dreadfully important.  Mr. Davis is so worried."
+
+"He seems to be, certainly."
+
+"But what shall we do?"
+
+"I wish I knew, but I don't.  You know nothing of the particulars?"
+
+"No.  Nothing more than I have told you.  Oh, CAN'T you help me?  I
+feel somehow as if Father had left me in charge of his affairs and
+as if I must not fail.  Now, when he is helpless! when he is . . .
+Oh, can't YOU do something, Mr. Paine?  I thought you might.  You
+are a banker."
+
+"A poor imitation only, I am afraid.  Let me think.  Did you tell
+this man Davis of your father's illness?"
+
+"No.  I thought perhaps Father would not wish it.  And I had no
+opportunity . . .  Oh, dear! there is someone at the door again!
+Who is it?"
+
+Johnson's voice replied.  "It is me, Miss Mabel," he said.  "The
+telegraph person says he can't wait any longer.  He 'asn't 'ad his
+supper.  And there is a twenty-five-cent charge for bringing the
+message, Miss."
+
+"Tell him he must wait a minute longer," I answered, for her.
+"Miss Colton, it seems to me that, whether we can do anything or
+not, we should know the particulars.  Tell that man--Phineas
+Cahoon, the depot master, I suppose it is--that there is an answer
+and he must wait for it.  Now let's consult that code."
+
+She took the code book and I picked up a sheet of paper and a
+pencil from the table.
+
+"We must ask him to send all the particulars," I declared.  "Look
+up 'send' in the code, Miss Colton."
+
+She was turning the pages of the little book when the butler
+knocked once more.
+
+"He says he can't send any message until morning, Miss Mabel.  The
+telegraph office closes at eight o'clock."
+
+The code book fell to the table.  Miss Colton stared helplessly at
+me.
+
+"What SHALL we do?" she breathed.
+
+I rose to my feet.  "Wait, Johnson," I called.  "Make that man wait
+a moment longer.  Miss Colton, I have an idea.  Would your father
+be willing to--but, that is silly!  Of course he would!  I'll see
+Cahoon myself."
+
+I found Phineas, long-legged and gaunt, sitting on the front step
+of the colonial portico.  He had been invited into the hall, but
+had refused the invitation.  "I had on my workin' duds," he
+explained later.  "A feller that's been handlin' freight all the
+afternoon ain't fit to set on gold-plated furniture."  He looked up
+in surprise as I came out.
+
+"Well, for thunder sakes!" he exclaimed, in astonishment.  "It's
+Ros Paine!  What in the nation are you doin' in here, Ros?  Ain't
+married into the family, have ye?  Haw, haw!"
+
+I could have kicked him for that pleasantry--if he had not been
+just then too important a personage to kick.  As it was, his chance
+remark knocked my errand out of my head, momentarily.
+
+"How's the old man, Ros?" he whispered.  "They tell me it's brought
+on by high livin', champagne wine and such.  Is it?"
+
+"Phin," said I, ignoring the question, "would you stay up all night
+for twenty dollars?"
+
+He stared at me.
+
+"What kind of conundrum's that?" he demanded.  "'Would I set up all
+night for twenty dollars?'  That may be a joke, but--"
+
+"Would you?  I mean it.  Mr. Colton is sick and his daughter needs
+some one to send and receive messages over their private telegraph
+wire.  She will pay you twenty dollars--or I will, if she doesn't--
+if you will stay here and do that for her.  Will you?"
+
+For a minute he sat there staring at me.
+
+"You mean it, Ros?" he asked, slowly.  "You do, hey!  I thought
+p'raps--but no, it's long past April Fool day.  WILL I do it?  Show
+me the telegraph place quick, afore I wake up and come out of the
+ether.  Twenty dollars!  Consarn it, I send messages all the week
+for twelve, and hustle freight and sell tickets into the bargain.
+I ain't had no supper, but never mind.  Make it twenty-five and
+I'll stay all day to-morrer."
+
+I led him into the library and explained his presence to Miss
+Colton.  She was delighted.
+
+"It is SO good of you, Mr. Cahoon," she exclaimed.  "And you shan't
+starve, either.  I will have some supper sent in to you at once.
+You can eat it while you are at work, can't you?"
+
+She hurried out to order the supper.  Phineas, in accordance with
+my request, seated himself in the little room adjoining the
+library, before the telegraph instrument.
+
+"Thunder!" he observed, looking about him.  "I never expected to
+send messages for King Solomon in all his glory, but I cal'late I
+can stand it if Sol can.  S'pose there'd be any objection to my
+takin' off my coat?  Comes more nat'ral to work in my shirt
+sleeves."
+
+I bade him take it off and he did so.
+
+"This feller's in some hurry," he said, nodding toward the clicking
+instrument.  "Shall I tell him we're on deck and ready for
+business?"
+
+"Yes, tell him."
+
+His long fingers busied themselves with the sender.  A sharp series
+of clicks answered the call.  Phineas glanced apprehensively out
+into the library.
+
+"Say, he ain't no parson, is he?" he chuckled.  "Wants to know what
+in hell has been the trouble all this time.  What'll I tell him?"
+
+"Tell him to send particulars concerning L. and T. at once.  All
+the particulars."
+
+The message was sent.  The receiver rattled a hasty reply.
+
+"He says you know all the particulars already.  You must know 'em.
+Wants to know if this is Mr. Colton."
+
+"Tell him Mr. Colton is here, in the house.  That will be true
+enough.  And say we wish all particulars, figures and all.  We want
+to know just where we stand."
+
+The demand for particulars was forwarded.  There was more clicking.
+
+"Give me a piece of paper and a pencil, quick," urged Phineas.
+"This is a long feller."
+
+While he was writing the "long feller," as the telegraph ticked it
+off, Miss Colton and the butler appeared, the latter bearing a
+loaded tray.  He drew a little table up beside the operator and
+placed the tray upon it.  Then he went away.  The telegraph clicked
+and clicked and Cahoon wrote.  Miss Colton and I watched him
+anxiously.
+
+"Say," observed Phineas, between intervals of clicks, "this
+feller's in some loony asylum, ain't he.  This is pretty nigh as
+crazy as that message I fetched down. . . .  Here 'tis.  Maybe you
+folks know what it means, I don't.  It's forty fathoms long, ain't
+it."
+
+It was long enough, surely.  It was not all in the code jargon--
+Davis trusted the privacy of the wire sufficiently to send a
+portion of it in plain English--but he did not trust even that
+altogether.  Miss Colton and I worked it out as we had the first
+telegram.  As the translation progressed I could feel my hair
+tingling at the roots.
+
+Was it to help in such a complication as this that I had been
+summoned?  I, of all people!  These waters were too deep for me.
+
+Boiled down, the "particulars" for which Davis had been asked, and
+which he had sent, amounted to this:  Colton, it seemed, had sold
+L. and T. "short" for a considerable period of time in order, as I
+had surmised, to force down the price and buy in at a reasonable
+figure.  He had sold, in this way, about three-eighths of the
+common stock.  Of this amount he had in his possession--in his
+broker's possession, that is--but two of the eighths.  The "other
+crowd"--the Consolidated Pacific, presumably--had, as Davis now
+discovered, three-eighths actual certificates, in its pocket, had
+been acquiring them, on the quiet, while pretending to have lost
+interest.  The public, unsuspecting powers in this, as in most of
+Wall Street little games, had still three-eighths.  The "other
+crowd," knowing "Big Jim's" position, had but to force immediate
+delivery of the missing one-eighth--the amount of Colton's over-
+selling--and he might be obliged to pay Heaven knew what for the
+shares.  He MUST acquire them; he must buy them.  And the price
+which he would be forced to pay might mean--perhaps not bankruptcy
+for him, the millionaire--but certainly the loss of a tremendous
+sum and all chance of acquiring control of the road.  "This has
+been sprung on us all at once," wired Davis.  "They have got us
+cold.  What shall I do?  You must be here yourself before the
+market opens."
+
+And the man who "must be there himself" was critically ill and
+unconscious!
+
+The long telegram, several hundred words of it, was before us.  I
+read it through again, and Miss Colton sat and looked at me.
+
+"Do you understand it--now?" she whispered, anxiously.
+
+"Yes, I think I do. . . .  What is it, Phin?"
+
+"I was just wonderin'," drawled Cahoon's voice from the adjoining
+room, "if I couldn't eat a little mite of this supper.  I've got to
+do it or have my nose and eyes tied up.  Havin' all them good
+things settin' right where I can see and smell 'em is givin' me the
+fidgets."
+
+"Yes, yes, eat away," I said, laughing.  And even Miss Colton
+smiled.  But my laugh and her smile were but transient.
+
+"Is it--  Does it mean that things are VERY wrong?" she asked,
+indicating the telegram.
+
+"They are very serious; there is no doubt of that."
+
+The instrument clicked.
+
+"Say, Ros," said Phin, his mouth full, "this feller's gettin' as
+fidgety as I was afore I got afoul of this grub.  He wants to know
+what his instructions are.  What'll he do?"
+
+"What shall you tell him?" asked Miss Colton.
+
+"I don't know," I answered.  "I do not know.  I am afraid I am of
+no use whatever.  This is no countryman's job.  No country banker,
+even a real one, should attempt to handle this.  This is high
+finance with a vengeance.  I don't know.  I think he . . .  Suppose
+we tell him to consult the people at your father's office."
+
+She shook her head.  "No," she said.  "The people at the office
+know nothing of it.  This was Father's own personal affair.  No one
+knows of it but Mr. Davis."
+
+"How about them instructions?" this from Cahoon.
+
+"Tell him--yes, tell him Mr. Colton cannot leave here at present
+and that he must use his own judgment, go ahead on his own
+responsibility.  That is the only thing I see to do, Miss Colton.
+Don't worry; he must be a man of experience and judgment or your
+father never would use him.  He will pull it through, I am sure."
+
+I was by no means as confident as I pretended to be, however, and
+the next message from Davis proved my forebodings to be well
+founded.  His answer was prompt and emphatic:
+
+
+Matter too important.  Decline to take responsibility.  Must have
+definite instructions or shall not act.  Is this Mr. Colton
+himself?
+
+
+"He would not act without Father's orders in a matter like this.  I
+was afraid of it.  And he is growing suspicious.  Oh, CAN'T you
+help me, Mr. Paine?  CAN'T you?  I relied on you.  I felt sure YOU
+would know what to do.  I am--I am SO alone; and with Father so
+ill--I--I--"
+
+She turned away and leaned her head upon her hand on the table.  I
+felt again the desperate impulse I had felt when we were alone on
+board the launch, the impulse to take her in my arms and try to
+comfort her, to tell her that I would do anything--anything for
+her.  And yet what could I do?
