diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/trorp10.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/trorp10.txt | 17970 |
1 files changed, 17970 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/trorp10.txt b/old/trorp10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d5609c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/trorp10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,17970 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by J. C. Lincoln +#5 in our series by Joseph C. Lincoln + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + +This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. +Do not change or edit it without written permission. The words +are carefully chosen to provide users with the information they +need about what they can legally do with the texts. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + +Presently, contributions are only being solicited from people in: +Texas, Nevada, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, South Dakota, +Iowa, Indiana, and Vermont. As the requirements for other states +are met, additions to this list will be made and fund raising will +begin in the additional states. These donations should be made to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655 + + +Title: The Rise of Roscoe Paine + +Author: Joseph C. Lincoln + +Release Date: March, 2001 [Etext #3137] + +Edition: 10 + +Project Gutenberg's The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by J. C. Lincoln +****This file should be named trorp10.txt or trorp0.zip******* + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, trorp11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, trorp10a.txt + +This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, charlie@idirect.com. + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, +all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a +copyright notice is included. Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any +of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our books one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to send us error messages even years after +the official publication date. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our sites at: +http://gutenberg.net +http://promo.net/pg + + +Those of you who want to download our Etexts before announcment +can surf to them as follows, and just download by date; this is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://metalab.unc.edu/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext01 +or +ftp://metalab.unc.edu/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext01 + +Or /etext00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release fifty new Etext +files per month, or 500 more Etexts in 2000 for a total of 3000+ +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +should reach over 300 billion Etexts given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third +of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333 Etexts unless we +manage to get some real funding. + +Something is needed to create a future for Project Gutenberg for +the next 100 years. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +Presently, contributions are only being solicited from people in: +Texas, Nevada, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, South Dakota, +Iowa, Indiana, and Vermont. As the requirements for other states +are met, additions to this list will be made and fund raising will +begin in the additional states. + +All donations should be made to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and will be tax deductible to the extent +permitted by law. + +Mail to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Avenue +Oxford, MS 38655 [USA] + +We are working with the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation to build more stable support and ensure the +future of Project Gutenberg. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information at: + +http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html + + +*** + +You can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +hart@pobox.com forwards to hart@prairienet.org and archive.org +if your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if +it bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . . + +We would prefer to send you this information by email. + + +Example command-line FTP session: + +ftp metalab.unc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg +cd etext90 through etext99 or etext00 through etext01, etc. +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET GUTINDEX.?? [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99] +GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books] + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etexts, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain etexts, and royalty free copyright licenses. +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.07.00*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, charlie@idirect.com. + + + + + +THE RISE OF ROSCOE PAINE + +by Joseph C. Lincoln + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +"I'm going up to the village," I told Dorinda, taking my cap from +the hook behind the dining-room door. + +"What for?" asked Dorinda, pushing me to one side and reaching for +the dust-cloth, which also was behind the door. + +"Oh, just for the walk," I answered, carelessly. + +"Um-hm," observed Dorinda. + +"Um-hm" is, I believe, good Scotch for "Yes." I have read that it +is, somewhere--in one of Barrie's yarns, I think. I had never been +in Scotland, or much of anywhere else, except the city I was born +in, and my college town, and Boston--and Cape Cod. "Um-hm" meant +yes on the Cape, too, except when Dorinda said it; then it might +mean almost anything. When Mother asked her to lower the window +shade in the bed-room she said "Um-hm" and lowered it. And, five +minutes later, when Lute came in, loaded to the guards with +explanations as to why he had forgotten to clean the fish for +dinner, she said it again. And the Equator and the North Pole are +no nearer alike, so far as temperature is concerned, than those two +"Um-hms." And between them she had others, expressing all degrees +from frigid to semi-torrid. + +Her "Um-hm" this time was somewhere along the northern edge of +Labrador. + +"It's a good morning for a walk," I said. + +"Um-hm," repeated Dorinda, crossing over to Greenland, so to speak. + +I opened the outside door. The warm spring sunshine, pouring in, +was a pleasant contrast and made me forget, for the moment, the +glacier at my back. Come to think of it, "glacier" isn't a good +word; glaciers move slowly and that wasn't Dorinda's way. + +"What are you going to do?" I asked. + +"Work," snapped Dorinda, unfurling the dust cloth. "It's a good +mornin' for that, too." + +I went out, turned the corner of the house and found Lute sound +asleep on the wash bench behind the kitchen. His full name was +Luther Millard Filmore Rogers, and he was Dorinda's husband by law, +and the burden which Providence, or hard luck, had ordered her to +carry through this vale of tears. She was a good Methodist and +there was no doubt in her mind that Providence was responsible. +When she rose to testify in prayer-meeting she always mentioned her +"cross" and everybody knew that the cross was Luther. She carried +him, but it is no more than fair to say that she didn't provide him +with cushions. She never let him forget that he was a steerage +passenger. However, Lute was well upholstered with philosophy, of +a kind, and, so long as he didn't have to work his passage, was +happy, even if the voyage was a rather rough one. + +Just now he was supposed to be raking the back yard, but the rake +was between his knees, his head was tipped back against the +shingled wall of the kitchen, and he was sleeping, with the +sunshine illuminating his open mouth, "for all the world like a +lamp in a potato cellar," as his wife had said the last time she +caught him in this position. She went on to say that it was a pity +he wouldn't stand on his head when he slept. "Then I could see if +your skull was as holler as I believe it is," she told him. + +Lute heard me as I passed him and woke up. The "potato cellar" +closed with a snap and he seized the rake handles with both hands. + +"I was takin' a sort of observation," he explained hurriedly. +"Figgerin' whether I'd better begin here or over by the barn. Oh, +it's you, Roscoe, is it! Land sakes! I thought first 'twas +Dorindy. Where you bound?" + +"Up to the village," I said. + +"Ain't goin' to the post-office, be you?" + +"I may; I don't know." + +Lute sighed. "I was kind of cal'latin' to go there myself," he +observed, regretfully. "Thoph Newcomb and Cap'n Jed Dean and the +rest of us was havin' a talk on politics last night up there and +'twas mighty interestin'. Old Dean had Thoph pretty well out of +the race when I hauled alongside, but when I got into the argument +'twas different. 'What's goin' to become of the laborin' men of +this country if you have free trade?' I says. Dean had to give in +that he didn't know. 'Might have to let their wives support 'em,' +he says, pompous as ever. 'That would be a calamity, wouldn't it, +Lute?' That wasn't no answer, of course. But you can't expect +sense of a Democrat. I left him fumin' and come away. I've +thought of a lot more questions to ask him since and I was hopin' I +could get at him this mornin'. But no! Dorindy's sot on havin' +this yard raked, so I s'pose I've got to do it." + +He had dropped the rake, but now he leaned over, picked it up, and +rose from the wash bench. + +"I s'pose I've got to do it," he repeated, "unless," hopefully, +"you want me to run up to the village and do your errand for you." + +"No; I hadn't any errand." + +"Well, then I s'pose I'd better start in. Unless there was +somethin' else you'd ruther I'd do to-day. If there was I could do +this to-morrer." + +"To-morrow would have one advantage: there would be more to rake +then. However, judging by Dorinda's temper this morning, I think, +perhaps, you had better do it to-day." + +"What's Dorindy doin'?" + +"She is dusting the dining-room." + +"I'll bet you! And she dusted it yesterday and the day afore. Do +you know--" Lute sat down again on the bench--"sometimes I get real +worried about her." + +"No! Do you?" + +"Yes, I do. I think she works too hard. Seems's if sometimes it +had kind of struck to her brains--work, I mean. She don't think of +nothin' else. Now take the dustin', for instance. Dustin's all +right; I believe in dustin' things. But I don't believe in wearin' +'em out dustin' 'em. That ain't sense, is it?" + +"It doesn't seem like it, that's a fact." + +"You bet it don't! And it ain't good religion, neither. Now take-- +well, take this yard, for instance. What is it that I'm slavin' +myself over this fine mornin'? Why, rakin' this yard! And what am +I rakin'? Why, dead leaves from last fall, and straws and sticks +and pieces of seaweed and such that have blowed in durin' the +winter. And what blowed 'em in? Why, the wind, sartin! And whose +wind was it? The Almighty's, that's whose! Now then! if the +Almighty didn't intend to have dead leaves around why did he put +trees for 'em to fall off of? If he didn't want straws and seaweed +and truck around why did He send them everlastin' no'theasters last +November? Did that idea ever strike you?" + +"I don't know that it ever did, exactly in that way." + +"No. Well, that's 'cause you ain't reasoned it out, same as I +have. You've got the same trouble that most folks have, you don't +reason things out. Now, let's look at it straight in the face." +Lute let go of the rake altogether and used both hands to +illustrate his point. "That finger there, we'll say, is me, rakin' +and rakin' hard as ever I can. And that fist there is the +Almighty, not meanin' anything irreverent. I rake, same as I'm +doin' this mornin'. The yard's all cleaned up. Then--zing!" +Lute's clenched fist swept across and knocked the offending finger +out of the way. "Zing! here comes one of the Almighty's +no'theasters, same as we're likely to have to-morrer, and the +consarned yard is just as dirty as ever. Ain't that so?" + +I looked at the yard. "It seems to be about as it was," I agreed, +with some sarcasm. Lute was an immune, so far as sarcasm was +concerned. + +"Yup," he said, triumphantly. "Now, Dorindy, she's a good, pious +woman. She believes the Powers above order everything. If that's +so, then ain't it sacrilegious to be all the time flyin' in the +face of them Powers by rakin' and rakin' and dustin' and dustin'? +That's the question." + +"But, according to that reasoning," I observed, "we should neither +rake nor dust. Wouldn't that make our surroundings rather +uncomfortable, after a while?" + +"Sartin. But when they got uncomfortable then we could turn to and +make 'em comfortable again. I ain't arguin' against work--needful +work, you understand. I like it. And I ain't thinkin' of myself, +you know, but about Dorindy. It worries me to see her wearin' +herself out with--with dustin' and such. It ain't sense and +'tain't good religion. She's my wife and it's my duty to think for +her and look out for her." + +He paused and reached into his overalls pocket for a pipe. Finding +it, he reached into another pocket for the wherewithal to fill it. + +"Have you suggested to her that she's flying in the face of +Providence?" I asked. + +Lute shook his head. "No," he admitted, "I ain't. Got any tobacco +about you? Dorindy hove my plug away yesterday. I left it back of +the clock and she found it and was mad--dustin' again, of course." + +He took the pouch I handed him, filled his pipe and absently put +the pouch in his pocket. + +"Got a match?" he asked. "Thanks. No, I ain't spoke to her about +it, though it's been on my mind for a long spell. I didn't know +but you might say somethin' to her along that line, Roscoe. +'Twouldn't sound so personal, comin' from you. What do you think?" + +I shook my head. "Dorinda wouldn't pay much attention to my ideas +on such subjects, I'm afraid," I answered. "She knows I'm not a +regular church-goer." + +Lute was plainly disappointed. "Well," he said, with a sigh, +"maybe you're right. She does cal'late you're kind of heathen, +though she hopes you'll see the light some day. But, just the +same," he added, "it's a good argument. I tried it on the gang up +to the post-office last night. I says to 'em, says I, 'Work's all +right. I believe in it. I'm a workin' man, myself. But to work +when you don't have to is wrong. Take Ros Paine,' I says--" + +"Why should you take me?" I interrupted, rather sharply. + +"'Cause you're the best example I could think of. Everybody knows +you don't do no work. Shootin' and sailin' and fishin' ain't work, +and that's about all you do. 'Take Ros,' says I. 'He might be to +work. He was in a bank up to the city once and he knows the +bankin' trade. He might be at it now, but what would be the use?' +I says. 'He's got enough to live on and he lives on it, 'stead of +keepin' some poor feller out of a job.' That's right, too, ain't +it?" + +I didn't answer at once. There was no reason why I should be +irritated because Luther Rogers had held me up as a shining example +of the do-nothing class to the crowd of hangers-on in a country +post-office. What did I care for Denboro opinion? Six years in +that gossipy village had made me, so I thought, capable of rising +above such things. + +"Well," I asked after a moment, "what did they say to that?" + +"Oh, nothin' much. They couldn't; I had 'em, you see. Some of 'em +laughed and old Cap'n Jed he hove out somethin' about birds of a +feather stickin' up for each other. No sense to it. But, as I +said afore, what can you expect of a Democrat?" + +I turned on my heel and moved toward the back gate. "Ain't goin', +be you?" asked Lute. "Hadn't you better set down and rest your +breakfast a spell?" + +"No, I'm going. By the way, if you're through with that tobacco +pouch of mine, I'll take it off your hands. I may want to smoke by +and by." + +Lute coolly explained that he had forgotten the pouch; it had "gone +clean out of his head." However, he handed it over and I left him +seated on the wash bench, with his head tipped back against the +shingles. I opened the gate and strolled slowly along the path by +the edge of the bluff. I had gone perhaps a hundred yards when I +heard a shrill voice behind me. Turning, I saw Dorinda standing by +the corner of the kitchen, dust cloth in hand. Her husband was +raking for dear life. + +I walked on. The morning was a beautiful one. Beside the path, on +the landward side, the bayberry and beach-plum bushes were in bud, +the green of the new grass was showing above the dead brown of the +old, a bluebird was swaying on the stump of a wild cherry tree, and +the pines and scrub oaks of the grove by the Shore Lane were +bright, vivid splashes of color against the blue of the sky. At my +right hand the yellow sand of the bluff broke sharply down to the +white beach and the waters of the bay, now beginning to ebb. +Across the bay the lighthouse at Crow Point glistened with new +paint and I could see a moving black speck, which I knew was Ben +Small, the keeper, busy whitewashing the fence beside it. Down on +the beach Zeb Kendrick was overhauling his dory. In the distance, +beyond the grove, I could hear the carpenters' hammers on the roof +of the big Atwater mansion, which was now the property of James +Colton, the New York millionaire, whose rumored coming to Denboro +to live had filled the columns of the country weekly for three +months. The quahaug boats were anchored just inside the Point; a +clam digger was wading along the outer edge of the sedge; a +lobsterman was hauling his pots in the channel; even the bluebird +on the wild cherry stump had a straw in his beak and was plainly in +the midst of nest building. Everyone had something to do and was +doing it--everyone except Lute Rogers and myself, the "birds of a +feather." And even Lute was working now, under compulsion. + +Ordinarily the sight of all this industry would not have affected +me. I had seen it all before, or something like it. The six years +I had spent in Denboro, the six everlasting, idle, monotonous +years, had had their effect. I had grown hardened and had come to +accept my fate, at first rebelliously, then with more of Lute's +peculiar kind of philosophy. Circumstances had doomed me to be a +good-for-nothing, a gentleman loafer without the usual excuse-- +money--and, as it was my doom, I forced myself to accept it, if not +with pleasure, at least with resignation. And I determined to get +whatever pleasure there might be in it. So, when I saw the +majority of the human race, each with a purpose in life, struggling +to attain that purpose, I passed them by with my gun or fishing rod +on my shoulder, and a smile on my lips. If my remnant of a +conscience presumed to rise and reprove me, I stamped it down. It +had no reasonable excuse for rising; I wasn't what I was from +choice. + +But, somehow, on this particular morning, my unreasonable +conscience was again alive and kicking. Perhaps it was the +quickening influence of the spring which resurrected it; perhaps +Luther's quotation from the remarks of Captain Jedediah Dean had +stirred it to rebellion. A man may know, in his heart, that he is +no good and still resent having others say that he is, particularly +when they say that he and Luther Rogers are birds of a feather. I +didn't care for Dean's good opinion; of course I didn't! Nor for +that of any one else in Denboro, my mother excepted. But Dean and +the rest should keep their opinions to themselves, confound them! + +The path from our house--the latter every Denboro native spoke of +as the "Paine Place"--wound along the edge of the bluff for perhaps +three hundred yards, then turned sharply through the grove of scrub +oaks and pitch pines and emerged on the Shore Lane. The Shore Lane +was not a public road, in the strictest sense of the term. It was +really a part of my land and, leading, as it did, from the Lower +Road to the beach, was used as a public road merely because mother +and I permitted it to be. It had been so used, by sufferance of +the former owner, for years, and when we came into possession of +the property we did not interfere with the custom. Land along the +shore was worth precious little at that time and, besides, it was +pleasant, rather than disagreeable, to hear the fish carts going +out to the weirs, and the wagons coming to the beach for seaweed, +or, filled with picnic parties, rattling down the Lane. We could +not see them from the house until they had passed the grove and +emerged upon the beach, but even the noise of them was welcome. +The Paine Place was a good half-mile from the Lower Road and there +were few neighbors; therefore, especially in the winter months, any +sounds of society were comforting. + +I strode through the grove, kicking the dead branches out of my +way, for my mind was still busy with Luther and Captain Dean. As I +came out into the Lane I looked across at the Atwater mansion, now +the property of the great and only Colton, "Big Jim" Colton, whose +deals and corners in Wall Street supplied so many and such varied +sensations for the financial pages of the city papers, just as +those of his wife and family supplied news for the society columns; +I looked across, I say, and then I stopped short to take a longer +look. + +I could see the carpenters, whose hammers I had heard, at work upon +the roof of the barn, now destined to do double duty as a stable +and garage. They, and the painters and plumbers, had been busy on +the premises for months. The establishment had been a big one, +even when Major Atwater owned it, but the new owners had torn down +and added and rebuilt until the house loomed up like a palace or a +Newport villa. A Newport villa in Denboro! Why on earth any one +should deliberately choose Denboro as a place to live in I couldn't +understand; but why a millionaire, with all creation to select +from, should build a Newport villa on the bluff overlooking Denboro +Bay was beyond comprehension. The reason given in the Cape Cod +Item was that Mrs. Colton was "in debilitated health," whatever +that is, and had been commanded by her doctors to seek sea air and +seclusion and rest. Well, there was sea air and rest, not to +mention seclusion or sand and mosquitoes, for a square mile about +the new villa, and no one knew that better than I, condemned to +live within the square. But if Mrs. Colton had deliberately chosen +the spot, with malice aforethought, the place for her was a home +for the feeble minded. At least, that was my opinion on that +particular morning. + +It was not the carpenters who caused me to pause in my walk and +look across the lane and over the stone wall at my new neighbor's +residence. What caught my attention was that the place looked to +be inhabited. The windows were open--fifty or so of them--smoke +was issuing from one of the six chimneys; a maid in a white cap and +apron was standing by the servants' entrance. Yes, and a tall, +bulky man with a yachting cap on the back of his head and a cigar +in his mouth was talking with Asa Peters, the boss carpenter, by +the big door of the barn. + +I had not been up to the village for two days, having been employed +at our boat-house on the beach below the house, getting my motor +dory into commission for the summer. But now I remembered that +Lute had said something about the Coltons being expected, or having +arrived, and that he seemed much excited over it. He would have +said more, but Dorinda had pounced on him and sent him out to shut +up the chickens, which gave him the excuse to play truant and take +his evening's trip to the post-office. It was plain that the +Coltons HAD arrived. Very likely the stout man with the yachting +cap was the mighty "Big Jim" himself. Well, I didn't envy him in +his present situation. He had my pity, if anything. + +Possibly the fact that I could pity some one other than myself +helped to raise my spirits. At any rate I managed to shake off a +little of my gloom and tramped on up the Lane, feeling more like a +human being and less like a yellow dog. Less as I should imagine a +yellow dog ought to feel, I mean, for, as a matter of fact, most +yellow dogs of my acquaintance seem to be as happy as their brown +or white or black relatives. I walked up the Lane, turned into the +Lower Road, and headed for the village. The day was a gorgeous +one, the air bracing as a tonic, and my thirtieth birthday was not +yet so far astern as to be lost in the fog. After all, there were +some consolations in being alive and in a state of health not +"debilitated." I began to whistle. + +A quarter of a mile from the junction of the Shore Lane, on the +Lower Road, was a willow-shaded spot, where the brook which +irrigated Elnathan Mullet's cranberry swamp ran under a small +wooden bridge. It was there that I first heard the horn and, +turning, saw the automobile coming from behind me. It was +approaching at a speed of, I should say, thirty miles an hour, and +I jumped to the rail of the bridge to let it pass. Autos were not +as common on the Cape then as they have become since. Now the +average pedestrian of common-sense jumps first and looks +afterwards. + +However, I jumped in time, and stood still to watch the car as it +went by. But it did not go by--not then. Its speed slackened as +it approached and it came to a halt on the bridge beside me. A big +car; an aristocratic car; a machine of pomp and price and polish, +such as Denboro saw but seldom. It contained three persons--a +capped and goggled chauffeur on the front seat, and a young fellow +and a girl in the tonneau. They attracted my attention in just +that order--first the chauffeur, then the young fellow, and, last +of all, the girl. + +It was the chauffeur who hailed me. He leaned across the +upholstery beside him and, still holding the wheel, said: + +"Say, Bill, what's the quickest way to get to Bayport?" + +Now my name doesn't happen to be Bill and just then I objected to +the re-christening. At another time I might have appreciated the +joke and given him the information without comment. But this +morning I didn't feel like joking. My dissatisfaction with the +world in general included automobilists who made common folks get +out of their way, and I was resentful. + +"I should say that you had picked about as quick a way as any," I +answered. + +The chauffeur didn't seem to grasp the true inwardness of this +brilliant bit. + +"Aw, what--" he stammered. "Say, what--look here, I asked you--" + +Then the young man in the tonneau took charge of the conversation. +He was a very young man, with blond hair and a silky mustache, and +his clothes fitted him as clothes have no right to fit--on Cape +Cod. + +"That'll do, Oscar," he ordered. Then, turning to me, he said: + +"See here, my man, we want to go to Bayport." + +I was not his man, and wouldn't have been for something. The +chauffeur had irritated me, but he irritated me more. I didn't +like him, his looks, his clothes, and, particularly, his manner. +Therefore, because I didn't feel like answering, I showed my +independence by remaining silent. + +"What's the matter?" he demanded, impatiently. "Are you deaf? I +say we want to go to Bayport." + +A newspaper joke which I had recently read came to my mind. "Very +well," I said, "you have my permission." + +It was a rude thing to say, and not even original. I don't attempt +to excuse it. In fact, I was sorry as soon as I had said it. It +had its effect. The young man turned red. Then he laughed aloud. + +"Well, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "What have we here? A humorist, I +do believe! Mabel, we've discovered a genuine, rural humorist. +Another David Harum, by Jove! Look at him!" + +The girl in the tonneau swept aside her veil and looked, as +directed. And I looked at her. The face that I saw was sweet and +refined and delicate, a beautiful young face, the face of a lady, +born and bred. All this I saw and realized at a glance; but what I +was most conscious of at the time was the look in the dark eyes as +they surveyed me from head to foot. Indifference was there, and +contemptuous amusement; she didn't even condescend to smile, much +less speak. Under that look my self-importance shrank until the +yellow dog with which I had compared myself loomed as large as an +elephant. She might have looked that way at some curious and +rather ridiculous bug, just before calling a servant to step on it. + +The young man laughed again. "Isn't it a wonder, Mabel?" he asked. +"The native wit on his native heath! Reuben--pardon me, your name +is Reuben, isn't it?--now that you've had your little joke, would +you condescend to tell us the road which we should take to reach +Bayport in the shortest time? Would you oblige us to that extent?" + +The young lady smiled at this. "Victor," she said, "how idiotic +you are!" + +I agreed with her. Idiot was one of the terms, the mildest, which +I should have applied to that young man. I wanted very much to +remove him from that car by what Lute would call the scruff of the +neck. But most of all, just then, I wanted to be alone, to see the +last of the auto and its occupants. + +"First turn to the right, second to the left," I said, sullenly. + +"Thank you, Reuben," vouchsafed the young man. "Here's hoping that +your vegetables are fresher than your jokes. Go ahead, Oscar." + +The chauffeur threw in the clutch and the car buzzed up the road, +turning the corner at full speed. There was a loose board +projecting from the bridge just under my feet. As a member--though +an inactive one--of the Village Improvement Society I should have +trodden it back into place. I didn't; I kicked it into the brook. + +Then I walked on. But the remainder of my march was a silent one, +without music. I did not whistle. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The post-office was at Eldredge's store, and Eldredge's store, +situated at the corners, where the Main Road and the Depot Road-- +which is also the direct road to South Denboro--join, was the +mercantile and social center of Denboro. Simeon Eldredge kept the +store, and Simeon was also postmaster, as well as the town +constable, undertaker, and auctioneer. If you wanted a spool of +thread, a coffin, or the latest bit of gossip, you applied at +Eldredge's. The gossip you could be morally certain of getting at +once; the thread or the coffin you might have to wait for. + +I scarcely know why I went to Eldredge's that morning. I did not +expect mail, and I did not require Simeon's services in any one of +his professional capacities. Possibly Lute's suggestion had some +sort of psychic effect and I stopped at the post-office +involuntarily. At any rate, I woke from the trance in which the +encounter with the automobile had left me to find myself walking in +at the door. + +The mail was not yet due, to say nothing of having arrived or been +sorted, but there was a fair-sized crowd on the settees and perched +on the edge of the counter. Ezra Mullet was there, and Alonzo +Black and Alvin Baker and Thoph Newcomb. Beriah Doane and Sam +Cahoon, who lived in South Denboro, were there, too, having driven +over behind Beriah's horse, on an errand; that is, Beriah had an +errand and Sam came along to help him remember it. In the rear of +the store, by the frame of letter boxes, Captain Jedediah Dean was +talking with Simeon. + +Alvin Baker saw me first and hailed me as I entered. + +"Here's Ros Paine," he exclaimed. "He'll know more about it than +anybody else. Hey, Ros, how many hired help does he keep, anyhow? +Thoph says it's eight, but I know I counted more'n that, myself." + +"It's eight, I tell you," broke in Newcomb, before I could answer. +"There's the two cooks and the boy that waits on 'em--" + +"The idea of having anybody wait on a cook!" interrupted Mullet. +"That's blame foolishness." + +"I never said he waited on the cooks. I said he waited on them--on +the family. And there's a coachman--" + +"Why do they call them kind of fellers coachmen?" put in Thoph. +"There ain't any coach. I see the carriages when they come--two +freight cars full of 'em. There was a open two-seater, and a +buckboard, and that high-wheeled thing they called a dog-cart." + +Beriah Doane laughed uproariously. "Land of love!" he shouted. +"Does the dog have a cart all to himself? That's a good one! You +and me ain't got no dog, Sam, but we might have a couple of cat- +carts, hey? Haw! haw!" + +Thoph paid no attention to this pleasantry. "There was the dog- +cart," he repeated, "and another thing they called the 'trap.' But +there wan't any coach; I'll swear to it." + +"Don't make no difference," declared Alvin; "there was a man along +that SAID he was the coachman, anyhow. And a big minister-lookin' +feller who was a butler, and two hired girls besides the cooks. +That's nine, anyhow. One more'n you said, Thoph." + +"And that don't count the chauffeur, the chap that runs the +automobiles," said Alonzo Black. "He's the tenth. Say, Ros," +turning to me, "how many is there, altogether?" + +"How many what?" I asked. It was my first opportunity to speak. + +"Why, hired help--servants, you know. How many does Mr. Colton +keep?" + +"I don't know how many he keeps," I said. "Why should I?" + +The group looked at me in amazement. Thoph Newcomb voiced the +general astonishment. + +"Why should you!" he repeated. "Why shouldn't you, you mean! +You're livin' right next door to 'em, as you might say! My soul! +If I was you I cal'late I'd know afore this time." + +"No doubt you would, Thoph. But I don't. I didn't know the +Coltons had arrived until I came by just now. They have arrived, I +take it." + +Arrived! There was no question of the arrival, nor of its being +witnessed by everyone present, myself and the South Denboro +delegates excepted. Newcomb and Baker and Mullet and Black began +talking all together. I learned that the Colton invasion of +Denboro was a spectacle only equaled by the yearly coming of the +circus to Hyannis, or the opening of the cattle show at Ostable. +The carriages and horses had arrived by freight the morning before; +the servants and the family on the afternoon train. + +"I see 'em myself," affirmed Alonzo. "I was as nigh to 'em as I be +to you. Mrs. Colton is sort of fleshy, but as handsome a woman as +you'd want to see. I spoke to her, too. 