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diff --git a/3137-h/3137-h.htm b/3137-h/3137-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f04c2c --- /dev/null +++ b/3137-h/3137-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,21668 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by Joseph C. Lincoln + </title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + +<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by Joseph C. Lincoln</p> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Rise of Roscoe Paine</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Joseph C. Lincoln</div> +<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 3, 2006 [eBook #3137]<br /> +[Most recently updated: January 8, 2023]</p> +<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> + <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: + Donald Lainson; David Widger</p> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RISE OF ROSCOE PAINE ***</div> + + <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> + “I'm going up to the village,” I told Dorinda, taking my cap from the hook + behind the dining-room door. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” asked Dorinda, pushing me to one side and reaching for the + dust-cloth, which also was behind the door. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just for the walk,” I answered, carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm,” observed Dorinda. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Her “Um-hm” this time was somewhere along the northern edge of Labrador. + </p> + <p> + “It's a good morning for a walk,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm,” 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, “glacier” isn't a good word; glaciers move + slowly and that wasn't Dorinda's way. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Work,” snapped Dorinda, unfurling the dust cloth. “It's a good mornin' + for that, too.” + </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 “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. + </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, “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Up to the village,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't goin' to the post-office, be you?” + </p> + <p> + “I may; I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + He had dropped the rake, but now he leaned over, picked it up, and rose + from the wash bench. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I hadn't any errand.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What's Dorindy doin'?” + </p> + <p> + “She is dusting the dining-room.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No! Do you?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't seem like it, that's a fact.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that it ever did, exactly in that way.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But, according to that reasoning,” I observed, “we should neither rake + nor dust. Wouldn't that make our surroundings rather uncomfortable, after + a while?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Have you suggested to her that she's flying in the face of Providence?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + He took the pouch I handed him, filled his pipe and absently put the pouch + in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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—” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you take me?” I interrupted, rather sharply. + </p> + <p> + “'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?” + </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> + “Well,” I asked after a moment, “what did they say to that?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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—everyone except Lute Rogers and myself, the “birds of a + feather.” 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—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. + </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—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. + </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, “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. + </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 “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. + </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—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. + </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 “Big Jim” 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 “debilitated.” 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—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. + </p> + <p> + It was the chauffeur who hailed me. He leaned across the upholstery beside + him and, still holding the wheel, said: + </p> + <p> + “Say, Bill, what's the quickest way to get to Bayport?” + </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> + “I should say that you had picked about as quick a way as any,” I + answered. + </p> + <p> + The chauffeur didn't seem to grasp the true inwardness of this brilliant + bit. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, what—” he stammered. “Say, what—look here, I asked you—” + </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—on Cape Cod. + </p> + <p> + “That'll do, Oscar,” he ordered. Then, turning to me, he said: + </p> + <p> + “See here, my man, we want to go to Bayport.” + </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> + “What's the matter?” he demanded, impatiently. “Are you deaf? I say we + want to go to Bayport.” + </p> + <p> + A newspaper joke which I had recently read came to my mind. “Very well,” I + said, “you have my permission.” + </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> + “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!” + </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. “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?” + </p> + <p> + The young lady smiled at this. “Victor,” she said, “how idiotic you are!” + </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> + “First turn to the right, second to the left,” I said, sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Reuben,” vouchsafed the young man. “Here's hoping that your + vegetables are fresher than your jokes. Go ahead, Oscar.” + </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—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. + </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—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. + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “The idea of having anybody wait on a cook!” interrupted Mullet. “That's + blame foolishness.” + </p> + <p> + “I never said he waited on the cooks. I said he waited on them—on + the family. And there's a coachman—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “How many what?” I asked. It was my first opportunity to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Why, hired help—servants, you know. How many does Mr. Colton keep?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know how many he keeps,” I said. “Why should I?” + </p> + <p> + The group looked at me in amazement. Thoph Newcomb voiced the general + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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?'” + </p> + <p> + “What did she say?” asked Newcomb. + </p> + <p> + “She didn't say nothin'. Engine was makin' such a noise she didn't hear, I + presume likely.” + </p> + <p> + “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>I</i> don't toady to 'em. If they want to talk they can send for me. + I'll wait till they do.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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 “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. + </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—in fact, I had torn the end from the envelope—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> + “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.” + </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—! + </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 “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to talk to you, Ros,” repeated Captain Jed. “Come here.” + </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> + “Set down,” he ordered. “Come to anchor alongside.” + </p> + <p> + I came to anchor. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother will be charmed,” I said. Captain Jed was no fool and he looked at + me sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Um; yes,” he grunted. “I presume likely. You're charmed, too, ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + I was not expecting this. I murmured something to the effect that I was + delighted, of course. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Business! With me?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I suppose they have,” I said, puzzled to know what he was + driving at. “It is a public road, practically.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I guess not.” + </p> + <p> + “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'.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” I asked. “What harm does it do?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “It's that, sartin. Ros, who owns that land the Lane runs through—you + or your mother?” + </p> + <p> + “It is in my name,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. Well, would you sell it?” + </p> + <p> + “Sell it! Sell that strip of sand and beach grass! Who would buy it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as anybody would. I just asked if you'd sell it, that's + all.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I would. I presume I should, if I had the chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't had any chance yet, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “What in time would I want to shut it off for? I use it as much as + anybody, don't I?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I don't see—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I considered for a moment. “Yes,” I said, “I'll promise that. Though I + can't imagine what you're driving at.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “King of New York? Oh! I see; you mean the Coltons.” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin. Who else? Met his Majesty yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Have you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a chap is Colton?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't need to,” I said, brusquely. “I know.” + </p> + <p> + “You do, hey? He ain't looked at you, has he? No, course he ain't! You + said you hadn't met him.” + </p> + <p> + “I've met others of his kind.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He turned on his heel and started to go. + </p> + <p> + “Will you?” I asked, slily. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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—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. + </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> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't neither!” yelled Thoph. “What I say is that money counts, and—” + </p> + <p> + “You do, too! Ros, do YOU intend to get down on your knees to them + Coltons?” + </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> + “Is that you, Boy?” she asked. If I had been fifty, instead of thirty-one, + Mother would have called me “Boy” just the same. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mother,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been? For a walk? It is a beautiful morning, isn't it.” + </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> + “Did you meet any one?” 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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled. “Why not?” she asked. “Matilda is a little tiresome at times, + but she means well.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Mother, I think you would make excuses for the Old Harry himself. + That woman will talk you to death.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! Not as bad as that. And poor Matilda doesn't talk much at home, + I'm afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “What have you decided to do about it, Roscoe?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't decided at all. What do you think, Mother?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” I said, hastily. “But why not sell? We don't use the land.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Dorinda told me. Have you met any of them?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Did you go to the post-office, Roscoe?” asked Mother. “I suppose there + were no letters. There seldom are.” + </p> + <p> + Then I remembered the letter in my pocket. I had forgotten it altogether. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, there was a letter, a letter for me. I haven't read it yet.” + </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> + “Well, by George!” I exclaimed, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Roscoe?” + </p> + <p> + “It appears to be a summons from what Captain Jed called the King of New + York. A summons to appear at court.” + </p> + <p> + “At court?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not the criminal court. Merely the palace of his Majesty. Just + listen.” + </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—Thursday—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> + “From Mr. Colton!” exclaimed Mother. “Why! what can he want of you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” I answered. “And I don't particularly care.” + </p> + <p> + “Roscoe!” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But what can he want of you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Roscoe, don't be narrow-minded. Mr. Colton's ways aren't ours and we must + make allowances.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him make a few, for a change.” + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you going to see him?” + </p> + <p> + “No. At least not until I get good and ready.” + </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> + “Are you going, Roscoe?” asked Mother. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just out of doors; perhaps to the boat-house.” + </p> + <p> + “Boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mother?” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter? Something has gone wrong; I knew it as soon as you + came in. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, Boy.” + </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—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—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. + </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—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—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. + </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: “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'.” + </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> + “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.” + </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. “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. + </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 “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.” + </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. “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. + </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—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. + </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—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. “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Dorindy ain't been here sence I've been gone, has she?” was his first + question. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “That's a habit of millionaires, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I never tried.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it have to be raked?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Raked! Whoever heard of rakin' a doorstep?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “When did she mention it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think there was?” + </p> + <p> + “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'—” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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—” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say about the letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Said 'twas for you. And the chauffeur said Mr. Colton told him to mail it + right off. 'Twan't for you, was it, Ros?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “It WAS! Well, by time! What did a man like Mr. Colton write to you + about?” + </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 “you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't he write to me?” I asked, tartly. + </p> + <p> + “But—but HIM—writin' to YOU!” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Even a god stoops once in a while. Read your mythology, Lute.” + </p> + <p> + “Hey? Say, look here, what are you swearin' about?” + </p> + <p> + “Swearing? Oh, that's all right. The god I referred to was a heathen one.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “He says he wants to see me.” + </p> + <p> + “See you? What for?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know. Perhaps he wants to borrow money.” + </p> + <p> + “Borrow—! I believe you're crazy!” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm tolerably sane. There! there! don't look at me like that. Here's + his letter. Read it, if you want to.” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I thought I should enjoy watching you rake the yard. It is a + pleasure deferred so far.” + </p> + <p> + “Watchin' me—! Roscoe Paine, you are out of your head! Ain't you + goin' to see him?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “You AIN'T!” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Ros Paine, have you jined in with them darn fools uptown?” + </p> + <p> + “Who's swearing now? What fools do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + “Did you say that to Captain Jed?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + I rose from the wash bench. + </p> + <p> + “I know what he's got, Lute,” I interrupted. “And I know what he hasn't + got.” + </p> + <p> + “What? Is there anything he ain't got?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean you expect a millionaire like him to come cruisin' after + YOU! Well, by time! I think I see him!” + </p> + <p> + “When you do, let me know,” I said. “I should like to be prepared.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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—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. + </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 “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. + </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> + “Come in,” 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> + “Afternoon,” he said, curtly. “Is your name Paine?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. I was waking rapidly, but I was too astonished to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Roscoe Paine?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, mine's Colton. I sent you a letter this morning. Did you get it?” + </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> + “Did you get my letter?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you did. I was afraid that man of mine might have forgotten to mail + it.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote you to come over to my place this forenoon,” he said. “You didn't + come.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I—” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </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> + “I didn't read your letter until about noon,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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> + “This your workshop?” he asked, abruptly. Then, nodding toward the + dismembered engine, “What are you? a boat builder?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the price of a boat like that?” indicating the Comfort with a kick + in her direction. + </p> + <p> + “About two hundred and fifty dollars, I believe,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “You believe! Don't you know?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I bought that boat second-hand.” + </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> + “What's that fellow doing off there?” he asked, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + I looked where he was pointing. + </p> + <p> + “That is Zeb Kendrick,” I answered. “He's raking for quahaugs.” + </p> + <p> + “Raking for what hogs?” + </p> + <p> + “Quahaugs. What you New Yorkers call clams.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Sell 'em, does he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Can you come over to my house now?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + I was not expecting this and again I did not have an answer ready. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “You can come, can't you?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I can. But—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course if you're too busy to leave—” + </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> + “I'll come,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Much obliged. I won't keep you long. Come on.” + </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> + “You own all this land, don't you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Get a good view from here.” + </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> + “There are eighteen hundred people in this town, they tell me,” he said. + “Permanent residents, I mean. What do they all do?” + </p> + <p> + “Do?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I told him that most of masculine Denboro fished or farmed or kept store. + </p> + <p> + “Which do you do?” he asked. “You said you weren't a boat-builder.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not doing anything at present,” I replied, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Out of a job?” + </p> + <p> + “You might call it that. Is this a part of the business you wished to see + me about, Mr. Colton?” + </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 “No,” 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. “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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 “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. + </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> + “Sit down,” he said. He took a cigar from his pocket. “Smoke?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + I was a confirmed smoker, but I was not going to smoke one of his cigars—not + then. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “It ends where yours begins,” I announced. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Just this side of that road.” + </p> + <p> + “Of the Shore Lane. It isn't a road exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care what you call it. Road or lane or cow-path. It ends there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And it IS your land? It belongs to you, personally, all of it, free and + clear?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—yes; it does.” I could not see what business of his my + ownership of that land might be. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! Then we can get down to brass tacks and save time. I want a piece + of that land.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “You want—?” I repeated, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Well?” asked Colton, impatiently. Then, without waiting longer, he added: + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + The light was growing more brilliant. I could see breakers ahead. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I replied, slowly. “It is a private way. It belongs to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! Well, what's that land of yours worth by the acre?” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. “I scarcely know,” I said. “I've never figured it that + way.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + The breakers were close aboard. However, I dodged them momentarily. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you want to buy?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “For reasons.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think you had land enough already.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I had, but it seems I haven't. Well, what's your price for that + strip?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Colton, I—I'm afraid—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “But why do you want to buy?” + </p> + <p> + “For reasons of my own, I tell you. They haven't anything to do with your + selling.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not so sure.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + “That strip takes in the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “And, if you buy, I presume the Lane will be closed.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me, surprised, and, I thought, a little annoyed. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said; “suppose it is?” + </p> + <p> + “But it will be, won't it?” + </p> + <p> + “You bet your life it will! What of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I don't know that I care to sell.” + </p> + <p> + He leaned back in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “You don't care to sell!” he repeated, slowly. “What the devil do you mean + by that?” + </p> + <p> + “What I said. And, besides, Mr. Colton, I—” + </p> + <p> + He interrupted me. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you care to sell?” he demanded. “The land is no good to you, is + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much. No.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Are you so rich that you've got all the money you want?” + </p> + <p> + I was angry all through. I rose from my chair. + </p> + <p> + “Good day, Mr. Colton,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Here!” he shouted. “Hold on! Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't see that there is any use of our talking further.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + I sat down, reluctantly. He threw his cigar, which had gone out, into the + fireplace and lit another. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “What do you say?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + I answered, Yankee fashion, with another question. “Mr. Colton,” I asked, + “why do you want to close that Shore Lane?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I do. What difference does it make to you why I want to close + it?” + </p> + <p> + “That Lane has been used by Denboro people for years. It is almost a + public necessity.” + </p> + <p> + He puffed twice on his cigar before he spoke again. When he did it was in + a different tone. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” he said. “Humph! I see. Paine, does the town pay you rent for the + use of that road?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Has it been bidding to buy it?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Is any one else after it?” + </p> + <p> + “No-o. I think not. But—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do you want to close it?” + </p> + <p> + Before he could answer there came a knock at the door. The butler + appeared. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir—” he began. His master cut him short. + </p> + <p> + “Tell 'em to wait,” he ordered. “I can't see any one now, Johnson. If it + is that damned carpenter he can wait.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell her I've bought it,” snapped the head of the house. “Get out.” + </p> + <p> + The butler obeyed orders. Colton turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. + </p> + <p> + “I understand your position, Mr. Colton,” I said, “but I can't say yes. + Not now, at any rate.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Isn't five hundred enough?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a good offer.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why not accept it?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, if I were certain that I wanted to sell, I could not accept any + offer just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? See here! are you afraid the town will be sore because the road + is closed?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a great inconvenience to them.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Are you?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, if there were no other reason, I promised not to sell it without + telling another person first.” + </p> + <p> + He threw down his cigar and stood up. I rose also. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He took out his watch, glanced at it, and thrust it back into his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. I was holding my temper by main strength and I could not + trust myself to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he sneered. “That shakes your public spirit some, hey? What do you + say?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, and started for the door. + </p> + <p> + “What!” he could hardly believe his ears. “By the Lord Harry! the fellow + is crazy. Six hundred and fifty then, you infernal robber.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “NO! Say, what in thunder do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that you may go to the devil,” 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> + “Father,” said the young lady, “Johnson says you've bought that horrid + road. I'm so glad! When did you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + The young lady interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Victor,” she said. “I beg your pardon, Father. I thought you were + alone. Victor, we're intruding.” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + The young man turned lazily. “Are we?” he said. “I—What! Why, Mabel, + it's the humorist!” + </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> + “Come, Victor,” 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> + “It's the humorist,” he repeated. “Reuben, how are you?” + </p> + <p> + Colton regarded the three of us with amazement. + </p> + <p> + “What?” he began. “Mabel, do you—” + </p> + <p> + But I had recovered my powers of locomotion. I was on my way out of that + library. + </p> + <p> + “Here!” shouted Colton. “Stop!” + </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 “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. + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. He ran along beside me, still clinging to my sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “What did he want?” he repeated. “What did he say to you? What did you say + to him? Tell a feller, can't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I told him to go to the devil,” I answered, savagely. + </p> + <p> + Lute let go of my sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “You—you—By time, you're stark loony!” 