+
+"Can't you help me?" she pleaded.  "You have never failed me
+before."
+
+There came a knock at the door and Johnson's voice called her name.
+
+"Miss Mabel," he whispered, "Miss Mabel, will you come, please?
+The doctor wants you right away."
+
+She rose quickly, drawing her hand across her eyes as she did so.
+
+"I am coming, Johnson," she said.  Then, turning to me, "I will be
+back as soon as I can.  Do try--try to think.  You MUST, for
+Father's sake, for all our sakes."
+
+She left the room.  I rose and, with my hands in my pockets, began
+to pace the floor.  This was the tightest place I had ever been in.
+There had been a time, years before, when I prided myself on my
+knowledge of the stock market and its idiosyncrasies.  Then, in the
+confidence of youth, I might have risen to a situation like this,
+might have tackled it and had the nerve to pull it through or blame
+the other fellow if I failed.  Now I was neither youthful nor
+confident.  Whatever I did would be, in all human probability, the
+wrong thing, and to do the wrong thing now meant, perhaps, ruin for
+the sick man upstairs.  And she had trusted me!  She had sent for
+me in her trouble!  I had "never failed her before"!
+
+I walked the floor, trying hard to think.  It was hard to think
+calmly, to be sensible, and yet I realized that common-sense and
+coolness were what I needed now.  I tried to remember the outcome
+of similar situations in financial circles, but that did not help
+me.  I remembered a play I had seen, "The Henrietta" was its name.
+In that play, a young man with more money than brains had saved the
+day for his father, a Wall Street magnate, by buying a certain
+stock in large quantities at a critical time.  He arrived at his
+decision to buy, rather than sell, by tossing a coin.  The father
+had declared that his son had hit upon the real secret of success
+in stock speculation.  Possibly the old gentleman was right, but I
+could not make my decision in that way.  No, whatever I did must
+have some reason to back it.  Was there no situation, outside of
+Wall Street, which offered a parallel?  After all, what was the
+situation?  Some one wished to buy a certain thing, and some one
+else wished to buy it also.  Neither party wanted the other to get
+it.  There had been a general game of bluff and then . . .  Humph!
+Why, in a way, it was like the original bidding for the Shore Lane
+land.
+
+It was like it, and yet it was not.  I owned the land and Colton
+wanted to buy it; so also did Jed Dean.  Each side had made bids
+and had been refused.  Then the bidders had, professedly, stood
+pat, but, in reality, they had not.  Jed had told me, in his latest
+interview, that he would have paid almost anything for that land,
+if he had had to.  And Colton--Colton had invented the Bay Shore
+Development Company.  That company had fooled Elnathan Mullet and
+other property holders.  It had fooled Captain Jed.  It had come
+very near to fooling me.  If Mabel Colton had not given me the hint
+I might have been tricked into selling.  Then Colton would have
+won, have won on a "bluff."  A good bluff did sometimes win.  I
+wondered . . .
+
+I was still pacing the floor when Miss Colton returned to the
+library.  She was trying hard to appear calm, but I could see that
+she was greatly agitated.
+
+"What is it?" I asked.  "Is he--"
+
+"He is not as well just now.  I--I must not leave him--or Mother.
+But I came back for a moment, as I told you I would.  Is there
+anything new?"
+
+"No.  Davis has repeated his declaration to do nothing without
+orders from your father."
+
+She nodded.  "Very well," she said, "then it is over.  We are
+beaten--Father is beaten for the first time.  It makes little
+difference, I suppose.  If he--if he is taken from us, nothing else
+matters.  But I hoped you . . . never mind.  I thank you, Mr.
+Paine.  You would have helped him if you could, I know."
+
+Somehow this surrender, and the tone in which it was made, stirred
+me more than all else.  She had trusted me and I had failed.  I
+would not have it so.
+
+"Miss Colton," I said, earnestly, "suppose--suppose I should go
+ahead and make this fight, on my own hook.  Suppose I should give
+Davis the 'instructions' he is begging for.  Have I permission to
+do it?"
+
+She looked at me in surprise.  "Of course," she said, simply.
+
+"Do you mean it?  It may mean complete smash.  I am no railroad
+man, no stock manipulator.  I have an idea and if this trouble were
+mine I should act upon it.  But it is not mine.  It is your
+father's--and yours.  I may be crazy to risk such a thing--"
+
+She stepped forward.  "Do it," she commanded.  "I tell you to do
+it.  If it fails I will take the responsibility."
+
+"That you shall not do.  But I will take the chance.  Phin!"
+
+"Yup; here I be."
+
+"Send this message at once:  'Try your hardest to get hold of any
+shares you can, at almost any figure in reason, before the market
+opens.  When it opens begin buying everything offered.'  Got that?"
+
+"Yup.  I've got it."
+
+"Sign it 'Colton' and send it along.  I am using your father's
+name," I added, turning to her.  "It seems to me the only way to
+avoid suspicion and get action.  No one must know that 'Big Jim' is
+critically ill; you understand that."
+
+"Yes, I understand.  But," hesitatingly, "to buy may mean paying
+tremendous prices, may it not?  Can we--"
+
+"We must.  Here is Davis's reply coming.  What is it, Phin?"
+
+Cahoon read off the message as the receiver clicked.
+
+
+"You are insane.  Buying at such prices will be suicide."
+
+
+"Tell him no.  Tell him to let it leak out that Colton is seizing
+the opportunity to clinch his control of the road.  The other crowd
+will think, if he is willing to buy at any price, that he cannot be
+so short as they supposed.  Send all that, Phin.  It is a bluff,
+Miss Colton, nothing but a bluff, but it may win.  God knows I hope
+it will."
+
+She did not answer.  Together we waited for the reply.  It came as
+follows:
+
+
+All right if you say so, of course, but still think it suicide.  I
+am off on the still hunt for those shares but don't believe one to
+be had, Consolidated bunch too sharp for that.  Stay by the wire.
+Will report when I can.  Good luck and good-by.
+
+
+"He's gone, I cal'late," observed Phineas.  "Need me any more, do
+you think?"
+
+"Yes.  You must stay here all night, just as I told you."
+
+"Right you be.  Send word to the old woman, that's all, if you can.
+Cal'late she's waitin' at the kitchen door with a rollin' pin, by
+this time."
+
+"I will send the word, Mr. Cahoon," replied Miss Colton.  "And--
+don't you think you could go home now, Mr. Paine?  I know how
+exhausted you must be, after last night."
+
+"No home for me," I answered, with assumed cheerfulness.  "Admirals
+of Finance are expected to stick by the ship.  I will lie down here
+on the couch and Phineas can call me if I am needed.  Don't worry,
+Miss Colton.  Go to your father and forget us altogether, if you
+can.  If--if I should be needed for--for any other cause, please
+speak."
+
+She looked at me in silence for a moment.  Then she came toward me
+and held out her hand.  "I shall not forget, whatever else I may
+do," she said, brokenly.  "And I will speak if I need you, my
+friend."
+
+She turned hastily and went to the door.
+
+"I will send word to your people as well as Mr. Cahoon's," she
+added.  "Try and sleep, if you can.  Good night."
+
+The door closed behind her.  Sleep!  I was not likely to sleep.  A
+man who has lighted the fuse of the powder magazine beneath him
+does not sleep much.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+
+And yet sleep I did, for a little while, just before morning broke.
+I had spent the night pacing the floor and talking to Phineas, who
+was wide awake and full of stories and jokes, to which I paid
+little attention.  Miss Colton did not come to the library again.
+From the rooms above I heard occasional sobs and exclamations in
+Mrs. Colton's voice.  Once Doctor Quimby peeped in.  He looked
+anxious and weary.
+
+"Hello, Ros!" he hailed, "I heard you were here.  This is a high
+old night, isn't it!"
+
+"How is he?" I asked.
+
+"About the same.  No worse; in fact, he's better than he was a
+while ago.  But he's not out of the woods yet, though I'm pretty
+hopeful, for the old boy has a husky constitution--considering the
+chances he's taken with it all his life.  It's his wife that
+bothers me.  She's worse than one of the plagues of Egypt.  I've
+given her some sleeping powders now; they'll keep her quiet for a
+spell, I hope."
+
+"And Miss Colton--how is she?"
+
+"She!  She's as calm and sensible and helpful as a trained nurse.
+By the Almighty, she is a wonder, that girl!  Well, I must get back
+on my job.  Don't have a millionaire patient every day in the
+week."
+
+At three o'clock came a message from Davis.  He had not been able
+to secure a single share.  Did his instructions to buy still hold?
+I answered that they did and he replied that he was going to get a
+nap for an hour or so.  "I shall need the rest, if I am any
+prophet," he concluded.
+
+It was shortly after this that I lay down on the couch.  I had
+determined not to close my eyes, but I was utterly worn out, I
+suppose, and exhaustion got the better of me.  The next thing I
+knew the gray light of dawn was streaming in at the library windows
+and Johnson was spreading a tempting-looking breakfast on the
+table.
+
+I sprang up.
+
+"What time is it?" I demanded.
+
+"About half-past five, sir, or thereabouts," was the answer, in a
+tone of mingled weariness and resentment.  Plainly Mr. Johnson had
+been up all night and considered himself imposed upon.
+
+I was thankful that my lapse from duty had been of no longer
+duration.  It had been much too long as it was.
+
+"How is Mr. Colton?" I asked.
+
+"Better, sir, I believe.  He is resting more quiet at present."
+
+"Where is Cahoon?"
+
+"Here I be," this from Phineas in the next room.  "Have a good
+snooze, did you, Ros?"
+
+"Too good."  I walked in and found him still sitting by the
+telegraph instrument.  "Has anything happened?" I asked.
+
+"Nary thing.  All quiet as the tomb since that last message, the
+one you heard.  Pretty nigh fell asleep myself, I did.  Guess I
+should have, only Miss Colton she came in and kept me comp'ny for a
+spell."
+
+"Miss Colton--has she been here?  Why didn't you call me, Ros?"
+
+"I was goin' to, but she wouldn't let me.  Said you was all wore
+out, poor feller, and that you wan't to be disturbed unless 'twas
+necessary.  She's an awful nice young woman, ain't she.  Nothin'
+stuck up about her, at all.  Set here and talked with me just as
+sociable and folksy as if she wan't wuth a cent.  Asked more
+questions than a few, she did."
+
+"Did she?"  I was not paying much attention to his remarks.  My
+mind was busy with more important things.  I was wondering what
+Davis was doing just then.  Phin went on.