'It's a nice day,' I +says, 'ain't it?'" + +"What did she say?" asked Newcomb. + +"She didn't say nothin'. Engine was makin' such a noise she didn't +hear, I presume likely." + +"Humph!" sniffed Baker, evidently envious; "I guess she heard you, +all right. Fellers like you make me tired. Grabbin' every chance +to curry favor with rich folks! Wonder you didn't tell her you +drove a fish-cart and wanted her trade! As for me, I'm independent. +Don't make no difference to me how well-off a person is. They're +human, just the same as I am, and _I_ don't toady to 'em. If they +want to talk they can send for me. I'll wait till they do." + +"Hope you've got lots of patience, Alvin," observed Mullet drily. +During the hilarity which followed, and while the offended apostle +of independence was trying to think of a sufficiently cutting +reply, I walked to the rear of the store. + +Our letter box was Number 218, in the center of the rack, and, as I +approached, I glanced at it involuntarily. To my surprise there +was a letter in it; I could see it through the glass of the box +door. Lute had, as I knew, got the mail the previous evening and +the morning's mail had not yet arrived. Therefore this letter must +have been written by some one in Denboro and posted late the night +before or early that morning. It was not the custom for Denboro +residents to communicate with each other through the medium of the +post. They preferred to save the two cents stamp money, as a +general thing. Bills sometimes came by mail, but this was the +tenth, not the first, of the month; and, besides, our bills were +paid. + +I reached into my pocket for my keys, unlocked the box and took out +the letter. The envelope was square, of an expensive quality, and +eminently aristocratic. It was postmarked Denboro, dated that +morning, and addressed in a sharp, clear masculine hand unfamiliar +to me, to "Roscoe Paine, Esq." The "Esq." would have settled it, +if the handwriting had not. No fellow-townsman of my acquaintance +would address me, or any one else, as Esquire. Misters and +Captains were common enough, but Esquires--no. + +It was a Denboro custom, when one received a mysterious letter, to +get the fullest enjoyment out of the mystery before solving it. I +had known Dorinda Rogers to guess, surmise and speculate for ten +minutes before opening a patent medicine circular. But, though +mysteries were uncommon enough in my life, I think I should have +reached the solution of this one in the next second--in fact, I had +torn the end from the envelope--when I was interrupted. + +It was Captain Dean who interrupted me. He had evidently concluded +his conversation with the postmaster and now was bearing down +majestically upon me, like a ten thousand ton steamer on a porgie +schooner. + +"Hey, you--Ros!" he roared. He was at my elbow, but he roared just +the same. Skipper of a coaster in his early days, he had never +outgrown the habit of pitching his voice to carry above a fifty- +mile gale. "Hey, Ros. See here; I want to talk to you." + +I did not want to talk with any one, particularly with him. He was +the individual who, according to Lute, had bracketed Mr. Rogers and +myself as birds of a feather, the remark which was primarily +responsible for my ill humor of the morning. If he had not said +that, and if Lute had not quoted the saying to me, I might have +behaved less like a fool when that automobile overtook me, I might +not have given that young idiot, whose Christian name it seemed was +Victor, the opportunity to be smart at my expense. That girl with +the dark eyes might not have looked at me as if I were a worm or a +June bug. Confound her! what right had she to look at me like +that? Victor, or whatever his name was, was a cub and a cad and as +fresh as the new paint on Ben Small's lighthouse, but he had +deigned to speak. Whereas that girl--! + +No, I did not want to talk with Jedediah Dean. However, he wanted +to talk to me, and what he wanted he usually got. + +Captain Dean was one of Denboro's leading citizens. His parents +had been as poor as Job's turkey, but Jedediah had determined to +get money and now he had it. He was reputed to be worth "upwards +of thirty thousand," owned acres and acres of cranberry swamps, and +the new house he had just built was almost as big as it was ugly, +which is saying considerable. He had wanted to be a deacon in the +church and, though the church was by no means so eager, deacon he +became. He was an uncompromising Democrat, but he had forced +himself into the Board of Selectmen, every other member a +Republican. He was director in the Denboro bank, and it was town +talk that his most ardent desire at the present time was to see his +daughter Helen--Nellie, we all called her--married to George +Taylor, cashier of that bank. As George and Nellie were "keeping +company" it seemed likely that Captain Jed would be gratified in +this, as in all other desires. He was a born boss, and did his +best to run the town according to his ideas. Captain Elisha +Warren, who lived over in South Denboro and was also a director in +the bank, covered the situation when he said: "Jed Dean is one of +those fellers who ought to have a big family to order around. The +Almighty gave him only one child and so he adopted Denboro and is +bossin' that." + +"I want to talk to you, Ros," repeated Captain Jed. "Come here." + +He led the way to the settee by the calico and dress goods counter. +I put the unread letter in my pocket and followed him. + +"Set down," he ordered. "Come to anchor alongside." + +I came to anchor. + +"How's your mother?" he asked. "Matilda was cal'latin' to go down +and set with her a spell this afternoon, if she didn't have +anything else to do--if Matilda didn't, I mean." + +Matilda was his wife. In her husband's company she was as dumb as +a broken phonograph; when he was not with her she talked +continuously, as if to get even. A call from Matilda Dean was one +of the additional trials which made Mother's invalid state harder +to bear. + +"Course she may not come," Jedediah hastened to say. "She's pretty +busy these days. But if she don't have anything else to do she +will. I told her she'd better." + +"Mother will be charmed," I said. Captain Jed was no fool and he +looked at me sharply. + +"Um; yes," he grunted. "I presume likely. You're charmed, too, +ain't you?" + +I was not expecting this. I murmured something to the effect that +I was delighted, of course. + +"Sartin. Well, that's all right. I didn't get you on this settee +to charm you. I want to talk business with you a minute." + +"Business! With me?" + +"Yup. Or it may be business later on. I've been thinkin' about +that Shore Lane, the one that runs through your land. Us town +folks use that a whole lot. I cal'late most everybody's come to +look at it as a reg'lar public road to the beach." + +"Why, yes, I suppose they have," I said, puzzled to know what he +was driving at. "It is a public road, practically." + +"No, 'tain't, neither. It's a private way, and if you wanted to +you could shut it off any day. A good many folks would have shut +it off afore this." + +"Oh, I guess not." + +"I guess yes. I'd shut it off myself. I wouldn't have Tom, Dick +and Harry drivin' fish wagons and tip carts full of seaweed through +my premises free gratis for nothin'." + +"Why?" I asked. "What harm does it do?" + +"I don't know as it does any. But because a tramp sleepin' on my +front piazza might not harm the piazza, that's no reason why I'd +let him sleep there." + +I laughed. "The two cases aren't exactly alike, are they?" I said. +"The land is of no value to us at present. Mother and I are glad +to have the Lane used, if it is a convenience, as I suppose it is." + +"It's that, sartin. Ros, who owns that land the Lane runs through-- +you or your mother?" + +"It is in my name," I said. + +"Um-hm. Well, would you sell it?" + +"Sell it! Sell that strip of sand and beach grass! Who would buy +it?" + +"I don't know as anybody would. I just asked if you'd sell it, +that's all." + +"Perhaps I would. I presume I should, if I had the chance." + +"Ain't had any chance yet, have you?" + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"Oh, nothin', nothin'! Well, you just think it over. If you +decide you would sell it and get so fur as fixin' a price on it, +let me know, will you?" + +"Captain, what in the world do you want of that land? See here! +you don't want to shut off the Shore Lane, do you?" + +"What in time would I want to shut it off for? I use it as much as +anybody, don't I?" + +"Then I don't see--" + +"Maybe there ain't nothin' TO see. Only, if you decide to sell, +let me know. Yes, and don't sell WITHOUT lettin' me know. +Understand?" + +"No, I don't." + +"Well, you understand enough, I cal'late. All I want you to do is +to promise not to sell that land the Lane's on without speakin' to +me fust. Will you promise that?" + +I considered for a moment. "Yes," I said, "I'll promise that. +Though I can't imagine what you're driving at." + +"You don't need to. Maybe I'm just drivin' blind; I hope I am. +That's all I wanted to talk about," rising from the settee. "Oh, +by the way," he added, "your neighborhood's honored just now, ain't +it? The King of New York's arrived, they tell me." + +"King of New York? Oh! I see; you mean the Coltons." + +"Sartin. Who else? Met his Majesty yet?" + +"No. Have you?" + +"I met him when he was down a month ago. Sim Eldredge introduced +me right here in the store. 'Mr. Colton,' says Sim, proud but +humble, so to speak, 'let me make you acquainted with one of our +selectmen, Cap'n Dean. Cap'n, shake hands with Mr. Colton of New +York.' We shook, and I cal'late I'd ought to have kept that hand +in a glass case ever since. But, somehow or other, I ain't." + +"What sort of a chap is Colton?" I asked. + +"Oh, all right of his kind, I guess. In amongst a gang of high +financers like himself he'd size up as a pretty good sport, I +shouldn't wonder. And he was polite enough to me, I suppose. But, +darn him, I didn't like the way he looked at me! He looked as if-- +as if--well, I can't tell you how he looked." + +"You don't need to," I said, brusquely. "I know." + +"You do, hey? He ain't looked at you, has he? No, course he +ain't! You said you hadn't met him." + +"I've met others of his kind." + +"Yes. Well, I'm a hayseed and I know it. I'm just a countryman +and he's a millionaire. He'll be the big show in this town from +now on. When he blows his nose seven-eighths of this community 'll +start in workin' up a cold in the head." + +He turned on his heel and started to go. + +"Will you?" I asked, slily. + +He looked back over his shoulder. "I ain't subject to colds-- +much," he snapped. "But YOU better lay in a supply of handkerchiefs, +Ros." + +I smiled. I knew what was troubling him. A little tin god has a +pleasant time of it, no doubt, until the coming of the eighteen +carat gold idol. Captain Jed had been boss of Denboro--self- +appointed to that eminent position, but holding it nevertheless-- +and to be pushed from his perch by a city rival was disagreeable. +If I knew him he would not be dethroned without a fight. There +were likely to be some interesting and lively times in our village. + +I could understand Dean's dislike of Colton, but his interest in +the Shore Lane was a mystery. Why should he wish to buy that +worthless strip of land? And what did he mean by asking if I had +chances to sell it? Still pondering over this puzzle, I walked +toward the front of the store, past the group waiting for the mail, +where the discussion concerning the Coltons was still going on, +Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker both talking at once. + +"You ask Ros," shouted Alvin, pounding the counter beside him. +"Say, Ros, Newcomb here seems to think that because a feller comes +from the city and is rich that that gives him the right to order +the rest of us around as if we was fo'mast hands. He says--" + +"I don't neither!" yelled Thoph. "What I say is that money counts, +and--" + +"You do, too! Ros, do YOU intend to get down on your knees to them +Coltons?" + +I laughed and went on without replying. I left the store and +strolled across the road to the bank, intending to make a short +call on George Taylor, the cashier, my most intimate acquaintance +and the one person in Denboro who came nearest to being my friend. + +But George was busy in the directors' room, and, after waiting a +few moments in conversation with Henry Small, the bookkeeper, I +gave it up and walked home, across the fields this time; I had no +desire to meet more automobilists. + +Dorinda had finished dusting the dining room and was busy upstairs. +I could hear the swish-swish of her broom overhead. I opened the +door leading to Mother's bedroom and entered, closing the door +behind me. + +The curtains were drawn, as they always were on sunny days, and the +room was in deep shadow. Mother had been asleep, I think, but she +heard my step and recognized it. + +"Is that you, Boy?" she asked. If I had been fifty, instead of +thirty-one, Mother would have called me "Boy" just the same. + +"Yes, Mother," I said. + +"Where have you been? For a walk? It is a beautiful morning, +isn't it." + +Her only way of knowing that the morning was a beautiful one was +that the shades were drawn. She had not seen the sunlight on the +bay, nor the blue sky; she had not felt the spring breeze on her +face, or the green grass beneath her feet. Her only glimpses of +the outside world were those which she got on cloudy or stormy days +when the shades were raised a few inches and, turning her head on +the pillow, she could see beneath them. For six years she had been +helpless and bedridden in that little room. But she never +complained. + +I told her that I had been uptown for a walk. + +"Did you meet any one?" she asked. + +I said that I had met Captain Dean and Newcomb and the rest. I +said nothing of my encounter with the motor car. + +"Captain Jed graciously informed me that his wife might be down to +sit with you this afternoon," I said. "Provided she didn't have +anything else to do; he took pains to add that. You mustn't see +her, of course." + +She smiled. "Why not?" she asked. "Matilda is a little tiresome +at times, but she means well." + +"Humph! Mother, I think you would make excuses for the Old Harry +himself. That woman will talk you to death." + +"Oh, no! Not as bad as that. And poor Matilda doesn't talk much +at home, I'm afraid." + +"Her husband sees to that; I don't blame him. By the way, the +Captain had a queer bee in his bonnet this morning. He seems to be +thinking of buying some of our property." + +I told her of Jedediah's interest in the Shore Lane and his hint +concerning its possible purchase. She listened and then said +thoughtfully: + +"What have you decided to do about it, Roscoe?" + +"I haven't decided at all. What do you think, Mother?" + +"It seems to me that I shouldn't sell, at least until I knew his +reason for wanting to buy. It would be different if we needed the +money, but, of course, we don't." + +"Of course," I said, hastily. "But why not sell? We don't use the +land." + +"No. But the Denboro people need that Lane. They use it a great +deal. If it were closed it would put many of them to a great +inconvenience, particularly those who get their living alongshore. +Every one in Denboro has been so kind to us. I feel that we owe +them a debt we never can repay." + +"No one could help being kind to you, Mother. Oh! I have another +piece of news. Did you know that our new neighbors, the Coltons, +have arrived?" + +"Yes. Dorinda told me. Have you met any of them?" + +"No." + +"Dorinda says Mrs. Colton is an invalid. Poor woman! it must be +hard to be ill when one has so much to enjoy. Dorinda says they +have a very pretty daughter." + +I made no comment. I was not interested in pretty daughters, just +then. The memory of the girl in the auto was too fresh in my mind. + +"Did you go to the post-office, Roscoe?" asked Mother. "I suppose +there were no letters. There seldom are." + +Then I remembered the letter in my pocket. I had forgotten it +altogether. + +"Why, yes, there was a letter, a letter for me. I haven't read it +yet." + +I took the envelope from my pocket and drew out the enclosure. The +latter was a note, very brief and very much to the point. I read +it. + +"Well, by George!" I exclaimed, angrily. + +"What is it, Roscoe?" + +"It appears to be a summons from what Captain Jed called the King +of New York. A summons to appear at court." + +"At court?" + +"Oh, not the criminal court. Merely the palace of his Majesty. +Just listen." + +This was the letter: + + +Roscoe Paine, Esq. + +Dear Sir: + +I should like to see you at my house this--Thursday--forenoon, on a +matter of business. I shall expect you at any time after ten in +the morning. + +Yours truly, + +JAMES W. COLTON. + + +"From Mr. Colton!" exclaimed Mother. "Why! what can he want of +you?" + +"I don't know," I answered. "And I don't particularly care." + +"Roscoe!" + +"Mother, did you ever hear such a cool, nervy proposition in your +life? He wants to see me and he orders me to come to him. Why +doesn't he come to me?" + +"I suppose he didn't think of it. He is a big man in New York and +he has been accustomed to having people come at his convenience. +It's his way of doing things, I suppose." + +"Then I don't like the way. This is Denboro, not New York. He +will expect me at any time after ten, will he? Well, as Mullet +said to Alvin Baker just now at the post-office, I hope he has lots +of patience. He'll need it." + +"But what can he want of you?" + +"I don't know. Wants to look over his nearest jay neighbor, I +should imagine, and see what sort of a curio he is. He thinks it +may be necessary to put up barbed wire fences, I suppose." + +"Roscoe, don't be narrow-minded. Mr. Colton's ways aren't ours and +we must make allowances." + +"Let him make a few, for a change." + +"Aren't you going to see him?" + +"No. At least not until I get good and ready." + +Dorinda came in just then to ask Mother some questions concerning +dinner, for, though Mother had not seen the dining room since that +day, six years ago, when she was carried from it to her bedroom, +she kept her interest in household affairs and insisted on being +consulted on all questions of management and internal economy. I +rose from my chair and started toward the door. + +"Are you going, Roscoe?" asked Mother. + +"Yes." + +"Where?" + +"Oh, just out of doors; perhaps to the boat-house." + +"Boy." + +"Yes, Mother?" + +"What is the matter? Something has gone wrong; I knew it as soon +as you came in. What is it?" + +"Nothing. That is, nothing of any consequence. I'm a little out +of sorts to-day and that man's letter irritates me. I'll get over +it. I'll be back soon. Good-by, Mother." + +"Good-by, Boy." + +I went out through the dining room and kitchen, to the back yard, +where, seating myself on Lute's favorite resting place, the wash +bench, I lit my pipe and sat thinking, gloomily thinking. + + + +CHAPTER III + + +It is a dreadful thing to hate one's own father; to hate him and be +unable to forgive him even though he is dead, although he paid for +his sin with his life. Death is said to pay all debts, but there +are some it cannot pay. To my father I owed my present ambitionless, +idle, good-for-nothing life, my mother's illness, years of disgrace, +the loss of a name--everything. + +Paine was my mother's maiden name; she was christened Comfort +Paine. My own Christian name is Roscoe and my middle name is +Paine. My other name, the name I was born with, the name that +Mother took when she married, we dropped when the disgrace came +upon us. It was honored and respected once; now when it was +repeated people coupled it with shame and crime and dishonor and +broken trust. + +As a boy I remember myself as a spoiled youngster who took the +luxuries of this world for granted. I attended an expensive and +select private school, idled my way through that somehow, and +entered college, a happy-go-lucky young fellow with money in my +pocket. For two-thirds of my Freshman year--which was all I +experienced of University life--I enjoyed myself as much as +possible, and studied as little. Then came the telegram. I +remember the looks of the messenger who brought it, the cap he +wore, and the grin on his young Irish face when the fellow sitting +next me at the battered black oak table in the back room of Kelly's +asked him to have a beer. I remember the song we were singing, the +crowd of us, how it began again and then stopped short when the +others saw the look on my face. The telegram contained but four +words: "Come home at once." It was signed with the name of my +father's lawyer. + +I presume I shall never forget even the smallest incident of that +night journey in the train and the home-coming. The lawyer's +meeting me at the station in the early morning; his taking care +that I should not see the newspapers, and his breaking the news to +me. Not of the illness or death which I had feared and dreaded, +but of something worse--disgrace. My father was an embezzler, a +thief. He had absconded, had run away, like the coward he was, +taking with him what was left of his stealings. The banking house +of which he had been the head was insolvent. The police were on +his track. And, worse and most disgraceful of all, he had not fled +alone. There was a woman with him, a woman whose escapades had +furnished the papers with sensations for years. + +I had never been well acquainted with my father. We had never been +friends and companions, like other fathers and sons I knew. I +remember him as a harsh, red-faced man, whom, as a boy, I avoided +as much as possible. As I grew older I never went to him for +advice; he was to me a sort of walking pocket-book, and not much +else. Mother has often told me that she remembers him as something +quite different, and I suppose it must be true, otherwise she would +not have married him; but to me he was a source of supply coupled +with a bad temper, that was all. That I was not utterly impossible, +that, going my own gait as I did, I was not a complete young +blackguard, I know now was due entirely to Mother. She and I were +as close friends as I would permit her to be. Father had neglected +us for years, though how much he had neglected and ill-treated her +I did not know until she told me, afterward. She was in delicate +health even then, but, when the blow fell, it was she and not I who +bore up bravely and it was her pluck and nerve, not mine, which +pulled us through that dreadful time. + +And it was dreadful. The stories and pictures in the papers! The +rumors, always contradicted, that the embezzler had been caught! +The misrepresentation and lies and scandal! The loss of those whom +we had supposed were friends! Mother bore them all, wore a calm, +brave face in public, and only when alone with me gave way, and +then but at rare intervals. She clung to me as her only comfort +and hope. I was sullen and wrathful and resentful, an unlicked +cub, I suspect, whose complaints were selfish ones concerning the +giving up of my college life and its pleasures, and the sacrifice +of social position and wealth. + +Mother had--or so we thought at the time--a sum in her own name +which would enable us to live; although not as we had lived by a +great deal. We took an apartment in an unfashionable quarter of +the city, and thanks to the lawyer--who proved himself a real and +true friend--I was given a minor position in a small bank. Oddly +enough, considering my former life, I liked the work, it interested +me, and during the next few years I was made, by successive +promotions, bookkeeper, teller, and, at last, assistant cashier. +No news came from the absconder. The police had lost track of him, +and it seemed probable that he would never be heard of again. But +over Mother and myself hung always the dread that he might be found +and all the dreadful business revived once more. Mother never +mentioned it, nor did I, but the dread was there. + +Then came the first breakdown in Mother's health which necessitated +her removal to the country. Luther and Dorinda Rogers were distant +relatives of our friend, the lawyer. They owned the little house +by the shore at Denboro and the lawyer had visited them occasionally +on shooting and fishing trips. They were in need of money, for, as +Dorinda said: "We've got two mouths in this family and only one +pair of hands. One of the mouths is so big that the hands can't +fill it, let alone the mouth that belongs to THEM." Mother--as Mrs. +Paine, a widow--went there first as a boarder, intending to remain +but a few months. Dorinda took to her at once, being attracted in +the beginning, I think, by the name. "They call you Comfort Paine," +she said, "and you are a comfort to everybody else's pain. Yet you +ain't out of pain a minute scurcely, yourself. I never see anything +like it. If 'twan't wicked I'd say that name was give you by the +Old Scratch himself, as a sort of divilish joke. But anybody can +see that the Old Scratch never had anything in common with you, even +a hand in the christenin'." + +Dorinda was very kind, and Lute was a never-ending joy in his +peculiar way. Mother would have been almost happy in the little +Denboro home, if I had been with her. But she was never really +happy when we were separated, a condition of mind which grew more +acute as her health declined. I came down from the city once every +month and those Sundays were great occasions. The Denboro people +know me as Roscoe Paine. + +For a time Mother seemed to be holding her own. In answer to my +questions she always declared that she was ever so much better. +But Doctor Quimby, the town physician, looked serious + +"She must be kept absolutely quiet," he said. "She must not be +troubled in any way. Worry or mental distress is what I fear most. +Any sudden bad news or shock might--well, goodness knows what +effect it might have. She must not be worried. Ros--" after one +has visited Denboro five times in succession he is generally called +by his Christian name--"Ros, if you've got any worries you keep 'em +to yourself." + +I had worries, plenty of them. Our little fortune, saved, as we +thought, from the wreck, suffered a severe shrinkage. A +considerable portion of it, as the lawyers discovered, was involved +and belonged to the creditors. I said nothing to Mother about +this: she supposed that we had a sufficient income for our needs, +even without my salary. Without telling her I gave up our city +apartment, stored our furniture, and took a room in a boarding- +house. I was learning the banking business, was trusted with more +and more responsibility, and believed my future was secure. Then +came the final blow. + +I saw the news in the paper when I went out to lunch. "Embezzler +and His Companion Caught in Rio Janeiro. He Commits Suicide When +Notified of His Arrest." These headlines stared at me as I opened +the paper at the restaurant table. My father had shot himself when +the police came. I read it with scarcely more than a vague feeling +of pity for him. It was of Mother that I thought. The news must +be kept from her. If she should hear of it! What should I do? I +went first of all to the lawyer's office: he was out of town for +the day. I wandered up and down the streets for an hour. Then I +went back to the bank. There I found a telegram from Doctor +Quimby: "Mrs. Paine very ill. Come on first train." I knew what +it meant. Mother had heard the news; the shock which the doctor +dreaded had had its effect. + +I reached Denboro the next morning. Lute met me at the station. +From his disjointed and lengthy story I gathered that Mother had +been "feelin' fust-rate for her" until the noon before. "I come +back from the post-office," said Lute, "and I was cal'latin' to +read the newspaper, but Dorindy had some everlastin' chore or other +for me to do--I believe she thinks 'em up in her sleep--and I left +the paper on the dinin'-room table and went out to the barn. +Dorindy she come along to boss me, as usual. When we went back to +the house there was Mrs. Comfort on the dinin'-room floor--dead, we +was afraid at fust. The paper was alongside of her, so we judge +she was just a-goin' to read it when she was took. The doctor says +it's a paralysis or appleplexy or somethin'. We carried her into +the bedroom, but she ain't spoke sence." + +She did not speak for weeks and when she did it was to ask for me. +She called my name over and over again and, if I left her, even for +a moment, she grew so much worse that the doctor forbade my going +back to the city. I obtained a leave of absence from the bank for +three months. By that time she was herself, so far as her reason +was concerned, but very weak and unable to bear the least hint of +disturbance or worry. She must not be moved, so Doctor Quimby +said, and he held out no immediate hope of her recovering the use +of her limbs. "She will be confined to her bed for a long time," +said the doctor, "and she is easy only when you are here. If you +should go away I am afraid she might die." I did not go away. I +gave up my position in the bank and remained in Denboro. + +At the end of the year I bought the Rogers house and land, moved a +portion of our furniture down there, sold the rest, and resigned +myself to a period of idleness in the country. Dorinda I hired as +housekeeper, and when Dorinda accepted the engagement she threw in +Lute, so to speak, for good measure. + +And here I have been ever since. At first I looked upon my stay in +Denboro as a sort of enforced vacation, which was to be, of course, +only temporary. But time went on and Mother's condition continued +unchanged. She needed me and I could not leave her. I fished and, +shot and sailed and loafed, losing ambition and self-respect, aware +that the majority of the village people considered me too lazy to +earn a living, and caring little for their opinion. At first I had +kept up a hit or miss correspondence with one or two of my +associates in the bank, but after a while I dropped even this +connection with the world. I was ashamed to have my former +acquaintances know what I had become, and they, apparently, were +quite willing to forget me. I expected to live and die in Denboro, +and I faced the prospect with indifference. + +The summer people, cottagers and boarders, I avoided altogether and +my only friend, and I did not consider him that, was George Taylor, +the Denboro bank cashier. He was fond of salt-water and out-door +sports and we, occasionally enjoyed them together. + +Thanks to the lawyer, our names had been scarcely mentioned in the +papers at the time of my father's death. No one in the village +knew our identity or our story. And, because I knew that Mother +would worry if she were told, I kept from her the fact that our +little income was but half of what it had been. Our wants were +few, and if my clothes were no longer made by the best tailors, if +they were ready-made and out-of-date and lacked pressing, they were +whole, at all events, because Dorinda was a tip-top mender. In +fact, I had forgotten they were out-of-date until the sight of the +immaculately garbed young chap in the automobile brought the +comparison between us to my mind. + +But now, as I sat on the wash-bench, thinking of all this, I looked +down at my baggy trousers and faded waistcoat with disgust. One of +the surest signs of the loss of self-respect is a disregard of +one's personal appearance. I looked like a hayseed--not the +independent countryman who wears old clothes on week days from +choice and is proudly conscious of a Sunday suit in the closet--but +that other variety, the post-office and billiard-room idler who has +reached the point of utter indifference, is too shiftless to care. +Captain Jed was not so far wrong, after all--Lute Rogers and I were +birds of a feather in more ways than one. + +No wonder that girl in the auto had looked at me as if I were +something too contemptible for notice. Yet I hated her for that +look. I had behaved like a boor, of course. Because I was a +failure, a country loafer with no prospect of ever being anything +else, because I could not ride in automobiles and others could-- +these were no good reasons for insulting strangers more fortunate +than I. Yet I did hate that girl. Just then I hated all creation, +especially that portion of it which amounted to anything. + +I took the letter from my pocket and read it again. "I should like +to see you . . . on a matter of business." What business could +"Yours truly, James W. Colton" have with me? And Captain Jed also +had talked business. I supposed that I had given up business long +ago and for good; now, all at once, it seemed to be hunting me. +Well, all the hunting should be on its side. + +At another time I might have treated the great Colton's "summons to +court" as a joke. I might, like Mother, have regarded the curtness +of the command and its general tone of taking my prompt obedience +for granted as an expression of the Wall Street magnate's habit of +mind, and nothing more. He was used to having people jump when he +snapped his fingers. But now it made me angry. I sympathized with +Dean and Alvin Baker. The possession of money did not necessarily +imply omnipotence. This was Cape Cod, not New York. His Majesty +might, as Captain Jed put it, have blown his Imperial nose, but I, +for one, wouldn't "lay in a supply of handkerchiefs"--not yet. + +I heard a rustle in the bushes and, turning my head, saw Lute +coming along the path. He was walking fast--fast for him, that is-- +and seemed to be excited. His excitement, however, did not cause +him to forget prudence. He looked carefully about to be sure his +wife was not in sight, before he spoke. + +"Dorindy ain't been here sence I've been gone, has she?" was his +first question. + +"I guess not," said I. "She has been in the house since I got +back. But I don't know how long you've been gone." + +"Only a few minutes. I--I just stepped over 'cross the Lane for a +jiffy, that's all. Say, by time; them Coltons must have money!" + +"That's a habit of millionaires, I believe." + +"Hey? What do you mean by that? If they didn't have money they +couldn't be millionaires, could they? How'd you like to be a +millionaire, Ros?" + +"I don't know. I never tried." + +"By time! I'D like to try a spell. I've been over lookin' 'round +their place. You never see such a place! Why, their front +doorstep's big as this yard, pretty nigh." + +"Does it have to be raked?" I asked. + +"Raked! Whoever heard of rakin' a doorstep?" + +"Give it up! But it does seem to me that I have heard of raking a +yard. I think Dorinda mentioned that, didn't she?" + +Lute looked at me: then he hurried over and picked up the rake +which was lying near the barn, a pile--a very small pile--of chips +and leaves beside it. + +"When did she mention it?" he asked. + +"A week ago, I think, was the first time. She has referred to it +occasionally since. She was mentioning it to you when I went up +town this morning. I heard her." + +Lute looked relieved. "Oh, THEN!" he said. "I thought you meant +lately. Well, I'm rakin' it, ain't I? Say, Ros," he added, +eagerly, "did you go to the post-office when you was uptown? Was +there a letter there for you?" + +"What makes you think there was?" + +"Asa Peters' boy, the bow-legged one, told me. The chauffeur, the +feller that pilots the automobiles, asked him where the post-office +was and he see the address on the envelope. He said the letter was +for you. I told him he was lyin'--" + +"What in the world did you tell him that for?" I interrupted. I +had known Lute a long time, but he sometimes surprised me, even +yet. + +"'Cause he is, nine times out of ten," replied Lute, promptly. +"You never see such a young-one for dodgin' the truth. Why, one +time he told his grandmother, Asa's ma, I mean, that--" + +"What did he say about the letter?" + +"Said 'twas for you. And the chauffeur said Mr. Colton told him to +mail it right off. 