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—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. + </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—including Victor—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> + “Been visitin', I hear,” she observed, wiping an imaginary speck from the + corner of a plate with her “afternoon” apron. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm,” said Dorinda. “Have a good time?” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. “I had an interesting one,” I told her. + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm, I judged so, from what Lute said.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Lute?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Lute thinks I've gone crazy,” I observed. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I did.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. Well, it didn't do any good, did it?” + </p> + <p> + “Good? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean he didn't obey orders—Colton, that is.” + </p> + <p> + “He hadn't when I left.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you both, at supper,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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 + “nerves.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn't say that, Roscoe. You don't know. You have never met her.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! hush! There is one thing she hasn't got. She hasn't a son like you, + Boy.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Or, if he didn't hear just that, he heard enough to make him guess + the rest. He is pretty shrewd.” + </p> + <p> + “You promised him you wouldn't sell without telling him beforehand. Shall + you tell him of Mr. Colton's offer?” + </p> + <p> + “If he asks me, I shall, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what he will do then. Do you suppose he will try to persuade the + Selectmen to buy the Lane for the town?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I shouldn't wonder.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be harder to refuse the town's offer.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think the Coltons would say to that?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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?” + </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> + “Five hundred!” he repeated “Five hundred DOLLARS for the Shore Lane! Five—” + </p> + <p> + “He raised it to six hundred and fifty before I left,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “SIX hundred! Six hundred—and FIFTY! For the Shore Lane! Six hun—” + </p> + <p> + “Sshh! shh!” cut in Dorinda. “You sound like Sim Eldredge sellin' + somethin' at auction. DO be quiet! And you told him, Roscoe—?” + </p> + <p> + “I told you what I told him,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Matilda Dean!” I repeated. “Why, Mother said Matilda wasn't here to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” I said. I could see no use in repeating my conversation with + Captain Jed. + </p> + <p> + Dorinda nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Goin' to tell the town to go—where you sent the other one?” she + asked, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Not necessarily.” + </p> + <p> + “Goin' to set on the fence, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “That's a good place TO sit, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Dorinda smiled, grimly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + “Got your other suit on, ain't you,” she observed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Goin' anywheres special?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Down to the boathouse, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I had noticed it, too, and this reminder confirmed my suspicions that + others had made the same observations. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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 “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. + </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 + “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.” + </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 + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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.” + </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—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> + “We've lost an oar,” he shouted. “We're drifting out to sea. Lend us a + hand, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” I answered. “I'll be there in a minute.” + </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—I + did not know his other name—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> + “Why, Victor!” she said, “it is—” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked her companion. Then, looking at me, “Oh! it's you, is it?” + </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. “By Jove!” he observed; + “Mabel, we seem destined to . . . Humph! Well? Will you give us a hand?” + </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> + “What are you waiting for?” he demanded. “Aren't you going to help us? + We'll pay you for it.” + </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> + “Here,” I said, brusquely; “catch this line and I'll tow you.” + </p> + <p> + I tossed him the loop of rope and he caught it. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do with it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Hold it, just as it is, for the present. What became of your other oar?” + </p> + <p> + “Lost it overboard.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you throw over your anchor and wait where you were?” + </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> + “Don't do that,” I said. “Wait.” + </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> + “Now,” I said, “you can pull in the slack until you get to the end. Then + make it fast to your bow somewhere.” + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” he sputtered, angrily. “Give me that rope.” + </p> + <p> + I gave it to him, literally gave it, for I pulled alongside and put the + end in his hands. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + I swung the skiff's bow around. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you want to go?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “Here!” he shouted. “Where are you going? That's the landing over there.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” I answered. “But we shall have to go around that flat. We can't + cross here.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? What's the reason we can't?” + </p> + <p> + “Because there isn't water enough. We should get aground.” + </p> + <p> + He stood up to look. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” he said. “There's plenty of water. I can't see any flat, or + whatever you call it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “A half mile! Why, confound it! it's past one o'clock now. We haven't any + time to waste.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, but we can't cross yet. And, if I were you, I shouldn't stand + up in that boat.” + </p> + <p> + He paid no attention to this suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + There was no question of risk. It was a certainty. I knew that channel. + </p> + <p> + “We can't cross here,” I said, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, confound you—” + </p> + <p> + “Victor!” cautioned Miss Colton. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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—to him. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “You won't? Then you give me an oar and I'll row the rest of the way + myself.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and began untying the tow line. I stopped rowing. + </p> + <p> + Miss Colton looked troubled. + </p> + <p> + “Victor!” she cried. “What are you doing?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Keep off!” ordered Victor, still fumbling with the rope. “We don't want + your help.” + </p> + <p> + I wasted no breath on him. I addressed my remarks to the girl. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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?” + </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> + “There you are,” I said, grimly. “But I warn you that you're in for + trouble.” + </p> + <p> + I let go of the rail and the boats fell apart. Victor seized the borrowed + oar with a triumphant laugh. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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 “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. + </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—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. + </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 “Big Jim” 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> + “Here!” he shouted. “You keep away. We don't want you.” + </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> + “You'll never get her off if you both stay aboard,” I said. “Let the lady + move amidships and you get out and wade.” + </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> + “You go back where you came from,” he ordered. “I'm running this.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer; instead he continued to push with the oar. I turned to + the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton,” I said, “I must ask you to stand up. Be careful when you + rise.” + </p> + <p> + She made no move, nor did she reply. The look she gave me was enough. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at me in blank astonishment. Then the color flamed in her cheeks + and her eyes flashed. + </p> + <p> + “We don't wish your help,” she said, icily. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, but that makes no difference. I—” + </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> + “You blackguard!” he shouted. “Will you go away?” + </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> + “Miss Colton,” I said, “I am going to carry you to my skiff. Are you + ready?” + </p> + <p> + “You—Why!—” 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> + “You must keep still,” I said, sharply, “or I shall drop you.” + </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> + “Sit there, please, and don't move,” I said. “I shall be back as soon as + I've got your boat afloat.” + </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> + “Now sit down,” I ordered. “Do you hear me? Sit down and sit still.” + </p> + <p> + “You—you—” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Because if you don't sit down,” I continued serenely, “you're likely to + tumble overboard. I'm going to push this boat off.” + </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> + “Sit where you are,” I said to Victor. “Miss Colton, please keep as still + as possible.” + </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> + “Here!” growled Victor. “Wait a minute.” + </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> + “Well?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't paid you yet,” he said, sullenly. “How much?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” I asked. I knew, of course, but it pleased me to make + him say it. + </p> + <p> + “Why, how much for towing us in? What's your price? Come, hurry up.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't any price. I'm not in the salvage business.” + </p> + <p> + “Not—Say, don't bargain. What's your price, I ask you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, of course. Very glad to have been of assistance.” + </p> + <p> + I took up my oars. + </p> + <p> + “Here!” he shouted. “Stop! hold on! Confound you! do you suppose we don't + intend to pay you for this?” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. “It has been a pleasure,” I said, sweetly. “Good day.” + </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> + “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!” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I replied, laughing. It was not worth while to explain. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” sniffed Dorinda. “Did Sim Eldredge cal'late she wanted to feed + the rabbit butter? Was the Colton girl alone?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! no, no! Course I didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “You sure?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Dorinda looked at me and shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that?” Lute's dignity was outraged. “All over town! I + never told him nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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. + </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 “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. + </p> + <p> + At the Corners, Sim Eldredge shouted to me from the platform of his store. + </p> + <p> + “Hi, Ros!” he shouted. “You! Ros Paine! come here a minute, will you?” + </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> + “Say, Ros,” he asked eagerly, “what's this about you and Mr. Colton?” + </p> + <p> + I was annoyed. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that?” I inquired, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He grinned. I understood. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” I said. “Well, what did Lute say?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I did, or didn't; what of it?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's my position, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he will! What makes you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, drily; “I see. Well, Sim, if I decide to engage an agent + I'll let you know. Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + “But, hold on, Ros! I—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Much obliged, Alvin, I'm sure. But why?” + </p> + <p> + He winked and nudged me with his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + For a person who had told nothing, Lute seemed to have “as much as said” a + good many things. I shook my head. + </p> + <p> + “So you think I shouldn't sell the land?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's very kind of you, Alvin.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. I'm glad to do it. Shan't charge you nothin', neither.” + </p> + <p> + “That's kinder still.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Alvin?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I could not help smiling. Alvin seemed to find encouragement in the smile. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I won't forget, Alvin. Good-by.” + </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> + “Morning, Ros,” he said. “Well, how are you these days?” + </p> + <p> + I answered that I was well, and was moving on but he detained me. + </p> + <p> + “Lively times ahead, hey,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “What sort of times?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “Hello, Ros,” he said. “Glad to see you. Come in.” + </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> + “Glad to see you,” he said again. “I was hoping you'd drift in. I presumed + likely you might. Sit down.” + </p> + <p> + I took the proffered chair. He looked at me with much the same curious + interest that Small had shown. + </p> + <p> + “We've been hearing about you,” he said. “You've been getting yourself + talked about.” + </p> + <p> + I mentally cussed Lute once more for his loquacity. + </p> + <p> + “I'll break the fellow's neck,” I declared, with emphasis. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Wall Street? What in the world has Lute got to do with Wall Street?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who said? What?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + This explained some things. It was clear now why Small had appeared so + interested. “Oh!” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer immediately. When I did the answer was non-committal. + “Oh, we had a business interview,” I said. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I shrugged my shoulders. The prospect of enemies, more or less, in + Denboro, did not trouble me. + </p> + <p> + “But you'll have to decide,” he went on, “who you'll sell to.” + </p> + <p> + “Or not sell at all,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. Suddenly his expression changed. He looked haggard and + care-worn. + </p> + <p> + “By the Almighty,” he said, between his teeth, and without looking at me, + “I wish I had your chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing, nothing. . . . How's your mother nowadays?” + </p> + <p> + I told him that my mother was much as usual, and we talked of various + things. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” said I, with as much heartiness as I could answer; marriage did + not interest me. “Congratulations, George. Nellie Dean, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad for you. And for her. She'll make you a good wife, I'm sure.” + </p> + <p> + He drew a long breath. “Yes,” he said slowly, “Nellie's a good girl.” + </p> + <p> + “When is the—what do they call it? the happy event to take place?” + </p> + <p> + “In the fall some time, if all goes well. I hope it will.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Yes, I should think you might hope as much as that. Why shouldn't + it go well?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Ros,” he whispered, “you're all right. Understand? I say you're all + right.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” I answered, briefly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + As I came down the bank steps Sim Eldredge called across the road. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, Ros,” he shouted. “Come in again next time you're up street.” + </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—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. + </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—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. + </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 “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. + </p> + <p> + Dorinda met me at the door. + </p> + <p> + “You've had two callers,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “So? Who were they?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. I remember he told me he missed me this morning. So he came + here?” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. Him and me had a little talk. He seemed to know consider'ble about + your rumpus with Mr. Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “How did he know?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. So I've heard. What did the Captain say to that?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “You suppose what?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothin'.” + </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 “fool Rube.” There I + had compelled respect and been taken seriously. + </p> + <p> + Dorinda spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “You ain't asked who your other caller was,” she observed. + </p> + <p> + “Was there another?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </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 “enclosed” was a five-dollar bill. + </p> + <p> + I stood staring at the note. Then I began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “What's the joke?” asked Dorinda, who had not taken her eyes from my face. + </p> + <p> + “This,” said I, handing her the money. She looked at it in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm,” she said, drily. “Well, I—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?” + </p> + <p> + “It's on me, just now. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It's for some 'work' I did yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + She was more astonished than ever. + </p> + <p> + “Work! You?” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But don't worry; I shan't do it again.” + </p> + <p> + “Land! THAT wouldn't worry me. What sort of work was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I—I picked up something adrift in the bay.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Again I laughed. “They have paid me too much,” I said, bitterly. “What I + picked up wasn't worth the money.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You can—yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you? I'm surprised.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm goin', ain't I? I was only just sayin'—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin. That what you done wan't wuth so much.” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly. That what I saved wasn't worth it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I have my reward. Now go.” + </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—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! + </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—we were in the boathouse—and + began to beat up to windward of his proposal. + </p> + <p> + “Ros,” he said, “you remember I told you you was all right, when I met you + at the bank t'other day.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Well, I cal'late you know what I meant by that.” + </p> + <p> + I did not pretend ignorance of his meaning. + </p> + <p> + “I presume,” I replied, “that you meant I was right in not selling that + strip of land to Mr. Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “WHAT! you didn't!” + </p> + <p> + “I did.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Jed slapped his knee and shouted in delight. He insisted on + shaking hands with me. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + I went on sand-papering a valve plug. He walked up and down the floor, + chuckling. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I looked at him, coolly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I put down the valve plug. “Captain,” said I, “that land is not for sale.” + </p> + <p> + “Not for SALE? What do you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that I have decided not to sell it, for the present, at least. + Neither to Colton nor any one else.” + </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> + “Very well,” I answered. “I'm willing to think. What has it done for me?” + </p> + <p> + It had—it had—well, it had done a whole lot. As a citizen of + that town I owed it a—a— + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Captain Dean,” I interrupted, “there's no use in our arguing + the matter. I have decided not to sell.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk so foolish. Course you'll sell if you get money enough.” + </p> + <p> + “So Colton said, but I shan't.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't a question of price.” + </p> + <p> + “Rubbish! Anything's a question of price.” + </p> + <p> + “This isn't. If it was I probably should have accepted Mr. Colton's offer + of six hundred and fifty.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you must be a . . . Humph! Six hundred and fifty! The town can't + meet no such bid as that, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't expect it to.” + </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> + “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?” + </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> + “How about the Lane?” he demanded. “You know what that Lane means to + Denboro?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He went away, soon after, but he asked another question. + </p> + <p> + “Will you do this much for me?” he asked. “Will you promise me not to sell + the land to Colton?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said, “I will make no promise of any kind, to anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I rose. I was angry now. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yup. Oh, I give him a jolt. I hinted that the town had made you a fine + offer and you was considerin' it.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do that for? Who gave you the right to—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care what he said.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Sim, I'll tell you, as I told Captain Jed, that land is not for sale.” + </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> + “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.” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + Lute, always a sort of social barometer, noticed the change in the + weather. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” I commented, ironically. “Lute, you astonish me. Why am I smart?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> would? A Selectman?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Toll? What put that idea in your head?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothin', only some of the fellers wondered if you was. You see, you won't + sell, and so—” + </p> + <p> + “I see. That's a brilliant suggestion, Lute. When I adopt it I'll appoint + you toll-keeper.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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 “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. + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But it's raining pitchforks,” I said. “You'll be wet through.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I won't. I'll have Doc Quimby here in no time.” + </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> + “She's quiet now,” she whispered. “I think she's asleep. Where do you + suppose George is?” + </p> + <p> + “Goodness knows!” I answered. “I shouldn't have let him go, a night like + this.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you couldn't stop him if his mind was made up. He's dreadful + determined when he sets out to be.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + She blushed and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. “I seem to be talked about generally, just now,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Present company excepted, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </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—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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Better, I think. She's asleep now. So is Nellie. I suppose George told + you she was with her.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He left us and I turned to Taylor. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “Why did you do it, George?” I said. “I never would have thought of asking + such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on! Yes, you would. I know you.” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he say that? What did he mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I imagine he meant he wasn't sure whether I was the fool he had believed + me to be, or just a sharp rascal.” + </p> + <p> + Taylor looked at me over the edge of his glass. + </p> + <p> + “You think that's what he meant, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it.” + </p> + <p> + He put the glass on the floor beside him and laid a hand on my knee. + </p> + <p> + “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>I</i> know you—better, + maybe, than you know yourself. At least I believe I know you better than + any one else in the town.” + </p> + <p> + “That wouldn't be saying much.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess my mixing wouldn't be very welcome,” I + said. “And, besides, I don't care to mix.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you don't, but you ought to, just the same.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care to know them; and I'm sure they don't care to know me.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven knows! Would you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—he, the dry, keen, + Yankee banker. + </p> + <p> + “But why, George?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I sighed. “Nobody knows me here,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “One knows you, Ros. I know you.” + </p> + <p> + “You may think you do, but you don't. You can thank God for your + ignorance.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I ain't so ignorant.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at him. He was looking me straight in the eye. + </p> + <p> + “What do you know?” I asked, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “I know, for one thing, that your name ain't Paine.” + </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> + “It's all right, Ros,” he said, earnestly. “Nobody knows but me, and + nobody ever shall know if I can help it.” + </p> + <p> + “How—how much do you know?” I stammered. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I leaned my head on my hand. He patted my knee, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Are—are you sure no one else knows?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have told no one? Not even Nellie?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I tell Nellie most things, but not all—not all.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + He looked up and smiled. I seized his hand. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He shook my hand. + </p> + <p> + “I know you will, Ros,” he said. “I told you I knew you.” + </p> + <p> + “If ever I can do anything—” + </p> + <p> + He interrupted me. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. I had heard about the festival, but I certainly had not + contemplated attending. + </p> + <p> + “Come!” he urged. “You won't say no to the first favor I ask you. Promise + me you'll be on hand.” + </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> + “You bad boy,” she cried. “You're wet through.” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Quimby turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “Your ma's getting on all right,” he declared. “About all that ails her + now is that she wants to see you.” + </p> + <p> + George was assisting Nellie to put on her wraps. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Why” I answered, “I suppose—Yes, Mother, I'm coming—Why, yes, + George, I'll promise, to please you.” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She condescended to approve of my appearance when, an hour later, I came + downstairs, garbed in my best. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “'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?” + </p> + <p> + Mother noticed my unwonted grandeur when I went in to say good-night to + her. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Roscoe!” she exclaimed. “You must consider this strawberry festival + very important.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you've taken such pains to dress for it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Mother. You're not old; and as to wasting my time—why, + Mother, you know—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Mother, please.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Mother, I—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she tell you that?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in those words. You know Dorinda. But what amounts to that. I am sure + the Denboro people are very proud of you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “And I am glad you are going to the strawberry festival. I can't remember + when you attended such a function before. Boy—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mother.” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't any reason, any special reason, for your going, is there?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + I laughed aloud. “Mother!” I said, reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? I am very proud of my handsome boy, and I know that—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am sure you will have a good time. Kiss me, Boy. Good-night.” + </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 + “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. + </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> + “Good evening, Nellie,” said I. “Well, George, here I am, you see.” + </p> + <p> + He shook my hand heartily. “I see you are,” he said. “Good boy! How does + it seem to splash into society?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't splashed yet. I have only just arrived.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Mother is herself again, I am glad to say. George, I have scarcely + thought of anything except what you told me the other night.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't of myself, but of Mother. If you had dropped a hint when that + Boston reporter came—” + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here, Ros, would YOU have dropped hints if things had been the + other way around?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It was mighty good of you, just the same.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it wasn't. The whole affair was your business and nobody else's.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as I said before, if ever I have an opportunity to do as much for + you—not that I ever will.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know you won't? Anybody's liable to be gossiped about some + time or other.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am in no hurry. How are affairs at the bank?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Small, the bookkeeper? Why?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. “Is it likely?” I asked. “How large is my acquaintance among + sharp, experienced fellows down here?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so large as it ought to be, I'll give in to that. But you know one.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I, indeed? Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yourself. You wouldn't take Small's job, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “I?” I laughed aloud. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't be sarcastic. No, thank you, George.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I wondered what was coming now. “No,” I answered. “Go ahead and talk.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That was wasted long ago.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's enough of that. I have a name already. You know it, and you know + what was made of it.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “George, you've said enough. No one but you would have been permitted to + say as much. You don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe not, but, Ros, I don't like to have people around here call you—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Ros,” he said, earnestly, “you think of what I told you, will you?” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” I asked, trying to pull my arm free. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “Who are those other people?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I shall enjoy it, Father. Look at the decorations. Aren't they + perfectly WONDERFUL!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I forgive you, Victor,” replied the girl, carelessly. “But don't be too + long.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Sim's hat was in his hand and he was greeting Mr. Colton. + </p> + <p> + “Proud to see you amongst us, sir,” said Sim, with unction. “The Methodist + folks are havin' quite a time to-night, ain't they?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “'Most everybody's out to-night. Church'll make consider'ble money. Good + evenin', Miss Colton. Mr. Carver, pleased to meet you again, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The young lady merely nodded. Victor, whose foot was on the step of the + car, did not deign to turn. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” he drawled. “I am—er—embalmed, I'm sure. All ready, + Phil. Let her go, Oscar.” + </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> + “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.” + </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, “Good + evening,” 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> + “Hello, Ros,” said Captain Elisha Warren, “Sim's havin' the time of his + life, isn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “He seems to be,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder why they came here,” I mused. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Who were those fellows in the auto?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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. + </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> + “Hi, Uncle!” he shouted. “You, by the gate! Is Mr. Colton here?” + </p> + <p> + Elnathan, who was, apparently, half asleep, looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Hey?” he queried. “Mr. Colton? Yes, he's here. Want him, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Up yonder somewheres. There he is, by Sarah Burgess's table. Mr. Colton! + Mr. Col—ton! Somebody wants ye!” + </p> + <p> + “What in blazes did you yell like that for?” protested the coachman, + springing from the carriage. “Stop it, d'ye hear?” + </p> + <p> + “You said you wanted him, didn't you? Mr. Colton! Hi! Come here!” + </p> + <p> + Colton came hurrying down to the gate, his daughter following more slowly. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The coachman touched his hat. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Colton turned with a shrug to his daughter. “We might have expected it, + Mabel,” he said. “Come.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “We can leave word. You'd better come, Mabel. Heavens and earth! you don't + want any MORE of this, do you?” + </p> + <p> + It was evident that he had had quite enough of the festival. She laughed + lightly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell her I am quite safe and in perfectly respectable company.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you? I can guess.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't from your dad. Now do be careful, won't you? If Victor doesn't + come soon I shall send the carriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he will come. It's all right, Father, dear. I am quite able to take + care of myself.” + </p> + <p> + Her father shook his head. “Yes,” he observed, “I guess you are. All + right, Jenkins.” + </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> + “Hello, Ros!” exclaimed the cashier. “Thought you'd gone. Going to have a + tempest, ain't we.” + </p> + <p> + “Tempest” is Cape Cod for thunderstorm. I agreed that one was imminent. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on till I get this stuff into the vestry,” continued Taylor, “and + I'll drive you home. I'll be ready pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + A sharp flash of lightning cut the sky and a rattling peal of thunder + followed. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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 + “tempests” 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, “Whoa!” The voice did not come from the + carriage but from the road behind it. + </p> + <p> + “Whoa! Stop him!” 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> + “Whoa, boy!” I ordered. “Whoa! Stand still!” + </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> + “What is the matter?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Miss Colton,” I called. “Where are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Here,” came the answer from just ahead. “Is that you, Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + I did not reply until I reached her side. + </p> + <p> + “You are not hurt?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, not at all. But who is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I am—er—your neighbor. Paine is my name.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” the tone was not enthusiastic. “Where is Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + “He is attending to the horse. Pardon me, Miss Colton, but won't you take + this umbrella?” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, though he is very much frightened. I—” + </p> + <p> + I was interrupted by another flash and terrific report from directly + overhead. The young lady came closer to me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” 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> + “Come!” I said. + </p> + <p> + She hung back. “Where are you going?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Just across the road to that old house. On the porch we shall be out of + the rain.” + </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 “old maids' pinks” 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> + “Do you see or hear anything of Jenkins?” + </p> + <p> + I listened, or tried to. I was wondering myself what had become of the + coachman. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, “I don't hear him.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you suppose he is? He could not have been far away when you met + him.” + </p> + <p> + “He was not. And I know he intended to come back at once.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't suppose Caesar—the horse—ran away again? When that + second crack came?” + </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> + “I guess not,” I answered. “He'll be here soon, I am sure.” + </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> + “Where can he be?” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't—can't we go together?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. But you will get wet yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am wet already. Take the umbrella. I'll be back in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + She gave a little gasp of relief when I reached her side. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she exclaimed, “did you find him?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered. “He seems to have gone on. He cannot have gone far. It + is only a little way to the Corners.” + </p> + <p> + “Is—isn't there a house, a house with people living in it, near this + place?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “If you are really not afraid to remain here, Miss Colton,” I said, “I + will go to your house myself.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She put her hand on my arm. “Come,” she said. “Shall we start now?” + </p> + <p> + “But you must not go. You couldn't get there on foot, such a night as + this.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can. I mean to. Please come.” + </p> + <p> + I still hesitated. She took her hand from my arm and stepped out into the + rain. “Are you coming?” 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> + “Miss Colton!” I cried. “Miss Colton! Are you hurt?” + </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> + “What is it?” she asked. “What is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” I answered, with a sigh of relief. “It is all right. We shall + be there soon.” + </p> + <p> + “But what is the matter? Why are you—let me walk, please.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better stay as you are. You are almost home.” + </p> + <p> + “But why are you carrying me? What is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “You—you fainted, I think. The lightning—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I remember. Did I faint? How ridiculous! Please let me walk now. + I am all right. Really I am.” + </p> + <p> + “But I think—” + </p> + <p> + “Please. I insist.” + </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> + “You are sure you can manage it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course! But why did I faint? I never did such a thing before in my + life.” + </p> + <p> + “That flash was close to us. It struck the big willow by the brook.” + </p> + <p> + “Did it! As near as that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Don't try to talk.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am all right . . . I am not hurt at all. Are we almost home?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Those are the lights of your house ahead there.” + </p> + <p> + We moved on more rapidly. As we turned in at the Colton walk she said, + “Why; it has stopped raining.” + </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 “clearing-up + shower.” 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> + “Why! Why, Miss Mabel!” he stammered, with almost human agitation. “What—” + </p> + <p> + A voice, a petulant female voice, called from the head of the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Johnson,” it quavered, “who is it? Mabel, is that you?” + </p> + <p> + The library door flew open and Mr. Colton himself appeared. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “Mabel!” she cried, “where HAVE you been. You poor child! I have been + almost beside myself, and—” + </p> + <p> + Miss Colton laughingly avoided the rush. “Take care, Mother,” she warned. + “I am very wet.” + </p> + <p> + “Wet? Why! you're absolutely drenched! Jenkins—Mabel, where is + Jenkins? And who is this—er—person?” + </p> + <p> + I thought it quite time for me to withdraw. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Miss Colton,” I said, and stepped toward the door. But “Big + Jim” roared my name. + </p> + <p> + “It's that—it's Paine!” he exclaimed. “Here! what does this mean, + anyway?” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + She paid no attention to him. I was at the door when she overtook me. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand. I took it, scarcely knowing that I did so. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said, again. I murmured something or other and went out. + As I stepped from the porch I heard Victor's voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, by Jove!” he exclaimed. “Mabel!” + </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 “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Lute crowed vaingloriously over his own good judgment in leaving for home + early. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Her husband swallowed half a cup of coffee before replying. Then his reply + had nothing to do with the question. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Who paid for that second sasser of berries?” repeated his wife, + relentlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Why now, Dorindy—” + </p> + <p> + “Who paid for 'em? If 'twas Alvin Baker you ought to be ashamed of + yourself, spongin' on him for your vittles.” + </p> + <p> + “Alvin! Good land! did you ever know him to pay for anything he didn't + have to?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind what I know. Did you get trusted for 'em? How many times have + I told you—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You did! Um-hm. I want to know! Well then—MAN, where did the cash + in that pocket come from?” + </p> + <p> + Lute squirmed. “I—I—” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Where did it come from? Answer me.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Dorinda saved me the trouble of answering. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Dorindy, I've got one of my dyspepsy spells. I don't feel real good + this mornin'. I told you I didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Folks that make pigs of themselves on stolen berries hadn't ought to feel + good. Exercise is fine for dyspepsy. You march.” + </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 “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. + </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—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. + </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> + “Don't shoot,” said a voice from the doorway; “I'll come down.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He nodded and entered without waiting for an invitation. + </p> + <p> + “Morning,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “That's a good looking gun you've got there,” he observed. “Let's see it.” + </p> + <p> + I was too astonished to answer. “Let's look at it,” 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> + “Anything worth shooting around here?” 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> + “Why yes,” I answered, “in the season. Plenty of coots, some black duck, + and quail and partridge in the woods.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “I haven't gone there yet,” he continued. “Came over here instead. Got dry + yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Dry?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You were anything but dry when I saw you last night. Have many such + cloudbursts as that in these parts?” + </p> + <p> + “Not many. No.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What became of the horse?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And the coachman?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you know what I've come here for. I'm much obliged to you.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right. You're welcome.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “That didn't amount to anything,” I said, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. He chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I remained silent. He smiled broadly. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “He—he said—oh, nothing of importance.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know that. I listened to his explanations last night. But did he + say anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he offered to pay me for my work.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he? How much?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not wait to find out.” + </p> + <p> + “And you haven't heard from him since?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Have you?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I—I received a note from him next day.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Offering apologies?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Sent you money, didn't he?” + </p> + <p> + I looked at him in surprise. “Did he tell you?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Colton, I—” + </p> + <p> + “Come now! How much?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—he sent me five dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “No! he didn't!” + </p> + <p> + “I am telling you the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” slowly, “I know you are. I've got that much judgment left. Sent you + five dollars, did he. And you sent it back.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Any message with it?” + </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> + “I sent him word that what I saved wasn't worth the money.” + </p> + <p> + To my amazement he was not angry. Instead he slapped his knee and laughed + aloud. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I left the festival rather late and—” + </p> + <p> + “Festival? Oh, that thing up at the church. I didn't see you there.” + </p> + <p> + I had taken pains that he should not see me. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't I?” + </p> + <p> + “No, you can't. And if you want favors from men here you must ask for + them, not try to bully.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Even this did not make him angry. He looked at me as if I puzzled him. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Paine,” he said, “what in the world are you doing down in a place + like this?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Colton, I don't consider—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Going to sell to the public-spirited bunch? Dean and the rest?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Your understanding and mine differ on that point.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly, but they'll agree before I'm through. I am going to close that + Lane.” + </p> + <p> + “I think not.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to be said in answer to a statement like that. I did not + try to answer it. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + This seemed to be a soliloquy. I could not see how it applied to me. He + went on talking. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I shrugged my shoulders. “This seems to me like wasting time, Mr. Colton,” + I said. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + I rose. “Mr. Colton,” I said, sharply, “you had better not say any more. + I'm not afraid of you, and—” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Friends!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I actually staggered. I said what Lute had said to me. + </p> + <p> + “You're crazy!” I cried. “Five thousand dollars for that land!” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He did not appear surprised at my refusal. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He was on his way to the door when I recovered presence of mind sufficient + to remember ordinary politeness. + </p> + <p> + “Your daughter—er—Miss Colton is well?” I stammered. “No ill + effects from her wetting—and the shock?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </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 “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. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” said I, “you speak as if the offer had been five cents instead + of five thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so. But five thousand is a small fortune to us. I am not sure + that we have the right to refuse it.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, Mother. I think, perhaps, I should.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “But you do need them. Why, there are so many things you need.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not particularly proud of myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You should be. Can't you see how differently Mr. Colton regards you + already? He does not condescend or patronize now.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! he is grateful because I helped his daughter out of a scrape, + that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of it. It may do him good.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother, you are too charitable for this earth—too unworldly + altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “She is brave enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose poor Mr. Carver is in disgrace. Perhaps it was not his fault + altogether.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed and I laughed with him. + </p> + <p> + “I understood Princess Colton was out in the wust of it,” went on Captain + Jed. “Did you hear how her horse ran away?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, shortly; “I heard about it.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Whom do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Here was news. “The up train?” I repeated. “You mean he has gone for + good?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But what makes you think he has gone for good?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And there were not?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Say, Ros,” he said, “changed your mind about sellin' that Lane land yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, impatiently. “There's no use talking about that, Captain + Dean.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, all right. Humph! the fellers are gettin' consider'ble fun out + of that Lane.” + </p> + <p> + “In what way?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “Oh, nothin',” he observed, with a wink, “only. . . . Heard + any extry hurrahin' over to your place lately?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Captain, what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Now, boys, start her up! Three cheers for the Star Spangled Banner and + make 'em loud. Let her go!” + </p> + <p> + The cheers followed, uproarious ones. + </p> + <p> + “Try it again,” commanded the voice. “And keep her up all the way along. + We'll shake up the 'nerves' I guess. Hooray!” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + The wagon came nearer, the horse barely moving. Tim Hallet waved his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Now, boys,” he shouted, “let's have some music.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Everybody works but father, + And he sets around all day.'— +</pre> + <p> + Whoop her up!” + </p> + <p> + They whooped her up. I stepped out into the road. + </p> + <p> + “Here!” I shouted. “Stop that! Stop it, do you hear! Kendrick, what is all + this?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Ros!” said Kendrick, still grinning, but rather sheepishly. “How + be you? Got quite a band aboard, ain't I.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Tim Hallet appeared to consider my silence and my crimson cheeks as + acknowledgments of the compliment just paid me. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Even Zeb seemed to consider this as going too far, for he protested. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on, Tim!” he cautioned. “A joke's a joke, but that's a little too + much; ain't it, Ros.” + </p> + <p> + “Too much be darned!” scoffed Hallet. “We'll show 'em! Now, boys!” + </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> + “Hi!” shouted the startled driver. “What you doin', Ros? What's that for?” + </p> + <p> + “You go back where you come from,” I ordered. “Turn around. Get out of + here!” + </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> + “Now get out of here!” I repeated. “Go back where you come from.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but, Ros,” protested Zeb, “I don't want to go back. I'm goin' + to the shore.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you'll have to go some other way. You can't cross my property.” + </p> + <p> + Hallet, on his knees, looked out over the seat. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with you?” he asked, angrily. “Didn't you say the town + could use this Lane?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Zeb turned to his passengers. “There!” he whined, “I told you so, Tim. I + said you hadn't ought to act that way.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Not your kind. Go back, Zeb.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but can't I use the Lane NO more?” pleaded the driver. “I won't + fetch 'em here agin.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll see about that. You can't use it this time. Now go.” + </p> + <p> + Zeb reluctantly spoke to his horse and the wagon began to move. Hallet + swore a string of oaths. + </p> + <p> + “I'm on to you, Paine!” he yelled. “You're standin' in with 'em, after + all. You wait till I see Captain Jed.” + </p> + <p> + In three strides I was abreast the cart-tail. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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 + “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. + </p> + <p> + I entered the grove and was striding on, head down, busy with these and + similar reflections, when some one said: “Good morning, Mr. Paine.” + </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, “as if she came out of a band box.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + <i>I</i> was embarrassed, I admit it, but I had sufficient presence of + mind to remove my hat. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Her next remark settled that question. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I was more nettled at Zeb and his crowd than ever. “So you saw that + performance,” I said. “I'm sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Well, I hope you understand, Miss Colton, that I did not know, + until just now, this sort of thing was going on.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled. “Oh, I understand that,” she said. “You made that quite plain. + Even those people in the wagon understood it, I should imagine.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope they did.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I am glad you didn't know. I think those ruffians were treated as + they deserved.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. They have been troublesome—of late. I am sure we are + very much obliged to you, all of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It was nothing,” I answered, awkwardly. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing! You are not very complimentary, Mr. Paine.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean—that is, I—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + This sounded like a reference to the episode in the bay, and I did not + care to discuss that. + </p> + <p> + “You—I believe your father said you were not ill after your + experience,” I observed hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least, thank you. And you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + This was an unlucky remark, for it led directly to the subject I was + trying to avoid. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Father seemed inclined to agree with your estimate—part + of it, at least. He is very much interested in you, Mr. Paine.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, dryly. “I can understand that.” + </p> + <p> + Her smile broke into a ripple of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry that I am the cause of so much mental strain.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you are not. From what I have learned about you, from him, I think + you enjoy it. You must. It is great fun.” + </p> + <p> + “Fun! Well, perhaps. Does your—does Mrs. Colton find it funny?” + </p> + <p> + 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—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you, Miss Colton; did you believe me responsible for them?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “From what you learned about me? From your father?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then from whom, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I was so astonished that I blurted out my next question without thinking. + </p> + <p> + “You were speaking to them about ME?” 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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I came to earth with a thud. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I was turning away when she spoke my name. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Paine,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not explained why I was here, on your land, this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “That is all right. You are quite welcome to be here at any time.