+
+"Yup.  I happened to remember that you wan't at the bank to-day and
+I asked her if she knew the reason why.  'How did you know he
+wasn't there?' says she.  'Alvin Baker told me fust,' I says, 'and
+Sam Wheeler told him.  Everybody knew it and was wonderin' about
+it.  They cal'lated Ros was sick,' I told her, 'but that couldn't
+be or he wouldn't be round here settin' up all night.'  What WAS
+the reason you wan't there, Ros?"
+
+I thought it strange that he, and everyone else in town, did not
+know the reason before this.  Was it possible that Captain Dean
+alone knew of my "treason" to Denboro, and that he was keeping the
+discovery to himself?  Why should he keep it to himself?  He had
+threatened to drive me out of town.
+
+"I had other business to-day, Phin," I answered, shortly.
+
+"Yup.  So I gathered from what Cap'n Jed said.  He was in the depot
+this noon sendin' a telegram and I asked him about you.  'Is Ros
+sick?' I says.  'Huh!' says he--you know how he grunts, Ros; for
+all the world like a hog--'Huh!' says he, 'sick!  No, but I
+cal'late he'll be pretty sick afore long.'  What did he mean by
+that, do you s'pose?"
+
+I knew, but I did not explain.  I made no reply.
+
+"Twas a queer sort of talk, seemed to me," continued Phin.  "I
+asked him again why you wan't at the bank, and he said you had
+other business, just same as you said now.  He was ugly as a cow
+with a sore horn over somethin' and I judged 'twas best to keep
+still.  That telegram he sent was a surprisin' thing, too.  'Twas
+to--but there! he made me promise I wouldn't tell and so I mustn't.
+I ain't told a soul--except one--and then it slipped out afore I
+thought.  However, that one won't make no difference.  She ain't
+interested in--in the one the telegram was sent to, 'tain't
+likely."
+
+"Where is Miss Colton now?" I asked.
+
+"With her ma and pa, I presume likely.  Her and me set and
+whispered together for a long spell.  Land sakes! she wouldn't let
+me speak louder'n a whisper for fear of wakin' you up.  A body'd
+think you was a young-one in arms, the care she took of you."
+
+Again I did not answer, and again the garrulous station master
+continued without waiting for a reply.
+
+"I says to her, says I, 'It's a pity George Taylor ain't to home,'
+I says.  'I shouldn't wonder if he could help you with this
+Louisville stock you're so worried about.  George was consider'ble
+interested in that stock himself a spell ago.  I sent much as a
+dozen telegrams from him about that very stock to some broker folks
+up to Boston, and they was mighty anxious telegrams, too.  I tell
+you!' I says."
+
+He had caught my attention at last.
+
+"Did you tell her that?" I demanded.
+
+"Sure I did!  I never meant to, nuther.  Ain't told another soul.
+You see, George, he asked me not to.  But she's got a way with her
+that would make Old Nick confess his sins, if she set out to larn
+'em.  I was sort of ashamed after I told her and I explained to her
+that I hadn't ought to done it.  'But I guess it's all right now,
+anyway,' I says.  'If there was any trouble along of George and
+that stock I cal'late it's all over.  He acted dreadful worried for
+a spell, but for the week afore he was married he seemed chipper as
+ever.  Biggest change in him you ever see,' says I.  'So my tellin'
+you is all right, I guess,' I says.  'I'm sure it's all right,'
+says she, and her face kind of lighted up, as you might say.  When
+she looked at me that way I'd have given her my house and lot, if
+she'd wanted 'em, though you needn't tell my old woman that I said
+so.  He! he!  'Of course it's all right,' she says.  'But you had
+better not tell anyone else.  We'll have it for our secret, won't
+we, Mr. Cahoon?' she says, smilin'.  'Sartin we will,' says I.
+And--well, by thunder!" as if the thought occurred to him for the
+first time.  "I said that, and now I've been and blatted out the
+whole business to you!  I am the DARNDEST fool!"
+
+I did not contradict him.  I was too angry and disturbed even to
+speak to him for the moment.  And, before I could speak, we were
+interrupted.  The young lady herself appeared in the doorway.  SHE
+had not slept, that was plain.  Her face was pale and there were
+dark shadows beneath her eyes.  As I looked at her I was more
+ashamed of my own unpremeditated nap than ever.  Yet she was, as
+the doctor had said, calm and uncomplaining.  She even smiled as
+she greeted us.
+
+"Good morning," she said.  "Your breakfast is ready, Mr. Cahoon.  I
+know you feel that you must be getting back to your work at the
+station."
+
+Phineas pulled out an enormous nickel watch and glanced at it.
+
+"Land sakes! most six, ain't it," he exclaimed.  "I guess you're
+right.  I'll have to be trottin' along.  But you needn't fuss for
+no breakfast for me.  I'm used to missin' a meal's vittles now and
+again and I et enough last night to last me one spell."
+
+He was hurrying from the room, but she would not let him go.
+
+"There has been no 'fuss' whatever, Mr. Cahoon," she said.
+"Breakfast is ready, here in the library.  And yours is ready, too,
+Mr. Paine.  I hope your few minutes' sleep has rested you.  I am
+sorry you woke so soon.  I told Johnson to be careful and not
+disturb you."
+
+"I deserve to be shot for sleeping at all," I declared, in self
+reproach.  "I did not mean to.  I lay down for a moment and--well,
+I suppose I was rather tired."
+
+"I know.  Last night's experience was enough to tire anyone."
+
+"Nonsense!  It was no worse for me than for you," I said.
+
+"Yes, it was.  You had the care and the responsibility.  I, you
+see, knew that I was well guarded.  Besides, I slept for hours this
+morning.  Come, both of you.  Breakfast is ready."
+
+Phineas was already seated at the table, glancing over his shoulder
+at the butler, whose look of dignified disgust at being obliged to
+wait upon a countryman in his shirt sleeves would have been funny,
+if I had been in a mood for fun.  I don't know which was the more
+uncomfortable, Cahoon or the butler.
+
+"Won't you join us, Miss Colton?" I asked.
+
+"Why--why, yes, perhaps I will, if you don't mind.  I am not hungry
+but I will take a cup of coffee, Johnson."
+
+Phineas did almost all the talking while he remained with us, which
+was not long.  He swallowed his breakfast in a tremendous hurry, a
+proceeding which still further discomposed the stately Johnson, and
+then rose and put on his coat.
+
+"I hate to leave you short handed and on a lee shore, Miss," he
+explained, apologetically; "but I know you understand how 'tis with
+me.  My job's all I've got and I'll have to hang onto it.  The up
+train's due in forty minutes and I've got to be on hand at the
+deepo.  However, I've got that Davis feller's address and I'll
+raise him the first thing to send his messages to me and I'll get
+'em right down here by the reg'lar telephone.  He can use that--
+what-do-you-call-it?--that code thing, if he's scart of anybody's
+findin' out what he says.  The boss school-marm of all creation
+couldn't read that gibberish without the book."
+
+I hated to have him go, but there was no alternative.  After he had
+gone and she and I were left together at the table a sense of
+restraint seemed to fall upon us both.  To see her sitting opposite
+me at the table, pouring my coffee and breakfasting with me in this
+intimate, family fashion, was so wonderful and strange that I could
+think of nothing else.  It reminded me, in a way, of our luncheon
+at Seabury's Pond, but that had been out of doors, an impromptu
+picnic, with all a picnic's surroundings.  This was different,
+quite different.  It was so familiar, so homelike, so conventional,
+and yet, for her and me, so impossible.  I looked at her and she,
+looking up at the moment, caught my eyes.  The color mounted to her
+cheeks.  I felt my own face flushing.  Dorinda--practical,
+unromantic Dorinda--had guessed my feeling for this girl; Mother
+had divined it.  It was plain enough for anyone to read.  I glanced
+apprehensively at the butler, half expecting to see upon his
+clerical countenance the look of scornful contempt which would
+prove that he, too, was possessed of the knowledge.  But he merely
+bent forward with a deferential, "Yes, sir.  What is it?" and I
+meekly requested another roll.  Then I began, desperately, to talk.
+
+I inquired about Mr. Colton's condition and was told that he was,
+or appeared to be, a trifle better.  Mrs. Colton was, at last,
+thanks to the doctor's powders, asleep.  Johnson left the room for
+the moment and I switched to the subject which neither of us had
+mentioned since the night before, the Louisville and Transcontinental
+muddle.  I explained what had been done and pretended a confidence
+which I did not feel that everything would end well.  She listened,
+but, it seemed to me, she was not as interested as I expected.  At
+length she interrupted me.
+
+"Suppose we do not talk about it now," she said.  "As I understand
+it, you--we, that is--have made up our minds.  We have decided to
+do certain things which seem to us right.  Right or wrong, they
+must be done now.  I am trying very hard to believe them right and
+not to worry any more about them.  Oh, I CAN'T worry!  I can't!
+With all the rest, I--I--  Please let us change the subject.  Mr.
+Paine, I am afraid you must think me selfish.  I have said nothing
+about your own trouble.  Father--" she choked on the name, but
+recovered her composure almost immediately--"Father told me, after
+his return from your house this morning, that his purchase of the
+land had become public and that you were in danger of losing your
+position at the bank."
+
+I smiled.  "That danger is past," I answered.  "I have lost it.
+Captain Dean gave me my walking papers this morning."
+
+"Oh, I am so sorry!"
+
+"I am not.  I expected it.  The wonder is only that it has not
+happened before.  I realized that it was inevitable when I made up
+my mind to sell.  It is of no consequence, Miss Colton."
+
+"Yes, it is.  But Father offered you the position in his employ.
+He said you refused, but he believed your refusal was not final."
+
+"He was wrong.  It is final."
+
+"But--"
+
+"I had rather not discuss that, Miss Colton."
+
+She looked at me oddly, and with a faint smile.  "Very well," she
+said, after a moment, "we will not discuss it now.  But you cannot
+suppose that either Father or I will permit you to suffer on our
+account."
+
+"There is no suffering.  I sold the land to your father deliberately
+and with complete knowledge of the consequences.  As to the bank--
+well, I am no worse off than I was before I entered its employ.
+I am satisfied."
+
+She toyed with her coffee spoon.
+
+"Captain Dean seems to be the only person in Denboro who knows of
+the sale," she said.  "Why has he kept it a secret?"
+
+"I don't know.  Has he?"
+
+"You know he has, Mr. Paine.  Mr. Cahoon did not know of it, and he
+would be one of the first to hear.  It seems odd that the captain
+should tell no one."