'Twan't for you, was it, Ros?" + +"Yes." + +"It WAS! Well, by time! What did a man like Mr. Colton write to +you about?" + +Among his other lackings Lute was conspicuously short of tact. +This was no time for him to ask me such a question, especially to +emphasize the "you." + +"Why shouldn't he write to me?" I asked, tartly. + +"But--but HIM--writin' to YOU!" + +"Humph! Even a god stoops once in a while. Read your mythology, +Lute." + +"Hey? Say, look here, what are you swearin' about?" + +"Swearing? Oh, that's all right. The god I referred to was a +heathen one." + +"Well, it's a good thing Dorindy didn't hear you; she's down on +swearin', heathen or any other kind. But what did Mr. Colton write +to you for?" + +"He says he wants to see me." + +"See you? What for?" + +"Don't know. Perhaps he wants to borrow money." + +"Borrow--! I believe you're crazy!" + +"No, I'm tolerably sane. There! there! don't look at me like that. +Here's his letter. Read it, if you want to." + +Lute's fingers were so eager to grasp that letter that they were +all thumbs. He dropped it on the grass, picked it up with as much +care as if it was a diamond, and holding it a foot from his nose-- +he had broken his spectacles and was afraid to ask Dorinda for the +money to have them repaired--he spelt it out to the last word. + +"Well, by time!" he exclaimed, when he had finished. "He wants to +see you at his house this forenoon! And--and--why, the forenoon's +all but gone now! What are you settin' here for?" + +"Well, I thought I should enjoy watching you rake the yard. It is +a pleasure deferred so far." + +"Watchin' me--! Roscoe Paine, you are out of your head! Ain't you +goin' to see him?" + +"No." + +"You AIN'T!" + +"No." + +"Ros Paine, have you jined in with them darn fools uptown?" + +"Who's swearing now? What fools do you mean?" + +"Darn ain't swearin'. Dorindy herself says that once in a while. +I mean Alvin Baker, and Jed Dean and the rest of 'em. They was +goin' on about Mr. Colton last night; said THEY wan't goin' to run +at his beck and call. I told 'em, says I, 'You ain't had the +chance. You'll run fast enough when you do.'" + +"Did you say that to Captain Jed?" + +"No-o. I said it to Alvin, but old Jed's just as bad. He's down +on anybody that's got more'n he has. But Ros, you ain't foolish +enough to side with Jed Dean. Just think! Here's Mr. Colton, +richer'n King Solomon and all his glory. He's got servants and +butlers and bonds and cowpons and horses and teams and automobiles +and--" + +I rose from the wash bench. + +"I know what he's got, Lute," I interrupted. "And I know what he +hasn't got." + +"What? Is there anything he ain't got?" + +"He hasn't got me--not yet. If he wants to see me he may. I expect +to be at home for the next day or two." + +"You don't mean you expect a millionaire like him to come cruisin' +after YOU! Well, by time! I think I see him!" + +"When you do, let me know," I said. "I should like to be prepared." + +"Well,--by--time!" said Lute, by way of summing up. I ate dinner +with Dorinda. Her husband did not join us. Dorinda paid a visit +to the back yard and, seeing how little raking had been done, +announced that until the job was finished there would be "no dinner +for some folks." So she and I ate and Lute raked, under protest, +and vowing that he was so faint and holler he cal'lated to collapse +'most any time. + +After the meal was finished I went down to the boathouse. The +boathouse was a little building on the beach at the foot of the +bluff below the house. It was a favorite resort of mine and I +spent many hours there. My eighteen foot motor launch, the +Comfort, the one expensive luxury I allowed myself and which I had +bought second-hand two years before, was jacked up in the middle of +the floor. The engine, which I had taken apart to clean, was in +pieces beside it. On the walls hung my two shot guns and my +fishing rod. Outside, on the beach, was my flat-bottomed skiff, +which I used for rowing about the bay, her oars under the thwarts. +In the boathouse was a comfortable armchair and a small shelf of +books, novels for the most part. A cheap clock and a broken-down +couch, the latter a discard from the original outfit of the +cottage, made up the list of furniture. + +My idea in coming to the boathouse was to continue my work with the +engine. I tried it for a half hour or so and then gave it up. It +did not interest me then. I shut the door at the side of the +building, that by which I had entered--the big double doors in +front I had not opened at all--and, taking a book from the shelf, +stretched myself on the couch to read. + +The book I had chosen was one belonging to the Denboro Ladies' +Library; Miss Almena Doane, the librarian, had recommended it +highly, as a "real interesting story, with lots of uplifting +thoughts in it." The thoughts might be uplifting to Almena, but +they did not elevate my spirits. As for the story--well, the hero +was a young gentleman who was poor but tremendously clever and +handsome, and the heroine had eyes "as dark and deep as starlit +pools." The poor but beautiful person met the pool-eyed one at a +concert, where he sat, "his whole soul transfigured by the music," +and she had been "fascinated in spite of herself" by the look on +his face. I read as far as that and dropped the book in disgust. + +After that I must have fallen asleep. What awakened me was a knock +on the door. It was Lute, of course. Probably mother wanted me +for something or other, and Dorinda had sent her husband to hunt me +up. + +The knock was repeated. + +"Come in," I said, sleepily. + +The door opened and in came, not Lute, but a tall, portly man, with +a yachting cap on the back of his gray head, and a cigar in his +mouth. He looked at me as I lay on the couch and I lay on the +couch and looked at him. + +"Afternoon," he said, curtly. "Is your name Paine?" + +I nodded. I was waking rapidly, but I was too astonished to speak. + +"Roscoe Paine?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, mine's Colton. I sent you a letter this morning. Did you +get it?" + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +I sat up on the couch. Mr. Colton knocked the ashes from his +cigar, waited an instant, and then repeated his question. + +"Did you get my letter?" he asked. + +"Yes," I said. + +"Oh, you did. I was afraid that man of mine might have forgotten +to mail it." + +"No, I got it. Won't you--er--won't you sit down?" He pulled the +armchair toward him and sat down. I noticed that he had a habit of +doing things quickly. His sentences were short and to the point +and he spoke and acted like one accustomed to having his own way. +He crossed his knees and looked about the little building. + +"It is a pleasant day," I observed, for the sake of saying +something. He did not seem to hear me, or, if he did, he was not +interested in the weather. For my part I found the situation +embarrassing. I knew what his next question would be, and I did +not know how to answer. Sure enough, he asked it. + +"I wrote you to come over to my place this forenoon," he said. +"You didn't come." + +"No. I--" + +"Why not?" + +Here was the issue joined. Here, if ever, was the opportunity to +assert my independence a la Jed Dean and Alvin Baker. But to +assert it now, after he had done the unexpected, after the mountain +had come to Mahomet, seemed caddish and ridiculous. So I +temporized, weakly. + +"I didn't read your letter until about noon," I said. + +"I see. Well, I waited until two o'clock and then I decided to +hunt you up. I called at your house. The woman there said you +were down here. Your mother?" + +"No." My answer was prompt and sharp enough this time. It was +natural, perhaps, that he should presume Dorinda to be my mother, +but I did not like it. + +He paid absolutely no attention to the tone of my reply or its +curtness. He did not refer to Dorinda again. She might have been +my wife or my great-aunt for all he cared. + +"This your workshop?" he asked, abruptly. Then, nodding toward the +dismembered engine, "What are you? a boat builder?" + +"No, not exactly." + +"What's the price of a boat like that?" indicating the Comfort with +a kick in her direction. + +"About two hundred and fifty dollars, I believe," I answered. + +"You believe! Don't you know?" + +"No. I bought that boat second-hand." + +He did not refer to the boat again; apparently forgot it altogether. +His next move was to rise and turn toward the door. I watched him, +wondering what was going to happen next. He had a habit of jumping +from one subject to another which was bewildering. + +"What's that fellow doing off there?" he asked, suddenly. + +I looked where he was pointing. + +"That is Zeb Kendrick," I answered. "He's raking for quahaugs." + +"Raking for what hogs?" + +"Quahaugs. What you New Yorkers call clams." + +"Oh! Sell 'em, does he?" + +"Yes." + +"Tell him to call at my house next time you see him. And for +heaven's sake tell him to come to the servants' door. Don't you +people down here have any servants' doors to your houses? There +have been no less than fifty peddlers on my porch since yesterday +and my butler will die of apoplexy if it keeps on. He's a good +one, for a wonder, and I don't want to lose him." + +I made no reply to this observation and he did not seem to expect +any. He watched Zeb rake for a moment and then he turned back to +me. + +"Can you come over to my house now?" he asked. + +I was not expecting this and again I did not have an answer ready. + +"Can you?" he went on. "I've got a business deal to make with you +and I'd rather make it there. I've got a lot of carpenters and +painters at work and they ask me ten questions a minute. They are +unnecessary questions but if I don't answer them the fellows are +sure to make some fool mistake or other. They need a governess. +If you'll come over with me I'll be in touch with them and you and +I can talk just as well. Can come, can't you?" + +I did not know what to say. I wanted to say no, that if he had any +business with me it could be discussed in that boathouse. I did +not like his manner, yet I had a feeling that it was his usual one +and that he had not meant to be rude. And I could think of no good +reason for not going with him. + +"You can come, can't you?" he repeated. + +"I suppose I can. But--" + +"Of course if you're too busy to leave--" + +I remembered the position he had found me in and I rather think I +had turned red. He did not smile, but there was a sort of grim +twinkle in his eyes. + +"I'll come," I said. + +"Much obliged. I won't keep you long. Come on." + +He led the way and I followed, rebellious, and angry, not so much +with him as with myself. I wished now that I had gone over to the +Colton place when I first received the summons to court, instead of +making proclamations of defiance to mother and Lute Rogers. This +seemed such a complete backdown. As we passed the house I saw Lute +peering from the barn. I devoutly hoped he might not see me, but +he did. His mouth opened and he stared. Then, catching my eye, he +winked triumphantly. I wanted to punch his head. + +The King of New York walked briskly on in silence until we were +just at the edge of the grove by the Shore Lane. Then he stopped +and turned to me. + +"You own all this land, don't you?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"Humph! Get a good view from here." + +I admitted that the view was good. At that particular point it +embraced nearly the whole of the bay in front, and a large portion +of the village at the side. + +He waved his hand toward the cluster of houses. + +"There are eighteen hundred people in this town, they tell me," he +said. "Permanent residents, I mean. What do they all do?" + +"Do?" + +"Yes. How do they get a living? They must get it somehow. In the +regular summer resorts they squeeze it out of the city people, I +know that. But there aren't so many cottagers and boarders here. +What do you all do for a living?" + +I told him that most of masculine Denboro fished or farmed or kept +store. + +"Which do you do?" he asked. "You said you weren't a boat-builder." + +"I'm not doing anything at present," I replied, shortly. + +"Out of a job?" + +"You might call it that. Is this a part of the business you wished +to see me about, Mr. Colton?" + +I was boiling inwardly and a little of the heat was expressed in my +tone. I don't know whether he took the hint or merely lost +interest in the subject. At any rate his reply was a brief "No," +and we continued our walk. + +As we reached the Shore Lane he paused again, and I thought he was +about to speak. He did not, however, and we crossed the boundary +line of my property and entered the Colton grounds. As we drew +nearer to the house I was surprised to see how large it was. When +the Atwaters owned it I was an occasional caller there, for old +Major Atwater was fond of shooting and sometimes borrowed my +decoys. But, since it changed hands, I had not been nearer to it +than the Lane. With the new wing and the other additions it was +enormous. It fairly reeked of money, though, so far as I was a +judge, the taste shown in rebuilding and decorating was good. We +turned the corner, where Asa Peters, the head carpenter, came +hurrying up. Asa looked surprised enough to see me in company with +his employer and regarded me wonderingly. "Mr. Colton," he said, +"I wanted to ask you about them skylights." I stepped back out of +hearing, but I inferred from Colton's actions that the question was +another one of the "unnecessary" ones he had so scornfully referred +to in the boathouse. + +"Jackass!" he exclaimed, as he rejoined me. I judged he was +classifying Asa, but, if so, he did not trouble to lower his voice. +"Come on, Paine," he added, and we passed a long line of windows, +hung with costly curtains, and stepped up on a handsome Colonial +portico before two big doors. + +The doors were opened by an imposing personage in dark blue and +brass buttons, who bowed profoundly before Colton and regarded me +with condescending superiority. This personage, whom I recognized, +from Alvin's description, as the "minister-lookin'" butler, led us +through a hall about as large as our sitting-room, dining-room and +kitchen combined, but bearing no other resemblance to these +apartments, and opened another door, through which, bowing once +more, he ushered us. Then he closed the door, leaving himself, to +my relief, outside. It had been a long time since I was waited +upon by a butler and I found this specimen rather overpowering. + +The room we were in was the library, and, though it was bigger and +far more sumptuous than the library I remembered so well as a boy, +the sight of the books in their cases along the walls gave me a +feeling almost of homesickness. My resentment against my +millionaire neighbor increased. Why should he and his have +everything, and the rest of us be deprived of the little we once +had? + +Colton seated himself in a leather upholstered chair and waved his +hand toward another. + +"Sit down," he said. He took a cigar from his pocket. "Smoke?" he +asked. + +I was a confirmed smoker, but I was not going to smoke one of his +cigars--not then. + +"No thank you," said I. He did not comment on my refusal, but lit +the cigar himself, from the stump of his former one. Then he +crossed his legs and proceeded, with characteristic abruptness, to +his subject. + +"Paine," he began, "you own this land next to me, you say. Your +property ends at the fence this side of that road we just crossed, +doesn't it?" + +"It ends where yours begins," I announced. + +"Yes. Just this side of that road." + +"Of the Shore Lane. It isn't a road exactly." + +"I don't care what you call it. Road or lane or cow-path. It ends +there?" + +"Yes." + +"And it IS your land? It belongs to you, personally, all of it, +free and clear?" + +"Why--yes; it does." I could not see what business of his my +ownership of that land might be. + +"All right. I asked that because, if it wasn't yours, if it was +tied up or mortgaged in any way, it might complicate matters. But +it isn't." + +"No." + +"Good! Then we can get down to brass tacks and save time. I want +a piece of that land." + +I looked at him. + +"You want--?" I repeated, slowly. + +"I want a strip of your land. Want to buy it, of course. I don't +expect you to give it to me. What's it worth, by the acre, say?" + +I did not answer. All at once I was beginning to see a light. +Captain Jed Dean's mysterious conversation at the post-office was +beginning to lose some of its mystery. + +"Well?" asked Colton, impatiently. Then, without waiting longer, +he added: + +"By the way, before you name a figure, answer me one more question. +That road--or lane, or whatever it is--that is yours, too? Doesn't +belong to the town?" + +The light was growing more brilliant. I could see breakers ahead. + +"No," I replied, slowly. "It is a private way. It belongs to me." + +"Good! Well, what's that land of yours worth by the acre?" + +I shook my head. "I scarcely know," I said. "I've never figured +it that way." + +"I don't care how you figure it. Here, let's get down to a +business proposition. I want to buy a strip of that land from the +Lower Road--that's what you call the one above here, isn't it?--to +the beach. The strip I want is about three hundred feet wide, for +a guess. It extends from my fence to the other side of that grove +by the bluff. What will you sell it for?" + +The breakers were close aboard. However, I dodged them momentarily. + +"Why do you want to buy?" I asked. + +"For reasons." + +"I should think you had land enough already." + +"I thought I had, but it seems I haven't. Well, what's your price +for that strip?" + +"Mr. Colton, I--I'm afraid--" + +"Never mind that. I suppose you're afraid you'll make the price +too low. Now, see here, I'm a busy man. I haven't time to do any +bargaining. Name your price and, if it's anywhere within reason, +we won't haggle. I expect to pay more than anyone else would. +That's part of my fine for being a city man and not a native. Gad! +the privilege is worth the money. I'll pay the fine. What's the +price?" + +"But why do you want to buy?" + +"For reasons of my own, I tell you. They haven't anything to do +with your selling." + +"I'm not so sure." + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"That strip takes in the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton." + +"I know it." + +"And, if you buy, I presume the Lane will be closed." + +He looked at me, surprised, and, I thought, a little annoyed. + +"Well?" he said; "suppose it is?" + +"But it will be, won't it?" + +"You bet your life it will! What of it?" + +"Then I don't know that I care to sell." + +He leaned back in his chair. + +"You don't care to sell!" he repeated, slowly. "What the devil do +you mean by that?" + +"What I said. And, besides, Mr. Colton, I--" + +He interrupted me. + +"Why don't you care to sell?" he demanded. "The land is no good to +you, is it?" + +"Not much. No." + +"Humph! Are you so rich that you've got all the money you want?" + +I was angry all through. I rose from my chair. + +"Good day, Mr. Colton," I said. + +"Here!" he shouted. "Hold on! Where are you going?" + +"I can't see that there is any use of our talking further." + +"No use? Why-- There! there! sit down. It's none of my business +how rich you are, and I beg your pardon. Sit down. Sit down, man, +I tell you!" + +I sat down, reluctantly. He threw his cigar, which had gone out, +into the fireplace and lit another. + +"Say," he said, "you surprise me, Paine. What do you mean by +saying you won't sell that land? You don't know what I'll pay for +it yet." + +"No, I don't." + +"Then how do you know you won't sell it? I never had anything yet-- +except my wife and family--that I wouldn't sell for a price. Look +here! I haven't got time to do any Down-East horse-jockeying. I'll +make you an offer. I'll give you five hundred dollars cash for +that strip of land. What do you say?" + +I didn't say anything. Five hundred dollars was a generous offer. +I couldn't help thinking what Mother and I might do with that five +hundred dollars. + +"What do you say?" he repeated. + +I answered, Yankee fashion, with another question. "Mr. Colton," I +asked, "why do you want to close that Shore Lane?" + +"Because I do. What difference does it make to you why I want to +close it?" + +"That Lane has been used by Denboro people for years. It is almost +a public necessity." + +He puffed twice on his cigar before he spoke again. When he did it +was in a different tone. + +"I see," he said. "Humph! I see. Paine, does the town pay you +rent for the use of that road?" + +"No." + +"Has it been bidding to buy it?" + +"No." + +"Is any one else after it?" + +"No-o. I think not. But--" + +"You THINK not. That means you're not sure. You've had a bite +somewhere. Somebody has been nibbling at your hook. Well, they've +got to bite quick and swallow some to get ahead of me. I want that +road closed and I'm going to have it closed, sooner or later. I'd +prefer it sooner." + +"But why do you want to close it?" + +Before he could answer there came a knock at the door. The butler +appeared. + +"I beg your pardon, sir--" he began. His master cut him short. + +"Tell 'em to wait," he ordered. "I can't see any one now, Johnson. +If it is that damned carpenter he can wait." + +"It isn't the carpenter, sir," explained Johnson. "It's Mrs. +Colton, sir. She wishes to know if you have bought that road. She +says three of those 'orrid fishcarts have gone by in the last hour, +sir, and they are making her very nervous. That's all, sir." + +"Tell her I've bought it," snapped the head of the house. "Get +out." + +The butler obeyed orders. Colton turned to me. + +"You heard that, Paine," he said. "That's my reason, the principal +one. I bought this place principally on account of Mrs. Colton's +health. The doctors said she needed quiet and rest. I thought she +could have them here--God knows the place looked forsaken enough-- +but it appears she can't. Whenever she or I sit on the veranda or +at a window we have to watch a procession of jays driving smelly +fish carts through that lane of yours, or be stared at by a gang of +countrymen hanging over the fence. It's a nuisance. It is bad +enough for me or my daughter and our guests, but it will be the +ruination of my wife's nerves, and I can't stand for that. You see +the position I'm in. You heard what I told that butler. I said I +had bought the road. You wouldn't make me a liar, would you? I'll +give you five hundred for that bunch of sand. You couldn't get +more for it if you sold it by the pound, like tea. Say yes, and +close the deal." + +I shook my head. + +"I understand your position, Mr. Colton," I said, "but I can't say +yes. Not now, at any rate." + +"Why not? Isn't five hundred enough?" + +"It's a good offer." + +"Then why not accept it?" + +"Because, if I were certain that I wanted to sell, I could not +accept any offer just now." + +"Why not? See here! are you afraid the town will be sore because +the road is closed?" + +"It would be a great inconvenience to them." + +"It's a greater one to me as it is. Can you afford to be a +philanthropist? Are you one of those public-spirited citizens we +read about?" + +He was sneering now, and my anger, which had lessened somewhat when +he spoke of his wife's ill health, was rising again. + +"Are you?" he repeated. + +"I don't know as to that. But, as I said a while ago, Mr. Colton, +I couldn't sell that land to you now." + +"Why not?" + +"Because, if there were no other reason, I promised not to sell it +without telling another person first." + +He threw down his cigar and stood up. I rose also. + +"I see," he said, with sarcasm. "I knew there was something beside +public spirit. You think, by hanging off and playing me against +this other sucker, you can get a higher price. Well, if that's the +game, I'll keep him busy." + +He took out his watch, glanced at it, and thrust it back into his +pocket. + +"I've wasted time enough over this fool thing," he declared. "Now +that I know what the game is we'll talk to the point. It's highway +robbery, but I might have expected to be robbed. I'll give you six +hundred for that land." + +I did not answer. I was holding my temper by main strength and I +could not trust myself to speak. + +"Well?" he sneered. "That shakes your public spirit some, hey? +What do you say?" + +"No," I answered, and started for the door. + +"What!" he could hardly believe his ears. "By the Lord Harry! the +fellow is crazy. Six hundred and fifty then, you infernal robber." + +"No." + +"NO! Say, what in thunder do you mean?" + +"I mean that you may go to the devil," I retorted, and reached for +the door knob. + +But before my fingers touched it there was the sound of laughter +and voices in the hall. The knob was turned from without. I +stepped back and to one side involuntarily, as the door opened and +into the library came, not the butler, but a young lady, a girl in +an automobile coat and bonnet. And, following her, a young man. + +"Father," said the young lady, "Johnson says you've bought that +horrid road. I'm so glad! When did you do it?" + +"Congratulations, Mr. Colton," said the young man. "We just passed +a cart full of something--seaweed, I believe it was--as we came +along with the car. Oscar had to slow down to squeeze by, and we +certainly were swept by ocean breezes. By Jove! I can smell them +yet. I--" + +The young lady interrupted him. + +"Hush, Victor," she said. "I beg your pardon, Father. I thought +you were alone. Victor, we're intruding." + +The open door had partially screened me from the newcomers. But +Colton, red and wrathful, had not ceased to glare in my direction +and she, following his gaze, saw me. She did not recognize me, I +think--probably I had not made sufficient impression upon her mind +even for casual remembrance--but I recognized her. She was the +girl with the dark eyes, whose look of contemptuous indifference +had so withered my self-esteem. And her companion was the young +chap who, from the tonneau of the automobile that morning, had +inquired the way to Bayport. + +The young man turned lazily. "Are we?" he said. "I-- What! Why, +Mabel, it's the humorist!" + +Then she recognized me. I could feel the blood climbing from my +toes to the roots of my hair. I was too astonished and chagrined +to speak or even move, though I wanted to move very much indeed. +She looked at me and I at her. Then she turned coldly away. + +"Come, Victor," she said. + +But Victor was his own blase self. It took more than a trifle to +shake his calm. He laughed. + +"It's the humorist," he repeated. "Reuben, how are you?" + +Colton regarded the three of us with amazement. + +"What?" he began. "Mabel, do you--" + +But I had recovered my powers of locomotion. I was on my way out +of that library. + +"Here!" shouted Colton. "Stop!" + +I did not stop. Feeling as I did at that moment it would have been +distinctly unpleasant for the person who tried to stop me. The +girl was in my way and, as I approached, she drew her skirts aside. +No doubt it was my imagination which made her manner of doing it +seem like an insult, but, imagination or reality, it was the one +thing necessary to clench my resolution. Now when she looked at me +I returned the look with interest. I strode through the doorway +and across the hall. The butler would have opened the outer door +for me, but I opened it myself to the imminent danger of his +dignified nose. As I stepped from the portico I heard behind me a +roar from Big Jim Colton and a shout of laughter from Victor. + +I walked home at top speed. Only once did I look back. That was +just as I was about to enter the grove on the other side of the +Shore Lane. Then I turned and saw, at the big window at the end of +the "Newport villa," a group of three staring in my direction: +Colton, his daughter and that cub Victor. The distance was too +great to see the expression of their faces, but I knew that two of +them, at least, were laughing--laughing at me. + +I did not laugh. + +Lute was waiting for me by the gate and ran to meet me. He was +wild with excitement. + +"He came after you, didn't he?" he cried, grabbing at my coat +sleeve. "You went over to his house with him, didn't you! I see +you and at fust I couldn't scurcely believe it. What did he want? +What did he say?" + +I did not answer. He ran along beside me, still clinging to my +sleeve. + +"What did he want?" he repeated. "What did he say to you? What +did you say to him? Tell a feller, can't you?" + +"I told him to go to the devil," I answered, savagely. + +Lute let go of my sleeve. + +"You--you-- By time, you're stark loony!" he gasped; and collapsed +against the gate post. + +I went into the house, up the back stairs to my room, and shut the +door. + + + +CHAPTER V + + +So she was his daughter. I might have guessed it; would have +guessed it if I had possessed the commonest of common-sense. I +might have known that the auto was Colton's. No other machine was +likely to be traveling on the Lower Road at that season of the +year. She was the pretty daughter of whom Dorinda had spoken to +Mother. Well, she was pretty enough; even I had to admit that. +But I admitted it grudgingly. I hated her for her beauty and fine +clothes and haughty arrogance. She was the incarnation of +snobbishness. + +But to be made twice ridiculous even by the incarnation of +snobbishness was galling. She was to be my next-door neighbor; we +were likely to meet almost anywhere at any time. When I thought of +this and of the two meetings which had already taken place I swore +at the blue and white water-pitcher on my bureau because it did not +contain water enough to drown me. Not that I would commit suicide +on her account. She would not care if I did and certainly I did +not care whether she would care or not; but if I were satisfactorily +dead I probably should not remember what a fool I had made of +myself, or Fate had made of me. + +Why had I not got out of that library before she came? Oh, if not, +why hadn't I stayed and told her father, in her hearing, and with +dignity, just what I thought of him and his remarks to me? But no; +I had run away. She--or that Victor--would tell of the meeting at +the bridge, and all my independence and the rest of it would be +regarded as of a piece with that, just the big-headed "smartness" +of a country boor. In their eyes I was a nuisance, that was all. +A disagreeable one, perhaps, like the Shore Lane, but a nuisance, +one to laugh at and forget--if it could not be gotten rid of. + +Why had I gone with Colton at all? Why hadn't I remained at the +boathouse and there told the King of New York to go to the +mischief? or words to that effect. But I had, at all events, told +him that. In spite of my chagrin I could not help chuckling as I +thought of it. To tell Big Jim Colton to go to the devil was, in +its way, I imagined, a privilege enjoyed by few. It must have +shaken his self-satisfaction a trifle. Well, after all, what did +I care? He, and his whole family--including Victor--had my +permission to migrate in that direction and I wished Old Nick joy +of their company. + +Having derived this much satisfaction from my reflections, I went +downstairs. Dorinda was setting the table for supper. She looked +at me as I came in. + +"Been visitin', I hear," she observed, wiping an imaginary speck +from the corner of a plate with her "afternoon" apron. + +"Yes," said I. + +"Um-hm," said Dorinda. "Have a good time?" + +I smiled. "I had an interesting one," I told her. + +"Um-hm, I judged so, from what Lute said." + +"Where is Lute?" + +"Out in the barn, beddin' down the horse. That is, I told him to +do that, but his head was so full of you and what you told him you +said to Mr. Colton that I shouldn't be surprised if he's bedded +down the hens and was huntin' in the manger for eggs." + +"Lute thinks I've gone crazy," I observed. + +"Um-hm. He was all for fetchin' the doctor right off, but I told +him I cal'lated we could bear with your ravin's for a spell. Did +you say what he said you said?" + +"I'm afraid I did." + +"Um-hm. Well, it didn't do any good, did it?" + +"Good? What do you mean?" + +"I mean he didn't obey orders--Colton, that is." + +"He hadn't when I left." + +"I thought not. I never saw any good come from profane language +yet; and, besides, judgin' from what I hear about the way that +Colton man lives, and what he does on Sundays and all, he'll make +the port you sent him to when his time comes. All you need is +patience." + +I laughed, and she began sorting the plated spoons. We had silver +ones, but Dorinda insisted on keeping those to use when we had +company. In consequence we used them about twice a year, when the +minister came. + +"Of course," she said, "I ain't askin' you what happened over there +or why he wanted to see you. But I give you fair warnin' that, if +I don't, Lute will. Lute's so stuffed with curiosity that he's +li'ble to bust the stitches any minute." + +"I'll tell you both, at supper," I said. + +"Um-hm," said Dorinda. "Well, I can wait, and Lute'll have to. By +the way," she added, seeing me about to enter Mother's room, "if +it's anything too unpleasant I wouldn't worry Comfort with it. +She'll want to know, of course, but I'd sort of smooth the edges." + +Mother did want to know, and I told her, "smoothing the edges" all +I could. I omitted my final order to "Big Jim" and I said nothing +whatever about his daughter. Mother seemed to think I had done +right in refusing to sell, though, as usual, she was ready to make +allowances for the other side. + +"Poor woman," she said, "I suppose the noise of the wagons and all +that are annoying to any one with weak nerves. It must be dreadful +to be in that condition. I am so sorry for her." + +She meant it, too. But I, remembering the Colton mansion, what I +had seen of it, and contrasting its splendor with the bare +necessity of that darkened bedroom, found it hard to spare pity for +the sufferer from "nerves." + +"You needn't be," I said, bitterly. "I imagine she wouldn't think +of you, if the conditions were reversed. I doubt if she thinks of +any one but herself." + +"You shouldn't say that, Roscoe. You don't know. You have never +met her." + +"I have met the rest of the family. No, Mother, I think you +needn't he sorry for that woman. She has everything under the sun. +Whereas you--" + +"Hush! hush! There is one thing she hasn't got. She hasn't a son +like you, Boy." + +"Humph! That must be a terrible deprivation. There! there! +Mother, I won't be disagreeable. Let's change the subject. Did +Matilda Dean come to see you this afternoon?" + +"No. I presume she was too busy. But, Roscoe, it is plain enough +why Captain Dean spoke to you about the Lane at the office this +morning. He must have heard, somehow, that Mr. Colton wished to +buy it." + +"Yes. Or, if he didn't hear just that, he heard enough to make him +guess the rest. He is pretty shrewd." + +"You promised him you wouldn't sell without telling him beforehand. +Shall you tell him of Mr. Colton's offer?" + +"If he asks me, I shall, I suppose." + +"I wonder what he will do then. Do you suppose he will try to +persuade the Selectmen to buy the Lane for the town?" + +"I don't know. I shouldn't wonder." + +"It will be harder to refuse the town's offer." + +"Yes. Although the town can't afford to pay Colton's prices. I +believe that man would have raised his bid to a thousand, if I had +let him. As a matter of business and nothing else, I suppose I am +foolish not to push the price as high as possible and then sell. +The land is worthless to us." + +"I know. But this isn't just a matter of business, is it? And we +DON'T need the money. We're not rich, but we aren't poor, are we, +Boy." + +"No. No, of course not. But, Mother, just see what I could do-- +for you--with a thousand dollars. Why, there are so many little +things, little luxuries, that you need." + +"I had rather not get them that way. No, Roscoe, I wouldn't sell +to Mr. Colton. And I think I wouldn't sell to the town either." + +"Why not?" + +"Well, because we don't have to sell, and selling to either party +would make ill-feeling. I should--of course I'm only a woman; you +are a man and know much more about such things than I--but why not +let matters stay just as they are? The townspeople can use the +Lane, just as they have always done, and, as I told you before, +every one has been so kind to us that I like to feel we are doing a +little in return. Let them use the Lane, without cost. Why not?" + +"What do you think the Coltons would say to that?" + +"Perhaps they don't understand the real situation. The next time +you see Mr. Colton you could explain more fully; tell him what the +Lane means to the town, and so on. I'm sure he would understand, +if you told him that. And then, if the sight of the wagons was too +annoying, he could put up some kind of a screen, or plant a row of +fir trees by the fence. Don't you