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at her in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Call on Mother!” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Colton, I—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then may I call on her?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. That is, if—if you think it wise. If your mother—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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> + “I'm goin' up street,” he declared. “Anything you want me to fetch you + from the store, Ros?” + </p> + <p> + I looked at my watch. It was only eleven o'clock. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” with a broad grin, “I ain't finished 'em. Fact is, I ain't begun 'em + yet.” + </p> + <p> + “So! Does Dorinda know that you are going up street?” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. She knows. Anyhow, she knows I'm goin' somewheres. She told me to + go herself.” + </p> + <p> + “She did! Why?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, Ros, you know what I think?” + </p> + <p> + “Far be it from me to presume to guess your thoughts, Lute.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Lute. I'll hear the rest of the philosophy later.” + </p> + <p> + “Philosophy or not, it's the livin' truth. And when you're as old as I be + you'll know it.” + </p> + <p> + I went in through the dining-room, steering clear of Dorinda, who scarcely + looked up from her floor scrubbing. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” said I, entering the darkened bedroom, “I just met the Colton + girl and what do you suppose she told me?” + </p> + <p> + “That she was very grateful to you for coming to her rescue the other + night.” + </p> + <p> + “That, of course. But she told me something else. She said she was coming + to call on you. On YOU, Mother!” + </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> + “Did she?” observed Mother, placidly. “I am very glad. I have no doubt I + shall like her.” + </p> + <p> + My next remark had nothing to do with Miss Colton. + </p> + <p> + “Well, by George!” I exclaimed, with emphasis. “Lute IS a philosopher, + after all. I take off my hat to him.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I observed that the view from her verandas must be almost the same. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “That is my launch there,” I replied, pointing. + </p> + <p> + “The little white one? You built it yourself, I think Father said.” + </p> + <p> + “He was mistaken, if he said that. I am not clever enough to build a boat, + Miss Colton. I bought the Comfort, second-hand.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The boat's name was the only portion of my remark which attracted her + attention. + </p> + <p> + “The Comfort?” she repeated. “That is a jolly name for a pleasure boat.” + </p> + <p> + “It is my mother's name,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Is it? Why, I remember now. Miss Dean told me. I beg your pardon, Mr. + Paine. It is a pretty name, at all events.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “I must have misunderstood Father. I was sure he said that boat building + was your business.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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. “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. + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Found plenty of room when it got there, I cal'late,” snapped Dorinda. + “Must have felt lonesome.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Roscoe,” broke in his wife, “I never was more mortified in all my born + days. He—” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “That wan't any reason why you should behave like a natural born—” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Just like a poll parrot,” interjected Dorinda. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Her husband disdained to notice this interruption. + </p> + <p> + “'Mrs. Comfort Paine,' says she,” he continued. “'She is in? And I says + 'In?'” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “But, Dorindy, I tell you I thought—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Rubbish! she meant could Mrs. Paine see folks, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “See 'em! How you talk! She ain't blind.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my soul and body! She was tryin' to ask if she might make a call on + Comfort.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, why didn't she ask it; 'stead of wantin' to know if she was + in?” + </p> + <p> + “That's the high-toned way TO ask, and you'd ought to have known it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “YOU'RE disgusted! What about, me?” + </p> + <p> + I had listened to as much of this little domestic disagreement as I cared + to hear. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute,” I said. “What is all this? Who has been here to see + Mother?” + </p> + <p> + Both answered at once. + </p> + <p> + “That Colton girl,” cried Lute. + </p> + <p> + “That Mabel Colton,” said Dorinda. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton? She has been here? this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm,” Dorinda nodded emphatically. “She stayed in your ma's room 'most + an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “'Twas fifty-three minutes,” declared Lute. “I timed her by the clock. And + she fetched a great, big bouquet. Comfort says she—” + </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> + “Aren't they beautiful, Roscoe?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered. “They are beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who brought them to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mother. Lute told me.” + </p> + <p> + “She did call, you see. She kept her word. It was kind of her, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + I sat down in the rocking chair by the window. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I asked, after a moment, “what did she say? Did she condescend to + pity her pauper neighbors?” + </p> + <p> + “Roscoe!” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Boy! How can you!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But it isn't her fault that she has them, is it? And it was kind to share + them with us.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You would try to like any one, Mother.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Not conceited! Humph!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not tell her anything more, Mother? Anything she should not + know?” + </p> + <p> + “Boy!” reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, Mother. Of course you didn't. Did she tell you why she called + on us—on you, I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell her that?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes. It is true, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Mildly so, maybe. What more did she say?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That must have been deliriously interesting—to her.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “It was not worth telling.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I knew, but I did not explain. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say, Mother, that you glorified me to her for an hour?” + I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I was silent. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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 + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He borrowed my tobacco, filled his pipe, and continued: + </p> + <p> + “Say, Ros,” he asked, “what's your idea of what made her come here?” + </p> + <p> + “To see Mother, of course,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “That's your notion, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. What else?” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! There's other sick folks in town. Why don't she go to see them?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she does. I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + That supposition had crossed my mind more than once. I was ashamed of it + and now I denied it, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Lute; if you are hinting that Miss Colton or her people intend + offering us charity—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Lute, you're growing more foolish every day.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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—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 + “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. + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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 “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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—two of them fine + ones—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—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. + </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—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. + </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—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—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. + </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> + “Oh!” 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> + “Why! Why, Mr. Paine!” she cried. “Is it you?” + </p> + <p> + I stepped forward. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Colton!” said I. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “It is called Seabury's Pond. How did you find it?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + She backed the horse out of the water and turned his head toward the + woods. + </p> + <p> + “It is great fun to be lost,” she observed. “I didn't suppose any one + could be lost in Denboro.” + </p> + <p> + “But this isn't Denboro. Seabury's Pond is in Bayport township.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it, really? In Bayport? Then I must be a long way from home.” + </p> + <p> + “You are; four miles and a half, at least. More than that over the road.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at her watch and frowned slightly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be glad to go with you and show you the way.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty fair. Some bass and two good-sized pickerel.” + </p> + <p> + “Really! Bass? I didn't know there were any about here. May I see them?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. They are over there in the bushes.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so. But that is all the better for you, isn't it? Were you + fishing when I interrupted you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I was just getting ready for lunch. My fire was ready to kindle.” + </p> + <p> + “Fire? Why did you need a fire?” + </p> + <p> + “For my coffee.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not permit it.” + </p> + <p> + “But I insist.” + </p> + <p> + Her answer was a little laugh. She put her foot in the stirrup and vaulted + to the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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—” + </p> + <p> + 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—” + </p> + <p> + “No, third to the right and second to the left.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but you are. I know you must be, because—no, good day, Mr. + Paine.” + </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> + “You are not going alone,” I said, decidedly. I was smiling, but + determined. + </p> + <p> + She looked at me in surprised indignation. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” 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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; unless you permit me to go with you and show you the way.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She did not look at me now. Instead she turned her head. + </p> + <p> + “Are—are you sure there is enough for two?” 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> + “Oh!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “There appears to be enough, doesn't there?” I observed, drily. + </p> + <p> + “But—but I couldn't think of . . . Are you sure I won't be . . . + Thank you. Yes, I'll stay.” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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?” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + It was high time for me to get under way. There were squalls on the + horizon. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “You shouldn't have done that,” I said. “I am the host here.” + </p> + <p> + She did not look up. “Don't bother the table maid,” she observed, briskly. + “That fire is not kindled yet.” + </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> + “Why are you doing that?” she asked. “You are not going to cook them—now—are + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to try,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “But how? You haven't anything to cook them in.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't need it. You don't appreciate the conveniences of this hotel, + Miss Colton. There! now we're ready.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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—<i>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— + </p> + <p> + She interrupted my meditations. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I hastened to pass the paper containing the puffs. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” I said, hurriedly. “I—I was daydreaming, I + guess.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “She did. So you think Dorinda delightful, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She is so sincere and good-hearted. And so odd and bright and funny. + I could listen to her for hours.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Her husband? Oh, yes! I met him. He is a character, too, isn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; a weak one.” + </p> + <p> + She put down her coffee cup and sighed, contentedly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I had been longing for a smoke and now I filled my pipe and lighted it. + </p> + <p> + “Now we can talk, can't we?” she said. “I want you to tell me about your + mother. How is she?” + </p> + <p> + “Just as she was when you saw her,” I answered. “Mother is always the + same.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. Mother enjoyed your call exceedingly.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I told you that it would not.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. But, under the circumstances—Father's disagreement with—considering + all the—the—Oh, what shall I call it?” + </p> + <p> + “The late unpleasantness,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + Again came the twinkle in her eye. She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Of course not,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “You did not think that, did you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” unblushingly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” I answered, simply. + </p> + <p> + “You have reason. And she is very proud of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Without the reason, I'm afraid.” + </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> + “Without the reason,” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I did not say that.” + </p> + <p> + “But you thought it.” + </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> + “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?” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” she answered, “surprisingly so. Did they teach Domestic + Science at your college, too?” + </p> + <p> + I started. “MY college!” I repeated. “How did you know I had been at + college? Did Mother tell you?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed gleefully. + </p> + <p> + “Did Mother tell you?” I demanded. “If she did—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what if she did? However, she did not. But you have told me now. + Harvard, was it? or Yale?” + </p> + <p> + I tossed the knife and fork into the basket and turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Princeton, perhaps,” 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—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? + </p> + <p> + I was angrily tugging at the rod when I heard her step behind me. I did + not turn. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” she said. + </p> + <p> + I pretended not to hear. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Mr. Paine,” she said again. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right,” I muttered. “No apologies are necessary.” + </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> + “Miss Colton,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she neither turned nor stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton, I should not have answered like that. I was rude.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped. “You were,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I know it. I am sorry. I apologize.” + </p> + <p> + “No apologies are necessary.” + </p> + <p> + Here was tit for tat. I did not know what more to say, so I said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Do I understand that you ask my pardon?” she inquired, still without + turning. + </p> + <p> + “I do. If you will permit me, I will explain. I—” + </p> + <p> + She whirled about and faced me. To my astonishment she was smiling once + more. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I know you want to go home and I am going with you to show you + the way.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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> + “Do you like Denboro?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am beginning to like it very much. At first I thought it very dull, but + now I am getting acquainted.” + </p> + <p> + “There are few cottagers and summer people here. But in Harniss there is a + large colony. Very nice people, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He is as good as they make.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed he is. And I had an interview with another captain, Miss Dean's + father, yesterday. We had an interesting encounter.” + </p> + <p> + “So I should imagine. Captain Jed! Whew! It MUST have been interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha! How did it end?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we agreed to disagree. I respect Captain Dean for his fight; but + Father will win, of course. He always does.” + </p> + <p> + “He won't win this time, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it. He cannot close that Lane until I sell it, and I shall + not sell.” + </p> + <p> + She regarded me thoughtfully, her chin upon her hand. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “He has offered me a dozen times what it is worth.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He does not count money when he has set his heart upon anything. And + you refused?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But Nellie Dean says the town also wished to buy and you refused its + offer, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind. I am not sensitive—on that point, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why don't you sell to THEM?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “My! how stubborn you must be.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know why I have preached this sermon to you, Miss Colton, your + sympathies in the fight are with your father, naturally.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, they are not.” + </p> + <p> + I almost dropped the rod. + </p> + <p> + “Not—with—” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “As it is?” I asked eagerly—too eagerly. I should have done better + to pretend indifference. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I made the offer by way of a joke. She accepted it instantly. + </p> + <p> + “May I?” she cried, eagerly. “I have been dying to ever since I came. + </p> + <p> + “But—but you will get wet.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter. This is an old suit.” + </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—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> + “Shall I cast for you?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No indeed. I can do it, thank you.” + </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> + “By George!” I exclaimed. “Can you handle him? Shall I—” + </p> + <p> + She did not look at me, but I received my orders, nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + “Please don't! Keep away!” 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> + “No,” she said, breathlessly, “I want to do this all myself.” + </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> + “A four-pounder, if he is an ounce,” said I. “I congratulate you, Miss + Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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. + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Because I have had some experience in banking myself. I—” + </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> + “You are a loyal friend, aren't you, Mr. Paine.” + </p> + <p> + “I have reason to be loyal to George,” I answered, with feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Are you as loyal to yourself?” + </p> + <p> + I looked up at her in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I stopped short. “You—you know THAT?” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke to the horse and we moved on again. I waited for her to + continue, but she was silent. + </p> + <p> + “How? What is the other way! The way in which you cannot understand me?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you? Do you wish me to be perfectly frank?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. She had said all that was necessary, and more. It was + quite enough for me. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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. “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I will take them now,” I said, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, if you prefer. Here they are.” + </p> + <p> + I took them from her. + </p> + <p> + “Good afternoon,” she said. “And thanks once more for a very pleasant + picnic.” + </p> + <p> + “You are quite welcome, I'm sure. Thank you for your frank opinion of my—worthlessness. + It was kind of you to express it.” + </p> + <p> + The sarcasm was not lost upon her. + </p> + <p> + “I meant it as a kindness,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And it was true enough, probably. Doubtless I shall derive great + benefit from your—words of wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </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> + “Hold on, Ros,” he hailed. “Wait a minute. What's your rush? Hold on!” + </p> + <p> + I halted reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “Fishing again, I see,” he observed, as he reached my side. “Any luck?” + </p> + <p> + “Fair,” I told him. + </p> + <p> + “What pond?” + </p> + <p> + “Seabury's.” + </p> + <p> + “Go alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” That I had not been alone since was no business of his. + </p> + <p> + “Humph! You ain't exactly what a fellow'd call talkative this afternoon, + seems to me. Anything wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Tuckered out?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “What is expected of a man in that position?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “When do you want him to begin?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow morning, if he satisfies me.” + </p> + <p> + “Would I satisfy you?” + </p> + <p> + “You! Humph! Try me and see, that's all I'd ask.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll be on hand in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, looked at me, and then seized me by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but, Ros.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + I walked on. I had taken but a few steps when he overtook me. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it. I haven't asked because I don't care. I'll be on hand in the + morning.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, impatiently. “What of it?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “What is it? If it has anything to do with the Lane, I tell you now that—” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “There! there!” I interrupted. “It's no use, Sim. I can't help you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why! yes you can.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I can't. I don't know your cousin, and besides—well, you are + too late. The place is filled.” + </p> + <p> + Sim's expression changed. He looked surprised and crestfallen. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know? Who is it, then?” + </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> + “I've taken the place myself,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “You?” Sim actually forgot to whisper; he shouted the word. “YOU! Ha! ha! + ha! Ros, quit your foolin'.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not fooling. I go to work in the bank to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I answered him. “Shut up!” 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> + “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!” + </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> + “Whew!” he exclaimed. “So. I didn't dream it, after all. You're here, + ain't you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am here,” I answered, opening the gate and stepping in behind the rail. + </p> + <p> + “Going to take it back and say you never said it?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Come to go to work? Really?” + </p> + <p> + “That is my intention, unless you have changed your mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Not me. It ain't likely. But, Ros, I—sit down a minute and let's + talk. What are you doing this for?” + </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> + “I don't know,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “You don't know!” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no; not quite. You're not doing it just to help me out?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't need to work. You've got money enough.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven't. But money isn't my reason. I haven't any reason. Now show + me the books, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be in a hurry. What does your mother think about it?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Captain Jed! Captain Jed Dean! HE suggested it?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + He sighed and, for a moment, seemed to forget me altogether. I reminded + him by another question. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “George!” + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + “So that's what you call his suggesting me, do you? Humph!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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—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. “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.” + </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> + “Shake, Ros,” he said, heartily. “I'm glad for the bank and I'm gladder + still for you. Come hard at fust, does it?” + </p> + <p> + “A little,” I confessed. “Not as hard as I expected, though.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so,” I answered, rather dubiously. + </p> + <p> + “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'.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + My reply was non-committal. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Good morning, Sim,” said I. “What can I do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Do?” he repeated. “Do for me? Nothin'—nothin', 'special. You—you + meant it, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I told you I did.” + </p> + <p> + “My soul!” 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, “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. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Lute!” I said. + </p> + <p> + Lute swallowed hard. + </p> + <p> + “They told me 'twas so,” he stammered. “They said so and—and I + laughed at 'em. Ros, you ain't, be you?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Goin' to stay in there and—and take Henry's job?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You be! And you never said nothin' to nobody? To Dorinda? Or even + Comfort?” + </p> + <p> + “No; not yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor to me. To ME, by time! You let them fellers at the store make a fool + of me—” + </p> + <p> + “No one could do that, Lute. I have told you so often.” + </p> + <p> + “And you let them know it afore I did. And me livin' right in the house + with you! By time! I—I—” + </p> + <p> + “There, there, Lute! don't cry. I'll tell you all about it when I come + home for dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I should think you might do that much. Treatin' your own family like—why + did you tell Sim Eldredge?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Lute glanced apprehensively toward the cashier's desk and turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” he exclaimed, “I've said you was crazy more'n once, that's some + satisfaction. Say! can I tell 'em to home?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. “You may tell Dorinda if you like,” I answered. “But I prefer + to tell Mother, myself.” + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “But Dorinda,” cried her husband, “it's Ros. Don't you see?” + </p> + <p> + “You set down, Lute Rogers. Well,” turning to me, “dinner's ready, if you + are.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be in a few minutes,” I answered. “I want to see Mother first.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother, how often have I told you not to speak like that.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so, Mother. I confess I am not sure.” + </p> + <p> + “This country bank is a pretty small place, isn't it? Not big enough for + my boy to prove his worth in.” + </p> + <p> + “It is quite big enough for that. That doesn't require a Rothschild's + establishment.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It was sudden,” I answered. “I took the position on the spur of the + moment.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? What led you to do it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, Mother.” + </p> + <p> + “What influenced you? Has any one urged you?” + </p> + <p> + “George Taylor offered me the place some time ago. He urged me.” + </p> + <p> + “No one else?” + </p> + <p> + I avoided the issue. “You don't mind, then, Mother,” I said. “You are + willing that I should try the experiment?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Of course I shan't promise any such thing. Is it likely that I would + leave you, Mother?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't say that,” I interrupted, hastily. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + And as I bent over her she put her arms about my neck. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I straightened hurriedly and tried to laugh. “Of course I'll tell you, + Mother,” I replied. “If there is anything to tell.” + </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> + “Here he is,” he exclaimed, as I joined the pair at the table. “Ros, how + did you ever come to do it?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “Um-hm,” said Dorinda. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He wouldn't have time to whistle more'n once,” was Dorinda's comment. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't imagine, Lute. This clam pie is a triumph. May I have another + helping, Dorinda?” + </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> + “Well,” said I, looking at my watch and rising, “what do you think of it? + Am I doing right?” + </p> + <p> + 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—” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think, Dorinda?” I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + Dorinda stirred her tea. + </p> + <p> + “Think?” she repeated. “I think . . . When's that Colton girl comin' to + call on Comfort again?” + </p> + <p> + I had taken my hat from the hook. Now, with it in my hand, I turned and + faced her. + </p> + <p> + “How should I know that?” I demanded. “That's a trifle off the subject, + isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm,” said Dorinda. “Maybe 'tis.” + </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> + “I told her of your consenting to help Mr. Taylor in his dilemma,” said + Mother. + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” said I. “It was kind of you to put it in that way.” + </p> + <p> + “That was the truthful way of putting it, wasn't it? She seemed very much + interested.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed. And surprised, I presume.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I have never noticed.” This was untrue. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad she didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Roscoe!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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 + “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. + </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> + “George tells me you're takin' hold fust-rate,” he said. “That's good. I'm + glad to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he repeated, in surprise. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Why are you glad?” I said. “I can't see what difference it makes to you + whether I succeed or not.” + </p> + <p> + He regarded me with a puzzled expression, but, instead of taking offense, + he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You've got a chip on your shoulder, ain't you, Ros?” he observed. + “Workin' you too hard at the start, are we?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, curtly. + </p> + <p> + “Then what is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Not much else, I shouldn't wonder. But that's to be expected, ain't it? + Everybody's glad you're makin' good.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I smiled bitterly. “Friends,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That is because you were against his grabbing the Lane.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No. And I advise them not to.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to like Colton, then,” I said. “He hasn't knuckled, much.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How about the enemies I have made?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “That's a joke, hey?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I say that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And you said, on another occasion, that anyone would sell anything + if they were offered money enough.” + </p> + <p> + “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'.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me from beneath his bushy brows. His mouth twisted in a grim + smile. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “You ain't heard anything from a Boston firm claimin' to represent the Bay + Shore Development Company, or some such?” + </p> + <p> + “No. What sort of a company is that?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a word. Where did your information come from?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I was considering the news when he spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “It might mean a lot to you, Ros,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But—you urge me to SELL!” I exclaimed. “Sell the Shore Lane with + the rest?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </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—evidently his daughter had not considered Mother's news of + sufficient importance to repeat—and, at first, he did not recognize + me. + </p> + <p> + “Good afternoon, Mr. Colton,” said I. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “I am employed here now,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Humph! how long since?” + </p> + <p> + “Ten days, or such matter.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing in a bank?” + </p> + <p> + “Banking was my business, at one time.” + </p> + <p> + “Thought you hadn't any business.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't had any, for some years. Now I have. How do you wish this + money? In tens and fives?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks that way. Sorry I am to be deprived of the pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” Then, with one of his sudden changes, “How big a business does + this concern do? What do your deposits amount to?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I ought to raise it, now that you're a financier yourself. + However, I shan't.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't asked you to.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Here is your money,” I said, ignoring the question. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + I remembered our first interview and I could not resist the temptation to + retort. + </p> + <p> + “If my recollection is correct,” I said, “you forgot that the first time + we met.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “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?” + </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 + “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.” + </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. “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—” + </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 + “little matter” 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. “A concern of + which, in spite of all our precautions and attempts at secrecy, you may, + perhaps, have heard, Mr. Paine,” 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—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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You appear to be certain that I will sell,” I observed. “Isn't that + taking a good deal for granted, Mr. Keene?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “IF they go through? I thought you were certain of their going through.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Shall I make a bid?” asked Keene. + </p> + <p> + “No, not yet at any rate. Tell me, this: Whose land have you already + bought?” + </p> + <p> + 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—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “Very well,” said I, rising from my chair; “I'll think it over.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, but I prefer to think the matter over before naming a price or + hearing your offer.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid it will have to.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Mr. Paine,” 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> + “Good afternoon, Miss Colton,” I said, awkwardly. Some one had to speak, + we could not stand staring at each other like that. + </p> + <p> + She said “Good afternoon,” also. Then there was another interval of + silence. + </p> + <p> + “You—you wished to speak to me?” I stammered. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “I am very glad to hear it, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “We had no difficulty in finding the way after you left us.” + </p> + <p> + The way being almost straight, and over the main traveled roads, this, + too, was fairly obvious. + </p> + <p> + “I felt sure you would have no trouble—after I left you,” 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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not need to apologize, Miss Colton. What you told me was probably + true enough.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, of course, since you insist, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </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> + “Miss Colton,” I said, impulsively. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “May I—may I say a word?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, if you wish.” + </p> + <p> + She turned again and faced me. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton, I—I—” I began, and paused. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she said, patiently, “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </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> + “It is no use,” I said, “I can't tell you what those reasons were.” + </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> + “I can't tell you,” I repeated, stubbornly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” Her tone was as coldly indifferent as I had anticipated. “Was + that all you wished to say to me, Mr. Paine?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton, I should like to explain if I could. But I cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray don't trouble yourself. I assure you I had no intentions of asking + for your—reasons. Good afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton,” I said, sharply; “wait.” + </p> + <p> + She kept on. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” I said again. “Listen to me.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to hesitate and then turned her head. + </p> + <p> + “I am listening,” she said. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “You have no right to disbelieve me.” + </p> + <p> + “I disbelieve you? Why should you think I disbelieve you? I am not + sufficiently interested to believe or disbelieve, I assure you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you do. You judge me—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> judge you! You flatter yourself, Mr. Paine.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Do you believe me?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + Slowly her frown was disappearing. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe me?” I said, again. “You must.” + </p> + <p> + “Must?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you must. I shall make you. If not now, at some other time. You must + believe me, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + The frown disappeared altogether and she smiled. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But do you?” + </p> + <p> + She turned altogether and faced me. + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad to believe you,” she said, with simple directness. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The whole truth? Why, Miss Colton, I have just explained that—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I was relieved. “Oh, I see!” I exclaimed. “You mean—some one has + told you of my employment at the bank.” + </p> + <p> + “A number of persons have told me. Surely you did not expect to keep THAT + a secret—in Denboro?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you really accept the position simply because of what I said to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The chance had been offered me before, but it was your frankness + that shocked me into taking it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not really? You are joking.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not. You are responsible. Are you sorry?” + </p> + <p> + Her answer was a question. + </p> + <p> + “Are you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No. At first it seemed ridiculous and strange, even to myself; but now I + like the work. It is like old times.” + </p> + <p> + “Old times?” + </p> + <p> + I was forgetting myself again; talking too much was a dangerous train—for + me. I laughed, with pretended carelessness. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Tell me, please: You really like your work?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Even if it were nothing more than to follow Thoph Newcomb's example and + sell fish.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” laughingly, “even that. I WAS impertinent, wasn't I! I don't wonder + you were offended.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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 + “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. + </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> + “No, Miss Colton,” I said, with a smile, “I haven't sold yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Father said he saw you at the bank. Did he say anything about the land?” + </p> + <p> + “He said his offer was still open, that was all.” + </p> + <p> + “You are resolved not to sell.” + </p> + <p> + “To him? Yes, I am resolved. I think he knows it. I tried to make it + plain.” + </p> + <p> + “You say to him. Are you thinking of selling to any one else? To the + town?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Probably not to any one. Certainly not to your father or the town.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me, with an odd expression, and seemed to hesitate. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Paine,” she said, slowly, “would you resent my giving you another bit + of—advice?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. What is it this time?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But Miss Colton! Killing a cat! What in the world?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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. “Well, Mr. + Paine,” he said, cordially, “are you ready to talk business?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite ready,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + He beamed with satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” he exclaimed. “Then what is your figure?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Well, by time!” he gasped. “What—what sort of talk was that? + Chokin' a cat! A cat!! We ain't got no cat.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Hello!” said Colton. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “How are independence and public spirit these days?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, thank you. How are Development Companies developing?” + </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> + “Say,” he said, “how did you know about that cat?” + </p> + <p> + “Saw his footprints,” I replied. “They were all over the scheme. And your + friend Keene purred too loud.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Paine,” he said, suddenly, “do you want to go to work?” + </p> + <p> + “Work?” I repeated. “I am at work already.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I stared at him in wondering suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “What is this; another Development Company?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. I was trying to fathom the motive behind this new move. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Colton this may be a good joke, but I don't see it—yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't joke often in business; can't afford to.” + </p> + <p> + “You are really serious? You mean what you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? You don't know anything about me.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Sell out?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I could not believe it. Doctor Quimby had said nothing of the sort to me. + It was impossible. Mother BETTER! + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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—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? + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” asked Colton, again. “Want more time to think about it, + do you?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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 “Humph!” For a + moment he regarded me keenly. Then he said: + </p> + <p> + “Haven't got the answer yet, have I? All right. Well,” briskly, “when are + you and I going on that shooting trip?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no shooting at present,” I answered, as soon as I could adjust + my mind to this new switch in the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “That so? Any fishing?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe the squiteague are running outside. I heard they were.” + </p> + <p> + “What? Squit—which?” + </p> + <p> + “Squiteague. Weakfish some people call them.” + </p> + <p> + “They are pretty fair sport, aren't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, fair. Nothing like bluefish, however.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. “Not quite,” I said. “I should be glad of your company, Mr. + Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “Next Saturday suit you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. After bank hours.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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. “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. + </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> + “Ros,” said the captain, suddenly, “you ain't backin' water, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Backing water? What do you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + “In this Lane business. You ain't cal'latin' to sell out to Colton, after + all?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hardly. Why do you say that?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I might have expected this. In Denboro one does few things unnoticed. + </p> + <p> + “She had lost her way in the woods and I helped her to find the road + home,” I said, “that was all.” + </p> + <p> + “Hum! You helped her to find the road the night of the strawberry + festival, too, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “How in the world did you find that out?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin! Needn't get mad about it. What's this about your takin' his + Majesty off fishin' next Saturday?” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Funny he should ask you. He ain't asked anybody else in town.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “You have?” I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated; then I made up my mind. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “By the everlastin'!” he exclaimed, “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!” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you this,” I said, “so that you will understand I have no + intention of backing water.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “About ME?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “She is a wonderful girl, isn't she, Roscoe,” 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. “Mark my words, son,” Captain Jed had declared, “the feller that + plays with fire takes chances.” + </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> + “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?” + </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> + “I am sure he must be delighted, Father. Mr. Paine knows I am very fond of + fishing; don't you, Mr. Paine?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; oh, yes, of course,” I stammered. + </p> + <p> + “He does, eh!” Her father seemed surprised. “How did he find that out?” + </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> + “Did you hear, Mr. Paine? Father asks how you knew I was fond of fishing.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Did I?” she asked. “Yes, I believe I did.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Colton looked at us, each in turn. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” he observed; “I don't seem to be aboard this train. What's the + joke?” + </p> + <p> + She saved me the problem of inventing a satisfactory answer. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “You think it is quite a feat to get the better of your old dad, don't + you, my lady,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do. It is, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “I think Mr. Paine does not need lessons from any one,” she said. “He + seems to be holding his own very well.” + </p> + <p> + “But he's frightened, all the same. Come, Paine, own up now. You know you + are frightened, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very,” I answered, truthfully. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. “I never bet on certainties,” I declared. “I should be + ashamed to collect my winnings.” + </p> + <p> + This seemed to amuse them both, for they both laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Miss Colton, “I am afraid you don't learn by experience. + You have lost one bet already, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” broke in the young lady, herself, “stop.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all right, all right. Just as you say. But I tell you this, Paine; + SHE hasn't any scruples against betting on certainties.” + </p> + <p> + She was leaning against the cockpit rail, looking forward, and I could not + see her face. She spoke without turning. + </p> + <p> + “You thought yours was the certainty,” she said. “You warned me that I was + sure to lose.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” more firmly, “please be quiet. You have said quite enough. Mr. + Paine is not likely to be interested in the family gambling.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + From the dusk, to port, came the clear strokes of a church bell striking + eight. + </p> + <p> + “That is the clock at the Methodist Church, isn't it?” asked Miss Colton. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “The church where the strawberry festival was held?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Colton struck a match to relight his cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Shouldn't think that would be a pleasant reminder to either of you,” he + observed. “I am mighty sure it wasn't to me.” + </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. “Big Jim” + raised himself on his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed heartily. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said the young lady, coldly, “don't be silly—please.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, thank you,” said I. “Supper will be waiting for me at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to have you, if you'll come. Tell him to come, Mabel.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Colton's invitation was not over-cordial. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + He caught his breath with a sort of gasp. Then, after a pause and without + looking up, he asked slowly: + </p> + <p> + “Jailed? What in the world made you say that, Ros?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment I thought he hesitated. Then he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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. + </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> + “Good afternoon,” 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. “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.” + </p> + <p> + I believed I saw an opportunity to escape. + </p> + <p> + “I am going directly home,” I said. “Let me carry it down for you. I will + send it over to your house by Lute.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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 “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. + </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> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” I exclaimed, and then added the brilliant observation, “We are + here, aren't we.” + </p> + <p> + “We are,” she said, dryly. “Didn't you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I had not realized. The walk has seemed so short.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'm sure it must. I think you have spoken exactly six words in the + last five minutes. Will you come in?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no; no, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Father is in and will be glad to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I must be getting on toward home. Supper will be ready.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + She had me at a disadvantage. I imagined I must have appeared embarrassed. + I know I felt that way. + </p> + <p> + “I did not realize . . . I thought it much later,” I stammered. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, Miss Colton. Really, I must not stop.” + </p> + <p> + She took the parcel from my hands. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” she said, indifferently; “as you please. I thank you for your + kindness in walking down with me. Good afternoon, Mr. Paine.” + </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 “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. + </p> + <p> + And so, to prove the sincerity of my prayers and the worth of my high + resolve, I—called her back. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton,” I said. + </p> + <p> + She, apparently, did not hear me, so I called again. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “You spoke to me?” she said, coldly. + </p> + <p> + “I—I said I had not meant to offend you.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well; then I am. We won't argue the matter; it is scarcely worth + argument, is it?” + </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> + “Don't let me detain you, Mr. Paine,” she said. “I am sure your—supper, + was it?—must be waiting.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. I will tell him so. He will be grateful, doubtless. Your + condescension is overwhelming, Mr. Paine.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Her foot was beginning to pat the grass. I recognized the battle signal, + but I kept on. + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand what you mean by condescension,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you, indeed? You are very dense all at once, Mr. Paine.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly. But I don't understand.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + This was a staggerer. And the worst of it was its truth. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton,” I faltered, “I can't understand what you mean. I—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That I quite understand, Miss Colton,” I said, “but—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I actually gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Snobs!” I repeated. “We—snobs?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </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—this + was too much for my bewildered brain to grasp all at once. + </p> + <p> + The young lady went on. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + I interrupted. There is a limit to forbearance and I considered that limit + reached. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton,” I declared, “you are talking nonsense. Considering the + manner in which your father treated me when we first met, I—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I—why, Miss Colton, I did not know who you were.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Miss Colton—” + </p> + <p> + “Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that precious Lane! I wish I had never seen it.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + Again she interrupted me. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I began to feel as if I were once more a small boy receiving a lecture + from the governess. + </p> + <p> + “I am not at all afraid of them, Miss Colton,” I protested. + </p> + <p> + “You are. Why? Your conscience is clear, isn't it? You don't intend + selling out to my father?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You would not?” I gasped. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Goodness knows!” I exclaimed, devoutly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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 “common + fellow” was free from the disturbing influence and he was glad of it—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> + “Hello, Ros!” he hailed. “Why! what ails you?” + </p> + <p> + “Ails me?” I repeated, crossly. “Nothing ails me, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm glad to hear it. You look as if you'd lost your last friend.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't lost any friends. Far from it.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody's dead, then?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Though I could find some who are half dead without trying very hard.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “What's the trouble?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Trouble! There isn't any trouble. You and Lute seem to be looking for + trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't have to look far to find it, in this world. Anything wrong at the + bank?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing the matter, I tell you. How is Mother?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! I should think a next week's bride would be too busy to call on + any one except possibly the dressmaker.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Olinda?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who did leave the note for me, then?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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. “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.” + </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 “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. + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “He did not even come home for supper,” she said. “Stayed over to Nellie's + probably. You'll most likely find him there.” + </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, “'cause that one ain't pocketed many balls yet.” + </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> + “Good God!” he cried, wildly. “Who's that?” + </p> + <p> + He was deathly pale and trembling violently. His appearance startled and + alarmed me. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + For a moment he stood there staring. Then he turned and picked up the + fallen chair. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's you, Ros, is it?” he faltered. “I—I—Lord, how you + scared me! I—I—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “George,” I cried, “George, what is the matter? Tell me; you must tell + me.” + </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, + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Time of night! It is but a little after nine. What is the matter with + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing is the matter, I tell you. Let go of my arm, Ros. What do you + mean by holding on to me like this?” + </p> + <p> + “What do YOU mean, George? What does THAT mean?” + </p> + <p> + I pointed to the drawer. He looked and, with a sudden effort, jerked his + arm free and closed the drawer. + </p> + <p> + “That?” with a forced laugh. “Oh, that's nothing. It was late and I was + alone here, so—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “I know better. You're lying, George. Yes, you are; you're lying.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! You're pretty plain spoken, Ros Paine. There ain't many people I'd + take that from.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He was wavering; I could see it. But again he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody can help me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! Damn you, Ros Paine! what right have you to—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I? I don't care for HER? I don't—Oh, my God!” + </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> + “Well,” he said, bitterly, “I'm a fine specimen of a man, ain't I. Ain't + you proud of me?” + </p> + <p> + “I am mighty sorry for you,” I answered. “And I mean to help you.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I did not move. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. “Of course not,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a fool. You can't afford to be my friend. Clear out and leave + me, do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “I hear. Now, George, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + His fingers tapped the table. I could see he was making up his mind. + </p> + <p> + “You want to know?” he said. “You won't be satisfied until you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I have made that fairly plain, I hope. At least I've tried to.” + </p> + <p> + His fist clenched and he struck the table. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Well?” he sneered. “Now will you clear out and let me settle this my own + way?” + </p> + <p> + I pulled my chair forward and sat down. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me all about it, George,” I said, as calmly as I could. “How much is + it?” + </p> + <p> + He stared at me aghast. “You won't go?” he cried. “You—you are going + to stick by me even—even—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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 “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. + </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 “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” I put in, hastily. “I understand, George. But the stock, + Louisville and Transcontinental, how is it now?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you consider going straight to Cap'n Dean and—” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “But why? The stock may go up any day and then you could withdraw part of + your margin.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + He was giving way again, but I seized his shoulder and shook him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + The clock chimed ten. I stopped in my walk and turned to him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; IF I had it—but I haven't.” + </p> + <p> + “You could send the money to the brokers and—” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you won't,” I said, firmly. + </p> + <p> + “I won't! Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The blood rushed to his face. He seized the arm of his chair. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “You? Why, you ain't got . . . Have you? Ros Paine, you ain't got + thirty-five hundred to spare. Why, you told me yourself—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but Ros—” + </p> + <p> + “Will you do as I tell you?” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Ros, PLEASE—I can't believe it! Won't you tell me—” + </p> + <p> + “Not a word. Will you promise me to behave like a man and go home? Or must + I go with you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I'll—I'll promise. I'll go straight home. But, oh Ros, I can't + understand—” + </p> + <p> + “Good night.” + </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—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. + </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—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> + “Is Mr. Colton in?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Is Mr. Colton in?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I—I don't think so—sir.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Johnson looked as insolent as he dared, and still hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “It is very late,” he said. “Mr. Colton is not in the 'abit of receiving + callers at this time of night and—” + </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> + “What is it, Johnson?” he asked. “Anything wrong?” + </p> + <p> + The butler hastened to explain. + </p> + <p> + “No sir,” he said; “nothing wrong exactly, sir. There is a person 'ere to + see you, sir, and—” + </p> + <p> + “To see me, eh? Who is it? Why, hello, Paine! is that you?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Colton,” said I, “I am sorry to disturb you at such a late hour, but—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Johnson looked troubled. + </p> + <p> + “It was so late, sir,” he stammered, “I thought—” + </p> + <p> + “You thought! If I had wanted any one to think I never should have hired + you. Come in, Paine. Come into the library.” + </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— + </p> + <p> + “Sit down,” ordered Colton, pulling forward the big, leather-covered + chair. “Have a cigar?” + </p> + <p> + “No thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Mr. Colton,” said I, ignoring the proffered chair, “I have come to see + you on a matter of business.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “My business will not detain either of us long. I—” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, man, sit down. You make me nervous standing there.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I won't sit.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “What is the matter with you?” he demanded. “You look as if you had seen + your grandmother's ghost.” + </p> + <p> + I ignored the question. “Mr. Colton,” I began again. “You made an offer + not long ago.” + </p> + <p> + I had caught his attention at last. He leaned back in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “I did,” he said. “Ye-es, I did. Do you mean you are going to accept it?” + </p> + <p> + “In a way—yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + He puffed deliberately at his cigar. His gaze did not leave my face. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he asked, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “That is my own affair. I will sell you the land, but not for five + thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + His expression changed. He knocked the ashes from his cigar and frowned. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + This was better. When he talked like that I could answer him and enjoy it. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “WHAT?” + </p> + <p> + I had upset his composure this time. He forgot to sneer; he even forgot to + smoke. + </p> + <p> + “What?” he cried again. “Thirty-five hundred! Why, I offered you—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “What is the second condition?” he asked, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “That you pay me in cash, in money and not by check, at once.” + </p> + <p> + “At once? Now, do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, now. To-night if possible; if not, no later than nine o'clock + to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Do you think I carry thirty-five hundred loose in my change + pocket?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. But that is the second condition.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! . . . Look here, Paine; what—? I offered you the five + thousand. That offer holds good.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't accept it. I will sell for thirty-five hundred; no more and no + less.” + </p> + <p> + “But why not more?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But why just thirty-five? Wouldn't you take thirty-six?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + He rose, threw away his cigar, and, with his hands in his pockets, stood + regarding me. + </p> + <p> + “Your mind is made up, is it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Have you thought of what our mutual friend Dean and the rest of + the patriots may say when they find this out?” + </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> + “Of course,” he added, “that is not my affair, but—” + </p> + <p> + “It is not.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you're having it, aren't you?” I put in. “Why talk so much about + it?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I stared at him. “Let me have it!” I cried. “Do you mean you'll lend it to + me?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “What do you say?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I faltered. And then more firmly, “No; certainly not. I—I am + much obliged to you, Mr. Colton, but—no.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at the bank, Mr. Colton. Send it over to the house, if you can + conveniently.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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, “Father, are you still here? The doctor said . . . Oh, I + beg pardon.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Miss Colton,” I said, with all the calmness I could muster. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not try,” she said, disdainfully. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “I congratulate him,” she said. “Come, Father; you must go to bed now.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + His wife's answer was a contemptuous sniff. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You et enough of them to float a schooner.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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'?” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Even Dorinda showed surprise. She looked at the clock, “This hour of the + mornin'!” she exclaimed; “what in the world—?” + </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> + “Mr. Colton sent this to you, sir,” he said, handing me an envelope. “He + wishes you to send a receipt by me.” + </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 “Bearer.” 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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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 “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. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't nothin' wrong, is there, Ros?” asked Sam anxiously. “I saw by the + paper that the market was feverish again yesterday.” + </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—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. + </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> + “Well, Ros?” he asked, laying a shaking hand on the desk beside me. + </p> + <p> + “Not here, George,” I whispered. “Come into the directors' room.” + </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> + “There's the money, George,” I said. “Now you've got just time enough to + catch that nine o'clock train for Boston.” + </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> + “Ros—Ros—” he stammered. “Where did you—how did you—Great + God, man! I—I—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but, Ros, I hadn't ought to take this from you. I don't see + where you got it and—” + </p> + <p> + “That's my business. Will you go?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I ever can pay you. Lord knows I'll try all my life, but—” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </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> + “For mercy sakes!” he cried, “what's the matter with the boss? Has he gone + loony?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said, turning back to my desk; “he's sane enough, I guess. He's + after the train.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt, Lute,” I replied. “At all events you must take care of your + health. Don't YOU work yourself sick.” + </p> + <p> + 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.'” + </p> + <p> + “What did she say to that?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “Ros, you here!” he exclaimed. “Is it all right? The examiner hasn't + showed up?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered. “You have them, George?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'm going. I congratulate you, George. I am as glad as you are. Good + night.” + </p> + <p> + “But Ros, I want to tell you about it. I want to thank you again. I never + shall forget . . . Ros, hold on!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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 “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. + </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 “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't, George,” I said. “All I ask of you is just to forget the whole + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </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 “damned + digestion.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Jed strutted pompously about, monarch of the day. He greeted me + genially. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been,” I answered. “I am on my way back there now.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Taking your advice?” I repeated, puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. I did not risk looking him in the face. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I believe I ordered him not to be an idiot. I know I did not “brace him + up” 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, “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. + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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'.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, all right. We won't argue about it. Let's be pleasant as we can, + for once.” + </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> + “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'.” + </p> + <p> + His wife turned on him. She looked him over from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I?” she said, tartly. “Well, maybe not. But if I'd realized what + was happenin' to me, I should.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Lute stopped short. “There!” he exclaimed, “I knew there was somethin' I + forgot. I'll do it soon's ever I get home.” + </p> + <p> + “When you get home,” observed Dorinda, firmly, “you'll wash that henhouse + window.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Lute's parting words were that he would fill that tank the very first + thing. If he had—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—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. + </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> + “Hello!” + </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> + “Hello! Hello-o-o! Where are you?” + </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> + “Hello-o! Hello, the motor boat!” + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” I answered. “Boat ahoy! Where are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Here I am.” The voice was nearer still. “Where are you? Don't run into + me.” + </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> + “Where are you?” repeated the unseen voyager, and to my dismay, the hail + came from the right this time. + </p> + <p> + “Don't move!” I shouted. “Stay where you are. I will keep shouting . . . + LOOK OUT!” + </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> + “It IS you?” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “This—this is the third time.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Another interval of silence. Then she spoke once more and her tone was one + expressing intense conviction. + </p> + <p> + “This,” she said, slowly, “is getting to be positively ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + I did not deny it. I said nothing. + </p> + <p> + She sat up. “My canoe—” 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> + “My canoe—” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + I was awakening rapidly. I looked out into the mist and shook my head. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not hurt. But—where are we?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She got upon her feet and, leaning over the Comfort's rail, gazed about + her. + </p> + <p> + “I am all right,” she answered. “But don't you know where you are?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She shivered. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “Please don't worry. I am all right, or shall be as soon as I get home.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry about your canoe.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't matter.” + </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 “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. + </p> + <p> + “I will take you home at once,” I said, curtly. + </p> + <p> + “If you please.” + </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—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. + </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 “the very first thing,” 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> + “What is the matter?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + I swallowed the opinion of Mr. Rogers which was on the tip of my tongue. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” I stammered, “but—but—well, we are in trouble, I + am afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “In trouble?” she said coldly. “What trouble do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She leaned forward to look at me. + </p> + <p> + “Hasn't done it?” she repeated. “You mean—why, this boat cannot go + without gasolene, can it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very well; no.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—then what are we going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Anchor and wait, if I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait! But I don't wish to wait. I wish to be taken home, at once.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry, but I am afraid that is impossible.” + </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> + “Mr. Paine.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I do not wish you to anchor this boat.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry but it is the only thing to do, under the circumstances.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish it. Stop! I tell you I will not have you anchor.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care.” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” with scornful emphasis, “I presume you do.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean—never mind what I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “But, as I have explained to you, the gasolene—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! Do you suppose I believe that ridiculous story?” + </p> + <p> + “Believe it?” I gazed at her uncomprehendingly. “Believe it,” I repeated. + “Don't you believe it?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton, do you mean that you think I am not telling you the truth? + That I am lying?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” fiercely, “and if I did, would it be so astonishing, considering—considering + the TRUTHS you have told me before?” + </p> + <p> + I made no further effort to pass her. Instead I stepped back. + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind telling me,” I demanded, with deliberate sarcasm, “what + possible reason you think I might have for wishing to keep you here?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall tell you nothing. And—and I will not have you anchor this + boat.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it your desire then that we drift—the Lord knows where?” + </p> + <p> + “I desire you to start that engine and take me home.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot start the engine.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe it.” + </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> + “What is it?” she asked. “What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to anchor,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish you to anchor.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't help that. I must. Please stand aside, Miss Colton.” + </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> + “What was that?” she demanded, in a startled tone. + </p> + <p> + “The fog horn at Mackerel Island, the island at the mouth of Wellmouth + harbor,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “And that bell?” + </p> + <p> + “That is the fog bell at Crow Point.” + </p> + <p> + “At Crow Point? Why, it can't be! Crow Point is in Denboro Bay, and that + bell is a long way behind us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. We are a mile or more outside the Point now. The tide has carried us + out.” + </p> + <p> + “Carried us—Do you mean that we are out at sea?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at sea exactly. We are in Cape Cod Bay.” + </p> + <p> + “But—why, we are still drifting, aren't we? I thought you had + anchored.” + </p> + <p> + “I tried to, but I was too late. The water is too deep here for the anchor + to reach bottom.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but what are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing at present. There is nothing I can do. Sit down, please.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing! Nothing! Do you mean that you propose to sit there and let us be + carried out to sea?” + </p> + <p> + “We shall not be carried far. There is no wind. When the tide turns we + shall probably be carried in again.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” sharply, “why don't you do something? Can't you row?” + </p> + <p> + “I have only one oar.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must do something. You MUST. I—I—It is late! it is + growing dark! My people! What will they think?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “To what, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do mind. You have accused me of lying, Miss Colton, and of keeping + you here purposely. What do you mean by it?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + I had heard enough. I did not propose to hear any more. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Oh! what was that?” demanded Miss Colton, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “The anchor,” I answered. “We have reached the outer shoal.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” hesitatingly, “shall we stay here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; unless—” + </p> + <p> + “Unless what?” + </p> + <p> + “Unless . . . Hush! listen!” + </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> + “What is it?” asked the young lady, her voice quivering. “Oh, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Wind,” I answered. “There is a squall coming. Sit down! Sit down!” + </p> + <p> + “But—but—” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down.” + </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> + “Miss Colton,” I said, “give me your hands.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I—I think so.” + </p> + <p> + “You must.” + </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> + “Don't be frightened,” I said. “It is only a stiff breeze and this boat is + seaworthy. We are all right now.” + </p> + <p> + “But why did you take up the anchor?” + </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> + “Where are we going now—please?” she asked, a moment later. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” anxiously, “can we land when we reach there? Isn't it a bad coast?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “You must be cold,” I said. “Aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must be. Take the wheel a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not cold.” + </p> + <p> + “Take the wheel.” + </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> + “Slip this on,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I do not care for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Put it on.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Paine,” haughtily, “I tell you . . . . oh!” + </p> + <p> + I had wrapped the coat about her shoulders and fastened the upper button. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Mr. Paine.” + </p> + <p> + The tone was very low but I heard it. + </p> + <p> + I came out of my waking dream—it was not a pleasant one—and + answered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we?” + </p> + <p> + “We are making fair progress, everything considered. Are you warmer now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—thank you.” + </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> + “Miss Colton,” I said, quickly. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + No answer. Yet I heard the sound again. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Miss Colton?” I repeated. “What is the matter? Why are you + crying?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I am NOT crying,” 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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not cold.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please don't speak to me! PLEASE!” + </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— + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton,” I begged, “please don't. Please!” + </p> + <p> + No answer; only another sob. I tried again. + </p> + <p> + “I have been a cad,” I cried. “I have treated you abominably. I don't + expect you to forgive me, but—” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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> + “You are sure you are not hurt?” I asked, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes, I think so,” she answered, faintly. “What was it? I—I + thought we were sinking.” + </p> + <p> + “So did I for a moment. It was all my fault, as usual. I let go the + wheel.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you? Why?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. You are as wet as I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but <i>I</i> don't mind. I am used to it. But you—” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She shivered. + </p> + <p> + “You are cold!” I cried. “Of course you are! If I only had another coat or + something. It is all my fault.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + I did not ask her what she meant; I seemed to understand perfectly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That was when I knew.” + </p> + <p> + She turned and gazed at me. + </p> + <p> + “YOU knew?” she gasped, hysterically. “Why—what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't explain it. Just before your canoe broke through the fog I knew, + that is all.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + She spoke as if she were struggling to awaken from a dream. + </p> + <p> + “But it can't be,” she protested. “It is impossible. Why should you and I—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know . . . Unless—” + </p> + <p> + “Unless what?” + </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> + “Nothing,” 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—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. + </p> + <p> + “We are getting into smoother water,” I said. “It is not as rough as it + was, do you think?” + </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> + “I can't understand.” + </p> + <p> + I supposed her to be still thinking of our meeting in the fog. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot understand myself,” I answered. “I presume it was a coincidence, + like our meeting at the pond.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + I was obliged to wait another moment before I could reply. I clutched the + wheel tighter than ever. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! Don't do that! If you do I shall—Miss Colton, please—” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + It was my turn to avoid her look. I did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Oh, I thought I might as well, give in then as later,” I answered, with a + shrug. “It was no use fighting the inevitable.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I was astonished. “You do?” I cried. “Why, you said—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't. I wish I could.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe I can guess.” + </p> + <p> + I started. “You can GUESS?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It was,” she said. “I thought so. For your mother, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. Miss Colton, you are wrong. I—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing—nothing. I—you are too good to me, that is all. I + don't deserve it.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! And we will be friends again?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. . . . . Oh, no! no! I must not think of it. It is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Must not think of it? When I ask you to? Can't you forgive me, after + all?” + </p> + <p> + “There was nothing to forgive.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> snubbed YOU?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you had said—I thought—” + </p> + <p> + “I know. I had said horrid things. I deserved to be snubbed. There! now I + have confessed. Mayn't we be friends?” + </p> + <p> + “I . . . Oh, no, we must not, for your sake. I—” + </p> + <p> + “For my sake! But I wish it. Why not?” + </p> + <p> + I turned on her. “Can't you see?” I said, despairingly. “Look at the + difference between us! You are what you are and I—” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I had spoken at white heat. Now I turned away. It was settled. She must + understand now. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Paine.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The rest?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? You said—?” + </p> + <p> + “I said,” the tone was low but I heard every syllable, “I said she was + right, there was no comparison.” + </p> + <p> + “You said THAT!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You said it! And you meant—?” + </p> + <p> + “I meant—I think I meant that I should not be afraid to trust you + always—anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Mabel—” I cried. “Mabel—” + </p> + <p> + “BUMP!” + </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> + “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!” + </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> + “Who in blazes are you?” I demanded, as soon as I could get the words + together. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What lobsters?” + </p> + <p> + “Them lobsters you've been stealin' out of my pots for the last + fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> have been stealing?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Look here, my man,” I said. “I haven't stolen your lobsters; but—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed aloud. “Very well,” I said. “I am agreeable.” + </p> + <p> + “You're agreeable! What do you mean by that? This ain't no laughin' + matter, I'll tell you that.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + The occupant of the dory seemed to be puzzled. He leaned forward once + more. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “I swan to man!” he muttered. “I swan to man! 'Tain't possible I'm + mistook!” + </p> + <p> + “It scarcely seems possible, I admit. But I'm afraid it is true.” + </p> + <p> + I heard the club fall with a clatter. + </p> + <p> + “My—godfreys! Do you mean to say—? From Denboro? Out of + gasolene! Why—why, you've got sail up!” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing but a tarpaulin on an oar.” + </p> + <p> + “And you've been cruisin' all night? Through the fog—the squall—and + all?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” wearily, “yes—yes—yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but ain't you drownded?” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite. If you don't let go of that rail we shall be soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Driftin' all night! Ain't you wet through?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Might I suggest that we postpone the rest of the catechism until we + reach—the lock-up?” + </p> + <p> + This suggestion apparently was accepted. Our captor suddenly became very + much alive. + </p> + <p> + “Give me a line,” he ordered. “Anchor rope'll do. Where is it? up + for'ard?” + </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> + “Head for the light,” he shouted. “I'm goin' to tow you in.” + </p> + <p> + “In where?” + </p> + <p> + “In ashore. That's Mack'rel Island light. My name's Atwood. I'm keeper of + it.” + </p> + <p> + I turned to my passenger. + </p> + <p> + “It looks,” I said, “as if our voyage was almost over.” + </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> + “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!” + </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> + “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?” + </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> + “Here I am, Mr. Atwood,” she said. “Oh, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + She was swung into the air and moved shoreward to the accompaniment of + mighty splashings. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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?” + </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> + “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.” + </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. + “Mrs. Paine!” “Your husband!” 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> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + The “old lady” herself interrupted him, entering with a bottle in one hand + and a lamp in the other. + </p> + <p> + “Joshua!” she said, warningly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it, Betsy?” + </p> + <p> + “Be careful how you talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Talk!” with a wink at me. “I wan't goin' to say nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothin' better,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Joshua!” + </p> + <p> + “The Fourth of July,” concluded her husband, triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + I thought it high time to explain. + </p> + <p> + “The lady is not my wife,” I said, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “She ain't! Why, I thought Joshua said—” + </p> + <p> + “He—er—made a mistake. She is Miss Colton, a summer resident + and neighbor of mine in Denboro.” + </p> + <p> + “Sho! you don't say! That's just like you, Joshua!” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Colton herself made the next remark. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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. + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Joshua!” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind him. Stick to the cook.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </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 “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. + </p> + <p> + “Wan't you awful scared when that squall struck so sudden?” inquired Mrs. + Atwood. + </p> + <p> + “Dreadfully.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” this from Joshua; “I cal'late Mr. Paine was some scart too. What + did you do, Mr. Paine?” + </p> + <p> + “I rigged that canvas on the oar as soon as possible,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. That was good judgment.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, Mr. Atwood,” asked the young lady innocently, “are all seafaring + men very dictatorial under such circumstances?” + </p> + <p> + “Very—which?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean do they order people about and make them do all sorts of things, + whether they wish to or not?” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin. Godfreys! I never asked nobody what they wished aboard the Ezry + H. Jones.” + </p> + <p> + “And do they tell them to 'sit down and keep still'?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. Even when they are—ladies?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose she had been ordered to 'sit down and keep still'; what do you + think would have happened?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton thinks me rather a bully, I am afraid,” I said. “I did order + her about rather roughly.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Joshua!” said Mrs. Atwood, in mild reproof. “You mustn't mind his talk, + Miss Colton. He's a terrible joker.” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Hello—hello, Paine!” Colton was at the 'phone once more. “Can you + get Mabel—Miss Colton, over to Wellmouth, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Will you be good enough to send word to my mother that I am + safe and sound? She will be worried.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Good morning,” I said. + </p> + <p> + She turned quickly, and I heard her catch her breath with a little gasp. + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon,” said I; “I'm afraid I startled you.” + </p> + <p> + She was startled, that was evident, and, it seemed to me, a trifle + embarrassed. But the embarrassment was but momentary. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” she said. “How very silent you can be when you choose, Mr. + Paine. How long have you been standing there, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “Only a moment. I came to call you to breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “To breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mrs. Atwood insists upon our breakfasting before I take you ashore.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Why didn't you call me? I would have come down.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” She interrupted me almost sharply. “I was not 'wrapped' in + anything, except the beauty of this view. It IS beautiful, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Very,” I answered, but fear I was not looking at the view. It may be that + she noticed this, for she said: + </p> + <p> + “You have come into your own again, I see. So have I.” + </p> + <p> + She indicated her gown with a smile and a gesture. I laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. “I have returned unto Joshua that which was his.” + </p> + <p> + “You should have kept it. You have no idea what a picturesque lightkeeper + you make, Mr. Paine.” + </p> + <p> + Somehow or other this harmless joke hurt. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, drily, “that is about my measure, I presume.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid the opportunity for that is past.” + </p> + <p> + “But it—” with a little bubble of mirth, “it was so funny.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt. I am sorry I can't oblige you with a photograph.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me, biting her lip. + </p> + <p> + “Is your bump of humor a dent, Mr. Paine?” she inquired. “I am afraid it + must be.” + </p> + <p> + “You may be right. I don't appreciate a joke as keenly as—well, as + Mr. Carver, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + She turned her back upon me and led the way to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go to breakfast?” 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> + “Mr. Atwood,” she said, “I presume you are going to be kind enough to take + me to Wellmouth?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! But you will go, if I ask you to?” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin sure.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Land sakes! that'll be all right. Glad to help you out.” + </p> + <p> + I put in a word. “It will not be necessary,” I said, impatiently. “I have + money enough, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + I was ignored. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you so much, Mr. Atwood. You will come with me and look out for the + telegram?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me and then at Joshua. + </p> + <p> + “Last night?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered. “Your father is to meet us at the Wellmouth wharf.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “I intended to. I meant to tell you when I saw you in the lighthouse, but—I + forgot it.” + </p> + <p> + She said no more, but when Joshua, hat and boots on, met us at the door + she spoke to him. + </p> + <p> + “You need not go, Mr. Atwood,” she said. “It will not be necessary—now.” + </p> + <p> + “Godfreys! I'd just as soon as not. Ruther, if anything.” + </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> + “Thank you,” said Miss Colton. + </p> + <p> + “Don't mention it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I was breathing hard. I could not look at her. + </p> + <p> + “Don't,” I said, roughly. “It was nothing. Anyone with common sense would + have thought of it and done it, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Come on! Heave ahead!” It was Mr. Atwood, bellowing from the beach. “All + aboard for Wellmouth and pints alongshore.” + </p> + <p> + Betsy appeared in the door behind us. + </p> + <p> + “All ready, be you?” 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> + “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.” + </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> + “Shove off,” I ordered. The lightkeeper was astonished. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't ye goin' ashore?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, curtly. “I'm going home. Shove off.” + </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> + “Here! Paine!” shouted Colton. “Come back! Come back and go home with us + in the car. There is plenty of room.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Come back! Come back, Paine!” he shouted again. Mrs. Colton raised her + head from her daughter's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Paine!” cried her husband again. + </p> + <p> + “I must look out for the launch,” I shouted. “I shall be home almost as + soon as you are. Good-by.” + </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 “fust-rate + night of it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Dorindy!” wailed another voice—Lute's. “You mustn't talk so—to + him! Don't you realize—” + </p> + <p> + “I realize that if I had a husband instead of a jellyfish I shouldn't have + to talk. Be still, you!” + </p> + <p> + A third voice made itself heard. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + I opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “You may tell him yourself, Captain Dean,” said I. “What is it?” + </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> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I'm real glad to see you home safe and sound, Roscoe,” she said, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Before he could answer Dorinda spoke once more. + </p> + <p> + “Lute,” she said, “you come along with me into the dinin'-room.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but, Dorindy, I—” + </p> + <p> + “You come with me. This ain't any of my business any more, and it never + was any of yours. Come! move!” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She closed the door. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Captain Dean,” I repeated, “what is it you have to say?” + </p> + <p> + The captain's grim mouth twisted in a savage sneer. + </p> + <p> + “You know what I'm goin' to say as well as I do,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Possibly, but you had better say it.” + </p> + <p> + “It won't take me long. You've sold that Shore Lane land to Jim Colton, + ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </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> + “You—HAVE!” he cried. “You don't even take the trouble to—You + have the face to stand there and tell me—” + </p> + <p> + He almost choked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He leaned forward, steadying himself with a hand upon the table, and + stared at me. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! I did think it was not a question of price. Then I found out that + it was.” + </p> + <p> + He clenched his fist. + </p> + <p> + “Damn you!” he shouted, furiously. “You liar! You sneak! After I—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “WHAT?” + </p> + <p> + “I say you had better go.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> go? You'll put me out?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “What made you do it?” he cried, desperately. “What made you do it? Is it + all settled? Can't you back out?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he would pay me what I needed; because his price was higher than + any you or the town could offer.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Money? You needed money? Why didn't you come to me? I'd have lent it to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “YOU? George Taylor engaged me for that place.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Money!” he said. “You wanted money. You must have wanted it bad. What did + you want it for?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better. It's your only chance, I tell you that!” + </p> + <p> + “I can't help it, Captain Dean. I can't tell you. I wish I could.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well; I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Roscoe,” she said, sharply, “can he do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Do it?” I repeated. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so. He seems to be boss of that institution.” + </p> + <p> + “But can't 'Lisha Warren or some of the other directors help you? Jed Dean + don't boss 'Lisha Warren—not much.” + </p> + <p> + “I shan't ask for help. Please don't trouble me, Dorinda.” + </p> + <p> + I tried to pass her, but she would not permit it. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Again I tried to pass, but this time she seized my arm. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes, behind the brass-rimmed spectacles, flashed fire. This was the + longest speech I had ever heard her make. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Instead of calming her this statement seemed to have the exactly opposite + effect. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I sighed. “I have been thinking of her, Dorinda,” I declared. “She doesn't + know a word about this.” + </p> + <p> + “Then tell her.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell her my reason for selling, any more than I can tell you—or + Dean.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I made no reply. She regarded me keenly. + </p> + <p> + “Roscoe,” she went on, “do you WANT to go somewheres else?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I laid my hand on hers. “Thank you,” I said, earnestly. “Dorinda, you are + a good woman.” + </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> + “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?” + </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> + “That one?” I repeated. “I—Why, I don't understand, Dorinda.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “I might have known it,” she repeated. “Sittin' on the stairs there, + listenin', wan't you?” + </p> + <p> + Lute raised himself to his knees. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” he panted, “I—I swan! I shouldn't wonder if I'd broke my + leg!” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm! Well, if you'd broke your neck 'twouldn't have been no more'n you + deserve. Shame on you! Sneakin' thing!” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Dorindy, I—I wan't listenin'. I was just—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But where'll I go?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care where you go. Only don't let me set eyes on you till dinner + time. March!” + </p> + <p> + Lute backed away as she advanced, waving both his hands and pleading and + expostulating. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll set eyes on you at dinner time. I ain't afraid of that. Git!” + </p> + <p> + She followed him to the kitchen and then returned. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + When I came down, after an absence of half an hour, she was sitting by the + window, sewing. + </p> + <p> + “Comfort's waitin' to see you, Roscoe,” she said. “I've told her all about + it.” + </p> + <p> + “YOU'VE told her—what?” I demanded, in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Roscoe, is that you?” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “It was that, Mother.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mother. Our income is the same that it has been for years.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you are better, Mother. Doctor Quimby is very much encouraged.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He will do his best, I'm sure of that.” + </p> + <p> + “You poor boy! As if you did not have enough to bear without that! He has + asked you to resign from the bank?” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. “He has pitched me out, neck and crop,” I answered. “I expected + that, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “But what will you do? Can't Mr. Taylor help you? Perhaps he will use his + influence with the captain.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you enjoyed the work?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </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> + “Poor boy!” she said again. Then, after a moment, “I wish I might talk + with Miss Colton about this.” + </p> + <p> + I started violently. What had put that idea in her head? + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton!” I exclaimed. “Mother, whatever you do, don't speak to her—about + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? She has not called on us for some time, but she is interested in + you, I know. And perhaps her father could—” + </p> + <p> + “Mother, don't.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” I stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't there? Are you sure?” + </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—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> + “There's somebody to see you, Ros,” she said. “You'd better come out + soon's you can. He's in a hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “Someone to see me,” I repeated. “Who is it?” + </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> + “Who is it, Roscoe?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Just a caller on a business matter,” I answered, hurriedly. “I'll be out + at once, Dorinda.” + </p> + <p> + “But who is it, Roscoe?” + </p> + <p> + “It's Mr. Colton, Mother. He has probably come to—” + </p> + <p> + “Dorinda,” Mother interrupted me, “ask Mr. Colton to come in here.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Mother—” + </p> + <p> + “Ask him to come in here, Dorinda. I should like to meet him.” + </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> + “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.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I drew forward a chair. Our visitor accepted it. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Knew me? Knew ME, Mr. Colton?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You should be very proud of your daughter, Mr. Colton. She is a charming + girl.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. Mother spoke for me. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He hasn't told it to you, then?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But I know that he thought it right or he never would have sold.” + </p> + <p> + I broke in here. I did not care to hear my own praises. + </p> + <p> + “Did you call to discuss the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton?” I inquired. “I + thought that affair settled.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mother turned her head and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “For your daughter? Last night? Roscoe, what does he mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you anchor, then?” asked Colton. + </p> + <p> + “Because I—I—” + </p> + <p> + I stopped short. I could not tell him why I did not anchor. He laughed + aloud. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + His voice trembled. Mother put out a hand and took mine. + </p> + <p> + “Roscoe,” she said, “Roscoe.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “In your office? You offered him that? No, he did not tell me. Roscoe!” + reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “I did not tell you, Mother, because it was not worth while. Of course I + could not accept the offer.” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated and, before she spoke, Colton broke in. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? That was what you were going to say, Mrs. Paine, I take it. That + is what <i>I</i> said—why not? And I say it again. Paine, that offer + is still open.” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. “I told you then that I could not accept,” I said. “It is + impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Why is it impossible? So far as I am concerned I believe you would be a + mighty good investment.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” I said again. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother—” I protested. He cut my protest short. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him,” he ordered. + </p> + <p> + Mother looked at me. “I think, perhaps, you should accept, Roscoe,” she + said, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Accept! Mother!” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman named nodded emphatic approval. “That's the talk!” he + exclaimed. “Mrs. Paine, I congratulate you on your common-sense.” + </p> + <p> + “I think, like you, that you will have made a good investment, Mr. + Colton,” was Mother's answer. + </p> + <p> + I rose to my feet. This must be ended now, for all time. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, stubbornly. “No, Mr. Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The door closed behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Roscoe,” said Mother, quickly, “come here.” + </p> + <p> + I turned toward her. She was looking at me with a strange expression. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Mother?” I asked, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Roscoe,” she whispered, “I know him. I have met him before.” + </p> + <p> + “Know him! You have met Mr. Colton—before? Where?” + </p> + <p> + “At our home in the old days. He came there once with—with your + father. He was our guest at dinner.” + </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> + “Did he know you, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I frowned. This complicated matters still more, and further complications + were superfluous. + </p> + <p> + “And, knowing this, knowing that he might recognize you at any time, you + urged me to accept his offer,” I said, reproachfully. “Mother!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at me earnestly. “Why not tell him, Roscoe?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + 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—” + </p> + <p> + She understood. I had seized her hand and now she stroked it gently with + her own. + </p> + <p> + “So it is true,” she said, quietly. “You love her, Roscoe.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! yes! yes!” I answered, desperately. “Oh, don't speak of it, Mother! + I am insane, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she care for you, Boy? Have you spoken to her?” + </p> + <p> + “MOTHER! Is it likely?” + </p> + <p> + “But I think she does care, Roscoe. I think she does. She must.” + </p> + <p> + This was so characteristic that, although I was in anything but a laughing + mood, I could not help smiling. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But if she does care, Boy?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But if she loves you—” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I should permit her to ruin her life—for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Poor boy! I am SO sorry!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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'!” + </p> + <p> + I was surprised and a little disturbed. I remembered Lute's threat about + “never seein' me no more.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't suppose he has run away, or anything like that, do you?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “I swan! I believe that's him now!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “If it is, he is certainly running this time,” I observed. “What—” + </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> + “Well, Lute,” said I, “where have you been?” + </p> + <p> + Lute struggled for breath. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + He was fumbling in his pockets. Dorinda and I looked at each other. She + shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + His “pawing” became more frantic than ever. His wife stepped forward and + seized him by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “There 'tis!” he exclaimed. “By time! I was scart I'd lost it! Read it, + Ros! read it!” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Dear Mr. Paine: + </p> + <p> + “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> + “Hastily yours, + </p> + <p> + “MABEL COLTON.” + </p> + <p> + “And—and—” panted Lute, “she told me to tell you to please + hurry. And you'd ought to seen her face! She—” + </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> + “Is it you, Mr. Paine?” he asked, anxiously. “Come in, sir, please. Miss + Mabel has been asking for you not a minute ago, sir.” + </p> + <p> + I entered the hall. “What is it, Johnson?” I asked, quickly. “How is Mr. + Colton?” + </p> + <p> + The butler looked behind him before replying. He shook his head dubiously. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “Brace up, man,” I whispered in reply. “This is no time for you to go to + pieces. Where is Miss Colton?” + </p> + <p> + “She's with her father, sir. Step into the library and I'll call her.” + </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> + “Who is it, Johnson?” she asked, in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + “It's Mr. Paine, Miss Mabel.” + </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. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “I + was sure you would.” + </p> + <p> + “How is your father, Miss Colton?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Miss Colton closed the door behind us, and turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank God for that!” I exclaimed, fervently. “And your mother—Mrs. + Colton—how, is she?” + </p> + <p> + Her tone changed slightly. I inferred that Mrs. Colton's condition was + more trying than serious. + </p> + <p> + “Mother is—well, in her nervous state any shock is disturbing. She + is bearing the anxiety as well as we should expect.” + </p> + <p> + I judged that not much was expected. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I took the chair she indicated. She drew another beside me and seated + herself. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Paine—” she began. Then, noticing my expression, she asked, + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” I answered, “nothing except—Isn't that the telegraph + instrument I hear? Isn't someone calling you?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I looked at her blankly. + </p> + <p> + “Stocks?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” a trifle impatiently. “Stocks—the stock market—railroad + shares—how they are bought and sold—do you know anything about + them?” + </p> + <p> + I was more puzzled than ever, but I answered as best I could. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know anything about Louisville and Transcontinental?” + </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> + “What?” I stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Louisville and Transcontinental,” she repeated, eagerly. “DO you know + anything about it? Why do you look at me like that?” + </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—yet why did she ask that question? I must be on my guard. + </p> + <p> + “I did not realize that I was looking at you in any extraordinary way, + Miss Colton,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not know then that Father and his associates control the + California and Eastern?” + </p> + <p> + I leaned back in my chair. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said, “I did not know that. Then your father—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “Yes,” I said, “I remember something of it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + There had been a knock at the door. It opened and the butler appeared. + </p> + <p> + “A telegram for Mr. Colton, Miss Mabel,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + She handed me the yellow telegram. I read the following aloud: + </p> + <p> + “James W. Colton, + </p> + <p> + “Denboro, Mass. + </p> + <p> + “Galileo potato soap currency tomato deeds command army alcohol thief + weather family—” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth—!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “That is in the code, Father's private code. Don't you see? The code book + is here somewhere. I must find it.” + </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> + “Here it is,” she said. “Now read me the telegram and I will write the + translation. Hurry!” + </p> + <p> + I read again: + </p> + <p> + “'Galileo'—” + </p> + <p> + “That means 'Consolidated Pacific'. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + It took us five minutes to translate the telegram. When we had finished + the result was: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” asked Miss Colton. “What answer shall we make?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait. Wait, please, until I dig some sort of sense out of all this. 'Wise + situation'—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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'?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know . . . unless . . . Humph! If we had some particulars. Why + don't you answer on the private telegraph, as he says?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But your father must have used the telegraph since.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He seems to be, certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “But what shall we do?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I knew, but I don't. You know nothing of the particulars?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “A poor imitation only, I am afraid. Let me think. Did you tell this man + Davis of your father's illness?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She took the code book and I picked up a sheet of paper and a pencil from + the table. + </p> + <p> + “We must ask him to send all the particulars,” I declared. “Look up 'send' + in the code, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + She was turning the pages of the little book when the butler knocked once + more. + </p> + <p> + “He says he can't send any message until morning, Miss Mabel. The + telegraph office closes at eight o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + The code book fell to the table. Miss Colton stared helplessly at me. + </p> + <p> + “What SHALL we do?” she breathed. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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. “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “How's the old man, Ros?” he whispered. “They tell me it's brought on by + high livin', champagne wine and such. Is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Phin,” said I, ignoring the question, “would you stay up all night for + twenty dollars?” + </p> + <p> + He stared at me. + </p> + <p> + “What kind of conundrum's that?” he demanded. “'Would I set up all night + for twenty dollars?' That may be a joke, but—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + For a minute he sat there staring at me. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I led him into the library and explained his presence to Miss Colton. She + was delighted. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I bade him take it off and he did so. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, tell him.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him to send particulars concerning L. and T. at once. All the + particulars.” + </p> + <p> + The message was sent. The receiver rattled a hasty reply. + </p> + <p> + “He says you know all the particulars already. You must know 'em. Wants to + know if this is Mr. Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The demand for particulars was forwarded. There was more clicking. + </p> + <p> + “Give me a piece of paper and a pencil, quick,” urged Phineas. “This is a + long feller.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </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 “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.” + </p> + <p> + And the man who “must be there himself” 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> + “Do you understand it—now?” she whispered, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think I do. . . . What is it, Phin?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, eat away,” I said, laughing. And even Miss Colton smiled. But + my laugh and her smile were but transient. + </p> + <p> + “Is it—Does it mean that things are VERY wrong?” she asked, + indicating the telegram. + </p> + <p> + “They are very serious; there is no doubt of that.” + </p> + <p> + The instrument clicked. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “What shall you tell him?” asked Miss Colton. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “How about them instructions?” this from Cahoon. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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—” + </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—anything for her. And yet what could I + do? + </p> + <p> + “Can't you help me?” she pleaded. “You have never failed me before.” + </p> + <p> + There came a knock at the door and Johnson's voice called her name. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Mabel,” he whispered, “Miss Mabel, will you come, please? The doctor + wants you right away.” + </p> + <p> + She rose quickly, drawing her hand across her eyes as she did so. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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 “never failed her before”! + </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, “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. + </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—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 . . . + </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> + “What is it?” I asked. “Is he—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Davis has repeated his declaration to do nothing without orders from + your father.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me in surprise. “Of course,” she said, simply. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + She stepped forward. “Do it,” she commanded. “I tell you to do it. If it + fails I will take the responsibility.” + </p> + <p> + “That you shall not do. But I will take the chance. Phin!” + </p> + <p> + “Yup; here I be.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yup. I've got it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand. But,” hesitatingly, “to buy may mean paying tremendous + prices, may it not? Can we—” + </p> + <p> + “We must. Here is Davis's reply coming. What is it, Phin?” + </p> + <p> + Cahoon read off the message as the receiver clicked. + </p> + <p> + “You are insane. Buying at such prices will be suicide.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “He's gone, I cal'late,” observed Phineas. “Need me any more, do you + think?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You must stay here all night, just as I told you.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + She turned hastily and went to the door. + </p> + <p> + “I will send word to your people as well as Mr. Cahoon's,” she added. “Try + and sleep, if you can. Good night.” + </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> + “Hello, Ros!” he hailed, “I heard you were here. This is a high old night, + isn't it!” + </p> + <p> + “How is he?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And Miss Colton—how is she?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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. + “I shall need the rest, if I am any prophet,” 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> + “What time is it?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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> + “How is Mr. Colton?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Better, sir, I believe. He is resting more quiet at present.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Cahoon?” + </p> + <p> + “Here I be,” this from Phineas in the next room. “Have a good snooze, did + you, Ros?” + </p> + <p> + “Too good.” I walked in and found him still sitting by the telegraph + instrument. “Has anything happened?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton—has she been here? Why didn't you call me, Ros?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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 + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I had other business to-day, Phin,” I answered, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I knew, but I did not explain. I made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Miss Colton now?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Again I did not answer, and again the garrulous station master continued + without waiting for a reply. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He had caught my attention at last. + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell her that?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Phineas pulled out an enormous nickel watch and glanced at it. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He was hurrying from the room, but she would not let him go. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. Last night's experience was enough to tire anyone.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! It was no worse for me than for you,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Won't you join us, Miss Colton?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, yes, perhaps I will, if you don't mind. I am not hungry + but I will take a cup of coffee, Johnson.” + </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> + “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.” + </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—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. + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. “That danger is past,” I answered. “I have lost it. Captain Dean + gave me my walking papers this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am so sorry!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is. But Father offered you the position in his employ. He said + you refused, but he believed your refusal was not final.” + </p> + <p> + “He was wrong. It is final.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “I had rather not discuss that, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She toyed with her coffee spoon. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Dean seems to be the only person in Denboro who knows of the + sale,” she said. “Why has he kept it a secret?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Has he?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I was startled and alarmed. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” I asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + “If he knew he would not drive you away, would he?” + </p> + <p> + “He will never know.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he may. Perhaps the person for whose sake you sold it may tell + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed he will not! I shall see to that.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then there is such a person! I was sure of it before. Now you have + told me.” + </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> + “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.” + </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—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. + </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 “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— + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, “Mr. Colton is here in the house. You may give the + message to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know if his orders hold. Am I to buy? Ask him. I will wait. + Hurry! The market opens in five minutes.” + </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—what? + </p> + <p> + One of the minutes passed. Then another. I seized the telephone. + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead!” I shouted. “Carry out your orders.” + </p> + <p> + A faint “All right” 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> + “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?” + </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> + “One hundred and fifty!” she exclaimed. “That is—Why, that is + dreadful! What will you do?” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. “That is for you to say,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Davis will do nothing on his own responsibility.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you must do it alone. Do it! do it!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + I hung up the receiver. She and I looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “What will happen, do you think?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “God knows! . . . Are you going? Don't go!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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—my bluff, if you like—was + the only salvation. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Tell Davis to stop buying now,” I ordered. “Let it be known that Colton + has secured control and is satisfied.” + </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> + “How is Mr. Colton?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + There were two crises then, one on each floor of the big house. At one + Davis himself 'phoned. + </p> + <p> + “Still hanging around 700,” he announced. “Begins to look as if the top + had been reached. What shall I do now?” + </p> + <p> + My plan was ready and I gave my orders as if I had been doing such things + for years. + </p> + <p> + “Sell, in small lots, at intervals,” I told him. “Then, if the price + breaks, begin buying through another broker as cautiously as you can.” + </p> + <p> + The answer was in a different tone; there was a new note, almost of hope, + in it. + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord, I believe you have got it!” he cried. “It may work. I'll + report to you, Mr. Colton, right away.” + </p> + <p> + Plainly he had no doubt that “Big Jim” 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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + It was half-past two when the next message came. It was exultant, + triumphant. + </p> + <p> + “Down like an avalanche. Am grabbing every share offered. We've got 'em, + sure!” + </p> + <p> + And, as three o'clock struck, came the final crow. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “I—I organized a Development Company,” I gasped. “Good night.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “'His control!' And what may that be, if you please, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “She will understand. Say that everything is all right, we have won and + that Mr. Colton has his control. Don't forget.” + </p> + <p> + “And—and where will you be, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going home, I think. I am going home and—to bed.” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + “Ros! Roscoe!” she was calling. “Can you get up now? There is somebody + downstairs waitin' to see you.” + </p> + <p> + I turned over in bed and began to collect my senses. + </p> + <p> + “What time is it, Dorinda?” I asked, drowsily. + </p> + <p> + “About ten, or a little after.” + </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> + “You don't mean to tell me it is ten o'clock IN THE FORENOON!” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I was surprised now. “MR. Colton wishes it,” I repeated. “You mean Miss + Colton, don't you, Johnson.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. It is Mr. Colton this time, sir. Miss Colton is out in the + motor, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “But Mr. Colton is too ill to see me, or anyone else.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Mr. Colton is in his room, sir,” explained the butler. “You are to see + him there. This way, sir.” + </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> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + I asked how the patient was getting on. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we put through one of Mr. Colton's little trades for him, that's + all.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Johnson led the way upstairs. At the chamber door he knocked and announced + my presence. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </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. “Big Jim,” with his iron-gray hair awry and his eyes snapping, + looked remarkably wide awake and alive. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Colton accepted the suggestion, but her acceptance was not the most + gracious. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + The handkerchief was in active operation. She swept past me to the door. + There she turned. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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—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. + </p> + <p> + Colton looked after her with a troubled expression. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Better about what?” I demanded, involuntarily. “I don't understand Mrs. + Colton's meaning in the least.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me keenly for a moment without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you?” he asked. “You are sure you don't?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I am sure. What I have done that requires forgiveness I don't + see.” + </p> + <p> + Another pause and more scrutiny. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + This question I could understand. I had expected this. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + I thought of Quimby's warning. “I'm afraid I should tire you, Mr. Colton. + It is a long story, if I give particulars.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right, Mr. Colton. Now I think I must be going. You've talked + enough.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Final be damned! Young man—” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Colton, if you persist I shall go away.” + </p> + <p> + “Go away! Before I tell you to? Why, you—” + </p> + <p> + I rose. “The doctor told me that you must not excite yourself,” I said. “I + am going. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + He was excited, there was no doubt of that. He sat up in bed. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </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> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. “Well, for one reason,” I said, “I don't care for your + business.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't CARE for it! After what you just did!” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. “No,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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—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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Where will you go?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </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> + “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?” + </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—least of all he or his—should ever know. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me and shook his head, impatiently. “Either you ARE crazy, or + I am,” he muttered. “Don't know your name!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “Humph!” he exclaimed. “Humph! Do you mean to tell me that your father was + Carleton Bennett—Bennett of Bennett and Company?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am his son.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what of it?” + </p> + <p> + I looked at him now. He was smiling, actually smiling. His illness had + affected his mind. + </p> + <p> + “What OF it!” I gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es, what of it? What has that got to do with your working for me?” + </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> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + This sounded, in one way, like sanity. But in another— + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “A good name!” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Sensible!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You want ME! Do you mean you would take me into your employ, knowing who + I am?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure! It is because I know WHAT you are that I want you.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Colton, you—I don't know what to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Try saying 'yes' and see how it seems. It will be a change, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! I cannot; it is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you make me weary! . . . Humph! What is it now? Any more 'reasons'?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Here! Stop!” he broke in sharply. “What is this? Do you mean to tell me + that you and Mabel—” + </p> + <p> + “It is not her fault. It is my own, entirely. Mr. Colton, I—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, I tell you! Do you mean to tell me that you are—that you have + been making love to my daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what do you mean? That she has been making love to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Colton—” + </p> + <p> + “There! Don't act like the Wild Man of Borneo. Do you mean that you are in + love with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you see now why I cannot accept? I must go away. I am going.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not! I shall not see her again. I shall leave Denboro as soon + as I can. She will never know.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! I see . . . I see . . . Well, I don't know that there is anything + for me to say.” + </p> + <p> + “There is not.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry for you, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </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> + “You'd better go, Ros,” he snapped. “What is the matter with you? Didn't I + tell you not to excite him.” + </p> + <p> + “I'M not excited,” observed Colton, drily. + </p> + <p> + “Clear out this minute!” continued the angry doctor. “Ros Paine, I thought + you had more sense.” + </p> + <p> + “So did I,” this from “Big Jim”. “However, I am learning a lot these days. + Good-by, Paine.” + </p> + <p> + I was at the door. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't say it, Mother. All that is ended. I am going to forget—if I + can.” + </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> + “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.” + </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. “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! + </p> + <p> + “Here he is,” said Captain Jed, again. “Well, Ros, we've come to see you.” + </p> + <p> + But I paid no attention to him. It was his companion I was staring at. + What was he doing here? + </p> + <p> + “George!” I cried. “GEORGE!” + </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> + “Ros,” he said, quietly, “Ros Paine, you bull-headed, big-hearted old + chump, how are you?” + </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> + “George!” I cried in alarm, “George, you haven't—you haven't made a + fool of yourself? You haven't—” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + He pushed me into the chair I had just vacated. Captain Dean took another. + George remained standing. + </p> + <p> + “He IS petrified, I do believe!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + But my petrification was only temporary. I was beginning to understand, + and to be more alarmed than ever. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here in Denboro?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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. “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?” + </p> + <p> + I looked at him and then at his companion. What I saw there confirmed my + worst suspicions. + </p> + <p> + “George,” I said, “if you have told him you must be crazy.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “But what was the use of it?” I demanded. “It was done. Nothing you could + say would change it. For Nellie's sake—” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + He turned away and looked out of the window. George laid a hand on his + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + To my surprise they looked at each other and laughed. Captain Dean shook + his head. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't OWN it,” I repeated. “Don't own it! He does. I sold it to him + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Again my two callers looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “A person—a friend of mine! Why, I haven't any friend, any friend + who knew the truth, or could guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you have.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was it?” + </p> + <p> + George laughed aloud and Captain Jed laughed with him. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I shan't tell you,” said the former. “I promised I wouldn't.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, “I shall not. I have made other plans. I am going to + leave Denboro.” + </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> + “She wants to thank you, too, Ros,” 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—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!” + </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> + “I was waiting for you,” she said. “I was on my way to your house and I + saw you coming—so I waited.” + </p> + <p> + “You waited,” I stammered. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—because you were very busy and—and I was tired. I + went home and to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Father does not call it luck. He told me what you said to him.” + </p> + <p> + “He told you! Did he tell you all I told him?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I think so. He told me who you were; what your real name was.” + </p> + <p> + “He did! And you were still willing to meet me!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Why not? Does it make any difference that you are Mr. Bennett—instead + of Mr. Paine?” + </p> + <p> + “But my father was Carleton Bennett—the—the—You must + have heard of him.” + </p> + <p> + “I never knew your father. I do know his son. And I am very proud to know + him.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” she interrupted, quickly, “have you seen Mr. Taylor? He is here + in Denboro.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I have seen him.” + </p> + <p> + “And he told you about the Lane? That he has bought it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will not be,” with a smile, “driven from Denboro by that cross + old Captain Dean?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not be driven—no.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Mr. Taylor did help you. He promised me he would.” + </p> + <p> + “He promised you? When? When did you see George Taylor?” + </p> + <p> + She appeared confused. “I—I—Of course I saw him at the house + this noon, when he came to see Father.” + </p> + <p> + “But he could not have promised you then. He had helped me already. Did + you see him before that?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, how could I? I—” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Colton, answer me. Was it you that met him at the Ostable station + this morning? Was it?” + </p> + <p> + She was as red as the reddest of the autumn leaves. She laughed, + confusedly. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + I caught my breath with a gasp. + </p> + <p> + “You did that!” I exclaimed. “You did that, for me!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Surely you had done enough for—us. I could not let you be + 'driven from town', you know.” + </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> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you are going to accept.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not.” + </p> + <p> + “He says you are. And he always has his way, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in this case, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “But <i>I</i> want you to accept. Surely you will do it to oblige me.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I can't.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do; go back to the bank?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But why are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell you.” + </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> + “So you think this is our parting,” she said. “I do not.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you? I fear you are wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I think I am not mistaken. I think you will accept it, because—because + I ask you to.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot, Miss Colton.” + </p> + <p> + “And your reason?” + </p> + <p> + “That I cannot tell anyone.” + </p> + <p> + “But you told my father.” + </p> + <p> + I was stricken dumb again. + </p> + <p> + She went on, speaking hurriedly, and not raising her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You told my father,” she repeated, “and he told me.” + </p> + <p> + “He told you!” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </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> + “He was not surprised!” I repeated. “He was not—not—What do + you mean?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. She drew away from me a step, but I followed her. + </p> + <p> + “Why wasn't he surprised?” I asked again. + </p> + <p> + “Because—because—Oh, I don't know! What have I been saying! I—Please + don't ask me!” + </p> + <p> + “But why wasn't he surprised?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I seized her hands. + </p> + <p> + “YOU had told him? You had told him that I—I—” + </p> + <p> + “No,” with a swift shake of the head, “not you. I—I did not know + that—then. I told him that I—” + </p> + <p> + But I did not wait to hear any more. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </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> + “I think Mother is more reconciled,” she said. “Since she learned who you + were she seems to feel better about it.” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head, ruefully. “Yet she referred to me as a 'nobody' only this + morning,” I observed. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I sighed. “Throwing yourself away is exactly what you have done, I'm + afraid,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </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> + “My time!” exclaimed Lute. “My TIME!” + </p> + <p> + He turned and fled. + </p> + <p> + “Come here!” I shouted after him. “Come back here this minute! Lute, come + back!” + </p> + <p> + Lute came, looking shamefaced and awkward. + </p> + <p> + “Where were you going?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I—I was cal'latin' to go and tell Dorindy,” he faltered. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I wan't spyin', Ros. Honest truth, I wan't. I—I didn't know + you and she was—was—” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind that. What were you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Before I could answer Mabel spoke. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + What answer could I make? What answer would you have made under the + circumstances? + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, with a sigh of resignation. “I guess it is true, Lute.” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RISE OF ROSCOE PAINE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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