+
+"Probably he is waiting for the full particulars.  He will tell,
+you may be sure of that.  His last remark to me was that he should
+drive me out of Denboro."
+
+I rather expected a burst of indignation.  In fact I was somewhat
+hurt and disappointed that it did not come.  She merely smiled once
+more.
+
+"He has not done it yet," she said.  "If he knew why you sold that
+land--your real reason for selling it--he would not drive you away,
+or try to."
+
+I was startled and alarmed.
+
+"What do you mean?" I asked quickly.
+
+"If he knew he would not drive you away, would he?"
+
+"He will never know."
+
+"Perhaps he may.  Perhaps the person for whose sake you sold it may
+tell him."
+
+"Indeed he will not!  I shall see to that."
+
+"Oh, then there is such a person!  I was sure of it before.  Now
+you have told me."
+
+Before I could recover from the mental disturbance and chagrin
+which my slip and her quick seizure of it caused me, the butler
+re-entered the room.
+
+"Mrs. Colton is awake and asking for you, Miss Mabel," he said.
+"The doctor thinks you had better go to her at once, if you
+please."
+
+With a word of apology to me, she hurried away.  I rose from the
+table.  I had had breakfast enough.  The interruption had come at a
+fortunate time for me.  Her next question might have forced me to
+decline to answer--which would have been equivalent to admitting
+the truth--or to lie.  One thing I determined to do without delay.
+I would write Taylor at once warning him to be more close-mouthed
+than ever.  Under no conditions would I permit him to speak.  If it
+were necessary I would go to Washington, where he and Nellie were
+spending their honeymoon, and make him promise to keep silence.
+His telling the truth might ruin him, and it certainly would not
+help me.  In the one essential thing--the one which was clenching
+my determination to leave Denboro as soon as I could and seek
+forgetfulness and occupation elsewhere--no one could help me.  I
+must help myself, or be miserable always.  Just now the eternal
+misery seemed inevitable, no matter what I did.
+
+Johnson cleared the table and left me alone in the library.  The
+hours passed.  Nine o'clock came, then nine-thirty.  It was almost
+time for the stock market to open.  My thoughts, which had been
+diverted from my rash plunge into the intricacies of high finance,
+began to return to it.  As ten o'clock drew near, I began to
+realize what I had bade Davis do, and to think what might happen
+because of it.  I, Roscoe Paine, no longer even a country banker,
+was at the helm of "Big Jim" Colton's bark in the maelstrom of the
+stock market.  It would have been funny if it had not been so
+desperate.  And desperate it was, sheer reckless desperation and
+nothing else.  I must have been crazier than ever, more wildly
+insane than I had been for the past month, to even think of such a
+thing.  It was not too late yet, I could telegraph Davis--
+
+The telephone on the desk--not the public, the local, 'phone, but
+the other, Colton's private wire to New York--rang.  I picked up
+the receiver.
+
+"Hello-o!  Hello-o!" a faint voice was calling.  "Is this Colton's
+house at Denboro? . . .  Yes, this is Davis. . . .  The wire is all
+right now. . . .  Is this Mr. Colton speaking?"
+
+"No," I answered, "Mr. Colton is here in the house.  You may give
+the message to me."
+
+"I want to know if his orders hold.  Am I to buy?  Ask him.  I will
+wait.  Hurry!  The market opens in five minutes."
+
+I put down the receiver.  Now was my opportunity.  I could back out
+now.  Five minutes more and it would be too late.  But if I did
+back out--what?
+
+One of the minutes passed.  Then another.  I seized the telephone.
+
+"Go ahead!" I shouted.  "Carry out your orders."
+
+A faint "All right" answered me.
+
+The die was cast.  I was in for it.  There was nothing to do but
+wait.
+
+And I waited alone.  I walked up and down the floor of the little
+room, looking at the clock and wondering what was happening on that
+crowded floor of the big Broad Street building.  The market was
+open.  Davis was buying as I had directed.  But at what figure was
+he buying?
+
+No one came near me, not even the butler.  It was ten-twenty before
+the bell rang again.
+
+"Hello!  This is Mr. Davis's office.  Is this Mr. Colton?  Tell him
+Mr. Davis says L. and T. is one hundred and fifty now and jumping
+twenty points at a lick.  There is the devil to pay.  Scarcely any
+stock in sight and next door to a panic.  Shall we go on buying?"
+
+I was trying to decide upon an answer when some one touched my
+elbow.  Miss Colton was standing beside me.  She did not speak, but
+she looked the question.
+
+I told her what I had just heard.
+
+"One hundred and fifty!" she exclaimed.  "That is--  Why, that is
+dreadful!  What will you do?"
+
+I shook my head.  "That is for you to say," I answered.
+
+"No, it is for you.  You are doing this.  I trust you.  Do what you
+think is right--you and Mr. Davis.  That is what Father would wish
+if he knew."
+
+"Davis will do nothing on his own responsibility."
+
+"Then you must do it alone.  Do it! do it!"
+
+I turned to the 'phone once more.  "Buy all you can get," I
+ordered.  "Keep on bidding.  But be sure and spread the news that
+it is Colton buying to secure control of the road, not to cover his
+shorts.  Be sure that leaks out.  Everything depends on that."
+
+I hung up the receiver.  She and I looked at each other.
+
+"What will happen, do you think?" she asked.
+
+"God knows! . . .  Are you going?  Don't go!"
+
+"I must," gently.  "Father is worse, I fear, and I must not leave
+him.  Doctor Quimby says the next few hours may tell us whether he
+is--is--whether he is to be with us or not.  I must go.  Be brave.
+I trust you.  Be brave, for--for I am trying so hard to be."
+
+I seized her hand.  She drew it from my grasp and hastened away.
+Brave!  Well, for her sake, I must be.  Yet it was because of her
+that I was such a coward.
+
+As I recall all this now I wonder at myself.  The whole thing seems
+too improbable to be true, yet true it was.  I lost my identity
+that day, I think, and, as the telephone messages kept coming, and
+the situation became more and more desperate, became some one else,
+some one a great deal braver and cooler and more clear-sighted than
+ever I had been or shall be again.  I seemed to see my course
+plainer every moment and to feel surer of myself and that my
+method--my bluff, if you like--was the only salvation.
+
+At eleven Louisville and Transcontinental was selling--the little
+that was sold--at four hundred and fifty dollars a share, on a par
+value of fifty.  At eleven-thirty it had climbed another hundred.
+The whole Street was a Bedlam, so they 'phoned me, and the
+newspapers were issuing "panic" extras.
+
+"Tell Davis to stop buying now," I ordered.  "Let it be known that
+Colton has secured control and is satisfied."
+
+At noon the figure was 700 bid and 800 asked.  There was no trading
+at all, for the sufficient reason that no shares were to be had.
+Johnson came in to ask if he should bring my luncheon.  I bade him
+clear out and let me alone.  As he was tip-toeing away I called
+after him.
+
+"How is Mr. Colton?" I asked.
+
+"Very bad indeed, sir.  Miss Mabel wished me to say that she could
+not leave him an instant.  It is the crisis, the doctor thinks."
+
+There were two crises then, one on each floor of the big house.  At
+one Davis himself 'phoned.
+
+"Still hanging around 700," he announced.  "Begins to look as if
+the top had been reached.  What shall I do now?"
+
+My plan was ready and I gave my orders as if I had been doing such
+things for years.
+
+"Sell, in small lots, at intervals," I told him.  "Then, if the
+price breaks, begin buying through another broker as cautiously as
+you can."
+
+The answer was in a different tone; there was a new note, almost of
+hope, in it.
+
+"By the Lord, I believe you have got it!" he cried.  "It may work.
+I'll report to you, Mr. Colton, right away."
+
+Plainly he had no doubt that "Big Jim" was directing the fight in
+person.  Far was it from me to undeceive him!
+
+Another interval.  Then he reported a drop of a hundred points.
+
+"The bottom is beginning to fall out, I honestly believe.  They
+think you've done 'em again.  I am spreading the report that you
+have the control cinched.  As soon as the scramble is really on
+I'll have a half dozen brokers buying for us."
+
+It was half-past two when the next message came.  It was exultant,
+triumphant.
+
+"Down like an avalanche.  Am grabbing every share offered.  We've
+got 'em, sure!"
+
+And, as three o'clock struck, came the final crow.
+
+"Hooray for our side!  They're dead and buried!  You have two
+hundred shares more than fifty per cent, of the common stock.  The
+Louisville road is in your pocket, Mr. Colton.  I congratulate you.
+Might have known they couldn't lick the old man.  You are a wonder.
+I'll write full particulars and then I am going home and to bed.
+I'm dead.  I didn't believe you could do it!  How did you?"
+
+I sat there, staring at the 'phone.  Then, all at once, I began to
+laugh, weakly and hysterically, but to laugh, nevertheless.
+
+"I--I organized a Development Company," I gasped.  "Good night."
+
+I rose from the chair and walked out into the library.  I was so
+completely fagged out by the strain I had been under that I
+staggered as I walked.  The library door opened and Johnson came
+in.  He was beaming, actually beaming with joy.
+
+"He's very much better, sir," he cried.  "He's conscious and the
+doctor says he considers 'im out of danger now.  Miss Mabel sent
+word she would be down in a short while.  She can't leave the
+mistress immediate, but she'll be down soon, sir."
+
+I looked at him in a dazed way.  "Tell Miss Colton that I am very
+glad, Johnson," I said.  "And tell her, too, that everything here
+is satisfactory also.  Tell her that Mr. Paine says her father has
+his control."
+
+"'His control!'  And what may that be, if you please, sir?"
+
+"She will understand.  Say that everything is all right, we have
+won and that Mr. Colton has his control.  Don't forget."
+
+"And--and where will you be, sir?"
+
+"I am going home, I think.  I am going home and--to bed."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+
+The next thing I remember with any distinctness is Dorinda's
+knocking at my bedroom door.  I remember reaching that bedroom, of
+course, and of meeting Lute in the kitchen and telling him that I
+was not to be disturbed, that I should not come down to supper and
+that I wanted to be let alone--to be let ALONE--until I saw fit to
+show myself.  But these memories are all foggy and mixed with
+dreams and nightmares.  As I say, the next thing that I remember
+distinctly after staggering from the Colton library is Dorinda's
+knocking at the door of my bedroom.
+
+"Ros!  Roscoe!" she was calling.  "Can you get up now?  There is
+somebody downstairs waitin' to see you."
+
+I turned over in bed and began to collect my senses.
+
+"What time is it, Dorinda?" I asked, drowsily.
+
+"About ten, or a little after."