think so?" + +I imagined the great man's reply to such a suggestion. However, I +did not express my thoughts. I told Mother not to worry, I was +sure everything would be all right, and, as Dorinda called me to +supper, I went into the dining-room. + +Lute was waiting for me at the table, and Dorinda, after taking the +tray into Mother's room, joined us. Lute was so full of excitement +and curiosity that he almost forgot to eat, a miracle of itself and +made greater by the fact that he did not ask a single question +until his wife asked one first. Then he asked three in succession. +Dorinda, who was quite as curious as he but would not have shown it +for the world, stopped him at the beginning of the fourth. + +"There! there!" she said, sharply, "this is supposed to be a meal, +not a parrot shop, and we're humans, not a passel of birds on a +telegraph wire all hollerin' at once. Drink your tea and stop your +cawin', Lute Rogers. Ros'll tell us when he gets ready. What DID +Mr. Colton want of you, Roscoe?" + +I told them as much of the interview at the Coltons' as I thought +necessary they should know. Lute kept remarkably quiet, for him, +until I named the figure offered by the millionaire. Then he could +hold in no longer. + +"Five hundred!" he repeated "Five hundred DOLLARS for the Shore +Lane! Five--" + +"He raised it to six hundred and fifty before I left," I said. + +"SIX hundred! Six hundred--and FIFTY! For the Shore Lane! Six +hun--" + +"Sshh! shh!" cut in Dorinda. "You sound like Sim Eldredge sellin' +somethin' at auction. DO be quiet! And you told him, Roscoe--?" + +"I told you what I told him," I said. + +"Um-hm. I ain't forgot it. Be quiet, Lute. Well, Roscoe, I +cal'late you know your own affairs best, but, judgin' from some +hints Matildy Dean hove out when she was here this afternoon, I +don't believe you've heard the last from that Shore Lane." + +"Matilda Dean!" I repeated. "Why, Mother said Matilda wasn't here +to-day." + +"Um-hm. Well, she was here, though Comfort didn't know it. I took +pains she shouldn't. Matildy come about three o'clock, in the +buggy, along with Nellie. Nellie was doin' the drivin', of course, +and her mother was tellin' her how, as usual. I don't wonder that +girl is such a meek, soft-spoken kind of thing. Between her pa's +bullyin' and her ma's tongue, it's a wonder she's got any spirit +left. It would be a mercy if George Taylor should marry her and +take her out of that house. Matildy had a new book on Spiritu'lism +and she was figgerin' to read some of it out loud to Comfort, but I +headed her off. I know _I_ wouldn't want to be all stirred up +about 'tests' and 'materializations' and such, and so I told her +Comfort was asleep." + +"She wasn't asleep, neither," declared Lute. "What did you tell +such a whopper as that for? You're always sailin' into me if I +stretch a yarn the least mite. Why, last April Fool Day you give +me Hail Columby for jokin' you about a mouse under the kitchen +table. Called me all kinds of names, you did--after you got down +off the table." + +His wife regarded him scornfully. "It's pretty hard to remember +which IS that partic'lar day with you around," she said. "I'd told +Comfort she'd ought to take a nap and if she wan't takin' it +'twan't my fault. I wan't goin' to have her seein' her granddad's +ghost in every corner. But, anyhow, Matildy made a little call on +me, and, amongst the million other things she said, was somethin' +about Cap'n Jed hearin' that Mr. Colton was cal'latin' to shut off +that Lane. Matildy hinted that her husband and the Selectmen might +have a little to say afore 'twas closed. If that's so I guess you +may hear from him as well as the Colton man, Roscoe." + +"Perhaps," I said. I could see no use in repeating my conversation +with Captain Jed. + +Dorinda nodded. + +"Goin' to tell the town to go--where you sent the other one?" she +asked, dryly. + +"I don't know." + +"Humph! Well," with some sarcasm, "it must be fine to be in a +position where money's no object. I never tried it, myself, but it +sounds good." + +I did not answer. + +"Um-hm," she said. "Well, anyhow it looks to me--Lute, you keep +still--as if there was goin' to be two parties in Denboro afore +this Lane business is over. One for the Coltons and one against +'em. You'll have to take one side or the other, won't you, +Roscoe?" + +"Not necessarily." + +"Goin' to set on the fence, hey?" + +"That's a good place TO sit, isn't it?" + +Dorinda smiled, grimly. + +"If it's the right kind of a fence, maybe 'tis," she observed. +"Otherwise the pickets are liable to make you uncomf'table after a +spell, I presume likely." + +I went out soon after this, for my evening smoke and walk by the +bluff. As I left the dining-room I heard Lute reiterating his +belief that I had gone crazy. Colton had said the same thing. I +wondered what Captain Jed's opinion would be. + +Whether it was another phase of my insanity or not, I don't know, +but I woke the next morning in pretty good spirits. Remembrance of +the previous day's humiliations troubled me surprisingly little. +They did not seem nearly so great in the retrospect. What +difference did it make to me what that crowd of snobs did or said +or thought? + +However, there was just enough bitterness in my morning's review of +yesterday's happenings to make me a little more careful in my +dress. I did not expect to meet my aristocratic neighbors--I +devoutly wished it might be my good luck never to meet any of them +again--but in making selections from my limited wardrobe I chose +with more thought than usual. Dorinda noticed the result when I +came down to breakfast. + +"Got your other suit on, ain't you," she observed. + +"Yes," said I. + +"Goin' anywheres special?" + +"No. Down to the boathouse, that's all." + +"Humph! I don't see what you put those blue pants on for. They're +awful things to show water spots. Did you leave your brown ones +upstairs? Um-hm. Well, I'll get at 'em some time to-day. I +noticed they was wearin' a little, sort of, on the bottoms of the +legs." + +I had noticed it, too, and this reminder confirmed my suspicions +that others had made the same observations. + +"I'll try and mend 'em this afternoon," went on Dorinda, "if I can +find time. But, for mercy's sake, don't spot those all up, for I +may not get time, and then you'd have to wear your Sunday ones." + +I promised, curtly, to be careful, and, after saying good morning +to Mother, I went down to the boathouse and set to work on the +engine. It was the only thing in the nature of work that I had to +do, but, somehow or other, I did not feel like doing it any more +than I had the day before. A little of my good spirits were +wearing off, like the legs of my "other" trousers, and after an +hour of intermittent tinkering I threw down the wrench and decided +to go for a row. The sun was shining brightly, but the breeze was +fresh, and, as my skiff was low in the gunwale and there was likely +to be some water flying, I put on an old oilskin "slicker" and +sou-wester before starting. + +I had determined to row across the bay over to the lighthouse, and +ask Ben Small, the keeper, if there were any signs of fish +alongshore. The pull was a long one, but I enjoyed every stroke of +it. The tide was almost full, just beginning to ebb, so there was +scarcely any current and I could make a straight cut across, +instead of following the tortuous channel. My skiff was a flat +bottomed affair, drawing very little, but in Denboro bay, at low +tide, even a flat-bottomed skiff has to beware of sand and eel- +grass. + +Small was busy whitewashing, but he was glad to see me. If you +keep a lighthouse, the average lighthouse, you are glad to see +anybody. He put his brush into the pail and insisted on my coming +to the house, because "the old woman," his wife, would want to hear +"all the sewin' circle news." "It's the biggest hardship of her +life," said Ben, "that she has to miss sewin' circle when the bay +ices in. Soon's it clears she's at me to row her acrost to the +meetin's. I've took her to two this spring, but she missed the +last one, on account of this whitewashin', and she's crazy to know +who's been talked about now. If anything disgraceful has happened +for the land sakes tell her; then she'll he more reconciled." + +I had nothing disgraceful to tell, but Mrs. Small was glad to see +me, nevertheless. She brought out doughnuts and beach-plum jelly +and insisted on my sampling both, the doughnuts because they were +just made and she "mistrusted" there was too much flour in them, +and the jelly because it was some she had left over and she wanted +to see if I thought it was "keepin'" all right. After this, Ben +took me out to see his hens, and then we walked to the back of the +beach and talked fish. The forenoon was almost gone when I got +back to the skiff. The tide had ebbed so far that the lightkeeper +and I had to pull the little boat twenty feet to launch her. + +"There!" said Ben, "now you're afloat, ain't you. Cal'late you'll +have to go way 'round Robin Hood's barn to keep off the flats. I +forgot about the tide or I wouldn't have talked so much. Hello! +there's another craft about your size off yonder. Somebody else +out rowin'. Two somebodys. My eyes ain't as good for pickin' em +out as they used to be, but one of 'em IS a female, ain't it?" + +I looked over my shoulder, as I sat in the skiff and saw, out in +the middle of the bay, another rowboat with two people in it. + +"That ain't a dory or a skiff," shouted Ben, raising his voice as I +pulled away from him. "Way she sets out of water I'd call her a +lap-streak dingy. If that feller's takin' his girl out rowin' +he'll have to work his passage home against this tide . . . Well, +so long, Ros. Come again." + +I nodded a goodby, and settled down for my long row, a good deal +longer this time on account of the ebb. There was water enough on +this side of the bay, but on the village side the channel made a +wide detour and I should be obliged to follow it for nearly a mile +up the bay, before turning in behind the long sand bar which made +out from the point beyond my boathouse. + +The breeze had gone down, which made rowing easier, but the pull of +the tide more than offset this advantage. However, I had mastered +that tide many times before and, except that the delay might make +me late for dinner, the prospect did not trouble me. I swung into +the channel and set the skiff's bow against the current. Then from +the beach I had just left I heard a faint hail. Turning my head, I +saw Ben Small waving his arms. He was shouting something, too, but +I was too far away to catch the words. + +The lightkeeper continued to shout and wave. I lifted an oar to +show that he had my attention. He recognized the signal, and began +pointing out over the water astern of me. I looked where he was +pointing. I could not see anything out of the ordinary. Except +for my own skiff and the gulls, and the row boat with the two +persons in it there was nothing astir on the bay. But Ben kept on +waving and pointing. At last I decided that it must be the row +boat he was pointing at. I stopped rowing and looked. + +The row boat was a good distance off and its occupants were but +specks. Now one of the specks stood up and waved its arms. So far +as I could see, the boat was drifting; there were no flashes of +sunlight on wet blades to show that the oars were in use. No, it +was drifting, and, as I looked, it swung broadside on. The +standing figure continued to wave its arms. + +Those people must be in trouble of some sort, I decided, and it was +evident that Small thought so, too. There could no imminent danger +threaten for, on a day like this, with no sea running, there was +nothing to fear in the bay. If, however, they should drift out of +the bay it might be unpleasant. And they certainly were drifting. +I resigned myself to the indefinite postponement of my dinner, +swung the skiff about, and pulled as hard as I could in the +direction of the row boat. + +With the tide to help me I made good progress, but, even at that, +it took me some time to overtake the drifting craft. She was, as +Ben had said, a lap-streaked, keel-bottomed dingy--good enough as a +yacht's tender or in deep water, but the worst boat in the world to +row about Denboro bay at low tide. Her high rail caught what +breeze there was blowing and this helped to push her along. +However, I got within easy hailing distance after a while and +called, over my shoulder, to ask what was the matter. + +A man's voice answered me. + +"We've lost an oar," he shouted. "We're drifting out to sea. Lend +us a hand, will you?" + +"All right," I answered. "I'll be there in a minute." + +Within the minute I was almost alongside. Then I turned, intending +to speak again; but I did not. The two persons in the dingy were +Victor--I did not know his other name--and Mabel Colton. + +I was wearing the oilskin slicker and had pulled down the brim of +my sou'wester to keep the sun from my eyes; therefore they had not +recognized me before. And I, busy at the oars and looking over my +shoulder only occasionally, had not recognized them. Now the +recognition was mutual. Miss Colton spoke first. + +"Why, Victor!" she said, "it is--" + +"What?" asked her companion. Then, looking at me, "Oh! it's you, +is it?" + +I did not answer. Luck was certainly against me. No matter where +I went, on land or water, I was fated to meet these two. + +Victor, apparently, was thinking the same thing. "By Jove!" he +observed; "Mabel, we seem destined to . . . Humph! Well? Will +you give us a hand?" + +The most provoking part of it was that, if I had known who was in +that rowboat, I could have avoided the encounter. Ben Small could +have gone to their rescue just as well as I. However, here I was, +and here they were. And I could not very well go away and leave +them, under the circumstances. + +Victor's patience was giving way. + +"What are you waiting for?" he demanded. "Aren't you going to help +us? We'll pay you for it." + +I pulled the skiff a little closer and, drawing in my oars, turned +and picked up the slack of my anchor rope. + +"Here," I said, brusquely; "catch this line and I'll tow you." + +I tossed him the loop of rope and he caught it. + +"What shall I do with it?" he asked. + +"Hold it, just as it is, for the present. What became of your +other oar?" + +"Lost it overboard." + +"Why didn't you throw over your anchor and wait where you were?" + +I think he had not thought of the anchor, but he did not deign to +explain. Instead he began pulling on the rope and the two boats +drew together. + +"Don't do that," I said. "Wait." + +I untied the rope, where it was made fast to the skiff's bow, and +with it and the anchor in my hands, scrambled aft and wedged the +anchor under the stern thwart of the little craft. + +"Now," I said, "you can pull in the slack until you get to the end. +Then make it fast to your bow somewhere." + +I suppose he did his best to follow instructions, but the rope was +a short one, the end jerked loose suddenly and he went backward in +a heap. I thought, for an instant, that he was going overboard and +that mine would be the mixed pleasure of fishing him out. + +Miss Colton gave a little scream, which changed to a ripple of +laughter. I might have laughed, too, under different circumstances, +but just now I did not feel like it. Besides, the rope, having +flown out of his hands, was in the water again and the two boats +were drifting apart. + +"What did you do that for?" demanded the fallen one, scrambling to +his knees. I heard a sound from the dingy's stern as if the young +lady was trying to stifle her merriment. Victor, doubtless, heard +it, too. + +"Where are you going?" he sputtered, angrily. "Give me that rope." + +I gave it to him, literally gave it, for I pulled alongside and put +the end in his hands. + +"Tie it in the bow of your boat," I said. He did so. I drew in +the slack until a fair towing length remained and made it fast. +While he was busy I ventured to glance at Miss Colton. Her eyes +were snapping with fun and she seemed to be enjoying the situation. +But, catching my look, her expression changed. She turned away and +looked indifferently out to sea. + +I swung the skiff's bow around. + +"Where do you want to go?" I asked. + +Victor answered. "Back to Mr. Colton's landing," he said. "Get as +much of a move on as you can, will you? I'll make it worth your +while." + +I was as anxious to get there as he was. I did not care for a +quarrel, and I knew if he continued to use that tone in his remarks +to me I should answer as I felt. I pulled with all my strength, +but against the tide towing was hard work. + +Victor sat on the amidships thwart of the dingy, with his back to +me. But Miss Colton, seated in the stern, was facing me and I +could not help looking at her. She did not look at me, or, if she +did, it was as if I were merely a part of the view; nothing to be +interested in, one way or the other. + +She was beautiful; there was no doubt of that. Prettier even, in +the blue and white boating costume and rough-and-ready white felt +hat, than she had seemed when I saw her in the auto or her father's +library. She represented the world that I had lost. I had known +girls like her. They had not as much money as she, perhaps, but +they were just as well-bred and refined, and almost as pretty. I +had associated with them as an equal. I wondered what she would +say, or think, if she knew that. Nothing, probably; she would not +care enough to think at all. It did not matter to me what she +thought; but I did wish I had not put on those fool oilskins. I +must look more like a country longshoreman than ever. + +If I had any doubts about it they were dispelled when I had rowed +the two boats up the bay until we were abreast the Colton mansion. +Then Victor, who had been talking in a low tone with his fellow +passenger in the dingy, looked at the distant shore and, over his +shoulder, at me. + +"Here!" he shouted. "Where are you going? That's the landing over +there." + +"I know," I answered. "But we shall have to go around that flat. +We can't cross here." + +"Why? What's the reason we can't?" + +"Because there isn't water enough. We should get aground." + +He stood up to look. + +"Nonsense!" he said. "There's plenty of water. I can't see any +flat, or whatever you call it." + +"It's there, though you can't see it. It is covered with eelgrass +and doesn't show. We shall have to go a half mile further before +we turn in." + +"A half mile! Why, confound it! it's past one o'clock now. We +haven't any time to waste." + +"I'm sorry, but we can't cross yet. And, if I were you, I +shouldn't stand up in that boat." + +He paid no attention to this suggestion. + +"There are half a dozen boats, bigger than these, by the landing," +he declared. "There is water enough for them. What are you afraid +of? We haven't any time to waste, I tell you." + +I did not answer. Silence, on my part, was the safest thing just +then. I continued rowing up the bay. + +Miss Colton spoke to him and he sat down, a proceeding for which I +was thankful. They whispered together for a moment. Then he +turned to me. + +"See here," he said; "this lady and I have an appointment. We must +get ashore. Go straight in. If you're afraid I'll take the risk. +If there is any danger I'll pay for that, too." + +There was no question of risk. It was a certainty. I knew that +channel. + +"We can't cross here," I said, shortly. + +"Why, confound you--" + +"Victor!" cautioned Miss Colton. + +"Hush, Mabel! This is ridiculous. You and I saw two boats go +straight out from the beach this morning. We went out that way +ourselves. Here you--Paine, or whatever your name is--we've had +enough of this. I've hired you to take us ashore, and I want to go +there and not a half mile in another direction. Will you do as I +tell you?" + +When the dingy and the other boats crossed the flat the tide had +been hours higher, of course; but I was in no mood to explain--to +him. + +"No," I said, shortly. + +"You won't? Then you give me an oar and I'll row the rest of the +way myself." + +There were only two oars in the skiff, but I could get on perfectly +well with one. And it would serve him beautifully right to let him +go. But there was the girl. I hesitated. + +"Give me that oar," he repeated, angrily. "You won't? Then, by +Jove, I'll do without it. Stop! Stop where you are! do you +understand. We don't require your services any longer." + +He turned and began untying the tow line. I stopped rowing. + +Miss Colton looked troubled. + +"Victor!" she cried. "What are you doing?" + +"I know what I'm doing. Can't you see this fellow's game? The +longer the row the higher his price, that's all. He can't work me. +I've seen his kind before. Don't be frightened. If we can't do +anything else we can anchor and wait until they see us from the +house." + +Idiot! At that point the channel was deep and the bottom soft mud. +I doubted if his anchor would touch and, if it did, I knew it would +not hold. I backed water and brought the skiff alongside the +dingy, the rail of which I seized and held. + +"Keep off!" ordered Victor, still fumbling with the rope. "We +don't want your help." + +I wasted no breath on him. I addressed my remarks to the girl. + +"Miss Colton," I said, "will you listen to me, please. You can't +anchor here because your anchor will not hold. And you can't cross +that flat at this stage of the tide. I can give you an oar, of +course, but it won't do any good. My oars are too light and small +for your boat. Unless you wish to drift back where you were, or +beyond, you must let me tow you around the head of this flat." + +I don't know what answer she might have made. None, perhaps; +although I am sure she was listening. But Victor, who had +succeeded in untying the tow line, cut in ahead of her. + +"Mabel," he warned, "don't pay any attention to him. Didn't your +father tell us what he was? There!" throwing the end of the rope +overboard and addressing me; "now, you may clear out. We've done +with you. Understand?" + +I looked at Miss Colton. But I might as well have looked at an +iceberg. I slid one of my oars over into the dingy. + +"There you are," I said, grimly. "But I warn you that you're in +for trouble." + +I let go of the rail and the boats fell apart. Victor seized the +borrowed oar with a triumphant laugh. + +"Your bluff wouldn't work, would it, Reuben," he sneered. "I'll +send you the oar and your pay later. Now, Mabel, sit tight. I'll +have you ashore in fifteen minutes." + +He began rowing toward the weed-covered flat. I said nothing. I +was furiously angry and it was some moments before I recovered +self-possession sufficiently to get my remaining oar over the +skiff's stern and, by sculling, hold her against the tide. Then I +watched and waited. + +It was not a long wait. Victor was in difficulties almost from the +beginning. The oar belonging to the dingy was a foot longer than +the one I had given him and he zig-zagged wildly. Soon he was in +the edge of the eelgrass and "catching crabs," first on one side, +then on the other. The dingy's bow slid up on the mud. He stood +up to push it off, and the stern swung around. Getting clear, he +took a fresh start and succeeded only in fouling again. This time +he got further into the tangle before he grounded. The bow rose +and the stern settled. There was a mighty splashing, as Victor +pushed and tugged, but the dingy stuck fast. And there she would +continue to stick for four hours unless I, or some one else, helped +her off. + +I did not want to help. In fact, I looked all up and down the bay +before I made a move. But it was dinner time and there was not +another soul afloat. More than that, I noticed, as I had not +noticed before, that brown clouds--wind clouds--were piling up in +the west, and, if I was anything of a prophet, we would have +squalls and dirty weather long before those four hours were over. +And the dingy, in that position, was not safe to face a blow. No, +as the small boys say, it was "up to me." I wished it was not, but +it was. + +So again I went to the rescue, but this time in an entirely +different frame of mind. My anger and resentment had settled to a +cold determination, and this trip was purely business. I was not +at a disadvantage now, as I had been when I first met that girl and +her friend, in "Big Jim" Colton's library. I was master of this +situation and master I intended to be. + +I sculled the skiff straight in to the edge of the flat, at a point +where the bank sloped sharply to deep water. I threw over my +anchor, shortened the rope and made it fast. Then I stepped out +into water above my shoe tops and waded toward the dingy. The +water was icy cold, but I did not know it at the time. + +I splashed through the eelgrass. Victor saw me coming and roared +an angry protest. He was still trying to push the boat off with an +oar. + +"Here!" he shouted. "You keep away. We don't want you." + +I did not care what he wanted. I splashed alongside the dingy and +looked at her and the position she was in. My mind was made up +instantly. + +"You'll never get her off if you both stay aboard," I said. "Let +the lady move amidships and you get out and wade." + +He glared at me as if I were as crazy as Colton or Lute had +declared me to be. Then he laughed contemptuously. + +"You go back where you came from," he ordered. "I'm running this." + +"Yes, I've noticed that. Now I'll state the facts as plainly as I +can. This boat is fast aground in the mud, the tide is still going +out, and there are squalls coming. She must be got off or there +may be danger. You can't get her off until she is lightened. Will +you get out and wade?" + +He did not answer; instead he continued to push with the oar. I +turned to the girl. + +"Miss Colton," I said, "I must ask you to stand up. Be careful +when you rise." + +She made no move, nor did she reply. The look she gave me was +enough. + +"You must stand up," I repeated, firmly. "Either your--this +gentleman--must get out, as I tell him to, or I shall have to carry +you to my skiff. We haven't any time to spare." + +She gazed at me in blank astonishment. Then the color flamed in +her cheeks and her eyes flashed. + +"We don't wish your help," she said, icily. + +"I'm sorry, but that makes no difference. I--" + +Victor whirled on me, the oar in his hands. I thought for an +instant he was going to strike me with it. + +"You blackguard!" he shouted. "Will you go away?" + +I looked at him and then at her. It had to be done, and my mind +was made up to do it. I waded in until the water was almost to my +knees, and I was abreast the stern of the stranded boat. + +"Miss Colton," I said, "I am going to carry you to my skiff. Are +you ready?" + +"You-- Why!--" she breathed. + +I stooped, lifted her in my arms, and ploughed through the weeds +and water. The mud was soft and my feet sank into it. She +struggled. + +"You must keep still," I said, sharply, "or I shall drop you." + +She gasped, but she stopped struggling. From behind me I heard a +roar of rage from Victor. + +I carried her to the anchored skiff and, plunging in still deeper, +seated her on the stern thwart. + +"Sit there, please, and don't move," I said. "I shall be back as +soon as I've got your boat afloat." + +I waded back to the dingy. Victor was frantic, but he did not +disturb me. The worst of my unpleasant job was over. + +"Now sit down," I ordered. "Do you hear me? Sit down and sit +still." + +"You--you--" he stammered. + +"Because if you don't sit down," I continued serenely, "you're +likely to tumble overboard. I'm going to push this boat off." + +The first push helped to make up his mind. He sat, involuntarily. +I pushed with all my might and, slowly and jerkily, the dingy slid +off the shoal. But there were others all about. With one hand on +the bow I guided her between them and to the edge of the channel. +Then, wading along the slippery bank, I brought her to the skiff. +My passenger had been making remarks in transit, but I paid no +attention to them. + +I made the rope fast for towing, took my oar from the dingy, pulled +up the skiff's anchor and climbed aboard. + +"Sit where you are," I said to Victor. "Miss Colton, please keep +as still as possible." + +I ventured to look at her as I said this, but I looked but once. +All the way home I kept my gaze fixed on the bottom boards of the +skiff. + +I made the landing just in time. In fact, the squall struck before +I was abreast the Colton place. The channel beyond the flat, which +we had so lately left, was whipped to whitecaps in a moment and +miniature breakers were beating against the mud bank where the +dingy had grounded. + +Under the high bluff it was calm enough. The tide was too low to +make use of the little wharf, so I beached the skiff and drew the +towed boat in by the line. I offered to assist Miss Colton ashore, +but she, apparently, did not see my proffered hand. Victor +scrambled out by himself. No one said anything. I untied the rope +and pulled it in. Then I prepared to push off. + +"Here!" growled Victor. "Wait a minute." + +I looked up. He was standing at the edge of the water, with one +hand in his pocket. Miss Colton was behind him. + +"Well?" I asked. + +"I haven't paid you yet," he said, sullenly. "How much?" + +"What do you mean?" I asked. I knew, of course, but it pleased me +to make him say it. + +"Why, how much for towing us in? What's your price? Come, hurry +up." + +"I haven't any price. I'm not in the salvage business." + +"Not-- Say, don't bargain. What's your price, I ask you?" + +"Nothing, of course. Very glad to have been of assistance." + +I took up my oars. + +"Here!" he shouted. "Stop! hold on! Confound you! do you suppose +we don't intend to pay you for this?" + +I shook my head. "It has been a pleasure," I said, sweetly. "Good +day." + +I rowed off, but all the way down to my boathouse I smiled +contentedly. I had seen the look on Mabel Colton's face. I rather +thought I had evened the account between us; at least I had reduced +the balance a trifle. This time it was not I who appeared +ridiculous. + +Dorinda saw me when I entered the kitchen. Her hands were +upraised. + +"My soul and body!" she exclaimed. "LOOK at them pants! LOOK at +'em! And I ain't had time to put a needle to your other ones yet!" + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The rain, which I expected would follow the squall, did not come +until late that night, and it was still falling heavily the next +morning. It was a warm rain, however, and, after breakfast, I +walked up to the village. I said nothing, even to Mother, about +the happenings in the bay, and Dorinda, who had asked many +sarcastic questions concerning the state of my blue trousers--if I +had "mistook 'em for a bathin' suit" and the like--seemed satisfied +with my hurried explanation that I had gotten overboard. "Though +how you fell in feet fust," she observed, "I don't see." She had +mended my brown pair, sitting up until after two to do so. + +Lute informed me that he had been up to the post-office. +"Everybody's talkin' about them Coltons," he declared. "I see +their automobile last night, myself. The Colton girl, she come +into the store. My! she's a stunner, ain't she! Sim waited on +her, himself, and gave her the mail. She wanted to buy some +cheese--for a rabbit, she said. I never heard of feeding a rabbit +on cheese, did you, Ros?" + +"No," I replied, laughing. It was not worth while to explain. + +"Nor nobody else, but her! I guess," continued Lute, "likely she +was just jokin'. Anyhow, Sim was all out of cheese, but he had +some nice print butter, just in. She didn't want no butter, +though." + +"Humph!" sniffed Dorinda. "Did Sim Eldredge cal'late she wanted to +feed the rabbit butter? Was the Colton girl alone?" + +"No. There was a young feller with her; the one that's visitin' +'em. Carver his name is--Victor Carver. Did you ever hear such a +name in your life? Afore I'd name a child of mine Victor!" + +"Um-hm. Well, I wouldn't waste time worryin' about that, if I was +you. Look here, Lute Rogers, you didn't say anything about +Roscoe's talk with Mr. Colton, did you?" + +"No, no! no, no! Course I didn't." + +"You sure?" + +"Yes. 'Taint likely I would, would I? Cap'n Jed was on hand, as +usual, and he was full of questions, but he didn't get anything out +of me. 'What did Colton say to Ros?' he says. 'How do I know what +he said?' says I. 'I wan't there, was I?' 'Where was you that +forenoon?' he says. 'Forenoon!' says I, 'that shows how much you +know about it. 