+
+Ten!  Then I had not slept so long, after all.  It was nearly four
+when I went to bed and . . .  But what made the room so light?
+There was no lamp.  And the windows . . .  I sat up.
+
+"You don't mean to tell me it is ten o'clock IN THE FORENOON!" I
+cried.
+
+"Um-hm.  I hated to disturb you.  You've been sleepin' like the
+everlastin' hills and I knew you must be completely wore out.  But
+I felt pretty sartin you'd want to see the--who 'tis that here's to
+see you, so I decided to wake you up."
+
+"It is high time you did, I should think!  I'll be down in a
+minute.  Who is it that wishes to see me, Dorinda?"
+
+But Dorinda had gone.  I dressed hurriedly and descended the stairs
+to the dining-room.  There, seated in a chair by the door, his eyes
+closed, his chin resting upon his chest, and his aristocratic nose
+proclaiming the fact that he slumbered, was Johnson, the Colton
+butler.  I was not greatly surprised.  I had rather suspected that
+my caller might be he, or some other messenger from the big house.
+
+He started at the sound of my entrance and awoke.
+
+"I--I beg your pardon, sir," he stammered.  "I--I beg your pardon,
+sir, I'm sure.  I've been--I 'aven't closed my eyes for the past
+two nights, sir, and I am tired out.  Mr. Colton wishes to see you
+at once, sir.  He wishes you to come over immediately."
+
+I was surprised now.  "MR. Colton wishes it," I repeated.  "You
+mean Miss Colton, don't you, Johnson."
+
+"No, sir.  It is Mr. Colton this time, sir.  Miss Colton is out in
+the motor, sir."
+
+"But Mr. Colton is too ill to see me, or anyone else."
+
+"No, sir, he isn't.  He's very much better.  He's quite himself,
+sir, really.  And he is very anxious to see you.  On a matter of
+business, he says."
+
+I hesitated.  I had expected this, though not so soon.  He wanted
+to ask questions concerning my crazy dip into his financial
+affairs, doubtless.  Well, I should have to see him some time or
+other, and it might as well be now.
+
+I called to Dorinda, who was in the kitchen, and bade her tell
+Mother, if she inquired for me, that I had gone out, but would be
+back soon.  Then Johnson and I walked briskly along the bluff path.
+We entered the big house.
+
+"Mr. Colton is in his room, sir," explained the butler.  "You are
+to see him there.  This way, sir."
+
+But before we reached the foot of the stairs Doctor Quimby came out
+of the library.  He and I shook hands.  The doctor was a happy man.
+
+"Well!" he exclaimed, "what's the matter with the one-horse,
+country-jay doctor now, hey!  If there is any one of the Boston
+specialists at a hundred a visit who can yank a man out of a
+serious sickness and put him on his feet quicker than I can, why
+trot him along, that's all!  I want to see him!  I've been throwing
+bouquets at myself for the last ten hours.  Ho! ho!  Say, Ros,
+you'll think my head is swelled pretty bad, won't you!  Ho! ho!"
+
+I asked how the patient was getting on.
+
+"Fine!  Tip-top!  The only trouble is that he ought to keep
+perfectly quiet and not do a thing or think of a thing, except
+getting his strength back, for the next week.  But he hadn't been
+conscious more than a couple of hours before he was asking
+questions about business and so on.  He and his daughter had a long
+confab this morning and after that he was neither to bind or tie.
+He must see you, that's all there was to it.  Say, Ros, what did
+you and Phin Cahoon and the Colton girl do yesterday?"
+
+"Oh, we put through one of Mr. Colton's little trades for him,
+that's all."
+
+"That's all, hey!  Well, whatever 'twas, he and I owe you a vote of
+thanks.  He began to get better the minute he heard it.  He's
+feeling so chipper that, if it wasn't that I swore he shouldn't,
+he'd have got out of bed by this time.  You must go up and see him,
+I suppose, but don't stay too long.  He's a wonder for strength and
+recuperative powers, but don't tire him too much.  If that wife of
+his was in Europe or somewhere, I'd feel easier.  She's the most
+tiring thing in the house."
+
+Johnson led the way upstairs.  At the chamber door he knocked and
+announced my presence.
+
+"Bring him in!  What is he waiting for?" demanded a voice which,
+considering how recently its owner had been at death's door, was
+surprisingly strong.  I entered the room.
+
+He was in bed, propped up with pillows.  Beside him sat Mrs.
+Colton.  Of the two she looked the more disturbed.  Her eyes were
+wet and she was dabbing at them with a lace handkerchief.  Her
+morning gown was a wondrous creation.  "Big Jim," with his iron-
+gray hair awry and his eyes snapping, looked remarkably wide awake
+and alive.
+
+"How are you, Paine?" he said.  "Glad to see you.  Sorry to bring
+you over here, but I had to see you and that doctor says I must
+stay in this room for a while yet.  He may be right.  My
+understanding is pretty shaky, I'll admit.  You've met Mrs. Colton,
+haven't you?"
+
+I bowed and expressed my pleasure at meeting the lady.  Her bow was
+rather curt, but she regarded me with an astonishing amount of
+agitated interest.  Also she showed symptoms of more tears.
+
+"I don't remember whether or not Mr. Paine and I have ever been
+formally introduced," she observed.  "If we haven't it makes no
+difference, I suppose.  The other members of the family seem to
+know him well enough.  And--and mothers nowadays are not
+considered.  I--I must say that--"
+
+She had recourse to the lace handkerchief.  I could understand what
+the doctor meant by calling her the "most tiring thing in the
+house."  Her husband laid a hand on hers.
+
+"There, there, my dear," he said, soothingly, "don't be foolish.
+Sit down, Paine.  Henrietta, perhaps you had better leave Mr. Paine
+and I together.  We have some--er--business matters to discuss and
+you are tired and nervous.  I should go to my room and lie down, if
+I were you."
+
+Mrs. Colton accepted the suggestion, but her acceptance was not the
+most gracious.
+
+"I am in the way, as usual," she observed, chokingly.  "Very well,
+I should be resigned to that by this time, no doubt.  I will go.
+But James, for my sake, don't be weak.  Remember what--  Oh,
+remember all we had hoped and planned!  When I think of it, I--I--
+A nobody!  A person without . . .  What SHALL I do?"
+
+The handkerchief was in active operation.  She swept past me to the
+door.  There she turned.
+
+"I may forgive you some time, Mr. Paine," she sobbed.  "I suppose I
+shall have to.  I can't do anything else.  But don't ask me to do
+it now.  That would be TOO much!"
+
+The door closed and I heard her sobs as she marched down the hall.
+To say that I was amazed and decidedly uncomfortable would be a
+very mild estimate of my feelings.  Why should I expect her to
+forgive me?  What had I done?  I--or luck and I together--had saved
+one of her husband's stock speculations from ending in smash; but
+that was no injury for which I should beg forgiveness.  At least I
+could not see that it was.
+
+Colton looked after her with a troubled expression.
+
+"Nerves are the devil, aren't they," he observed.  "And nerves and
+a woman together are worse than that.  My wife, Paine, is--well,
+she hasn't been in good health for a long time and Mabel and I have
+done our best to give her her own way.  When you've had your own
+way for years it rather hurts to be checkmated.  I know that from
+experience.  She'll feel better about it by and by."
+
+"Better about what?" I demanded, involuntarily.  "I don't
+understand Mrs. Colton's meaning in the least."
+
+He looked at me keenly for a moment without speaking.
+
+"Don't you?" he asked.  "You are sure you don't?"
+
+"Certainly I am sure.  What I have done that requires forgiveness I
+don't see."
+
+Another pause and more scrutiny.
+
+"So you don't understand what she means, hey?" he said again.  "All
+right, all right!  We won't discuss that yet a while.  If you don't
+understand--never mind.  Time enough for us to talk of that when
+you do.  But, say, Paine," with one of his dry smiles, "who taught
+you to buck a stock pool?"
+
+This question I could understand.  I had expected this.
+
+"No one taught me," I answered.  "If I had any knowledge at all in
+that direction I was born with it, I guess.  A form of original
+sin."
+
+"It's a mighty profitable sort of wickedness--for me.  Young man,
+do you realize what you did?  How do you expect me to thank you for
+that, hey?"
+
+"I don't expect you to thank me at all.  It was bull luck that won
+for you, Mr. Colton.  Bull luck and desperation on my part.  Miss
+Colton sent for me to help her.  Your confidential man, Davis,
+refused to make a move without orders from you.  You couldn't give
+any orders.  Someone had to do something, or, so it seemed to your
+daughter and me, your Louisville and Transcontinental deal was a
+gone goose."
+
+"It was more than that.  I might have come pretty near being a gone
+goose along with it.  Not quite gone, perhaps--I should have had a
+few cents left in the stocking--but I should have lost a lot more
+than I care to lose.  So it was bull luck, hey?  I don't believe
+it.  Tell me the whole story, from beginning to end, will you?
+Mabel has told me some, but I want to hear it all.  Go ahead!"
+
+I thought of Quimby's warning.  "I'm afraid I should tire you, Mr.
+Colton.  It is a long story, if I give particulars."
+
+"Never mind, you give them.  That 'tiring' business is some more of
+that doctor's foolishness.  HE makes me tired, all right.  You tell
+me what I want to know or I'll get out of this bed and shake it out
+of you."
+
+He looked as if he meant to carry out his threat.  I began my tale
+at the beginning and went on to the astonishing end.
+
+"Don't ask me why I did this or that, Mr. Colton," I concluded.  "I
+don't know.  I think I was off my head part of the time.  But
+something HAD to be done.  I tried to look at the affair in a
+common-sense way, and--"
+
+"And, HAVING common-sense, you used it.  Paine, you're a brick!
+Your kind of common-sense is so rare that it's worth paying any
+price for.  Ha! ha!  So it was Keene and his 'Development Company'
+that gave you the idea.  That's good!  That little failure of mine
+wasn't altogether a failure, after all.  You saw it was a case
+where a bluff might win, and you had the sand to bluff it through.
+That comes of living so long where there is more sand than anything
+else, I imagine, hey!  Ha! ha!  Well, bull luck or insanity or
+whatever you call it, it did the trick.  Of course I'm more obliged
+to you than I can tell.  You know that."
+
+"That's all right, Mr. Colton.  Now I think I must be going.
+You've talked enough."
+
+"You sit still.  I haven't begun to talk yet.  Paine, before you
+did this thing for me I had taken a fancy to you.  I believed there
+was good stuff in you and that I could use you in my business.  Now
+I know I can't afford to do without you. . . .  Stop! let me
+finish.  Young man, I told you once that when I made up my mind to
+do a thing, I always did it.  ALWAYS; do you understand?  I am
+going to get you.  You are coming with me."
+
+I had foreseen this, of course.  But I had hoped to get away from
+that room before he reached the point.  He had reached it, however,
+and perhaps it was as well he had.  We would end this for all time.
+
+"Mr. Colton," I answered, "you have a monopoly of some things, but
+of others you have not.  I am just as determined to have my own way
+in this matter as you are.  I shall NOT accept your offer of
+employment.  That is final."
+
+"Final be damned!  Young man--"
+
+"Mr. Colton, if you persist I shall go away."
+
+"Go away!  Before I tell you to?  Why, you--"
+
+I rose.  "The doctor told me that you must not excite yourself," I
+said.  "I am going.  Good-by."
+
+He was excited, there was no doubt of that.  He sat up in bed.
+
+"You come back!" he ordered.  "Come back!  If you don't--  Well, by
+the Lord, if you don't I'll get up and come after you!"
+
+I believe he would have tried to do it.  I was frightened, on his
+account.  I turned reluctantly.  He sank back on the pillow,
+grinning triumphantly.
+
+"Sit down there," he panted.  "Sit down.  Now I want you to tell me
+the real reason why you won't work for me.  By gad! you're the
+first one in many a day I have had to ask twice.  Why?  Tell me the
+truth!  Why?"
+
+I hesitated.  "Well, for one reason," I said, "I don't care for
+your business."
+
+"Don't CARE for it!  After what you just did!"
+
+"I did that because I was driven to it.  But I don't care for the
+stock game.  Once I used to think I liked that sort of thing; now I
+know I don't.  If I am anything I am a bank man, a poor sort of
+one, perhaps, but--"
+
+"Bank man!  Why, you idiot!  I don't care what you are.  I can use
+you in a dozen places.  You don't have to buck the market.  I'll do
+that myself.  But there are plenty of places where your brains and
+that common-sense you talk about will be invaluable to me.  I do a
+banking business, on the side, myself.  I own a mining property, a
+good one, out West.  It needs a financial manager, and needs one
+badly.  You come with me, do you hear!  I'll place you where you
+fit, before I get through with you, and I'll make you a rich man in
+ten years.  There! now will you say yes?"
+
+I shook my head.  "No," I said.
+
+"NO!  You are enough to drive a well man crazy, to say nothing of a
+half-sick relic like me.  _I_ say yes--yes--YES!  Sooner or later
+I'll MAKE you.  You've lost your place here.  You told me yourself
+that that old crank Dean is going to make this town too hot to hold
+you.  You'll HAVE to go away.  Now won't you?"
+
+I nodded.  "I shall go away," I answered.  "I have made up my mind
+to go, now that Mother seems well enough for me to leave her."
+
+"Where will you go?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+He stared at me in silence for what seemed a long time.  I thought
+he must be exhausted, and once more I rose to go.
+
+"Stop!  Stay where you are," he ordered.  "I haven't got the answer
+to you yet, and I know it.  There's something back of all this,
+something I don't know about.  I'm going to find out what it is, if
+it takes me a year.  You can tell me now, if you want to.  It will
+save time.  What is the real reason why you won't take my offer?"
+
+I don't know why I did it.  I had kept the secret all the years and
+certainly, when I entered that room, I had no intention of
+revealing it.  Yet, now, when he asked this question I turned on
+him and blurted out what I had sworn no one--least of all he or
+his--should ever know.
+
+"I'll tell you why," I cried, desperately.  "I can't take the place
+you offer because you know nothing about me.  You don't know who I
+am.  If you did you . . . .  Mr. Colton, you don't even know my
+name."
+
+He looked at me and shook his head, impatiently.  "Either you ARE
+crazy, or I am," he muttered.  "Don't know your name!"
+
+"No, you don't!  You think I am Roscoe Paine.  I am not.  I am
+Roscoe Bennett, and my father was Carleton Bennett, the embezzler."
+
+I had said it.  And the moment afterward I was sorry.  I would have
+given anything to take back the words, but repentance came too
+late.  I had said it.
+
+I heard him draw a deep breath.  I did not look at him.  I did not
+care to see his face and read on it the disgust and contempt I was
+sure it expressed.
+
+"Humph!" he exclaimed.  "Humph!  Do you mean to tell me that your
+father was Carleton Bennett--Bennett of Bennett and Company?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well! well! well!  Carleton Bennett!  No wonder there was
+something familiar about your mother, something that I seemed to
+remember.  I met her years ago.  Well! well!  So you're Carleton
+Bennett's son?"
+
+"Yes, I am his son."
+
+"Well, what of it?"
+
+I looked at him now.  He was smiling, actually smiling.  His
+illness had affected his mind.
+
+"What OF it!" I gasped.
+
+"Ye-es, what of it?  What has that got to do with your working for
+me?"
+
+I could have struck him.  If he had not been weak and ill and
+irresponsible for what he was saying I think I should.
+
+"Mr. Colton," I said, striving to speak calmly, "you don't
+understand.  My father was Carleton Bennett, the embezzler, the
+thief, the man whose name was and is a disgrace all over the
+country.  Mother and I came here to hide from that disgrace, to
+begin a new, clean life under a clean name.  Do you think--?  Oh,
+you don't understand!"
+
+"I understand all right.  This is the first time I HAVE understood.
+I see now why a clever man like you was willing to spend his days
+in a place like Denboro.  Well, you aren't going to spend any more
+of them there.  You're going to let me make something worth while
+out of you."
+
+This sounded, in one way, like sanity.  But in another--
+
+"Mr. Colton," I cried, "even if you meant it, which you don't--do
+you suppose I would go back to New York, where so many know me, and
+enter your employ under an assumed name?  Run the risk of--"
+
+"Hush!  Enter it under your own name.  It's a good name.  The
+Bennetts are one of our oldest families.  Ask my wife; she'll tell
+you that."
+
+"A good name!"
+
+"Yes.  I declare, Paine--Bennett, I mean--I shall begin to believe
+you haven't got the sense I credited you with.  I can see what has
+been the matter with you.  You came here, you and your sick mother,
+with the scandal of your father's crookedness hanging over you and
+her sickness making her super-sensitive, and you two kept the
+secret and brooded over it so long that you have come to think you
+are criminals, too.  You're not.  You haven't done anything
+crooked.  What's the matter with you, man?  Be sensible!"
+
+"Sensible!"
+
+"Yes, sensible, if you can.  I don't care who your father was.  He
+was a smart banker, before he went wrong, and I can see now where
+you inherited your ability.  But never mind that.  He's dead; let
+him stay so.  I'm not trying to get him.  It's you I want."
+
+"You want ME!  Do you mean you would take me into your employ,
+knowing who I am?"
+
+"Sure!  It is because I know WHAT you are that I want you."
+
+"Mr. Colton, you--I don't know what to say to you."
+
+"Try saying 'yes' and see how it seems.  It will be a change,
+anyhow."
+
+"No, no!  I cannot; it is impossible."
+
+"Oh, you make me weary! . . .  Humph!  What is it now?  Any more
+'reasons'?"
+
+'Yes."  I faced him squarely.  "Yes," I said, "there is another
+reason, one that makes it impossible, utterly impossible, if
+nothing else did.  When I tell you what it is you will understand
+what I mean and agree with me.  Your daughter and I have been
+thrown together a great deal since she came to Denboro.  Our
+meetings have not been of my seeking, nor of hers.  Of late I have
+realized that, for my own sake, for the sake of my peace of mind, I
+must not meet her.  I must not be where she is. I--"
+
+"Here!  Stop!" he broke in sharply.  "What is this?  Do you mean to
+tell me that you and Mabel--"
+
+"It is not her fault.  It is my own, entirely.  Mr. Colton, I--"
+
+"Stop, I tell you!  Do you mean to tell me that you are--that you
+have been making love to my daughter?"
+
+"No.  Certainly not."
+
+"Then what do you mean?  That she has been making love to you?"
+
+"Mr. Colton--"
+
+"There!  Don't act like the Wild Man of Borneo.  Do you mean that
+you are in love with her?"
+
+"Don't you see now why I cannot accept?  I must go away.  I am
+going."
+
+"Humph!  That will do. . . .  Humph!  Well, Paine--Bennett, I
+should say; it is hard to keep track of your names--you are rather--
+er--reckless, it seems to me.  Mabel is our only child and her
+mother and I, naturally, had planned for her future . . .  Have you
+told her of your--recklessness?"
+
+"Of course not!  I shall not see her again.  I shall leave Denboro
+as soon as I can.  She will never know."
+
+"Humph!  I see . . .  I see . . .  Well, I don't know that there is
+anything for me to say."
+
+"There is not."
+
+"I am sorry for you, of course."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+There was a sharp rap at the door.  Doctor Quimby opened it and
+entered the room.  He glanced from me to his patient and his face
+expressed sharp disapproval.
+
+"You'd better go, Ros," he snapped.  "What is the matter with you?
+Didn't I tell you not to excite him."
+
+"I'M not excited," observed Colton, drily.
+
+"Clear out this minute!" continued the angry doctor.  "Ros Paine, I
+thought you had more sense."
+
+"So did I," this from "Big Jim".  "However, I am learning a lot
+these days.  Good-by, Paine."
+
+I was at the door.
+
+"Oh, by the way," he called after me, "let me make a suggestion.
+If I were you, Roscoe, I wouldn't leave Denboro to-day.  Not before
+to-morrow morning, at any rate."
+
+I did not understand him and I asked for no explanation.  It was
+the first time he had addressed me by my Christian name, but it was
+not until afterward that I remembered that fact.
+
+
+
+That afternoon I was alone in my haven of refuge, the boathouse.
+Mother and I had had a long talk.  I told her everything that had
+transpired.  I kept back nothing, either of my acts or my feelings.
+She said she was not sorry for what I had done.  She was rather
+glad, than otherwise, that I had disclosed our secret to Mr.
+Colton.
+
+"He knows now, Roscoe," she said.  "And he was right, too.  You and
+I have brooded over our sorrow and what we considered our disgrace
+much more than we should.  He is right, Boy.  We are innocent of
+any wrong-doing."
+
+"Yes, Mother," I answered, "I suppose we are.  But we must keep the
+secret still.  No one else in Denboro must know.  You know what
+gossip there would be.  There is enough now.  I presume I am called
+a traitor and a blackguard by every person in the town."