'Twas three o'clock in the afternoon.' Oh, I had +the laugh on him!" + +Dorinda looked at me and shook her head. + +"It's too bad, Roscoe," she said. "But I was afraid of it as soon +as I found he'd sneaked off to the post-office. I cal'late it's +all over town by now." + +"What do you mean by that?" Lute's dignity was outraged. "All over +town! I never told him nothin'." + +"No. Only that Ros and Mr. Colton were together and 'twas three +o'clock in the afternoon. And goodness knows how much more! DO be +quiet! Seems sometimes as if I should lose patience with you +altogether. Is this Carver the Colton girl's young man? Are they +engaged?" + +"I don't know. I guess he's keepin' company with her, by the +looks. I got as nigh to 'em as I could, but I didn't hear much +they said. Only, just as they was goin' out, he said somethin' +about goin' for a little spin in the car. She said no, her father +would want his letters. Carver, he said, why not send Oscar home-- +that's the chauffeur, you know--with the letters, and he'd run the +car himself. She kind of laughed, and said she guessed not, she'd +taken one trip with him already that day and she didn't believe she +cared for another. He seemed kind of put out about it, I thought." + +I had been feeling rather provoked at Lute for giving Captain Jed +the information concerning my interview with Colton; but, somehow, +this other bit of news restored my good humor. When I started for +the village I did not take the short cut across the fields, but +followed my regular route, the path by the bluff and the Shore +Lane. I was no longer fearful of meeting my new neighbors. The +memory of the happenings in the bay was a delightful solace to my +wounded self-respect. I chuckled over it as I walked through the +dripping pines of the little grove. No matter how contemptuously +indifferent that girl might pretend to be she would not forget what +had taken place; that she had been obliged to obey my orders; that +I had carried her to that skiff; that I had saved her from a +danger--not a great danger, and against her will, of course--but +saved her nevertheless. She was under an obligation to me; she +could not help herself. How that must gall her. I remembered the +look on her face as I rowed away. Sweet was revenge. And Victor-- +Victor was a joke. + +When I reached the Lane I looked over at the Colton mansion. The +rain had given the carpenters and painters an enforced holiday, +and, except for the chauffeur, whom I could see through the open +door of the garage, there was no one in sight. I think I was a +little disappointed. If "Big Jim" had appeared and hailed me with +another offer for the land I should not have dodged. I was ready +for him. But neither he, or any one else, appeared and I walked +on. + +At the Corners, Sim Eldredge shouted to me from the platform of his +store. + +"Hi, Ros!" he shouted. "You! Ros Paine! come here a minute, will +you?" + +I did not want to see him. I had intended avoiding the post-office +altogether. But I crossed to the platform. + +"Say, Ros," he asked eagerly, "what's this about you and Mr. Colton?" + +I was annoyed. + +"What do you mean?" I asked. + +"Why, you know, don't you? He come to see you and you went to see +him over to his house. You had a reg'lar argument, I understand. +About the Shore Lane, wan't it?" + +"Who told you that?" I inquired, sharply. + +"Why, nobody told me, exactly. Lute Rogers and Cap'n Jed was here +last night and they got a-goin' as usual. The Cap'n does love to +stir up Lute, and he commenced hintin' about somethin' of the kind. +I don't know as they was hints, either, but Lute thought they was." + +He grinned. I understood. + +"I see," I said. "Well, what did Lute say?" + +"I suppose he'd say he never said a word, but after he'd gone there +was a kind of general sentiment that Colton wanted to buy the Shore +Lane land off you, and that you and he had some words about it. +Anyhow, you didn't sell the land, did you?" + +"Suppose I did, or didn't; what of it?" + +"Why, nothin', nothin'. Only, I tell you, Ros--" he looked +carefully about to make sure no one was listening; "I tell you; +it's just this way. I can understand how you feel about it. You +know Dean and some of the others are sore on Mr. Colton 'cause he's +got more money than they have, and they want to make all the +trouble for him they can. Jed's got an idea that he's after that +Lane, to close it off, and he's stirrin' up sentiment against its +bein' closed. He's talkin' about the town buyin' it. Now of +course I know your position. You want to get just as high a price +as you can afore you sell." + +"That's my position, is it?" + +"It would be the position of any sensible man, wouldn't it? I +don't blame you. Now, what I wanted to say was this." He bent +forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Why don't you let me +handle this thing for you? I can do it better'n you. I see Cap'n +Jed every night, you might say. And I see consider'ble of Mr. +Colton. He knows I'm postmaster in this town and sort of +prominent. All the smart folks ain't in the Board of Selectmen. +I'll keep you posted; see? You just set back and pretend you don't +want to sell at all. Colton, he'll bid and Jed and his gang'll +bid. I'll tell each what the other bids, and we'll keep her +jumpin'. When we get to the last jump, we'll sell--and not afore. +Of course Mr. Colton 'll get it, in the end." + +"Oh, he will! What makes you think so?" + +"What makes me think so? Don't be foolish. Ain't he a millionaire? +How can Denboro stand up against a millionaire? I tell you, Ros, +it's money counts in this world, and it pays to stand in with them +that's got it. I'm goin' to stand in with Mr. Colton. But I'll +pretend to stand in with Dean just as much. I can help a whole lot. +Why, I shouldn't wonder if, between us, we could get--er--er--I +don't know how much, for that land. What do you say?" + +I smiled. "It's very kind of you, Sim, to be willing to go to so +much trouble on my account," I observed. "I didn't know there was +such disinterested kindness in Denboro." + +Sim seemed a bit put out. "Why," he stammered, "I--I--of course I +presumed likely you'd be willin' to pay me a little commission--or-- +or--somethin'. I thought I might be a sort of--er--agent for you. +I've handled consider'ble real estate in my time--and--you see what +I mean, don't you?" + +"Yes," I said, drily; "I see. Well, Sim, if I decide to engage an +agent I'll let you know. Good morning." + +"But, hold on, Ros! I--" + +I did not "hold on." I walked across the road and entered the +bank. Alvin Baker met me in the vestibule. He seized my hand and +shook it violently. + +"I declare," he exclaimed, "it does me good to shake hands with a +feller that's got the grit you have. It does so! We're all proud +of you." + +"Much obliged, Alvin, I'm sure. But why?" + +He winked and nudged me with his elbow. + +"You know why, all right," he whispered. "Wouldn't sell him the +land, would you? Tell me: Did he make you a real bid for it? +Lute as much as said he did." + +For a person who had told nothing, Lute seemed to have "as much as +said" a good many things. I shook my head. + +"So you think I shouldn't sell the land?" I asked. + +"Course you shouldn't--not to him. Ain't there such things as +public spirit and independence? But I'll tell you somethin' more, +Ros," mysteriously. "You may have a chance to sell it somewhere +else." + +"Indeed?" + +"Yes, sir-ee! indeed! There's other public-spirited folks in +Denboro as well as you. I know who they be and I stand in with 'em +pretty close, too. I'm goin' to help you all I can." + +"That's very kind of you, Alvin." + +"No, no. I'm glad to do it. Shan't charge you nothin', neither." + +"That's kinder still." + +"No, 'tain't. . . Hold on a minute, Ros. Don't go. As I say, I'm +goin' to work tooth and nail to get the town to buy that Lane +property of yours. I'll stick out for you're gettin' a good price +for it. I'll use all my influence." + +"Thank you." + +"You needn't thank me. It's a matter of principle. We'll show +these city folks they ain't the whole ship, cargo and all. . . . +Hold on a second more. Ros, I--er--I wonder if you'd do a little +favor for me." + +"What is it, Alvin?" + +"Why, it's this way. I've got a note here in the bank; put it +there when I bought the power engine for my cat-boat. Hundred and +fifty dollars, 'tis. You're a pretty good friend of George Taylor, +cashier here, and I was wonderin' if you'd mind puttin' in a word +with him about my gettin' it renewed when it comes due. Just tell +him you think I'm all right, and a good risk, or somethin' like +that." + +I could not help smiling. Alvin seemed to find encouragement in +the smile. + +"George thinks consider'ble of you," he said. "And Captain Jed-- +he's one of the directors--he will, too, now that you've stood up +to Colton. Just put in a word for me, will you? And don't forget +I'm a friend of yours, and I'm strong for your gettin' a good, fair +price from the town. Remember that, won't you?" + +"I won't forget, Alvin. Good-by." + +I left him and went into the bank. Henry Small, the bookkeeper, +was at his desk. I walked over to speak to him, but he, looking up +from his figures, spoke first. There was, or so it seemed to me, a +different note in his greeting. It was more hearty, I thought. +Certainly he regarded me with a new and curious interest. + +"Morning, Ros," he said. "Well, how are you these days?" + +I answered that I was well, and was moving on but he detained me. + +"Lively times ahead, hey," he whispered. + +"What sort of times?" I asked. + +He winked. "I guess you know, if anybody does," he observed. "All +right, you'll have good friends on your side. I ain't saying +anything, of course, but I'm on, all right." + +He winked again. I walked back to the cashier's window. Taylor +had, evidently, seen me talking with the bookkeeper, for he was +standing by the little gate, waiting for me. + +"Hello, Ros," he said. "Glad to see you. Come in." + +George Taylor was a type of smart country boy grown to manhood in +the country. His tone, like his manner, was sharp and quick and +businesslike, but he spoke with the Down-East twang and used the +Cape phrases and metaphors. He was younger than I, but he looked +older, and, of late, it had seemed to me that he was growing more +nervous. We shook hands. + +"Glad to see you," be said again. "I was hoping you'd drift in. I +presumed likely you might. Sit down." + +I took the proffered chair. He looked at me with much the same +curious interest that Small had shown. + +"We've been hearing about you," he said. "You've been getting +yourself talked about." + +I mentally cussed Lute once more for his loquacity. + +"I'll break the fellow's neck," I declared, with emphasis. + +He laughed. "Don't do that yet awhile," he said. "The market is +in bad enough shape as it is. If his neck was broke the whole of +Wall Street would go to pot." + +"Wall Street? What in the world has Lute got to do with Wall +Street?" + +"Lute! Oh, I see! Yes, Lute's been doing considerable talking, +but it ain't his neck I mean. Say, Ros, what did you do to him, +anyway? You stirred him up some, judging by what he said to me." + +"Who said? What?" + +"Why, Colton. He was in here yesterday. Opened what he called a +household account; that was his main business. But he asked about +you, along with it." + +This explained some things. It was clear now why Small had +appeared so interested. "Oh!" I said. + +"You bet he did. Wanted to know if I knew you, and what you were, +and so on. I told him I knew you pretty well. 'What sort of a +fellow is he? A damn fool?' he asked. I strained the truth enough +to say you were a pretty good fellow and a long ways from that kind +of a fool, according to my reckoning. 'Umph!' says he. 'Is he +rich?' I told him I guessed you wan't so rich that you got round- +shouldered lugging your money. 'Why?' says I, getting curious. +'Have you met him, Mr. Colton? If you have you ought to have sized +him up yourself. I always heard you were a pretty fair judge.' He +looked at me kind of funny. 'I thought I was,' says he, 'but you +seem to raise a new variety down here.' Then I guess he thought +he'd said enough. At any rate, he walked off. What did you and he +say to each other, Ros?" + +I did not answer immediately. When I did the answer was non- +committal. "Oh, we had a business interview," I said. + +He nodded. "Well," he observed, "I suppose it's your affair and +not mine. But, I tell you this, Ros: if it's what I suppose it is, +it'll be everybody's affair pretty soon." + +"You think so, do you?" + +"I know so. Cap'n Jed's a fighter and he is on the war path. The +two sides are lining up already. Whichever way you decide you'll +make enemies, of course." + +I shrugged my shoulders. The prospect of enemies, more or less, in +Denboro, did not trouble me. + +"But you'll have to decide," he went on, "who you'll sell to." + +"Or not sell at all," I suggested. + +"Can you afford to do that? There'll be money--a whole lot of +money--in this before it's over, if I know the leaders on both +sides. You've got the whip-hand. There'll be money in it. Can +you afford to let it slip?" + +I did not answer. Suddenly his expression changed. He looked +haggard and care-worn. + +"By the Almighty," he said, between his teeth, and without looking +at me, "I wish I had your chance." + +"Why?" + +"Oh, nothing, nothing. . . . How's your mother nowadays?" + +I told him that my mother was much as usual, and we talked of +various things. + +"By the way," he said, "I've got some news for you. Nothing +surprising. I guess all hands have seen it coming. I'm engaged to +be married." + +"Good!" said I, with as much heartiness as I could answer; marriage +did not interest me. "Congratulations, George. Nellie Dean, of +course." + +"Yes." + +"I'm glad for you. And for her. She'll make you a good wife, I'm +sure." + +He drew a long breath. "Yes," he said slowly, "Nellie's a good +girl." + +"When is the--what do they call it? the happy event to take place?" + +"In the fall some time, if all goes well. I hope it will." + +"Humph! Yes, I should think you might hope as much as that. Why +shouldn't it go well?" + +"Hey? Oh, of course it will!" He laughed and rose from his chair +as several men came into the bank. "I'll have to leave you, Ros," +he said. "There's a directors' meeting this morning. They're +coming now." + +As I passed out of the gate and through the group of directors I +noticed that they also regarded me with interest. Two, men from +neighboring towns whom I scarcely knew, whispered to each other. +Captain Elisha Warren shook hands with me and inquired concerning +Mother. The last of the group was Captain Jedediah Dean, and he +touched me on the shoulder. + +"Ros," he whispered, "you're all right. Understand? I say you're +all right." + +"Thanks," I answered, briefly. + +"I heard about it," he whispered. "Ase Peters said the Grand +Panjandrum was cranky as a shark with the toothache all day +yesterday. You must tell me the yarn when we get together. I +missed you when I called just now, but I'll be down again pretty +soon. You won't lose nothin' by this. So long." + +As I came down the bank steps Sim Eldredge called across the road. + +"Good-by, Ros," he shouted. "Come in again next time you're up +street." + +In all my period of residence in Denboro I had never before been +treated like this. People had never before gone out of their way +to shake hands with me. No one had considered it worth while to +ask favors of me. Sim and Alvin were not to be taken seriously, of +course, and both were looking after their own pocketbooks, but +their actions were straws proving the wind to be blowing in my +direction. I thought, and smiled scornfully, that I, all at once, +seemed to have become a person of some importance. + +But my scorn was not entirely sincere. There was a certain +gratification in the thought. I might pretend--I had pretended-- +that Denboro opinion, good or bad, was a matter of complete +indifference to me. I had assumed myself a philosopher, to whom, +in the consciousness of right, such trifles were of no consequence. +But, philosophy or not, the fact remained that I was pleased. +People might dislike me--as that lofty Colton girl and her father +disliked me, though they could dislike me no more than I did them-- +but I could compel them to respect me. They already must think of +me as a man. And so on--as I walked home through the wet grass. +It was all as foolish and childish and ridiculous as it well could +be. I deserved what was coming to me--and I got it. + +For, as I came down the Lane, I met Oscar, the chauffeur, and a +companion, whom I judged to be a fellow servant--the coachman, I +learned afterwards--walking in the direction of the village. The +rain had ceased, but they wore natty raincoats and caps and had the +city air of smartness which I recognized and envied, even in them. +The footpath was narrow, but they apparently had no intention of +stepping to one side, so I made way for them. They whispered +together as they approached and looked at me curiously as we +passed. A few steps further on I heard them both burst out +laughing. I caught the words, from Oscar, "fool Rube" and "the old +man'll make him look--" I heard no more, but as I turned into the +grove I saw them both looking after me with broad grins on their +faces. + +Somebody has said that there is nothing harder to bear than the +contempt and ridicule of servants. For one thing, you cannot resent +it without a loss of dignity, and, for another, you may be perfectly +sure that theirs is but the reflection of their employers' frame of +mind. This encounter shook my self-satisfaction more than a +little. It angered me, but it did more than that; it brought back +the feeling I had when I left the Colton library, that my defiance +was not, after all, taken seriously. That I was regarded by Colton +as just what Oscar had termed me, a "fool Rube." When George Taylor +told me of the great man's questions concerning my foolishness, I +accepted the question as a tribute to my independence. Now I was +not so sure. + +Dorinda met me at the door. + +"You've had two callers," she said. + +"So? Who were they?" + +"One of 'em was Cap'n Jed. He drove down just after you left. He +come to see you about that land, I cal'late." + +"Oh, yes. I remember he told me he missed me this morning. So he +came here?" + +"Um-hm. Him and me had a little talk. He seemed to know +consider'ble about your rumpus with Mr. Colton." + +"How did he know?" + +"He wouldn't say, but I wouldn't wonder if he got a lot from Ase +Peters. Ase and he are pretty thick; he's got a mortgage on Ase's +house, you know. And Ase, bein' as he's doin' the carpenterin' +over to Colton's, hears a lot from the servants, I s'pose likely. +Leastways, if they don't tell all their bosses' affairs they're a +new breed of hired help, that's all I've got to say. Cap'n Jed +says Mr. Colton cal'lates you're a fool." + +"Yes. So I've heard. What did the Captain say to that?" + +"Seemed to think 'twas a pretty good joke. He said he didn't care +how big a fool you was so long's you was feeble-minded on the right +side." + +So there it was again. My imagined importance in the eyes of the +townspeople simmered down to about that. I was an imbecile, but +they must pretend to believe me something else because I owned +something they wanted. Well, I still owned it. + +"Of course," continued Dorinda, "I didn't tell him you was +figgerin' not to sell the land at all. If I had, I s'pose he'd +have thought--" + +She stopped short. + +"You suppose what?" I asked. + +"Oh, nothin'." + +She had said enough. I could guess the rest. I walked to the +window and stood, looking out. The clouds were breaking and, as I +stood there, a ray of sunlight streamed through a rift and struck +the bay just at the spot where the dingy had grounded. The shallow +water above the flat flashed into fire. I am not superstitious, as +a general thing, but the sight comforted me. It seemed like an +omen. There was the one bright spot in the outlook. There, at +least, I had not behaved like a "fool Rube." There I had compelled +respect and been taken seriously. + +Dorinda spoke again. + +"You ain't asked who your other caller was," she observed. + +"Was there another?" + +"Um-hm. I told you there was two. After Cap'n Jed left that +chauffeur feller from the big house come here. He fetched a note +for you. Here 'tis." + +I took the note. It was addressed to me in a man's handwriting, +not that of "Big Jim" Colton. I opened the envelope and read: + + +Roscoe Paine. + +Sir: The enclosed is in payment for your work. No receipt is +necessary. + +Yours truly, + +B. VICTOR CARVER. + + +The "enclosed" was a five-dollar bill. + +I stood staring at the note. Then I began to laugh. + +"What's the joke?" asked Dorinda, who had not taken her eyes from +my face. + +"This," said I, handing her the money. She looked at it in +astonishment. + +"Um-hm," she said, drily. "Well, I--well, a five-dollar bill may +be a joke to you, but _I_ ain't familiar enough with one to laugh +at it. You don't laugh as if 'twas awful funny, either. Who's the +joke on?" + +"It's on me, just now. + +"Um-hm. I'd be willin' to be joked ten times a day, at that price. +And I'd undertake to laugh heartier than you're doin', too. What's +it for? the money, I mean." + +"It's for some 'work' I did yesterday." + +She was more astonished than ever. + +"Work! You?" she exclaimed. + +"Yes. But don't worry; I shan't do it again." + +"Land! THAT wouldn't worry me. What sort of work was it?" + +"Oh, I--I picked up something adrift in the bay." + +"Um-hm. I see. Somethin' belongin' to the Coltons, I s'pose +likely. Why won't you do it again? Ain't they paid you enough?" + +Again I laughed. "They have paid me too much," I said, bitterly. +"What I picked up wasn't worth the money." + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +And that, in the end, was the answer I sent to Carver with his five +dollars. I spent an hour in my room trying to compose and write a +sarcastic reply to his note, but I finally gave it up. Then I put +the money in an envelope, addressed the latter, and sent it to the +big house by Lute. Lute was delighted with the errand. + +"You'll explain to Dorindy, will you?" he asked. "She cal'lates +I'm goin' to clean the henhouse. But I can do that some other +time." + +"You can--yes." + +"Do you know--" Lute leaned against the clothes post and prepared +to philosophize. "Do you know," he observed, "that I don't take no +stock in cleanin' henhouses and such?" + +"Don't you? I'm surprised." + +"You're surprised 'cause you ain't thought it out. That's my way; +I always think things out. Most folks are selfish. They want to +do what they want to do, and they want others to want the same +thing. If the others don't want it, then they like to make 'em +have it; anyhow. Dorindy is crazy on cleanin'. She wouldn't live +in a dirty house no more'n she'd live in a lobster pot. It's the +way she's made. But a hen ain't made that way. A hen LIKES dirt; +she scratches in it and digs holes in it to waller in, and heaves +it over herself all day long. If you left it to the hens would +THEY clean their house? I guess not! So, I say what's the use of +cruelizin' 'em by makin' 'em live clean when they don't want to? +I--" + +"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "Lute, you're wasting your breath. +It is Dorinda you should explain all this to, not to me. And +you're wasting my time. I want you to take that envelope to Mr. +Carver; and I want you to go now." + +"Well, I'm goin', ain't I? I was only just sayin'--" + +"Say it when you come back. And if Mr. Carver asks you why I sent +that envelope to him be sure and give him the message I gave you. +Do you remember it?" + +"Sartin. That what you done wan't wuth so much." + +"Not exactly. That what I saved wasn't worth it." + +"All right. I'll remember. But what did you save, Ros? Dorindy +says 'twas somethin' you found afloat in the bay. If it was +somethin' belongin' to them Coltons I'd have took the money, no +matter what the thing was wuth. They can afford to pay and, if I +was you, I'd take the reward." + +"I have my reward. Now go." + +I had my reward and I believed it worth much more than five +dollars. I had learned my lesson. I knew now exactly how I was +regarded by the occupants of the big house and by the townspeople +as well. I should cherish no more illusions as to my importance in +their eyes. I meant to be really independent from that time on. I +did not care--really did not care--for anything or anybody outside +my immediate household. I was back in the position I had occupied +for years, but with one difference: I had an ambition now. It was +to make both sides in the Shore Lane controversy realize that +George Taylor was right when he said I had the whip-hand. By the +Almighty, they should dance when I cracked that whip! + +My first opportunity to crack it came a day or two later, when +Captain Dean called upon me. He had a definite proposition to +make, although his Yankee shrewdness and caution prevented his +making it until he had discussed the weather and other unimportant +trifles. Then he leaned against the edge of my work-bench--we were +in the boathouse--and began to beat up to windward of his proposal. + +"Ros," he said, "you remember I told you you was all right, when I +met you at the bank t'other day." + +"I remember," I answered. + +"Yes. Well, I cal'late you know what I meant by that." + +I did not pretend ignorance of his meaning. + +"I presume," I replied, "that you meant I was right in not selling +that strip of land to Mr. Colton." + +"That's what I meant. You kept your promise to me and I shan't +forget it. Nor the town won't forget it, neither. Would you mind +tellin' me just what happened between you and His Majesty?" + +"Not at all. He said he wanted to buy the Shore Lane strip and I +refused to sell it to him. He said I was crazy and an infernal +robber and I told him to go to the devil." + +"WHAT! you didn't!" + +"I did." + +Captain Jed slapped his knee and shouted in delight. He insisted +on shaking hands with me. + +"By the great and everlastin'!" he declared, between laughs, +"you're all right, Ros Paine! I said you was and now I'll swear to +it. Told old Colton to go to the devil! If that ain't--oh, I wish +I'd been there!" + +I went on sand-papering a valve plug. He walked up and down the +floor, chuckling. + +"Well," he said, at last, "you've made yourself solid in Denboro, +anyhow. And I told you you shouldn't lose nothin' by it. The +Selectmen held a meetin' last night and they feel, same as me, that +that Shore Lane shan't be shut off. You understand what that means +to you, don't you?" + +I looked at him, coolly. + +"No," I answered. + +"You don't! It means the town's decided to buy that strip of land +of yours. Definitely decided, practically speakin'. Now what'll +you sell it to us for?" + +I put down the valve plug. "Captain," said I, "that land is not +for sale." + +"Not for SALE? What do you mean by that?" + +"I mean that I have decided not to sell it, for the present, at +least. Neither to Colton nor any one else." + +He could not believe it. Of course I would not sell it to Colton. +Colton was a stuck-up, selfish city aristocrat who thought all +creation ought to belong to him. But the town was different. Did +I realize that it was the town I lived in that was asking to buy +now? The town of which I was a citizen? Think of what the town +had done for me. + +"Very well," I answered. "I'm willing to think. What has it done +for me?" + +It had--it had--well, it had done a whole lot. As a citizen of +that town I owed it a--a-- + +"Look here, Captain Dean," I interrupted, "there's no use in our +arguing the matter. I have decided not to sell." + +"Don't talk so foolish. Course you'll sell if you get money +enough." + +"So Colton said, but I shan't." + +"Ros, I ain't got any authority to do it, but I shouldn't wonder if +I could get you three hundred dollars for that strip." + +"It isn't a question of price." + +"Rubbish! Anything's a question of price." + +"This isn't. If it was I probably should have accepted Mr. Colton's +offer of six hundred and fifty." + +"Six hun--! Do you mean to say he offered you six hundred and +fifty dollars for that little mite of land, and you never took him +up?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, you must be a . . . Humph! Six hundred and fifty! The +town can't meet no such bid as that, of course." + +"I don't expect it to." + +He regarded me in silence. He was chagrined and angry; his florid +face was redder than ever; but, more than all, he was puzzled. + +"Well," he observed, after a moment, "this beats me, this does! +Last time we talked you was willin' to consider sellin'. What's +changed you? What's the reason you won't sell? What business +reason have you got for not doin' it?" + +I had no business reason at all. Except for Mother's counsel not +to sell, which was based upon sentiment and nothing else, and my +own stubbornness, I had no reason at all. Yet I was, if anything, +more firm in my resolve. + +"How about the Lane?" he demanded. "You know what that Lane means +to Denboro?" + +"I know what you say it means. The townspeople can continue to use +the Lane, just as they always have, so long as they behave +themselves. There is no use of our talking further, Captain. I've +made up my mind." + +He went away, soon after, but he asked another question. + +"Will you do this much for me?" he asked. "Will you promise me not +to sell the land to Colton?" + +"No," I said, "I will make no promise of any kind, to anybody." + +"Oh," with a scornful sniff, "I see. I'm on to you. You're just +hangin' out for a big price. I might have known it. You're on +Colton's side, after all." + +I rose. I was angry now. + +"I told you price had nothing to do with it," I said, sharply. "I +am on no one's side. The town is welcome to use the Lane; that I +have told you already. There is nothing more to be said." + +He shook his head. + +"I don't make many mistakes," he observed, slowly; "but I guess +I've made one. You're a whole lot deeper'n I thought you was." + +So much for the proletariat. I heard from the plutocrats next day. +Sim Eldredge dropped in on me. After much wriggling about the bush +he intimated that he knew of Captain Jedediah's call and what had +taken place. + +"You done just right, Ros," he whispered. He had a habit of +whispering as the Captain had of shouting. "You done just right. +Keep 'em guessin'; keep em guessin'. Jed's all upsot. He don't +know whether he's keel down or on his beam ends. He'll be makin' a +higher bid pretty soon. Say," with a wink, "I see Colton last +night." + +"Did you?" + +"Yup. Oh, I give him a jolt. I hinted that the town had made you +a fine offer and you was considerin' it." + +"What did you do that for? Who gave you the right to--" + +"Sshh! Don't holler. Somebody might be listenin'. I come through +the woods and round the beach so's I wouldn't be seen. What do you +s'pose Colton said?" + +"I don't care what he said." + +"You will when I tell you. He as much as offered a thousand +dollars for that land. My crimps! a thousand! think of that! I +presume likely you wouldn't take that, would you, Ros?" + +"Sim, I'll tell you, as I told Captain Jed, that land is not for +sale." + +I tried to make that statement firm and sharp enough to penetrate +even his wooden head; but he merely winked again. + +"All right," he whispered, hastily, "all right. I guess perhaps +you're correct in hangin' on. Still, a thousand is a lot of money, +even after you take out my little commission. But you know best. +You put your trust in me. I'll keep her jumpin'. I understand. +Good-by." + +He went out hurriedly, and, though I shouted after him, he only +waved and ducked behind a beach-plum bush. He did not believe me +serious in my refusal to sell; neither did Dean, or Colton, or, +apparently, any one else. They all thought me merely shrewd, a +sharp trader driving a hard bargain, as they would have done in my +place. They might think so, if they wished; I should not explain. +As a matter of fact, I could not have explained my attitude, even +to myself. + +Yet this very attitude made a difference, a perceptible difference, +in my position in Denboro. I noticed it each time I went up to the +village. I saw the groups at the post-office and at the depot turn +to watch me as I approached and as I went away. Captain Jedediah +did not mention the Lane again--at least for some time--but he +always hailed me cordially when we met and seemed anxious to be +seen in my company. Eldredge, of course, was effusive; so was +Alvin Baker. And other people, citizens of consequence in the +town, who had heretofore merely bowed, now stopped to speak with me +on the street. Members of the sewing circle called on Mother more +frequently, and Matilda Dean, Captain Jed's wife, came regularly +once a week. Sometimes she saw Mother and sometimes she did not, +depending upon Dorinda's state of mind at the time. + +Lute, always a sort of social barometer, noticed the change in the +weather. + +"Everybody's talkin' about you, Ros," he declared. "They cal'late +you're a pretty smart feller. They don't just understand what +you're up to, but they think you're pretty smart." + +"No?" I commented, ironically. "Lute, you astonish me. Why am I +smart?" + +"Well, they don't know exactly, but they cal'late you must be. Oh, +I hear things. Cap'n Jed said t'other night you'd make a pretty +good Selectman." + +"_I_ would? A Selectman?" + +"Yup. He as much as hinted that to me; wondered if you'd take the +nomination provided he could fix it for you. Sim Eldredge and +Alvin and some more all said they'd vote for you if they got a +chance. ARE you figgerin' to charge toll on the Lane?" + +"Toll? What put that idea in your head?" + +"Nothin', only some of the fellers wondered if you was. You see, +you won't sell, and so--" + +"I see. That's a brilliant suggestion, Lute. When I adopt it I'll +appoint you toll-keeper." + +"By time! I wish you would. I'd make Thoph Newcomb pay up. He +owes me ten cents; bet it one time and never settled." + +Yes, my position in Denboro had changed. But I took no pride in +the change, as I had at first; I knew the reason for this sudden +burst of popularity. The knowledge made me more cynical than ever-- +cynical, and lonely. For the first time since I came to the Cape +I longed for a real friend, not a relative or an acquaintance, but +a friend to trust and confide in. Some one, with no string of his +own to pull, who cared for me because I was myself. + +And all the time I had such a friend and did not realize it. The +knowledge came to me in this way. Mother had one of her seizures, +one of the now infrequent "sinking spells," as the doctor called +them, on an evening when I was alone with her. Dorinda and Lute +had gone, with the horse and buggy, to visit a cousin in Bayport. +They were to stay over night and return before breakfast the next +morning. + +I was alone in the dining-room when Mother called my name. There +was something in her tone which alarmed me and I hastened to her +bedside. One glance at her face was enough. + +"Boy," she said, weakly, "I am afraid I am going to be ill. I have +tried not to alarm you, but I feel faint and I am--you won't be +alarmed, will you? I know it is nothing serious." + +I told her not to worry and not to talk. I hurried out to the +kitchen, got the hot water and the brandy, made her swallow a +little of the mixture, and bathed her forehead and wrists with +vinegar, an old-fashioned restorative which Dorinda always used. +She said she felt better, but I was anxious and, as soon as it was +safe to leave her, hurried out to bring the doctor. She begged me +not to go, because it was beginning to rain and I might get wet, +but I assured her it was not raining hard, and went. + +It was not raining hard when I started, but there was every sign of +a severe storm close at hand. It was pitch dark and I was weary +from stumbling through the bushes and over the rough path when I +reached the corner of the Lane and the Lower Road. Then a carriage +came down that road. It was an open wagon and George Taylor was +the driver. He had been up to the Deans' and was on his way home. + +I hailed the vehicle, intending to ask for a ride, but when Taylor +discovered who his hailer was he insisted on my going back to the +house. He would get the doctor, he said, and bring him down at +once. I was afraid he would be caught in the storm, and hesitated +in accepting the offer, but he insisted. I did go back to the +house, found Mother in much the same condition as when I left her, +and had scarcely gotten into the kitchen again when Taylor once +more appeared. + +"I brought Nellie along to stay with your mother," he said. "The +Cap'n and the old lady"--meaning Matilda--"were up at the meeting- +house and we just left a note saying where we'd gone. Nellie's all +right. Between you and me, she don't talk you deaf, dumb and blind +like her ma, and she's good company for sick folks. Now I'll fetch +the doctor and be right back." + +"But it's raining pitchforks," I said. "You'll be wet through." + +"No, I won't. I'll have Doc Quimby here in no time." + +He drove off and Nellie Dean went into Mother's room. I had always +considered Nellie a milk-and-watery young female, but somehow her +quiet ways and soft voice seemed just what were needed in a sick +room. I left the two together and came out to wait for Taylor and +the doctor. + +But they did not come. The storm was under full headway now, and +the wind was dashing the rain in sheets against the windows. I +waited nearly an hour and still no sign of the doctor. + +Nellie came out of Mother's room and closed the door softly behind +her. + +"She's quiet now," she whispered. "I think she's asleep. Where do +you suppose George is?" + +"Goodness knows!" I answered. "I shouldn't have let him go, a +night like this." + +"I'm afraid you couldn't stop him if his mind was made up. He's +dreadful determined when he sets out to be." + +"He's a good fellow," I said, to please her. She worshipped the +cashier, a fact of which all Denboro was aware, and which caused +gossip to report that she did the courting for the two. + +She blushed and smiled. + +"He thinks a lot of you," she observed. "He's always talking to me +about you. It's a good thing you're a man or I should be jealous." + +I smiled. "I seem to be talked about generally, just now," said I. + +"Are you? Oh, you mean about the Shore Lane. Yes, Pa can't make +you out about that. He says you've got something up your sleeve +and he hasn't decided what it is. I asked George what Pa meant and +he just laughed. He said whatever you had in your sleeve was your +affair and, if he was any judge of character, it would stay there +till you got ready to shake it out. He always stood up for you, +even before the Shore Lane business happened. I think he likes you +better than any one else in Denboro." + +"Present company excepted, of course." + +"Oh, of course. If that wasn't excepted I should REALLY be +jealous. Then," more seriously, "Roscoe, does it seem to you that +George is worried or troubled about something lately?" + +I thought of Taylor's sudden change of expression that day in the +bank, and of his remark that he wished he had my chance. But I +concealed my thoughts. + +"The prospect of marriage is enough to make any man worried, isn't +it?" I asked. "I imagine he realizes that he isn't good enough for +you." + +There was sarcasm in this remark, sarcasm of which I should have +been ashamed. But she took it literally and as a compliment. She +looked at me reproachfully. + +"Good enough for me!" she exclaimed. "He! Sometimes I wonder if +it is right for me to be so happy. I feel almost as if it was +wrong. As if something must happen to punish me for it." + +I did not answer. To tell the truth, I was envious. There was +real happiness in the world. This country girl had found it; that +Mabel Colton would, no doubt, find it some day--unless she married +her Victor, in which case I had my doubts. But what happiness was +in store for me? + +Nellie did most of the talking thereafter; principally about +George, and why he did not come. At last she went in to see if +Mother needed her, and, twenty minutes later, when I looked into +the bedroom, I saw that she had fallen asleep on the couch. +Mother, too, seemed to be sleeping, and I left them thus. + +It was almost eleven o'clock when the sound of carriage wheels in +the yard brought me to the window and then to the door. Doctor +Quimby had come at last and Taylor was with him. The doctor, in +his mackintosh and overshoes, was dry enough, but his companion was +wet to the skin. + +"Sorry I'm so late, Ros," said the doctor. "I was way up to +Ebenezer Cahoon's in West Denboro. There's a new edition of +Ebenezer, made port this morning, and I was a little bit concerned +about the missus. She's all right, though. How's your mother?" + +"Better, I think. She's asleep now. So is Nellie. I suppose +George told you she was with her." + +"Yes. George had a rough passage over that West Denboro road. +It's bad enough in daylight, but on a night like this--whew! I +carried away a wheel turning into Ebenezer's yard, and if George +hadn't had his team along I don't know how I'd have got here. I'll +go right in and see Mrs. Paine." + +He left us and I turned to Taylor. + +"You're soaked through," I declared. "Come out to the kitchen +stove. What in the world made you drive way up to that forsaken +place? It's a good seven miles. Come out to the kitchen. Quick!" + +He sat down by the stove and put his wet boots on the hearth. I +mixed him a glass of the brandy and hot water and handed him a +cigar. + +"Why did you do it, George?" I said. "I never would have thought +of asking such a thing." + +"I know it," he said. "Course you wouldn't ask it. There's plenty +in this town that would, but you wouldn't. Maybe that's one reason +I was so glad to do it for you." + +"I am almost sorry you did. It is too great a kindness altogether. +I'm afraid I shouldn't have done as much for you." + +"Go on! Yes, you would. I know you." + +I shook my head. + +"No, you don't," I answered. "Captain Jed--your prospective +father-in-law--said the other day that he had been mistaken; he +thought he knew me, but he was beginning to find he did not." + +"Did he say that? What did he mean?" + +"I imagine he meant he wasn't sure whether I was the fool he had +believed me to be, or just a sharp rascal." + +Taylor looked at me over the edge of his glass. + +"You think that's what he meant, do you?" + +"I know it." + +He put the glass on the floor beside him and laid a hand on my +knee. + +"Ros," he said, "I don't know for sure what the Cap'n meant, though +if he thinks you're either one of the two he's the fool. But _I_ +know you--better, maybe, than you know yourself. At least I +believe I know you better than any one else in the town." + +"That wouldn't be saying much." + +"Wouldn't it? Well, maybe not. But whose fault is it? It's +yours, the way I look at it. Ros, I've been meaning to have a talk +with you some day; perhaps this is as good a time as any. You make +a big mistake in the way you treat Denboro and the folks in it." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean just that. Your whole attitude is wrong, has been wrong +ever since you first came here to live. You never gave any of us a +chance to know you and like you--anybody but me, I mean, and even I +never had but half a chance. You make a mistake, I tell you. +There's lots of good folks in this town, lots of 'em. Cap'n Elisha +Warren's one of 'em and there's plenty more. They're countrymen, +same as I am, but they're good, plain, sensible folks, and they'd +like to like you if they had a chance. You belong to the Town +Improvement Society, but you never go to a meeting. You ought to +get out and mix more." + +I shrugged my shoulders. "I guess my mixing wouldn't be very +welcome," I said. "And, besides, I don't care to mix." + +"I know you don't, but you ought to, just the same." + +"Nonsense! George, I'm not blind, or deaf. Don't you suppose I +know what Warren and Dean and the rest think of me? They consider +me a loafer and no good. I've heard what they say. I've noticed +how they treat me." + +"How you treat them, you mean. You are as cold and freezing as a +cake of ice. They was willing to be friends but you wouldn't have +it. And, as for their calling you a loafer--well, that's your own +fault, too. You OUGHT to do something; not work, perhaps, but +you'd be a whole lot better off if you got really interested in +something. Get into politics; get into town affairs; get out and +know the people you're living with." + +"I don't care to know them; and I'm sure they don't care to know +me." + +"Yes, they do. I understand how you feel. In this Shore Lane +matter now: you think Cap'n Jed and Colton, because they pretend to +call you a fool, don't respect you for taking the stand you have. +They do. They don't understand you, maybe, but they can't help +respecting you and, if they knew you even as well as I do, they'd +like you. Come! I ain't throwin' any bouquets, but why do you +suppose I'd be willing to drive to West Denboro forty times over, +on forty times worse nights than this, for you? Why?" + +"Heaven knows! Would you?" + +"I would. I like you, Ros. I took a shine to you the first time I +met you. I don't know why exactly. Why does anybody like anybody +else? But I think a whole lot of you. I know this sounds foolish, +and you don't feel that way towards me, but it's the truth." + +I was amazed. I had always liked George Taylor, but I never felt +any strong affection for him. I was a little less indifferent to +him than to others in Denboro, that was all. And I had taken it +for granted that his liking for me was of the same casual, lukewarm +variety. To hear him declare himself in this way was astonishing-- +he, the dry, keen, Yankee banker. + +"But why, George?" I repeated. + +"I don't know why; I told you that. It's because I can't help it, +I suppose. Or because, as I said, I know you better than any one +else." + +I sighed. "Nobody knows me here," I said. + +"One knows you, Ros. I know you." + +"You may think you do, but you don't. You can thank God for your +ignorance." + +"Maybe I ain't so ignorant." + +I looked at him. He was looking me straight in the eye. + +"What do you know?" I asked, slowly. + +"I know, for one thing, that your name ain't Paine." + +I could not answer. I am not certain whether I attempted to speak +or move. I do remember that the pressure of his hand on my knee +tightened. + +"It's all right, Ros," he said, earnestly. "Nobody knows but me, +and nobody ever shall know if I can help it." + +"How--how much do you know?" I stammered. + +"Why, pretty much all, I guess. I've known ever since your mother +was taken sick. Some things I read in the paper, and the pictures +of--of your father, put me on, and afterwards I got more certain of +it. But it's all right. Nobody but me knows or shall know." + +I leaned my head on my hand. He patted my knee, gently. + +"Are--are you sure no one else knows?" I asked. + +"Certain sure. There was one time when it might have all come out. +A reporter fellow from one of the Boston papers got on the track +somehow and came down here to investigate. Luckily I was the first +man he tackled, and I steered him away. I presume likely I lied +some, but my conscience is easy so far as that goes." + +"And you have told no one? Not even Nellie?" + +"No. I tell Nellie most things, but not all--not all." + +I remembered afterwards that he sighed as he said this and took his +hand from my knee; but then my agitation was too great to do more +than casually notice it. I rose to my feet. + +"George! George!" I cried. "I--I can't say to you what I should +like. But why--WHY did you shield me? And lie for me? Why did +you do it? I was hardly more than a stranger." + +He sighed. "Don't know," he answered. "I never could quite see +why a man's sins should be visited on the widows and fatherless. +And, of course, I realized that you and your mother changed your +name and came down here to get away from gossip and talk. But I +guess the real reason was that I liked you, Ros. Love at first +sight, same as we read about; hey?" + +He looked up and smiled. I seized his hand. + +"George," I said, chokingly, "I did not believe I had a real friend +in the world, except Mother and Dorinda and Lute, of course. I +can't thank you enough for shielding us all these years; there's no +use in my trying. But if ever I can do anything to help YOU-- +anything--I'll do it. I'll swear to that." + +He shook my hand. + +"I know you will, Ros," he said. "I told you I knew you." + +"If ever I can do anything--" + +He interrupted me. + +"There's one thing you can do right now," he said. "That's get out +and mix. That'll please me as much as anything. And begin right +off. Why, see here, the Methodist society is going to give a +strawberry festival on the meeting-house lawn next Thursday night. +About everybody's going, Nellie and I included. You come, will +you?" + +I hesitated. I had heard about the festival, but I certainly had +not contemplated attending. + +"Come!" he urged. "You won't say no to the first favor I ask you. +Promise me you'll be on hand." + +Before I could answer, we heard the door of Mother's room open. +George and I hastened into the dining-room. Doctor Quimby and +Nellie Dean were there. Nellie rushed over to her lover's side. + +"You bad boy," she cried. "You're wet through." + +Doctor Quimby turned to me. + +"Your ma's getting on all right," he declared. "About all that +ails her now is that she wants to see you." + +George was assisting Nellie to put on her wraps. + +"Got to leave you now, Ros," he said. "Cap'n Jed and Matildy'll +think we've eloped ahead of time. Good-night. Oh, say, will you +promise me to take in the strawberry festival?" + +"Why" I answered, "I suppose-- Yes, Mother, I'm coming-- Why, +yes, George, I'll promise, to please you." + +I have often wondered since what my life story would have been if I +had not made that promise. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +The Methodist church stood on the slope of a little hill, back from +the Main Road, and the parsonage was next door. Between the church +and the parsonage was a stretch of lawn, dotted with shrubs and +cedars and shaded by two big silver-leaf poplars. It was on this +lawn that, provided the night was fair, the strawberry festival was +to be held. If the weather should be unpropitious the festival was +to be in the church vestry. + +All that day Dorinda was busy baking and icing cake. She was not +going to the festival--partly because I was going and she could not +leave Mother--but principally because such affairs were altogether +too frivolous to fit in her scheme of orthodoxy. "I don't +recollect," she said, "that the apostles did much strawberry +festivalin'; they had other things to attend to." Lute, however, +was going and if he had been invited to a Presidential reception he +could not have been much more excited. He was dressed and ready at +supper time, although the festival did not begin until seven- +thirty. + +"Think I'm all right, Dorindy, do you?" he queried, anxiously +turning himself about for his wife's inspection. "How about these +new pants? Fur enough down on my boots, be they?" + +Dorinda looked him over with a critical eye. "Um-hm," she +observed, "that end of 'em seems to be all right. But I cal'late +the upper end ain't been introduced to your vest yet. Anyhow, the +two don't seem to be well enough acquainted to associate close." + +Lute bent forward to inspect the hiatus between trousers and +waistcoat. "By time!" he exclaimed, "I told Sim Eldredge they was +too short in the waist. He said if they was any longer they'd +wrinkle under the arms. I don't know what to do. If I hist 'em up +they'll be what the fellers call high-water, won't them?" + +"Humph! I'd ruther have 'em high-water than shoal in the middle of +the channel. You'll have to average up somehow. I ought to have +known better than to trust you to buy anything all by yourself." + +She condescended to approve of my appearance when, an hour later, I +came downstairs, garbed in my best. + +"Humph!" she vouchsafed, after a long look. "I declare! I'd +hardly know you, Roscoe. You look more as you used to when you +fust come here to live." + +"Thanks," I answered, drily. "I'm glad to see that you respect old +age. This suit is venerable enough to command that kind of +respect." + +"'Tain't the suit, though that's all right enough. It's the way +you wear it, I guess. You look BETTER than you used to. You're +browned up and broadened out and it's real becomin'. But," she +added, with characteristic caution, "you must remember that good +looks don't count for much. My father used to say to me that +handsome is that handsome does. Not that I was so homely I'd scare +the crows, but he didn't want me to be vain. Now don't fall +overboard in THAT suit, will you?" + +Mother noticed my unwonted grandeur when I went in to say good- +night to her. + +"Why, Roscoe!" she exclaimed. "You must consider this strawberry +festival very important." + +"Why, Mother?" + +"Because you've taken such pains to dress for it." + +"It did not require a great deal of pains. I merely put on what +Dorinda calls my Sunday clothes. I don't know why I did, either. +I certainly don't consider the festival important." + +"I am glad you did. I have been a little troubled about you of +late, Boy. It has seemed to me that you were growing--well, not +careless, exactly, but indifferent. As if you were losing interest +in life. I don't blame you. Compelled to waste your time here in +the country, a companion to a bedridden old woman like me." + +"Hush, Mother. You're not old; and as to wasting my time--why, +Mother, you know--" + +"Yes, yes, Boy, I know what you would say. But it does trouble me, +nevertheless. I ought to bid you go back into the world, and take +your place among men. A hundred times I have been upon the point +of telling you to leave me, but--but--I am SO selfish." + +"Hush, Mother, please." + +"Yes, I AM selfish and I know it. I am growing stronger every day; +I am sure of it. Just a little longer, Roscoe, just a little +longer, and then--" + +"Mother, I--" + +"There, there!" she stroked my hand. "We won't be sad, will we. +It pleases me to see you taking an interest in affairs. I think +this Shore Lane matter may be a good thing, after all. Dorinda +says that Luther tells her you are becoming very popular in town +because of your independent stand. Everyone recognizes your public +spirit." + +"Did she tell you that?" + +"Not in those words. You know Dorinda. But what amounts to that. +I am sure the Denboro people are very proud of you." + +I thought of my "popularity" and the admiration of my "public +spirit" as manifested in the attentions of Captain Jed and Eldredge +and their followers, and I turned my head away so that she might +not see my face. + +"And I am glad you are going to the strawberry festival. I can't +remember when you attended such a function before. Boy--" + +"Yes, Mother." + +"There isn't any reason, any special reason, for your going, is +there?" + +"Why, what do you mean?" + +"I mean--well, you are young and I did not know but, perhaps, some +one else was going, some one you were interested in, and--and--" + +I laughed aloud. "Mother!" I said, reproachfully. + +"Why not? I am very proud of my handsome boy, and I know that--" + +"There! there! I haven't noticed that my beauty is so fascinating +as to be dangerous. No, Mother, there is no 'special reason' for +my going to-night. I promised George Taylor, that was all." + +"Well, I am sure you will have a good time. Kiss me, Boy. Good- +night." + +I was by no means so sure of the good time. In fact, I loitered on +my way to the village and it was well past eight o'clock when I +paid my fifteen cents admission fee to Elnathan Mullet at the gate +of the church grounds and sauntered up the slope toward the lights +and gaiety of the strawberry festival. + +The ladies of the Methodist society, under whose management the +affair was given, were fortunate in their choice of an evening. +The early risen moon shone from a cloudless sky and there was so +little breeze that the Japanese lanterns, hung above the tables, +went out only occasionally. The "beauty and elite of Denboro"--see +next week's Cape Cod Item--were present in force and, mingling with +them, or, if not mingling, at least inspecting them with interest, +were some of the early arrivals among the cottagers from South +Denboro and Bayport. I saw Lute, proudly conscious of his new +lavender trousers, in conversation with Matilda Dean, and I +wondered who was the winner in that wordy race. Captain Jedediah +strutted arm in arm with the minister. Thoph Newcomb and Alvin +Baker were there with their wives. Simeon Eldredge had not yet put +in an appearance but I knew that he would as soon as the evening +mail was sorted. + +I found Nellie Dean in charge of a table, and George Taylor seated +at that table. I walked over and joined them. + +"Good evening, Nellie," said I. "Well, George, here I am, you +see." + +He shook my hand heartily. "I see you are," he said. "Good boy! +How does it seem to splash into society?" + +"I haven't splashed yet. I have only just arrived." + +"Oh, trying the feel of the water, hey? Guess you won't find it +very chilly. As a preparatory tonic I'd recommend strawberries and +cream. Nellie, get Ros a saucer of those genuine home-raised +berries, why don't you?" + +Nellie laughed. "Roscoe," she said, "isn't he dreadful! He knows +we bought these berries in Boston. It's much too early for the +native ones. But they really are very nice, though he does make +such fun of them." + +She went into the vestry to get the berries and I sat down at the +table beside Taylor and looked about me. + +"Most everybody's here," he observed. "And they'll be glad to see +you, Ros. Get out and shake hands and be sociable, after you've +done your duty by the fruit. How are things at home?" + +"Mother is herself again, I am glad to say. George, I have +scarcely thought of anything except what you told me the other +night." + +"Then it's time you did. That's one reason why I wanted you to +come here. You've been thinking too much about yourself." + +"It isn't of myself, but of Mother. If you had dropped a hint when +that Boston reporter came--" + +"Now, look here, Ros, would YOU have dropped hints if things had +been the other way around?" + +"I don't know." + +"I know you wouldn't. What's the use of giving the Denboro gossip +mill a chance to run over time? Great heavens! it works twelve +hours a day as 'tis." + +"It was mighty good of you, just the same." + +"No, it wasn't. The whole affair was your business and nobody +else's." + +"Well, as I said before, if ever I have an opportunity to do as +much for you--not that I ever will." + +"How do you know you won't? Anybody's liable to be gossiped about +some time or other." + +"Not you. You are Denboro's shining light. The mothers and +fathers here point you out as an example of what industry and +ambition and honest effort may rise to. I--" + +"Shut up!" He said it almost savagely. "There!" he added, +quickly, "let's change the subject. Talk about something worth +while. Humph! I guess they must be opening another crate of those +Boston 'homegrowns,' judgin' by the time it takes Nellie to get +your sample." + +"I am in no hurry. How are affairs at the bank?" + +"Oh, so, so. Don't know a good man who wants a job, do you? Henry +Small's going to leave the middle of next month." + +"Small, the bookkeeper? Why?" + +"Got a better chance up to the city. I don't blame him. Don't +tell anybody yet; it's a secret. Say, Ros, DO you know of a good, +sharp, experienced fellow?" + +I smiled. "Is it likely?" I asked. "How large is my acquaintance +among sharp, experienced fellows down here?" + +"Not so large as it ought to be, I'll give in to that. But you +know one." + +"Do I, indeed? Who is he?" + +"Yourself. You wouldn't take Small's job, would you?" + +"I?" I laughed aloud. + +"It's no joke. You've had a lot of banking experience. I've heard +about it among my city friends, who don't know I know you. Course +I realize the place is way beneath what you ought to have, but--" + +"Oh, don't be sarcastic. No, thank you, George." + +"All right, if you say so. But I meant it. You don't need the +salary, I know. But--Ros, do you mind if I talk plain for a +moment?" + +I wondered what was coming now. "No," I answered. "Go ahead and +talk." + +"Well then, I tell you, as a friend, that 'twould be a good thing +for you if you did take that job, or some other one. Don't make +much matter what it is, but you ought to do something. You're too +clever a fellow to be hanging around, shooting and fishing. You're +wasting your life." + +"That was wasted long ago." + +"No, it wasn't. But it will be if you don't change pretty soon. I +tell you you ought to get interested in something that counts. You +might make a big name for yourself yet." + +"That's enough of that. I have a name already. You know it, and +you know what was made of it." + +"YOU didn't make it that kind of a name, did you? And you're young +enough to make it something altogether different. You ought to. +You owe it to your mother and you owe it to yourself. As it is, if +you keep on, you'll--" + +"George, you've said enough. No one but you would have been +permitted to say as much. You don't understand." + +"Maybe not, but, Ros, I don't like to have people around here call +you--" + +"I don't care a continental what they call me. I don't want them +to know who I am, but for public opinion generally I care nothing." + +He leaned back in his chair. His face was in shadow and I could +not see it, but his tone was grave enough. + +"You think you don't," he said, slowly, "but there may come a time +when you will. There may come a time when you get so interested in +something, or some person, that the thought of what folks would say +if--if anything went wrong would keep you awake night after night. +Oh, I tell you, Ros-- Hello, Nellie! thought you'd gone South to +pick those berries yourself. Two saucers full! Well, I suppose I +must eat the other to save it--unless Ros here wants both." + +I said one would be quite sufficient for the present, and we three +chatted until Mrs. Dean came over and monopolized the chat. + +"Don't go, Roscoe," protested the matron. "The Cap'n's here and +he'll want to talk to you. He's dreadful interested in you just +now. Don't talk about nobody else, scurcely. You set still and +I'll go fetch him." + +But I refused to "set." I knew the cause of Captain Jedediah's +interest, and what he wished to talk about. I rose and announced +that I would stroll about a bit. Taylor spoke to me as I was +leaving. + +"Ros," he said, earnestly, "you think of what I told you, will +you?" + +I saw a group of people hurrying toward the entrance of the grounds +and I followed them, curious as to the cause of the excitement. An +automobile had stopped by the gate. Sim Eldredge came hastening up +and seized me by the arm. + +"Gosh! it's Ros," he exclaimed, in his mysterious whisper. "I +hadn't seen you afore; just got here myself. But I'm glad you ARE +here. I'll see that you and him get a chance to talk private." + +"Who?" I asked, trying to pull my arm free. + +"Why, Mr. Colton. Didn't you know? Yes, sir, that's his car. +He's come and so's his daughter and that young Carver feller. I +believe they've come to take in the sociable. There they be! See +'em! See 'em!" + +I saw them. Colton and Victor had already alighted and Miss Colton +was descending from the tonneau. There were two other men in the +car, beside Oscar, the chauffeur. + +"Who are those other people?" I asked. + +"I don't know," whispered Sim, excitedly. "Stay where you be and +I'll find out. I'll be right back, now. Don't you move." + +I did not move, not because he had ordered me to stay where I was, +but because I was curious. The spot where I stood was in shadow +and I knew they could not see me. + +Colton and his daughter were talking with Victor, who remained by +the step of the auto. + +"Well, Mabel," observed "Big Jim," "here we are, though why I don't +know. I hope you enjoy this thing more than I am likely to." + +"Of course I shall enjoy it, Father. Look at the decorations. +Aren't they perfectly WONDERFUL!" + +"Especially the color scheme," drawled Victor. "Mabel, I call your +attention to the red, blue and purple lanterns. Some class? Yes? +Well, I must go. I'll be back in a very short time. If Parker +wasn't starting for Europe to-morrow I shouldn't think of leaving, +but I'm sure you'll forgive me, under the circumstances." + +"I forgive you, Victor," replied the girl, carelessly. "But don't +be too long." + +"No, don't," added her father. "I promised Mrs. Colton that I +should not be away more than an hour. She's very nervous to-night +and I may be sent for any time. So don't keep us waiting." + +"No fear of that. I'll be back long before you are ready to go. I +wouldn't miss this--er--affair myself for something. Ah, our +combination friend, the undertaking postmaster." + +Sim's hat was in his hand and he was greeting Mr. Colton. + +"Proud to see you amongst us, sir," said Sim, with unction. "The +Methodist folks are havin' quite a time to-night, ain't they?" + +"How d'ye do, Eldredge," was the great man's salutation, not at all +effusive. "Where does all this crowd come from? Didn't know there +were so many people in the neighborhood." + +"'Most everybody's out to-night. Church'll make consider'ble +money. Good evenin', Miss Colton. Mr. Carver, pleased to meet you +again, sir." + +The young lady merely nodded. Victor, whose foot was on the step +of the car, did not deign to turn. + +"Thanks," he drawled. "I am--er--embalmed, I'm sure. All ready, +Phil. Let her go, Oscar." + +The auto moved off. Mr. Colton gave his arm to his daughter and +they moved through the crowd, Eldredge acting as master of +ceremonies. + +"It's all right, Elnathan," ordered Sim, addressing the gate- +keeper. "Don't bother Mr. Colton about the admission now. I'll +settle with you, myself, later. Now, Mr. Colton, you and the lady +come right along with me. Ain't met the minister yet, have you? +He said you wan't to home when he called. And you let me get you +some strawberries. They're fust-rate, if I do say it." + +He led the way toward the tables. I watched the progress from +where I stood. It was interesting to see how the visitors were +treated by the different groups. Some, like Sim, were gushing and +obsequious. A few, Captain Jed among them, walked stubbornly by, +either nodding coldly or paying no attention. Others, like George +Taylor and Doctor Quimby, were neither obsequious nor cold, merely +bowing pleasantly and saying, "Good evening," as though greeting +acquaintances and equals. Yes, there WERE good people in Denboro, +quiet, unassuming, self-respecting citizens. + +One of them came up to me and spoke. + +"Hello, Ros," said Captain Elisha Warren, "Sim's havin' the time of +his life, isn't he?" + +"He seems to be," I replied. + +"Yes. Well, there's some satisfaction in havin' a thick shell; +then you don't mind bein' stepped on. Yet, I don't know; sometimes +I think fellers of Sim's kind enjoy bein' stepped on, provided the +boot that does it is patent leather." + +"I wonder why they came here," I mused. + +"Who? the Coltons? Why, for the same reason children go to the +circus, I shouldn't wonder--to laugh at the clowns. I laugh myself +sometimes--though 'tain't always at their kind of clowns. Speakin' +of that, young Carver's in good company this evenin', ain't he?" + +"Who were those fellows in the auto?" I asked. + +"Didn't you recognize them? One was Phil Somers--son of the rich +widow who owns the big cottage at Harniss. 'Tother is a bird of +the same flock down visitin' em. Carver's takin' 'em over to +Ostable to say good-by to another specimen, a college mate, who is +migratin' to Europe tomorrow. The chauffeur told Dan, my man, +about it this afternoon. The chauffeur figgered that, knowin' the +crowd, 'twas likely to be a lively farewell. Hello! there's Abbie +hailin' me. See you later, Ros." + +I knew young Somers by reputation. He and his friends were a wild +set, if report was true. + +Eldredge had hinted that he intended arranging an interview between +Colton and myself. The prospect did not appeal to me. At first I +decided to go home at once, but something akin to Captain Dean's +resentful stubbornness came over me. I would not be driven home by +those people. I found an unoccupied camp chair--one of Sim's, +which he rented for funerals--and carried it to a dark spot in the +shrubbery near the border of the parsonage lawn and not far from +the gate. There I seated myself, lit a cigar and smoked in +solitude. + +Elnathan Mullet, evidently considering his labors as door-keeper +over, was counting his takings by lantern light. The moon was low +in the west and a little breeze was now stirring the shrubbery. It +was very warm for the season and I mentally prophesied thunder +showers before morning. + +I had smoked my cigar perhaps half through when a carriage came +down the road and stopped before the gate. The driver leaned +forward and called to Mullet. + +"Hi, Uncle!" he shouted. "You, by the gate! Is Mr. Colton here?" + +Elnathan, who was, apparently, half asleep, looked up. + +"Hey?" he queried. "Mr. Colton? Yes, he's here. Want him, do +you?" + +"Yes. Where is he?" + +"Up yonder somewheres. There he is, by Sarah Burgess's table. Mr. +Colton! Mr. Col--ton! Somebody wants ye!" + +"What in blazes did you yell like that for?" protested the +coachman, springing from the carriage. "Stop it, d'ye hear?" + +"You said you wanted him, didn't you? Mr. Colton! Hi! Come +here!" + +Colton came hurrying down to the gate, his daughter following more +slowly. + +"What's the matter?" he asked. + +The coachman touched his hat. + +"I beg your pardon, sir," he said; "this man started yelling before +I could stop him. I was coming to tell you. Mrs. Colton says +she's very nervous, sir, and please come home at once." + +Colton turned with a shrug to his daughter. "We might have +expected it, Mabel," he said. "Come." + +But the young lady seemed to hesitate. "I believe I won't go yet, +Father," she said. "Mother doesn't need both of us. Victor will +be here very soon, and we promised to wait for him, you know." + +"We can leave word. You'd better come, Mabel. Heavens and earth! +you don't want any MORE of this, do you?" + +It was evident that he had had quite enough of the festival. She +laughed lightly. + +"I'm finding it very entertaining," she said. "I never saw so many +quaint people. There is one girl, a Miss Dean, whom I am really +getting acquainted with. She's as country as can be, but she's +very interesting." + +"Humph! she must be. Dean, hey? Daughter of my particular friend, +the ancient mariner, I suppose. I don't like to leave you here. +What shall I tell your mother?" + +"Tell her I am quite safe and in perfectly respectable company." + +"Humph! I can imagine how respectable she'll think it is. Well, I +know it's useless to urge if you have made up your mind. I don't +see where you get your stubbornness from." + +"Don't you? I can guess." + +"It isn't from your dad. Now do be careful, won't you? If Victor +doesn't come soon I shall send the carriage." + +"Oh, he will come. It's all right, Father, dear. I am quite able +to take care of myself." + +Her father shook his head. "Yes," he observed, "I guess you are. +All right, Jenkins." + +He got into the carriage and was driven off. Miss Colton turned +and walked back to the tables. I relit my cigar. + +Another half-hour passed. + +Mullet finished his counting, took up his money box and lantern and +left the gate unguarded. Groups of home-going people began to come +down the hill. Horses, which had been standing under the church +sheds or hitched in neighboring yards, appeared and the various +buggies and two-seaters to which they were attached were filled and +driven away. Captain Warren and Miss Abbie Baker, his housekeeper, +were among the first to leave. Abijah Hammond, the sexton, began +taking down the lanterns. The strawberry festival was almost over. + +I rose from my camp chair and prepared to start for home. As I +stepped from behind the shrubbery the moonlight suddenly went out, +as if it had been turned off like a gas jet. Except for the few +remaining lanterns and the gleams from the church windows and door +the darkness was complete. I looked at the western sky. It was +black, and low down along the horizon flashes of lightning were +playing. My prophecy of showers was to be fulfilled. + +The ladies of the Methodist Society, assisted by their husbands and +male friends, were hurrying the tables and chairs indoors. I +picked up and folded the chair I had been occupying and joined the +busy group. It was so dark that faces were almost invisible, but I +recognized Sim Eldredge by his voice, and George Taylor and I +bumped into each other as we seized the same table. + +"Hello, Ros!" exclaimed the cashier. "Thought you'd gone. Going +to have a tempest, ain't we." + +"Tempest" is Cape Cod for thunderstorm. I agreed that one was +imminent. + +"Hold on till I get this stuff into the vestry," continued Taylor, +"and I'll drive you home. I'll be ready pretty soon." + +I declined the invitation. "I'll walk," I answered. "You have +Nellie to look after. If you have a spare umbrella I'll borrow +that. Where is Nellie?" + +"Oh, she's over yonder with Miss Colton. They have been making +each other's acquaintance. Say, Ros, she's a good deal of a girl, +that Colton one, did you know it?" + +I did not answer. + +"Oh, I know you're down on the whole lot of 'em," he added, +laughing; "but she is, just the same. Kind of top-lofty and +condescending, but that's the fault of her bringing-up. She's all +right underneath. Too good for that Carver cub. By the way, if he +doesn't come pretty soon I'll phone her pa to send the carriage for +her. If I was Colton I wouldn't put much confidence in Carver's +showing up in a hurry. You saw the gang he was with, didn't you? +They don't get home till morning, till daylight doth appear, as a +usual thing. Hello! that's the carriage now, ain't it? Guess papa +wasn't taking any chances." + +Sure enough, there were the lights of a carriage at the gate, and I +heard the voice of Jenkins, the coachman, shouting. Nellie Dean +called Taylor's name and he hurried away. A few moments later he +returned. + +"She's off, safe and sound," he said. "I judged she wasn't any too +well pleased with her Victor for not showing up to look out for +her." + +A sharp flash of lightning cut the sky and a rattling peal of +thunder followed. + +"Right on top of us, ain't it!" exclaimed George. "Sure you don't +want me to drive you home? All right; just as you say. Hold on +till I get you that umbrella." + +He borrowed an umbrella from the parsonage. I took it, thanked +him, and hastened out of the church grounds. I looked up the road +as I passed through the gate. I could have seen an auto's lamps +for a long distance, but there were none in sight. With a +malicious chuckle I thought that my particular friend Victor was +not taking the surest way of making himself popular with his +fiancee, if that was what she was. + +The storm overtook me before I was half-way down the Lower Road. A +few drops of rain splashed the leaves. A lightning stroke so near +and sharp that I fancied I could hear the hiss was accompanied by a +savage thunder-clap. Then came the roar of wind in the trees by +the roadside and down came the rain. I put up my umbrella and +began to run. We have few "tempests" in Denboro, those we do have +are almost worthy of the name. + +I had reached the grove of birches perhaps two hundred yards from +the Shore Lane when out of the wet darkness before me came plunging +a horse drawing a covered carriage. I had sprung to one side to +let it go by when I heard a man's voice shouting, "Whoa!" The +voice did not come from the carriage but from the road behind it. + +"Whoa! Stop him!" it shouted. + +I jumped back into the road. The horse saw me appear directly in +front of him, shied and reared. The carriage lamps were lighted +and by their light I saw the reins dragging. I seized them and +held on. It was all involuntary. I was used to horses and this +one was frightened, that was all. + +"Whoa, boy!" I ordered. "Whoa! Stand still!" + +The horse had no intention of standing still. + +He continued to rear and plunge. I, clinging to the reins, found +myself running alongside. I had to run to avoid the wheels. But I +ran as slowly as I could, and my one hundred and ninety pounds made +running, on the animal's part, a much less easy exercise. + +The voice from the rear continued to shout and, in another moment, +a man seized the reins beside me. Together we managed to pull the +horse into a walk. Then the man, whom I recognized as the Colton +coachman, vented his feelings in a comprehensive burst of +profanity. I interrupted the service. + +"What is the matter?" I asked. + +"Oh, this blessed--"or words to that effect--"horse is scared of +thunder; that's all. He's a new one; we just bought him before we +came down here and I hadn't learned his little tricks. Whoa! stand +still, or I'll break your dumb neck! Say," turning to me, "go +back, will you, and see if she's all right." + +"Who?" + +"Miss Colton--the old man's daughter. She got out when he began to +dance and I was holding him by the bridle. Then came that big +flash and he broke loose. Go back and see to her, will you? I +can't leave this horse." + +For just a moment I hesitated. I am ashamed of my hesitation now, +but this is supposed to be a truthful chronicle. Then I went back +down the road. By another flash of lightning I saw the minister's +umbrella upside down in the bushes where I had dropped it, and I +took it with me. I was about as wet as I well could be but I am +glad to say I remembered that the umbrella was a borrowed one. + +After I had walked, or stumbled, or waded a little way I stopped +and called. + +"Miss Colton," I called. "Where are you?" + +"Here," came the answer from just ahead. "Is that you, Jenkins?" + +I did not reply until I reached her side. + +"You are not hurt?" I asked. + +"No, not at all. But who is it?" + +"I am--er--your neighbor. Paine is my name." + +"Oh!" the tone was not enthusiastic. "Where is Jenkins?" + +"He is attending to the horse. Pardon me, Miss Colton, but won't +you take this umbrella?" + +This seemed to strike her as a trifle absurd. "Why, thank you," +she said, "but I am afraid an umbrella would be useless in this +storm. Is the horse all right?" + +"Yes, though he is very much frightened. I--" + +I was interrupted by another flash and terrific report from +directly overhead. The young lady came closer to me. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed. + +I had an idea. The flash had made our surroundings as light as day +for an instant and across the road I saw Sylvanus Snow's old house, +untenanted, abandoned and falling to decay. I took Miss Colton's +arm. + +"Come!" I said. + +She hung back. "Where are you going?" she asked. + +"Just across the road to that old house. On the porch we shall be +out of the rain." + +She made no further objections and together we stumbled through the +wet grass and over Sylvanus's weed-grown flower beds. I presume I +shall never again smell the spicy fragrance of "old maids' pinks" +without thinking of that night. + +I found the edge of the piazza by the direct process of barking my +shins against it, and helped her up on to the creaking boards. My +sanguine statement that we should be out of the rain proved not +quite true. There was a roof above us, but it leaked. I unfurled +the wet umbrella and held it over her head. + +For some moments after we reached the piazza neither of us spoke. +The roar of the rain on the shingles of the porch and the splash +and gurgle all about us would have made conversation difficult, +even if we had wished to talk. I, for one, did not. At last she +said: + +"Do you see or hear anything of Jenkins?" + +I listened, or tried to. I was wondering myself what had become of +the coachman. + +"No," I answered, "I don't hear him." + +"Where do you suppose he is? He could not have been far away when +you met him." + +"He was not. And I know he intended to come back at once." + +"You don't suppose Caesar--the horse--ran away again? When that +second crack came?" + +I was wondering that very thing. That particular thunder clap was +louder and more terrifying than those preceding it. However, there +was no use in alarming her. + +"I guess not," I answered. "He'll be here soon, I am sure." + +But he did not come. The storm seemed to be passing over. The +flashes were just as frequent, but there was a longer interval +between each flash and its thunder peal. The rain was still a +steady downpour. + +Miss Colton was plainly growing more anxious. + +"Where can he be?" she murmured. + +"Don't be frightened," I urged. "He is all right. I'll go and +look him up, if you don't mind being left alone." + +"Can't--can't we go together?" + +"We could, of course, but there is no use in your getting wetter +than you are. If you are willing to stay here I will run up the +road and see if I can find him." + +"Thank you. But you will get wet yourself." + +"Oh, I am wet already. Take the umbrella. I'll be back in a +minute." + +I pressed the handle of the umbrella into her hand--it was as +steady as mine--and darted out into the flood. I think she called +me to come back, but I did not obey. I ran up the road until I was +some distance beyond the point where I had stopped the runaway, but +there were no signs of horse, carriage or coachman. I called +repeatedly, but got no reply. Then, reluctantly, I gave it up and +returned to the porch. + +She gave a little gasp of relief when I reached her side. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed, "did you find him?" + +"No," I answered. "He seems to have gone on. He cannot have gone +far. It is only a little way to the Corners." + +"Is--isn't there a house, a house with people living in it, near +this place?" + +"No nearer than your house, Miss Colton. We seem to have chosen +the most forsaken spot in Denboro to be cast away in. I am very +sorry." + +"I am not frightened for myself. But I know my father and mother +will be alarmed if I don't come soon. I am sure Caesar must have +run away again, and I am afraid Jenkins must be hurt." + +I had thought of that, too. Only an accident could explain the +coachman's non-appearance or, at least, his not sending help to his +mistress. + +"If you are really not afraid to remain here, Miss Colton," I said, +"I will go to your house myself." + +"Oh no! Some one will come soon. I can't understand where Victor-- +Mr. Carver--can be. He was to have joined me at the church." + +I did not answer. Knowing Mr. Carver's associates and the errand +upon which he had gone, I imagined I could guess the cause of his +delay. But I did not speak my guess. + +"The storm is not as severe just now," I said. "I can get to your +house in a little while, if you are willing I should leave you." + +She put her hand on my arm. "Come," she said. "Shall we start +now?" + +"But you must not go. You couldn't get there on foot, such a night +as this." + +"Yes, I can. I mean to. Please come." + +I still hesitated. She took her hand from my arm and stepped out +into the rain. "Are you coming?" she said. + +I joined her, still protesting. We splashed on through the mud and +water, she clinging lightly to my arm and I holding the perfectly +useless umbrella over her head. The rain was descending steadily +and the sky overhead was just black, but along the western horizon, +as I caught a glimpse of it between the trees, I fancied the +blackness was a little less opaque. The storm was passing over, +sure enough. + +But before it passed it gave us one goodby salute. We had about +reached the point on the Shore Lane where I first met her and +Carver in the auto. The shaky bridge over Mullet's cranberry brook +was just ahead. Then, without warning, the black night split wide +open, a jagged streak of fire shot from heaven to earth and seemed +to explode almost in our faces. I was almost knocked off my feet +and my fingers tingled as if I had been holding the handles of an +electric battery. The umbrella flew out of my hands and, so far as +I was concerned, vanished utterly. I believe Elnathan picked up +the ruin next day, but just then I neither knew nor cared what had +become of it. I had other things to think of. + +But for a moment I could not think at all. I was conscious of a +great crashing and rustling and splintering directly in front of me +and then I realized that the young lady was no longer clinging to +my arm. I looked about and up through the darkness. Then down. +She was lying at my feet. + +I bent over her. + +"Miss Colton!" I cried. "Miss Colton! Are you hurt?" + +She neither answered nor moved. My brain was still numb from the +electric shock and I had a dazed fear that she might be dead. I +shook her gently and she moaned. I spoke again and again, but she +did not answer, nor try to rise. The rain was pouring down upon us +and I knew she must not lie there. So once more, just as I had +done in the dingy, but now under quite different circumstances and +with entirely different feelings, I stooped and lifted her in my +arms. + +My years of outdoor life in Denboro had had one good effect at +least; they had made me strong. I carried her with little effort +to the bridge. And there I stopped. The bridge was blocked, +covered with a mass of wet leafy branches and splintered wood. The +lightning bolt had missed us by just that much. It had overthrown +and demolished the big willow tree by the brook and to get through +or over the tangle was impossible. + +So again history repeated itself. I descended the bank at the side +of the bridge and waded through the waters with Mabel Colton in my +arms. I staggered up the opposite bank and hurried on. She lay +quiet, her head against my shoulder. Her hat had fallen off and a +wet, fragrant strand of her hair brushed my cheek. Once I stopped +and bent my head to listen, to make sure that she was breathing. +She was, I felt her breath upon my face. Afterwards I remembered +all this; just then I was merely thankful that she was alive. + +I had gone but a little way further when she stirred in my arms and +spoke. + +"What is it?" she asked. "What is the matter?" + +"Nothing," I answered, with a sigh of relief. "It is all right. +We shall be there soon." + +"But what is the matter? Why are you--let me walk, please." + +"You had better stay as you are. You are almost home." + +"But why are you carrying me? What is the matter?" + +"You--you fainted, I think. The lightning--" + +"Oh yes, I remember. Did I faint? How ridiculous! Please let me +walk now. I am all right. Really I am." + +"But I think--" + +"Please. I insist." + +I set her gently on her feet. She staggered a little, but she was +plucky and, after a moment, was able to stand and walk, though +slowly. + +"You are sure you can manage it?" I asked. + +"Of course! But why did I faint? I never did such a thing before +in my life." + +"That flash was close to us. It struck the big willow by the +brook." + +"Did it! As near as that?" + +"Yes. Don't try to talk." + +"But I am all right . . . I am not hurt at all. Are we almost +home?" + +"Yes. Those are the lights of your house ahead there." + +We moved on more rapidly. As we turned in at the Colton walk she +said, "Why; it has stopped raining." + +It had, though I had not noticed it. The flash which smashed the +willow had been the accompaniment of what Lute would call the +"clearing-up shower." The storm was really over. + +We stepped up on the portico of the big house and I rang the bell. +The butler opened the door. His face, as he saw the pair of +dripping, bedraggled outcasts before him, was worth looking at. He +was shocked out of his dignity. + +"Why! Why, Miss Mabel!" he stammered, with almost human agitation. +"What--" + +A voice, a petulant female voice, called from the head of the +stairs. + +"Johnson," it quavered, "who is it? Mabel, is that you?" + +The library door flew open and Mr. Colton himself appeared. + +"Eh? What?" he exclaimed. "By George! Mabel, where have you +been? I have been raising heaven and earth to locate you. The +'phone seems to be out of order and-- Great Scott, girl! you're +wet through. Jenkins, what--? Hey? Why, it isn't Jenkins!" + +The fact that his daughter's escort was not the coachman had just +dawned upon him. He stared at me in irate bewilderment. Before he +could ask a question or his daughter could speak or explain there +came a little shriek from the stairs, a rustle of silken skirts, +and a plump, white-faced woman in an elaborate house gown rushed +across the hall with both white arms outstretched. + +"Mabel!" she cried, "where HAVE you been. You poor child! I have +been almost beside myself, and--" + +Miss Colton laughingly avoided the rush. "Take care, Mother," she +warned. "I am very wet." + +"Wet? Why! you're absolutely drenched! Jenkins-- Mabel, where is +Jenkins? And who is this--er--person?" + +I thought it quite time for me to withdraw. + +"Good night, Miss Colton," I said, and stepped toward the door. +But "Big Jim" roared my name. + +"It's that--it's Paine!" he exclaimed. "Here! what does this mean, +anyway?" + +I think his daughter was about to explain, when there came another +interruption. From the driveway sounded the blare of an auto horn. +Johnson threw open the door just as the big car whirled up to the +porch. + +"Here we are!" laughed Carver, emerging from behind the drawn +curtains of the machine. "Home again from a foreign shore. Come +in, fellows, and have a drink. We've had water enough for one +night. Come in." + +He stumbled as he crossed the sill, recovered his balance, laughed, +and then all at once seemed to become aware of the group in the +hall. He looked about him, swaying a little as he did so. + +"Ah, Mabel!" he exclaimed, genially. "Got here first, didn't you? +Sorry I was late, but it was all old Parker's fault. Wouldn't let +us say goodby. But we came some when we did come. The bridge is +down and we made Oscar run her right through the water. Great ex- +experience. Hello! Why, what's matter? Who's this? What? it's +Reuben, isn't it! Mabel, what on earth--" + +She paid no attention to him. I was at the door when she overtook +me. + +"Mr. Paine," she said, "I am very grateful for your kindness. Both +for what you have done tonight and for your help the other +afternoon. Thank you." + +She held out her hand. I took it, scarcely knowing that I did so. + +"Thank you," she said, again. I murmured something or other and +went out. As I stepped from the porch I heard Victor's voice. + +"Well, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "Mabel!" + +I looked back. He was standing by the door. She went past him +without replying or even looking at him. From the automobile I +heard smothered chuckles and exclamations. The butler closed the +door. + +I walked home as fast as I could. Dorinda was waiting up for me. +What she said when she saw the ruin of my Sunday suit had better +not be repeated. She was still saying it when I took my lamp and +went up to bed. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +The strawberry festival and the "tempest" were, of course, the +subjects most discussed at the breakfast table next morning. Lute +monopolized the conversation, a fact for which I was thankful, for +it enabled me to dodge Dorinda's questions as to my own adventures. +I did not care to talk about the latter. My feelings concerning +them were curiously mixed. Was I glad or sorry that Fate had +chosen me to play once more the role of rescuer of a young female +in distress? That my playing of the role had altered my standing +in Mabel Colton's mind I felt reasonably sure. Her words at +parting with me rang true. She was grateful, and she had shaken +hands with me. Doubtless she would tell her father the whole story +and he, too, in common decency, would be grateful to me for helping +his daughter. But, after all, did I care for gratitude from that +family? And what form would that gratitude take? Would Colton, +like Victor Carver, offer to pay me for my services? No, hardly +that, I thought. He was a man of wide experience and, if he did +offer payment, it would be in some less crude form than a five +dollar bill. + +But I did not want payment in any form. I did not want condescension +and patronizing thanks. I did not want anything--that was it. Up +to now, the occupants of the big house and I had been enemies, open +and confessed. I had, so far as possible, kept out of their way and +hoped they would keep out of mine. But now the situation was more +complicated. I did not know what to expect. Of course there was no +chance of our becoming friends. The difference in social position, +as they reckoned it, made that too ridiculous to consider as a +possibility, even if I wished it, which I distinctly did not. But +something, an interview, awkward and disagreeable for both sides, or +a patronizing note of thanks, was, at the very least, certain to +follow the happenings of the previous night. I wished I had gone +home when the Coltons first came to the festival. I wished I had +not promised Taylor that I would attend that festival. I wished--I +wished a great many things. The thought of young Carver's public +snubbing before his friends was my one unmixed satisfaction. I +rather imagined that he was more uncomfortable than I was or could +be. + +Lute crowed vaingloriously over his own good judgment in leaving +for home early. + +"I don't know how 'twas," he declared. "Somethin' seemed to tell +me we was in for a turrible tempest. I was settin' talkin' with +Alvin Baker and eatin' my second sasser of berries, when--" + +"SECOND sasser?" interrupted Dorinda, sharply. "Where'd you get +money for two sassers? I gave you thirty cents when you started +for that festival. It cost you fifteen to get inside the gate, and +Matildy Dean told me the church folks was cal'latin' to charge +fifteen for a helpin' of berries and cream. And you had two +sassers, you say. Who paid for the second one?" + +Her husband swallowed half a cup of coffee before replying. Then +his reply had nothing to do with the question. + +"I don't know how 'twas," he went on. "I just had the feelin', +that's all. Sort of a present--presentuary, I guess, come over me. +I looked up at the sky and 'twas gettin' black, and then I looked +to the west-ard and I see a flash of lightnin'. 'Nothin' but heat +lightnin',' says Alvin. 'Heat lightnin' nothin'!' says I, 'I tell +you--" + +"Who paid for that second sasser of berries?" repeated his wife, +relentlessly. + +"Why now, Dorindy--" + +"Who paid for 'em? If 'twas Alvin Baker you ought to be ashamed of +yourself, spongin' on him for your vittles." + +"Alvin! Good land! did you ever know him to pay for anything he +didn't have to?" + +"Never mind what I know. Did you get trusted for 'em? How many +times have I told you--" + +"I never got trusted. I ain't that kind. And I didn't sponge 'em, +neither. I paid cash, right out of my own pocket, like a man." + +"You did! Um-hm. I want to know! Well then--MAN, where did the +cash in that pocket come from?" + +Lute squirmed. "I--I--" he stammered. + +"Where did it come from? Answer me." + +"Well--well, Dorindy, you see--when you sent me up to the store +t'other day after the brown sugar and--and number 50 spool cotton +you give me seventy-five cents. You remember you did, yourself." + +"Yes, and I remember you said there was a hole in your pocket and +you lost the change. I ain't likely to forget it, and I shouldn't +think you'd be." + +"I didn't forget. By time! my ears ain't done singin' yet. But +that shows how reckless you talk to me. I never lost that change +at all. I found it afterwards in my vest, so all your jawin' was +just for nothin'. Ros, she ought to beg my pardon, hadn't she? +Hadn't she now?" + +Dorinda saved me the trouble of answering. + +"Um-hm!" she observed, dryly. "Well, I'll beg my own pardon +instead, for bein' so dumb as not to go through your vest myself. +So THAT'S where the other fifteen cents come from! I see. Well, +you march out to the woodpile and chop till I tell you to quit." + +"But, Dorindy, I've got one of my dyspepsy spells. I don't feel +real good this mornin'. I told you I didn't." + +"Folks that make pigs of themselves on stolen berries hadn't ought +to feel good. Exercise is fine for dyspepsy. You march." + +Lute marched, and I marched with him as far as the back yard. +There I left him, groaning before the woodpile, and went down to +the boat house. + +The Comfort's overhauling was complete and I had launched her the +week before. Now she lay anchored at the edge of the channel. For +the want of something more important to do I took down my shot gun +and began to polish its already glittering barrels. + +Try as I might I could not get the memory of my adventure in the +"tempest" out of my head. I reviewed it from end to end, thinking +of many things I might have done which, in the light of what +followed, would have been better and more sensible. If, instead of +leaving the coachman, I had remained to help him with the frightened +horse, I should have been better employed. Between us we could have +subdued the animal and Miss Colton might have ridden home. I +wondered what had become of Jenkins and the horse. I wondered if +the girl knew I carried her through the brook. Victor had said the +bridge was down; she must know. I wondered what she thought of the +proceeding; probably that splashing about with young ladies in my +arms was a habit of mine. + +I told myself that I did not care what she thought. I resolved to +forget the whole affair and to focus my attention upon cleaning the +gun. But I could not forget. I waded that brook a dozen times as +I sat there. I remembered every detail; how still she lay in my +arms; how white her face looked as the distant lightning flashes +revealed it to me; how her hair brushed my cheek as I bent over +her. I was using a wad of cotton waste to polish the gun barrel, +and I threw it into a corner, having the insane notion that, in +some way, the association of ideas came from that bunch of waste. +It--the waste--was grimy and anything but fragrant, as different +from the dark lock which the wind had blown against my face as +anything well could be, but the hurry with which I discarded it +proves my imbecility at that time. Confound the girl! she was a +nuisance. I wanted to forget her and her family, and the +sulphurous personage to whose care I had once consigned the head of +the family apparently took a characteristic delight in arranging +matters so that I could not. + +The shot gun was, at last, so spotless that even a pretense of +further cleaning was ridiculous. I held it level with my eye and +squinted through the barrels. + +"Don't shoot," said a voice from the doorway; "I'll come down." + +I lowered the gun, turned and looked. "Big Jim" Colton was +standing there, cigar in mouth, cap on the back of his head and +both hands in his pockets, exactly as he had appeared in that same +doorway when he and I first met. The expected had happened, part +of it at least. He had come to see me; the disagreeable interview +I had foreseen was at hand. + +He nodded and entered without waiting for an invitation. + +"Morning," he said. + +"Good morning," said I, guardedly. I wondered how he would begin +the conversation. Our previous meeting had ended almost in a +fight. We had been fighting by proxy ever since. I was prepared +for more trouble, for haughty condescension, for perfunctory +apology, for almost anything except what happened. His next remark +might have been addressed to an acquaintance upon whom he had +casually dropped in for a friendly call. + +"That's a good looking gun you've got there," he observed. "Let's +see it." + +I was too astonished to answer. "Let's look at it," he repeated, +holding out his hand. + +Mechanically I passed him the gun. He examined it as if he was +used to such things, broke it, snapped it shut, tried the locks +with his thumb and handed it back to me. + +"Anything worth shooting around here?" he asked, pulling the +armchair toward him and sitting. + +I think I did not let him see how astonished I was at his attitude. +I tried not to. + +"Why yes," I answered, "in the season. Plenty of coots, some black +duck, and quail and partridge in the woods." + +"That so! Peters, that carpenter of mine, said something of the +sort, I remember, but I wouldn't believe him under oath. I could +shoot HIM with more or less pleasure, but there seems to be no open +session for his species. Where's your launch?" + +"Out yonder." I pointed to the Comfort at her moorings. He +looked, but made no comment. I rose and put the gun in the rack. +Then I returned to my chair. He swung around in his seat and +looked at me. + +"Well," he said, grimly, but with a twinkle in his eye, "the last +time you and I chatted together you told me to go to the devil." + +This was quite true and I might have added that I was glad of it. +But what would be the use? I did not answer at all. + +"I haven't gone there yet," he continued. "Came over here instead. +Got dry yet?" + +"Dry?" + +"Yes. You were anything but dry when I saw you last night. Have +many such cloudbursts as that in these parts?" + +"Not many. No." + +"I hope not. I don't want another until I sell that horse of mine. +The chap who stuck me with him is a friend of mine. He warranted +the beast perfectly safe for an infant in arms to drive and not +afraid of anything short of an earthquake. He is a lovely liar. I +admire his qualifications in that respect, and hope to trade with +him again. He bucks the stock market occasionally." + +He smiled as he said it. There was not the slightest malice in his +tone, but, if I had been the "friend," I should have kept clear of +stocks for awhile. + +"What became of the horse?" I asked. + +"Ran away again. Jenkins had just got back into the carriage when +another one of those thunder claps started more trouble. The horse +ran four miles, more or less, and stopped only when the wheels got +jammed between two trees. I paid nine hundred dollars for that +carriage." + +"And the coachman?" + +"Oh, he lit on his head, fortunately, and wasn't hurt. Spent half +the night trying to find a phone not out of commission but failed. +Got home about four o'clock, leading the horse. Paine--" + +"Yes?" + +"Of course you know what I've come here for. I'm much obliged to +you." + +"That's all right. You're welcome." + +"Maybe I am, but I am obliged, just the same. Not only for the +help you gave Mabel--my daughter--last night, but for that business +in the bay the other afternoon." + +So she had told him the whole story. Remembering her last words, +as I left her in the hall, I had rather imagined she would. + +"That didn't amount to anything," I said, shortly. + +"Why, yes, it did. It might have amounted to a whole lot. I asked +Peters some questions about the tides out here and, from what he +said, I judge that being stuck on the shoals in a squall might not +be altogether a joke. Mabel says you handled the affair mighty +well." + +I did not answer. He chuckled. + +"How did young Carver enjoy playing second fiddle?" he asked. +"From what I've seen of him he generally expects to lead the band. +Happy, was he?" + +I remained silent. He smiled broadly. + +"He isn't any too happy this morning," he went on. "That young man +won't do. I never quoted him within twenty points of par, but +Mabel seemed to like him and her mother thought he was the real +thing. Mrs. C. couldn't forget that his family is one of the +oldest on the list. Personally I don't gamble much on families; +know a little about my own and that little is enough. But women +are different. However, family or not, he won't do. I should tell +him so myself, but I guess Mabel will save me the trouble. She's +got a surprising amount of common-sense, considering that she's an +only child--and who her parents are. By the way, Paine, what did +Carver say when you put him ashore?" + +"He--he said--oh, nothing of importance." + +"Yes, I know that. I listened to his explanations last night. But +did he say anything?" + +"Why, he offered to pay me for my work." + +"Did he? How much?" + +"I did not wait to find out." + +"And you haven't heard from him since?" + +I hesitated. + +"Have you?" he repeated. + +"Well, I--I received a note from him next day." + +"Humph! Offering apologies?" + +"No." + +"Sent you money, didn't he?" + +I looked at him in surprise. "Did he tell you?" I asked. + +"No, nobody told me. I'm only trying to find out whether or not I +have lost all my judgment of human nature since I struck this sand +heap. He did send you money then. How much?" + +"Mr. Colton, I--" + +"Come now! How much?" + +"Well--he sent me five dollars." + +"No! he didn't!" + +"I am telling you the truth." + +"Yes," slowly, "I know you are. I've got that much judgment left. +Sent you five dollars, did he. And you sent it back." + +"Yes." + +"Any message with it?" + +I was tired of being catechized. I had not meant to tell him +anything. Now I decided to tell him all. If it angered him, so +much the better. + +"I sent him word that what I saved wasn't worth the money." + +To my amazement he was not angry. Instead he slapped his knee and +laughed aloud. + +"Ho! ho!" he shouted. "Humph! Well, that was. . . . I'd like to +have seen his face when he got that message. No, that young man +won't do. He won't do at all." + +It was not for me to dispute this conclusion, even if I had +disagreed with him, which I did not. I said nothing. He rubbed +his knee for a moment and then changed the subject. + +"How did you happen to be on the Lower Road at that time of the +night?" he asked. "I'm mighty glad you were there, of course, but +where did you come from?" + +"I left the festival rather late and--" + +"Festival? Oh, that thing up at the church. I didn't see you +there." + +I had taken pains that he should not see me. + +"Do you mean to tell me," he continued, "that you enjoy a thing +like that? What in blazes made Mabel want to go I don't see! She +and Carver were set on going; and it would be the treat of a +lifetime, or words to that effect. I can't see it myself. Of all +the wooden headed jays I ever laid eyes on this town holds the +finest collection. Narrow and stubborn and blind to their own +interests!" + +This was more like what I expected from him and I resented it. It +may seem odd that I, of all persons, should have taken upon myself +the defense of Denboro and its inhabitants, but that is what I did. + +"They are no more narrow and stubborn in their way than city people +are in theirs," I declared. "They resent being ordered about as if +their opinions and wishes counted for nothing, and I honor them for +it." + +"Do, hey?" + +"Yes, I do. Mr. Colton, I tell you that you are all wrong. Simply +because a man lives in the country it does not follow that he is a +blockhead. No one in Denboro is rich, as you would count riches, +but plenty of them are independent and ask no help from any one. +You can't drive them." + +"Can't I?" + +"No, you can't. And if you want favors from men here you must ask +for them, not try to bully." + +"I don't want favors. I want to be treated decently, that's all. +When I came here I intended doing things to help the town. I +should have enjoyed doing it. I told some of them so. Look at the +money I've spent. Look at the taxes I'll pay. Why, they ought to +be glad to have me here. They ought to welcome me." + +"So they would if you had not behaved as if you were what some of +them call you--'Emperor of New York'. I tell you, Mr. Colton, +you're all wrong. I know the people here." + +"So? Well, from what I've been able to learn about you, you +haven't associated with many of them. You've been playing a little +at the high and mighty yourself." + +Chickens do come home to roost. My attitude of indifference and +coldness toward my fellow citizens had been misinterpreted, as it +deserved to be. George Taylor was right when he said I had made a +mistake. + +"I have been foolish," I said, hotly, "but not for the reason you +suppose. I don't consider myself any better than the people here-- +no, nor even the equal of some of them. And, from what I have seen +of you, Mr. Colton, I don't consider you that, either." + +Even this did not make him angry. He looked at me as if I puzzled +him. + +"Say, Paine," he said, "what in the world are you doing down in a +place like this?