+
+"Why no, you are not.  That is the strange thing about it.  Luther
+was up at the post-office this morning and no one seems to know of
+your sale of the land.  Captain Dean has, apparently, kept the news
+to himself.  Why do you suppose he does that?"
+
+"I don't know.  I don't know, unless it is because he--no, I can't
+understand it at all.  However, they will know soon enough.  By the
+way, I have never asked Dorinda where Lute was that noon--it seems
+ages ago--when he was missing at dinner time.  And how did he know
+of Mr. Colton's illness?"
+
+She smiled.  "Poor Luther!" she said.  "He announced his intention
+of running away, you remember.  As a matter of fact he met the
+Coltons' chauffeur in the motor car and the chauffeur invited him
+to go to Bayport with him.  The chauffeur had an errand there.
+Lute accepted--as he says, automobile rides don't come his way
+every day in the week--and they had trouble with the engine and did
+not get back until almost night.  Then Miss Colton told him of her
+father's seizure and gave him the note for you.  It was to you she
+turned in her trouble, Boy.  She trusts you.  Roscoe, I--I think
+she--"
+
+"Don't say it, Mother.  All that is ended.  I am going to forget--
+if I can."
+
+The rest of our conversation need not be written here.  She said
+many things, such as fond mothers say to their sons and which the
+sons know too well they do not deserve.  We discussed my leaving
+Denboro and she was so brave and self-sacrificing that my
+conscience smote me.
+
+"I'll stay, Mother," I said.  "I can't leave you.  I'll stay and
+fight it out with you.  After all, it will not be much worse than
+it was before I went to the bank."
+
+But she would not hear of my staying.  I had a friend in Chicago, a
+distant relative who knew our story.  Perhaps he could help me to a
+start somewhere.  She kissed me and bade me keep up my courage, and
+I left her.  I ate a hurried meal, a combination of breakfast and
+dinner, and, dodging Lute, who was in the back yard waiting to
+question me concerning the Coltons, walked down to the boathouse.
+There, in my armchair, I tried to think, to map out some sort of
+plan for my future.
+
+It was a hopeless task.  I was not interested in it.  I did not
+much care what became of me.  If it were not for Mother I should
+not have cared at all.  Nevertheless, for her sake, I must try to
+plan, and I did.
+
+I was still trying when I heard footsteps approaching the door, the
+small door at the side, not the big one in front.  I did not rise
+to open the door, nor did I turn my head.  The visitor was Lute,
+probably, and if I kept still he might think I was not within and
+go away again.
+
+The door opened.  "Here he is," said a voice, a voice that I
+recognized.  I turned quickly and sprang to my feet.  Standing
+behind me was Captain Jedediah Dean and with him George Taylor--
+George Taylor, who should have been--whom I had supposed to be in
+Washington with his bride!
+
+"Here he is," said Captain Jed, again.  "Well, Ros, we've come to
+see you."
+
+But I paid no attention to him.  It was his companion I was staring
+at.  What was he doing here?
+
+"George!" I cried.  "GEORGE!"
+
+He stepped forward and held out his hand.  He was smiling, but
+there was a look in his eye which expressed the exact opposite of
+smiles.
+
+"Ros," he said, quietly, "Ros Paine, you bull-headed, big-hearted
+old chump, how are you?"
+
+But I could only stare at him.  Why had he come to Denboro?  What
+did his coming to me mean?  Why had he come with Captain Jed, the
+man who had vowed that he was done with me forever?  And why was
+the captain looking at me so oddly?
+
+"George!" I cried in alarm, "George, you haven't--you haven't made
+a fool of yourself?  You haven't--"
+
+Captain Jed interrupted me.  "He ain't the fool, Ros," he said.
+"That is, he ain't now.  I'm the fool.  I ought to have known
+better.  Ros, I--I don't know's you'll give it to me, but anyhow
+I'm goin' to ask it; I beg your pardon."
+
+"Ros," said Taylor, before I could reply, "don't stand staring as
+if you were petrified.  Sit down and let me look at you.  You pig-
+headed old idiot, you!  What do you mean by it?  What did you do it
+for?"
+
+He pushed me into the chair I had just vacated.  Captain Dean took
+another.  George remained standing.
+
+"He IS petrified, I do believe!" he exclaimed.
+
+But my petrification was only temporary.  I was beginning to
+understand, and to be more alarmed than ever.
+
+"What are you doing here in Denboro?" I demanded.
+
+Captain Jed answered for him.  "He's here because I telegraphed for
+him yesterday," he said.  "I wired him to come straight home and
+take charge of the bank.  I had fired you, like the dumb fool I was,
+and I wanted him to take command.  He got here on the mornin'
+train."
+
+I remembered what Phin Cahoon had said about the telegram and the
+captain's making him promise not to mention the name of the person
+to whom it was sent.  It was George, of course.  If I had been in a
+normal state of mind when Phin told me I should have guessed as
+much.
+
+Taylor took up the conversation.  "Yes, I got here," he said.  "And
+when I got here--or a little before--" with a glance at the
+captain--"I found out what had been going on since I left.  You old
+chump, Ros Paine!  What did you do it for?"
+
+I looked at him and then at his companion.  What I saw there
+confirmed my worst suspicions.
+
+"George," I said, "if you have told him you must be crazy."
+
+"I was crazy not to tell him before.  I was crazy not to guess what
+you had been up to.  But I didn't suppose anybody would be crazy
+enough to do what you did, Ros.  I didn't imagine for a minute that
+you would be crazy enough to throw away your job and get yourself
+into the trouble you knew was sure to come, just to help me.  To
+help ME, by the Lord!  Ros! Ros! what can I say to you!"
+
+"You've said enough, and more than enough," I answered, bitterly.
+"I did what I did so that you might keep your secret.  I did it to
+help you and Nellie.  And if you had kept still no one need ever
+have known, no one but you and I, George.  And now you--"
+
+"Shut up, Ros!" he interrupted.  "Shut up, I tell you!  Why,
+confound you, what do you think I am?  Do you suppose I would let
+you sacrifice yourself like that, while I set still and saw you
+kicked out of town?  What do you think I am?"
+
+"But what was the use of it?" I demanded.  "It was done.  Nothing
+you could say would change it.  For Nellie's sake--"
+
+"There! there!" broke in Captain Jed, "Nellie knows.  George told
+her the day they was married.  He told her before they was married.
+He was man enough to do that and I honor him for it.  If he'd only
+come to me then it would have been a mighty sight better.  I'd have
+understood when I heard about your sellin' Colton the land, and I
+wouldn't have made a jackass of myself by treatin' you as I done.
+You! the man that sacrificed yourself to keep my girl from breakin'
+her heart!  When I think what you saved us all from I--I--  By the
+Almighty, Ros Paine! I'll make it up to you somehow.  I will!  I
+swear I will!"
+
+He turned away and looked out of the window.  George laid a hand on
+his shoulder.
+
+"I am the one to make it up, Cap'n," he said, solemnly.  "If I live
+I'll make it up to Ros here, and to you, and to Nellie, God bless
+her!  I expected you would never speak to me again when I'd told
+you.  Telling you--next to telling Nellie--was the toughest job I
+ever tackled.  But I'll make it up to you both, and to Ros.  Thank
+the Lord, it ain't too late to make it up to him!"
+
+"We'll both make it up to him, George," replied Captain Jed.  "As
+far as we can, we will.  If he wants to come back to the bank this
+minute he can.  We'll be proud to have him.  But I cal'late," with
+a smile, "he'll have bigger fish to fry than we can give him.  If
+what we've just heard is true, he will."
+
+"I don't know what you mean," I answered.  "And as for the bank--
+well, you forget one thing: I sold the Shore Lane and the town
+knows it.  How long would the other directors tolerate me in that
+bank, after that, do you think?"
+
+To my surprise they looked at each other and laughed.  Captain Dean
+shook his head.
+
+"No," he said, "you're mistook, Ros.  The town don't know you sold
+it.  I didn't tell 'em because I wanted George in command of that
+bank afore the row broke loose.  I larned of the sale myself, by
+chance, over to Ostable and I never told anybody except Dorindy
+Rogers and her fool of a husband.  I'll see that they keep still
+tongues in their heads.  And as for the Lane--well, that won't be
+closed.  Colton don't own it no more."
+
+"Don't OWN it," I repeated.  "Don't own it!  He does.  I sold it to
+him myself."
+
+"Yes.  And George, here, bought it back not an hour ago.  We saw
+His Majesty--sick in bed he was, but just as high and mighty and
+independent as ever--and George bought back the land and the Lane
+for thirty-five hundred dollars.  The old man didn't seem to give a
+durn about it any more.  He'd had his own way, he said, and that
+was all he cared about.  Besides, he ain't goin' to stay in Denboro
+much longer.  The old lady--his wife--is sick of the place and he
+only come here on her account.  He cal'lates that New York is good
+enough for him.  I cal'late 'tis.  Anyhow, Denboro won't hang onto
+his coattails to hold him back.  Tell Ros the whole story, George."
+
+George told it, beginning with his receipt of his father-in-law's
+telegram and his hurried return to the Cape.  He had gone directly
+to Captain Dean and confessed the whole thing.  The captain had
+behaved like a trump, I learned.  Instead of denouncing his
+daughter's husband he had forgiven him freely.  Then they had gone
+to see Colton and George had bought the land.
+
+"And I shall give it to the town," he said.  "It's the least I can
+do.  You wonder where the money came from, Ros?  I guess you ain't
+seen the newspapers.  There was a high old time in the stock market
+yesterday and Louisville and Transcontinental climbed half-way to
+the moon.  From being a pauper I'm pretty well fixed."
+
+"I'm heartily glad of it, George," I said.  "But there is one thing
+I don't understand.  You say you learned of my selling the land
+before you reached Denboro.  Captain Jed says no one but he and my
+people knew it.  How did you find it out?"
+
+Again my two callers looked at each other.
+
+"Why, somebody--a friend of yours--come to me at the Ostable
+station and dragged Nellie and me off the train.  We rode with that
+person the rest of the way and--the said person told us what had
+happened and begged us to help you.  Seemed to have made a middling
+good guess that I COULD help, if I would."
+
+"A person--a friend of mine!  Why, I haven't any friend, any friend
+who knew the truth, or could guess."
+
+"Yes, you have."
+
+"Who was it?"
+
+George laughed aloud and Captain Jed laughed with him.
+
+"I guess I shan't tell you," said the former.  "I promised I
+wouldn't."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+
+They left me soon after this.  I tried to make them tell who the
+mysterious friend might be, but they refused.  The kind things they
+said and the gratitude they both expressed I shall never forget.
+They did not strenuously urge me to return to the bank, and that
+seemed strange to me.
+
+"The job's yours if you want it, Ros," said Captain Jed.  "We'd be
+only too happy to have you if you'd come--any time, sooner or
+later.  But I don't think you will."
+
+"No," I answered, "I shall not.  I have made other plans.  I am
+going to leave Denboro."
+
+That did not seem to surprise them and I was still more puzzled.
+They shook hands and went away, promising to call at the house that
+evening and bring Nellie.
+
+"She wants to thank you, too, Ros," said George.
+
+After they had gone I sat by the big door, looking out at the bay,
+smooth and beautiful in the afternoon sunlight, and thinking of
+what they had told me.  For Mother's sake I was very glad.  It
+would be easier for her, after I had gone; the townspeople would be
+friendly, instead of disagreeable.  For her sake, I was glad.  For
+myself nothing seemed to make any difference.  George Taylor's
+words--those he had spoken to me that fateful evening when I found
+him with the revolver beside him--came back to me over and over.
+"Wait until your time comes.  Wait until the girl comes along that
+you care for more than the whole world.  And then see what you'd
+do.  See what it would mean to give her up!"
+
+I was seeing.  I knew now what it meant.
+
+I rose and went out of the boathouse.  I did not care to meet
+anyone or speak with anyone.  I strolled along the path by the
+bluff, my old walk, that which I had taken so many times and with
+such varied feelings, never with such miserable ones as now.
+
+The golden-rod, always late blooming on the Cape, bordered the path
+with gorgeous yellow.  The leaves of the scrub oaks were beginning
+to turn, though not to fall.  I walked on and entered the grove
+where she and I had met after our adventure with Carver and the
+stranded skiff.  I turned the bend and saw her coming toward me.
+
+I stood still and she came on, came straight to me and held out her
+hand.
+
+"I was waiting for you," she said.  "I was on my way to your house
+and I saw you coming--so I waited."
+
+"You waited," I stammered.  "Why?"
+
+"Because I wished to speak to you and I did not want that--that Mr.
+Rogers of yours to interrupt me.  Why did you go away yesterday
+without even letting me thank you for what you had done?  Why did
+you do it?"
+
+"Because--because you were very busy and--and I was tired.  I went
+home and to bed."
+
+"You were tired.  You must have been.  But that is no excuse, no
+good one.  I came down and found you were gone without a word to
+me.  And you had done so much for me--for my father!"
+
+"Your father thanked me this morning, Miss Colton.  I saw him in
+his room and he thanked me.  I did not deserve thanks.  I was
+lucky, that was all."
+
+"Father does not call it luck.  He told me what you said to him."
+
+"He told you!  Did he tell you all I told him?"
+
+"I--I think so.  He told me who you were; what your real name was."
+
+"He did!  And you were still willing to meet me!"
+
+"Yes.  Why not?  Does it make any difference that you are Mr.
+Bennett--instead of Mr. Paine?"
+
+"But my father was Carleton Bennett--the--the--  You must have
+heard of him."
+
+"I never knew your father.  I do know his son.  And I am very proud
+to know him."
+
+"But--but, Miss Colton."
+
+"Tell me," she interrupted, quickly, "have you seen Mr. Taylor?  He
+is here in Denboro."
+
+"Yes.  I have seen him."
+
+"And he told you about the Lane?  That he has bought it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you will not be," with a smile, "driven from Denboro by that
+cross old Captain Dean?"
+
+"I shall not be driven--no."
+
+"Then Mr. Taylor did help you.  He promised me he would."
+
+"He promised you?  When?  When did you see George Taylor?"
+
+She appeared confused.  "I--I--  Of course I saw him at the house
+this noon, when he came to see Father."
+
+"But he could not have promised you then.  He had helped me
+already.  Did you see him before that?"
+
+"Why, how could I?  I--"
+
+"Miss Colton, answer me.  Was it you that met him at the Ostable
+station this morning?  Was it?"
+
+She was as red as the reddest of the autumn leaves.  She laughed,
+confusedly.
+
+"I did meet him there," she confessed.  "That queer Mr. Cahoon, the
+station agent, told me that Captain Dean had telegraphed him to
+come.  I knew he would probably be on that train.  And Mr. Cahoon
+told me about his being interested in stocks and very much
+troubled.  You had told me, or as much as told me, that you sold
+the land to get money to help some one.  I put two and two together
+and I guessed the rest.  I met him and Nellie and we rode to
+Denboro together in our auto.  He promised me that he would make
+everything right for you.  I am so glad he did!"
+
+I caught my breath with a gasp.
+
+"You did that!" I exclaimed.  "You did that, for me!"
+
+"Why not?  Surely you had done enough for--us.  I could not let you
+be 'driven from town', you know."
+
+I did not speak.  I knew that I must not attempt a reply.  I should
+say too much.  She looked up at me, and then down again at the
+pine-needles beneath our feet.
+
+"Father says he intends to do great things for you," she went on.
+"He says you are to come with him.  He is enthusiastic about it.
+He believes you are a great man.  No one but a great man, he says,
+could beat the Consolidated Pacific gang single-handed.  He says
+you will be the best investment he ever made."
+
+"I am afraid not," I answered.  "Your father made me a generous
+offer.  I wish I might have been able to accept it, but I could
+not."
+
+"Oh, but you are going to accept."
+
+"No, I am not."
+
+"He says you are.  And he always has his way, you know."
+
+"Not in this case, Miss Colton."
+
+"But _I_ want you to accept.  Surely you will do it to oblige me."
+
+"I--I can't."
+
+"What are you going to do; go back to the bank?"
+
+"No, I am going to leave Denboro.  I don't know where I shall go.
+This is good-by, Miss Colton.  It is not likely that we shall meet
+again."
+
+"But why are you going?"
+
+"I cannot tell you."
+
+She was silent, still looking down at the pine-needles.  I could
+not see her face.  I was silent also.  I knew that I ought to go,
+that I should not remain there, with her, another moment.  Yet I
+remained.
+
+"So you think this is our parting," she said.  "I do not."
+
+"Don't you?  I fear you are wrong."
+
+"I am not wrong.  You will not go away, Mr.--Bennett.  At least,
+you will not until you go where my father sends you.  You will
+accept his offer, I think."
+
+"You are mistaken."
+
+"No.  I think I am not mistaken.  I think you will accept it,
+because--because I ask you to."
+
+"I cannot, Miss Colton."
+
+"And your reason?"
+
+"That I cannot tell anyone."
+
+"But you told my father."
+
+I was stricken dumb again.
+
+She went on, speaking hurriedly, and not raising her eyes.
+
+"You told my father," she repeated, "and he told me."
+
+"He told you!" I cried.
+
+"Yes, he told me.  I--I am not sure that he was greatly surprised.
+He thought it honorable of you and he was very glad you did tell
+him, but I think he was not surprised."
+
+The oaks and the pines and the huckleberry bushes were dancing
+great giddy-go-rounds, a reflection of the whirlpool in my brain.
+Out of the maelstrom I managed to speak somehow.
+
+"He was not surprised!" I repeated.  "He was not--not--  What do
+you mean?"
+
+She did not answer.  She drew away from me a step, but I followed
+her.
+
+"Why wasn't he surprised?" I asked again.
+
+"Because--because--  Oh, I don't know!  What have I been saying!
+I--  Please don't ask me!"
+
+"But why wasn't he surprised?"
+
+"Because--because--" she hesitated.  Then suddenly she looked up
+into my face, her wonderful eyes alight.  "Because," she said, "I
+had told him myself, sir."
+
+I seized her hands.
+
+"YOU had told him?  You had told him that I--I--"
+
+"No," with a swift shake of the head, "not you.  I--I did not know
+that--then.  I told him that I--"
+
+But I did not wait to hear any more.
+
+
+
+Some time after that--I do not know how long after and it makes no
+difference anyway--I began to remember some resolutions I had made,
+resolves to be self-sacrificing and all that sort of thing.
+
+"But, my dear," I faltered, "I am insane!  I am stark crazy!  How
+can I think of such a thing!  Your mother--what will she say?"
+
+She looked up at me; looking up was not as difficult now, and,
+besides, she did not have to look far.  She looked up and smiled.
+
+"I think Mother is more reconciled," she said.  "Since she learned
+who you were she seems to feel better about it."
+
+I shook my head, ruefully.  "Yet she referred to me as a 'nobody'
+only this morning," I observed.
+
+"Yes, but that was before she knew you were a Bennett.  The
+Bennetts are a very good family, so she says.  And she informed me
+that she always expected me to throw myself away, so she was not
+altogether unprepared."
+
+I sighed.  "Throwing yourself away is exactly what you have done,
+I'm afraid," I answered.
+
+She put her hand to my lips.  "Hush!" she whispered.  "At all
+events, I made a lucky throw.  I'm very glad you caught me, dear."
+
+There was a rustle of leaves just behind us and a startled
+exclamation.  I turned and saw Lute Rogers standing there in the
+path, an expression on his face which I shall not attempt to
+describe, for no description could do justice to it.  We looked at
+Lute and he looked at us.
+
+He was the first to recover.
+
+"My time!" exclaimed Lute.  "My TIME!"
+
+He turned and fled.
+
+"Come here!" I shouted after him.  "Come back here this minute!
+Lute, come back!"
+
+Lute came, looking shamefaced and awkward.
+
+"Where were you going?" I demanded.
+
+"I--I was cal'latin' to go and tell Dorindy," he faltered.
+
+"You'll tell nobody.  Nobody, do you hear!  I'll tell Dorinda
+myself, when it is necessary.  What were you doing here? spying on
+me in that fashion."
+
+"I--I wan't spyin', Ros.  Honest truth, I wan't.  I--I didn't know
+you and she was--was--"
+
+"Never mind that.  What were you doing here?"
+
+"I was chasin' after you, Ros.  I just heard the most astonishing
+thing.  Jed Dean was to the house to make Dorindy and me promise to
+say nothin' about that Shore Lane 'cause you never sold it, and he
+said Mr. Colton had offered you a turrible fine job along of him
+and that you was goin' to take it.  I wanted to find you and ask it
+'twas true.  'Taint true, is it, Ros?" wistfully.  "By time!  I
+wish 'twas."
+
+Before I could answer Mabel spoke.
+
+"Yes, it is true, Mr. Rogers," she said.  "It is quite true and you
+may tell anyone you like.  It is true, isn't it, Roscoe?"
+
+What answer could I make?  What answer would you have made under
+the circumstances?
+
+"Yes," I answered, with a sigh of resignation.  "I guess it is
+true, Lute."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by J. C. Lincoln
+
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