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Just that. You upset my calculations. I thought I spotted you +and put you in the class where you belonged when you and I first +met. I can usually size up a man. You've got me guessing. What +are you doing down here? You're no Rube." + +If he intended this as a compliment I was not in the mood to accept +it as such. I should have told him that what I was or was not was +no business of his. But he went on without giving me the +opportunity. + +"You've got me guessing," he repeated. "You talk like a man. The +way you looked out for my daughter last night and the way, +according to her story, you handled her and Victor the other +afternoon was a man's job. Why are you wasting your life down +here?" + +"Mr. Colton, I don't consider--" + +"Never mind. You're right; that's your affair, of course. But I +hate to quit till I have the answer, and nobody around here seems +to have the answer to you. Ready to sell me that land yet?" + +"No." + +"Going to sell to the public-spirited bunch? Dean and the rest?" + +"No." + +"You mean that? All right--all right. Say, Paine, I admire your +nerve a good deal more than I do your judgment. You must +understand that I am going to close that fool Lane of yours some +time or other." + +"Your understanding and mine differ on that point." + +"Possibly, but they'll agree before I'm through. I am going to +close that Lane." + +"I think not." + +"I'm going to close it for two reasons. First, because it's a +condemned nuisance and ought to be closed. Second, because I make +it a point to get what I go after. I can't afford not to. It is +doing that very thing that has put me where I am." + +There was nothing to be said in answer to a statement like that. I +did not try to answer it. + +"Where you're holding down a job like mine," he continued, crossing +his knees and looking out across the bay, "you have to get what you +go after. I'm down here and I mean to stay here as long as I want +to, but I haven't let go of my job by a good deal. I've got +private wires--telegraph and telephone--in my house and I keep in +touch with things in the Street as much as I ever did. If anybody +tries to get ahead of the old man because they think he's turned +farmer they'll find out their mistake in a hurry." + +This seemed to be a soliloquy. I could not see how it applied to +me. He went on talking. + +"Sounds like bragging, doesn't it?" he said, reading my thoughts as +if I had spoken them. "It isn't. I'm just trying to show you why +I can't afford not to have my own way. If I miss a trick, big or +little, somebody else wins. When I was younger, just butting into +the game, there was another fellow trying to get hold of a lead +mine out West that I was after. He beat me to it at first. He was +a big toad in the puddle and I was a little one. But I didn't +quit. I waited round the corner. By and by I saw my chance. He +was in a hole and I had the cover to the hole. Before I let him +out I owned that mine. It cost me more than it was worth; I lost +money on it. But I had my way and he and the rest had found out +that I intended to have it. That was worth a lot more than I lost +in the mine. Now this Lane proposition is a little bit of a thing; +it's picayune; I should live right along if I didn't get it. But +because I want it, because I've made up my mind to have it, I'm +going to have it, one way or another. See?" + +I shrugged my shoulders. "This seems to me like wasting time, Mr. +Colton," I said. + +"Then your seeing is away off. Look here, Paine, I'm through +fiddling with the deal. I'm through with that undertaker +postmaster or any other go-between. I just wanted you to +understand my position; that's why I've told you all this. Now +we'll talk figures. I might go on bidding, and you'd go on saying +no, of course. But I shan't bid. I'll just say this: When you +are ready to sell--and I'll put you where you will be some day--" + +I rose. "Mr. Colton," I said, sharply, "you had better not say any +more. I'm not afraid of you, and--" + +"There! there! there! who said anything about your being afraid? +Don't get mad. I'm not--not now. This is a business matter +between friends and--" + +"Friends!" + +"Sure. Business friends. I'm talking to you as I would to any +other chap I intended to beat in a deal; there's nothing personal +about it. When I get you so you're ready to sell I'll give you +five thousand dollars for that strip of land." + +I actually staggered. I said what Lute had said to me. + +"You're crazy!" I cried. "Five thousand dollars for that land!" + +"Yes. Oh, I know what it's worth. Five hundred is for the land +itself. The other forty-five hundred is payment for the privilege +of having my own way. Want to close with me now?" + +It took me some time to answer. "No," is a short and simple word, +but I found it tremendously difficult to pronounce. Yet I did +pronounce it, I am glad to say. After all that I had said before I +would have been ashamed to do anything else. + +He did not appear surprised at my refusal. + +"All right," he said. "I'm not going to coax you. Just remember +that the offer holds good and when you get ready to accept it, sing +out. Well!" looking at his watch, "I must be going. My wife will +think I've fallen into the bay, or been murdered by the hostile +natives. Nerves are mean things to have in the house; you can take +my word for that. Good-by, Paine. Thank you again for last night +and the rest of it. Mabel will thank you herself when she sees +you, I presume." + +He was on his way to the door when I recovered presence of mind +sufficient to remember ordinary politeness. + +"Your daughter--er--Miss Colton is well?" I stammered. "No ill +effects from her wetting--and the shock?" + +"Not a bit. She's one of the kind of girls they turn out nowadays. +Athletics and all that. Her grandmother would have died probably, +after such an upset, but she's as right as I am. Oh . . . er-- +Paine, next time you go shooting let me know. Maybe I'd like to go +along. I used to be able to hit a barn door occasionally." + +He stopped long enough to bite the end from a cigar and strolled +away, smoking. I sat down in the armchair. "Five thousand +dollars!" . . . "Carver won't do." . . . "I will have the Lane +some time or other" . . . "Five thousand dollars!" . . . "Next +time you go shooting." . . . "Friends!" . . . "Five thousand +dollars!" + +Oh, this was a nightmare! I must wake up before it got any worse. + + + +CHAPTER X + + +Mother was the only one to whom I told the whole story of my +experience in the "tempest" and of Colton's call. She and I had a +long talk. She was as surprised to hear of the five thousand +dollar offer as I had been, but that I had refused it did not +surprise her. She seemed to take my refusal as a matter of course, +whereas I was more and more doubtful of my sanity at the time. I +knew well enough what the opinion of others would be concerning +that sanity and I wondered whether or not they might be right. In +fact, I rather resented her calm certainty. + +"Mother," said I, "you speak as if the offer had been five cents +instead of five thousand dollars." + +"What difference does it make, Boy?" she asked. "If it had been +only a matter of price you would have sold for six hundred and +fifty. That is a good deal more than the land is worth, isn't it." + +"I suppose so. But five thousand is a small fortune to us. I am +not sure that we have the right to refuse it." + +"Roscoe, if you were alone in this matter--if I were not here to be +considered at all--would you have sold the land, no matter what he +offered?" + +"I don't know, Mother. I think, perhaps, I should." + +"I know you would not. And I know the only reason you feel the +refusal may be wrong is because you are thinking what the money +might do for me. Do you suppose I will permit you to sacrifice a +principle you know is right simply that I may have a few more +luxuries which I don't need?" + +"But you do need them. Why, there are so many things you need." + +"No, I don't need one. So long as I have you I am perfectly happy. +And it would not make me more happy to know that you accepted a +bribe--that is what it is, a bribe--because of me. No, Boy, you +did exactly right and I am proud of you." + +"I am not particularly proud of myself." + +"You should be. Can't you see how differently Mr. Colton regards +you already? He does not condescend or patronize now." + +"Humph! he is grateful because I helped his daughter out of a +scrape, that's all." + +"It is more than that. He respects you because you are what he +called you, a man. I fancy it is a new experience to him to find +some one, down here at any rate, to whom his millions make +absolutely no difference." + +"I am glad of it. It may do him good." + +"Yes, I think it will. And what you told him about the townspeople +may do him good, too. He will find, as you and I have found, that +there are no kinder, better people anywhere. You remember I warned +you against misjudging the Coltons, Roscoe. They, too, I am sure, +are good people at heart, in spite of their wealth." + +"Mother, you are too charitable for this earth--too unworldly +altogether." + +"Haven't you and I reason to be charitable? There! there! let us +forget the land and the money. Roscoe, I should like to meet this +Miss Colton. She must be a brave girl." + +"She is brave enough." + +"I suppose poor Mr. Carver is in disgrace. Perhaps it was not his +fault altogether." + +This was a trifle too much. I refused to be charitable to Victor. + +I heard from him, or of him, next day. I met Captain Jed Dean at +the bank, where I had called to see Taylor and inquire concerning +how he and Nellie got home from the festival. They had had a damp, +though safe, journey, I learned, and the Methodist ladies had +cleared seventy-four dollars and eighty-five cents from the +entertainment. + +Captain Jed entered the door as I left the cashier's gate. + +"Ship ahoy, Ros!" hailed the captain, genially. "Make port safe +and sound after the flood? I'd have swapped my horse and buggy for +Noah's Ark that night and wouldn't have asked any boot neither. +Did you see Mullet's bridge? Elnathan says he cal'lates he's got +willow kindlin' enough to last him all summer. Ready split too-- +the lightnin' attended to that. Lute Rogers don't talk about +nothin' else. I cal'late he wishes lightnin' would strike your +woodpile; then he'd be saved consider'ble labor, hey?" + +He laughed and I laughed with him. + +"I understood Princess Colton was out in the wust of it," went on +Captain Jed. "Did you hear how her horse ran away?" + +"Yes," I answered, shortly; "I heard about it." + +"Never stopped till it got half way to West Bayport. The coachman +hangin' onto the reins and swearin' at the top of his lungs all the +time. 'Bije Ellis, who lives up that way, says the road smells +like a match factory even yet--so much brimstone in the air. The +girl got home somehow or other, they tell me. I cal'late her fine +duds got their never-get-over. Nellie says the hat she was wearin' +come from Paris, or some such foreign place. Well, the rain falls +on the just and unjust, so scriptur tells us, and it's true enough. +Only the unjust in this case can afford new hats better'n the just, +a consider'ble sight. Denboro's lost a promisin' new citizen; did +you know it?" + +"Whom do you mean?" + +"Hadn't you heard? That young Carver feller shook the dust--the +mud, I mean--of our roads off his shoes this mornin'. He went away +on the up train." + +Here was news. "The up train?" I repeated. "You mean he has gone +for good?" + +"I should call it for good, for our good, anyhow. Yes, he's gone. +Went to the depot in Colton's automobile. His majesty went with +him fur's the platform. The gang that saw the proceedin's said the +good-bys wan't affectin'. Colton didn't shed any tears and young +Carver seemed to be pretty down at the mouth." + +"But what makes you think he has gone for good?" I asked. + +"Why, Alvin Baker was there, same as he usually is, and he managed +to be nigh enough to hear the last words--if there had been any." + +"And there were not?" + +"Nothin' to amount to much. Nothin' about comin' back, anyhow. +Colton said somethin' about bein' remembered to the young feller's +ma, and Carver said, 'Thanks,' and that was all. Alvin said 'twas +pretty chilly. They've got it all figgered out at the post-office; +you see, Carver was to come back to the meetin' house and pick up +his princess, and he never come. She started without him and got +run away with. Some of the folks paddlin' home from the festival +saw the auto go by and heard the crowd inside singin' and laughin' +and hollerin'. Nobody's goin' to sing a night like that unless +they've got cargo enough below decks to make 'em forget the wet +outside. And Beriah Doane was over to Ostable yesterday and he +says it's town talk there that young Parker--the boy the auto crowd +was sayin' good-by to at the hotel--had to be helped up to his +room. No, I guess likely the Colton girl objected to her feller's +gettin' tight and forgettin' her, so he and she had a row and her +dad, the emperor, give him his discharge papers. Sounds reasonable; +don't you think so, yourself?" + +I imagined that the surmise was close to the truth. I nodded and +turned away. I did not like Carver, I detested him, but somehow I +no longer felt triumph at his discomfiture. I wondered if he +really cared for the girl he had lost. It was difficult to think +of him as really caring for any one except himself, but if I had +been in his place and had, through my own foolishness, thrown away +the respect and friendship of such a girl. . . . Yes, I was +beginning to feel a little of Mother's charity for the young idiot, +now that he could no longer insult and patronize me. + +Captain Jed followed me to the bank door. + +"Say, Ros," he said, "changed your mind about sellin' that Lane +land yet?" + +"No," I answered, impatiently. "There's no use talking about that, +Captain Dean." + +"All right, all right. Humph! the fellers are gettin' consider'ble +fun out of that Lane." + +"In what way?" + +He laughed. "Oh, nothin'," he observed, with a wink, "only. . . . +Heard any extry hurrahin' over to your place lately?" + +"No. Captain, what do you mean?" + +"I don't mean nothin'. But I shouldn't wonder if the Great +Panjandrum and his folks was reminded that that Lane was still +open, that's all. Ho! ho! So long, Ros." + +I did not catch his meaning at the time. A few days later I +discovered it by accident. I had been up to the village and was on +my way home by the short cut. As I crossed the field behind +Sylvanus Snow's abandoned house, the spot where Miss Colton and I +had waited on the porch the night of the thunder shower, I heard +the rattle of a cart going down the Lane. There was nothing +unusual in this, of itself, but with it I heard the sound of loud +voices. One of these voices was so loud that I caught the words: + +"Now, boys, start her up! Three cheers for the Star Spangled +Banner and make 'em loud. Let her go!" + +The cheers followed, uproarious ones. + +"Try it again," commanded the voice. "And keep her up all the way +along. We'll shake up the 'nerves' I guess. Hooray!" + +This was enough. I understood now what Dean had meant by the +Coltons realizing that the Lane was still open. I ran at full +speed through the scrub and bushes, through the grove, and emerged +upon the Lane directly opposite the Colton estate. The wagon--Zeb +Kendrick's weir cart--was approaching. Zeb was driving and behind +him in the body of the cart were four or five young fellows whom I +recognized as belonging to the "billiard room gang," an unorganized +society whose members worked only occasionally but were responsible +for most of the mischief and disorder in our village. Tim Hallet, +a sort of leader in that society, with the reputation of having +been expelled from school three times and never keeping a job +longer than a fortnight, was on the seat beside Kendrick, his back +to the horse. Zeb was grinning broadly. + +The wagon came nearer, the horse barely moving. Tim Hallet waved +his arm. + +"Now, boys," he shouted, "let's have some music." + + "'Everybody works but father, + And he sets around all day.'-- + +Whoop her up!" + +They whooped her up. I stepped out into the road. + +"Here!" I shouted. "Stop that! Stop it, do you hear! Kendrick, +what is all this?" + +The song stopped in the middle of the verse. Zeb jerked the reins +and shouted "Whoa!" Hallet and his chorus turned. They had been +gazing at the big house, but now they turned and looked at me. + +"Hello, Ros!" said Kendrick, still grinning, but rather sheepishly. +"How be you? Got quite a band aboard, ain't I." + +"Hello!" cried Hallet. "It's Ros himself! Ros, you're all RIGHT! +Hi, boys! let's give three cheers for the feller that don't toady +to nobody--millionaires nor nobody else--hooray for Ros Paine!" + +The cheering that followed was not quite as loud as the previous +outburst--some of the "gang" may have noticed my attitude and +expression--but it was loud enough. Involuntarily I glanced toward +the Colton mansion. I saw no one at the windows or on the veranda, +and I was thankful for that. The blood rushed to my face. I was +so angry that, for the moment, I could not speak. + +Tim Hallet appeared to consider my silence and my crimson cheeks as +acknowledgments of the compliment just paid me. + +"Cal'late they heard that over yonder," he crowed. "Don't you +think so, Ros. We've showed 'em what we think of you; now let's +give our opinion of them. Three groans for old Colton! Come on!" + +Even Zeb seemed to consider this as going too far, for he +protested. + +"Hold on, Tim!" he cautioned. "A joke's a joke, but that's a +little too much; ain't it, Ros." + +"Too much be darned!" scoffed Hallet. "We'll show 'em! Now, +boys!" + +The groans were not given. I sprang into the road, seized the +horse by the bridle and backed the wagon into the bank. Tim, +insecurely balanced, fell off the seat and joined his comrades on +the cart floor. + +"Hi!" shouted the startled driver. "What you doin', Ros? What's +that for?" + +"You go back where you come from," I ordered. "Turn around. Get +out of here!" + +I saved him the trouble by completing the turn. When I dropped the +bridle the horse's head was pointing toward the Lower Road. + +"Now get out of here!" I repeated. "Go back where you come from." + +"But--but, Ros," protested Zeb, "I don't want to go back. I'm +goin' to the shore." + +"Then you'll have to go some other way. You can't cross my +property." + +Hallet, on his knees, looked out over the seat. + +"What's the matter with you?" he asked, angrily. "Didn't you say +the town could use this Lane?" + +"Yes. Any one may use it as long as he behaves himself. When he +doesn't behave he forfeits the privilege. Kendrick, you hear me! +Go back." + +"But I don't want to go back, Ros. If I do I'll have to go clear +round by Myrick's, two mile out of my way." + +"You should have thought of that before you brought that crowd with +you. I won't have this Lane made a public nuisance by any one. +Zeb, I'm ashamed of you." + +Zeb turned to his passengers. "There!" he whined, "I told you so, +Tim. I said you hadn't ought to act that way." + +"Aw, what are you givin' us!" sneered Hallet. "You thought 'twas +as funny as anybody, Zeb Kendrick. Look here, Ros Paine! I +thought you was down on them Coltons. We fellers are only havin' a +little fun with 'em for bein' so stuck-up and hoggish. Can't you +take a joke?" + +"Not your kind. Go back, Zeb." + +"But--but can't I use the Lane NO more?" pleaded the driver. "I +won't fetch 'em here agin." + +"We'll see about that. You can't use it this time. Now go." + +Zeb reluctantly spoke to his horse and the wagon began to move. +Hallet swore a string of oaths. + +"I'm on to you, Paine!" he yelled. "You're standin' in with 'em, +after all. You wait till I see Captain Jed." + +In three strides I was abreast the cart-tail. + +"See him then," said I. "And tell him that if any one uses this +Lane for the purpose of wilfully annoying those living near it I'll +not only forbid his using it, but I'll prosecute him for trespass. +I mean that. Stop! I advise you not to say another word." + +I did not intend to prosecute Jim, he was not worth it, but I +should have thoroughly enjoyed dragging him out of that wagon and +silencing him by primitive methods. My anger had not cooled to any +extent. He did not speak to me again, though I heard him muttering +as the cart moved off. I remained where I was until I saw it turn +into the Lower Road. Then I once more started for home. + +I was very much annoyed and disturbed. Evidently this sort of +thing had been going on for some time and I had just discovered it. +It placed me in a miserable light. When Colton had declared, as he +had in both our interviews, that the Lane was a nuisance I had +loftily denied the assertion. Now those idiots in the village were +doing their best to prove me a liar. I should have expected such +behavior from Hallet and his friends, but for Captain Dean to +tacitly approve their conduct was unexpected and provoking. Well, +I had made my position plain, at all events. But I knew that Tim +would distort my words and that the idea of my "standing in" with +the Coltons, while professing independence, would be revived. I +was destined to be detested and misunderstood by both sides. Yes, +Dorinda was right in saying that I might find sitting on the fence +uncomfortable. It was all of that. + +I entered the grove and was striding on, head down, busy with these +and similar reflections, when some one said: "Good morning, Mr. +Paine." + +I stopped short, came out of the day dream in which I had been +giving Captain Jed my opinion of his followers' behavior, looked +up, and saw Miss Colton in the path before me. + +She was dressed in white, a light, simple summer gown. Her straw +hat was simple also, expensive simplicity doubtless, but without a +trace of the horticultural exhibits with which Olinda Cahoon, our +Denboro milliner, was wont to deck the creations she prepared for +customers. Matilda Dean would have sniffed at the hat and gown; +they were not nearly as elaborate as those Nellie, her daughter, +wore on Sundays. But Matilda or Nellie at their grandest could not +have appeared as well dressed as this girl, no matter what she +wore. Just now she looked, as Lute or Dorinda might have said, "as +if she came out of a band box." + +"Good morning," she said, again. She was perfectly self-possessed. +Remembrance of our transit of Mullet's cranberry brook did not seem +to embarrass her in the least. Nellie Dean would have giggled and +blushed, but she did not. + +_I_ was embarrassed, I admit it, but I had sufficient presence of +mind to remove my hat. + +"Good morning," said I. There flashed through my mind the thought +that if she had been in that grove for any length of time she must +have overheard my lively interview with Kendrick and Tim Hallet. I +wondered if she had. + +Her next remark settled that question. + +"I suppose," she said, soberly, but with the same twinkle in her +eye which I had observed once or twice in her father's, "that I +should apologize for being here, on your property, Mr. Paine. I +judge that you don't like trespassers." + +I was more nettled at Zeb and his crowd than ever. "So you saw +that performance," I said. "I'm sorry." + +"I saw a little of it, and I'm afraid I heard the rest. I was +walking here by the bluff and I could not help seeing and hearing." + +"Humph! Well, I hope you understand, Miss Colton, that I did not +know, until just now, this sort of thing was going on." + +She smiled. "Oh, I understand that," she said. "You made that +quite plain. Even those people in the wagon understood it, I +should imagine." + +"I hope they did." + +"I did not know you could be so fierce, Mr. Paine. I had not +expected it. You almost frightened me. You were so very--well, +mild and long-suffering on the other occasions when we met." + +"I am not always so mild, Miss Colton. However, if I had known you +were within hearing I might not have been quite so emphatic." + +"Then I am glad you didn't know. I think those ruffians were +treated as they deserved." + +"Not half as they deserved. I shall watch from now on and if there +are any more attempts at annoying you or your people I shall do +more than talk." + +"Thank you. They have been troublesome--of late. I am sure we are +very much obliged to you, all of us." + +"Not at all." + +"Oh yes, we are. Not only for this, but for--all the rest. For +your help the other night especially; I want to thank you for +that." + +"It was nothing," I answered, awkwardly. + +"Nothing! You are not very complimentary, Mr. Paine." + +"I mean--that is, I--" + +"You may consider rescuing shipwrecked young ladies, afloat and +ashore, nothing--perhaps you do it so often that it is of little +consequence to you; but I am not so modest. I estimate my safety +as worth something, even if you do not." + +"I did not mean that, of course, Miss Colton. You know I did not. +I meant that--that what I did was no more than any one else would +have done under the same circumstances. You were in no danger; you +would have been safe enough even if I had not happened along. +Please don't say anything more about it." + +"Very well. But I am very glad you happened along, nevertheless. +You seem to have the faculty of happening along just at the right +time." + +This sounded like a reference to the episode in the bay, and I did +not care to discuss that. + +"You--I believe your father said you were not ill after your +experience," I observed hastily. + +"Not in the least, thank you. And you?" + +"Oh, I was all right. Rather wet, but I did not mind that. I sail +and fish a good deal, and water, fresh or salt, doesn't trouble +me." + +This was an unlucky remark, for it led directly to the subject I +was trying to avoid. + +"So I should imagine," she answered. "And that reminds me that I +owe you another debt of thanks for helping me--helping us out of +our difficulty in the boat. I am obliged to you for that also. +Even though what you saved was NOT worth five dollars." + +I looked up at her quickly. She was biting her lips and there was +a smile at the corners of her mouth. I could not answer +immediately for the life of me. I would have given something if I +had not told Colton of Victor's message and my reply. + +"Your father misrepresented my meaning, I'm afraid," I stammered. +"I was angry when I sent that message. It was not intended to +include you." + +"Thank you. Father seemed inclined to agree with your estimate-- +part of it, at least. He is very much interested in you, Mr. +Paine." + +"Yes," I answered, dryly. "I can understand that." + +Her smile broke into a ripple of laughter. + +"You are quite distinctive, in your way," she said. "You may not +be aware of it, but I have never known father to be so disturbed +and puzzled about any one as he is about you." + +"Indeed?" + +"Yes, he is, indeed." + +"I am sorry that I am the cause of so much mental strain." + +"No, you are not. From what I have learned about you, from him, I +think you enjoy it. You must. It is great fun." + +"Fun! Well, perhaps. Does your--does Mrs. Colton find it funny?" + +She hesitated. "Well," she answered, more slowly, "to be perfectly +frank--I presume that is what you want me to be--I think Mother +blames you somewhat. She is not well, Mr. Paine, and this Lane of +yours is her pet bugbear just now. She--like the rest of us-- +cannot understand why you will not sell, and, because you will not, +she is rather--rather--" + +"I see. I'm not sure that I blame her. I presume she has blamed +me for these outrageous disturbances in the Lane such as you have +just witnessed." + +She hesitated again. "Why yes," she said, more slowly still; "a +little, I think. She is not well, as I said, and she may have +thought you were, if not instigating them, at least aware of what +was going on. But I am sure father does not think so." + +"But you, Miss Colton; did you believe me responsible for them?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"Because, from what I have seen of you, you did not seem to me like +that kind of a man. You kept your temper that day in the boat, +though you had a good reason for losing it. All this," with a +gesture toward the Lane, "the shouting and noise and petty insults, +was so little and mean and common. I did not believe you would +permit it, if you knew. And, from what I have learned about you, I +was sure you would not." + +"From what you learned about me? From your father?" + +"No." + +"Then from whom, pray?" + +"From your friends. From that Mr. Taylor and Miss Dean and the +others. They spoke of you so highly, and of your mother and your +care of her. They described you as a gentleman, and no gentleman +would countenance THAT." + +I was so astonished that I blurted out my next question without +thinking. + +"You were speaking to them about ME?" I cried. + +Her manner changed. Possibly she thought I was presuming on our +chance acquaintance, or that she made a mistake in admitting even a +casual interest; I might consider that interest to be real, instead +of merely perfunctory. At any rate, I noticed a difference in her +tone. It was as if she had suddenly withdrawn behind the fence +which marked the border of our social line. + +"Oh," she said, carelessly, "I did not cross-question, of course. +Puzzles are always interesting, more or less. And a puzzle which +perplexed my father was certainly unique. So I was a trifle +curious, that's all." + +I came to earth with a thud. + +"I see," I said, curtly. "Well, I presume I should thank my +friends for the testimonials to my character. And I promise you +that you shall not be annoyed again. Good morning, Miss Colton." + +I was turning away when she spoke my name. + +"Mr. Paine," she said. + +"Yes, Miss Colton." + +"I have not explained why I was here, on your land, this morning." + +"That is all right. You are quite welcome to be here at any time." + +"Thank you. I told you I was walking by the bluff; that is true, +but it isn't the whole truth. I was trying to muster courage to +call on your mother." + +I looked at her in amazement. + +"Call on Mother!" I repeated. + +"Yes, I have heard a great deal about your mother, and nothing +except the very best. I think I should like to know her. Do you +think she would consider me presuming and intrusive if I did call?" + +"Why, Miss Colton, I--" + +"Please be frank about it, Mr. Paine. And please believe that my +call would not be from idle curiosity. I should like to know her. +Of course, if this disagreement about the land makes a difference, +if she feels resentful toward us, I will not think of such a thing. +Does she? Why do you smile? I am in earnest." + +"I did not mean to smile, Miss Colton. The idea of Mother's +feeling resentment toward any one seemed absurd to me, that was +all." + +"Then may I call on her?" + +"Certainly. That is, if--if you think it wise. If your mother--" + +"Oh, Mother has long ago given up trying to solve me. I am a +greater puzzle to her than you seem to be to everyone, Mr. Paine. +I have spoken to my father about it and he is quite willing. His +difference with you is purely a business one, as you know." + +Some of the "business" had been oddly conducted, but I did not +raise the point. I could not reason just then. That this spoiled, +city-bred daughter of "Big Jim" Colton should wish to know my +mother was beyond reasoning. + +She said good morning and we parted. I walked home, racking my +brains to find the answer to this new conundrum. It was a whim on +her part, of course, inspired by something George or Nellie had +told her. I did not know whether to resent the whim or not, +whether to be angry or indifferent. If she intended to inspect +Mother as a possible object of future charity I should be angry and +the first call would be the last. But Mother herself would settle +all questions of charity; I knew that. And the girl had not spoken +in a patronizing way. She had declared that idle curiosity had no +part in her wish. She seemed in earnest. What would Mother say +when I told her? + +Lute was just coming through the gate as I approached it. He was +in high good humor. + +"I'm goin' up street," he declared. "Anything you want me to fetch +you from the store, Ros?" + +I looked at my watch. It was only eleven o'clock. + +"Up street?" I repeated. "I thought you were slated to wash +windows this forenoon. I heard Dorinda give you your orders to +that effect. You haven't finished washing them already?" + +"No," with a broad grin, "I ain't finished 'em. Fact is, I ain't +begun 'em yet." + +"So! Does Dorinda know that you are going up street?" + +"Um-hm. She knows. Anyhow, she knows I'm goin' somewheres. She +told me to go herself." + +"She did! Why?" + +"Don't ask ME. I was all ready to wash the windows; had the bucket +pumped full and everything. But when I come into the dinin'-room +she sung out to know what I was doin' with all that water on her +clean floor. 'Why, Dorindy!' I says, 'I'm a-goin' to wash them +windows same's you told me to.' 'No, you ain't,' says she. 'But +what will I do?' says I. 'I don't care,' says she. 'Clear out of +here, that's all.' 'But where'll I clear out to?' I wanted to +know. 'I don't care!' she snaps again, savage as a settin' hen, +'so long's you clear out of my sight.' So here I be. Don't ask me +why she changed her mind: _I_ don't know. Nothin' you want to the +store?" + +"No." + +"Say, Ros, you know what I think?" + +"Far be it from me to presume to guess your thoughts, Lute." + +"Well, I think this is a strange world and the strangest thing in +it is a woman. You never can tell what they'll do ten minutes at a +stretch. I--" + +"All right, Lute. I'll hear the rest of the philosophy later." + +"Philosophy or not, it's the livin' truth. And when you're as old +as I be you'll know it." + +I went in through the dining-room, steering clear of Dorinda, who +scarcely looked up from her floor scrubbing. + +"Mother," said I, entering the darkened bedroom, "I just met the +Colton girl and what do you suppose she told me?" + +"That she was very grateful to you for coming to her rescue the +other night." + +"That, of course. But she told me something else. She said she +was coming to call on you. On YOU, Mother!" + +I don't know what answer I expected. I flung the announcement like +a bombshell and was ready for almost any sort of explosion at all. + +"Did she?" observed Mother, placidly. "I am very glad. I have no +doubt I shall like her." + +My next remark had nothing to do with Miss Colton. + +"Well, by George!" I exclaimed, with emphasis. "Lute IS a +philosopher, after all. I take off my hat to him." + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +I met Mabel Colton several times during the following week. Once, +at the place where I had met her before, in the grove by the edge +of the bluff, and again walking up the Lane in company with her +father. Once also on the Lower Road, though that could scarcely be +called a meeting, for I was afoot and she and her father and mother +were in the automobile. + +Only at the meeting in the grove were words exchanged between us. +She bowed pleasantly and commented on the wonderful view. + +"I am trespassing again, you see," she said. "Taking advantage of +your good-nature, Mr. Paine. This spot is the most attractive I +have found in Denboro." + +I observed that the view from her verandas must be almost the same. + +"Almost, but not quite," she said. "These pines shut off the inlet +below, and all the little fishing boats. One of them is yours, I +suppose. Which?" + +"That is my launch there," I replied, pointing. + +"The little white one? You built it yourself, I think Father +said." + +"He was mistaken, if he said that. I am not clever enough to build +a boat, Miss Colton. I bought the Comfort, second-hand." + +I don't know why I added the "second-hand." Probably because I had +not yet freed my mind from the bitterness--yes, and envy--which the +sight of this girl and her people always brought with it. It is +comparatively easy to be free from envy if one is what George +Taylor termed a "never-was"; for a "has been" it is harder. + +The boat's name was the only portion of my remark which attracted +her attention. + +"The Comfort?" she repeated. "That is a jolly name for a pleasure +boat." + +"It is my mother's name," I answered. + +"Is it? Why, I remember now. Miss Dean told me. I beg your +pardon, Mr. Paine. It is a pretty name, at all events." + +"Thank you." + +"I must have misunderstood Father. I was sure he said that boat +building was your business." + +"No. He saw me overhauling the engine, and perhaps that gave him +the impression that I was a builder. I told him I was not, but no +doubt he forgot. I have no business, Miss Colton." + +I think she was surprised. She glanced at me curiously and her +lips opened as if to ask another question. She did not ask it +however, and, except for a casual remark or two about the view and +the blueness of the water in the bay, she said nothing more. I +rather expected she would refer to her intention of calling on +Mother, but she did not mention the subject. I inferred that she +had thought better of her whim. + +On the other occasions when we met she merely bowed. "Big Jim" +nodded carelessly. Mrs. Colton, from her seat in the auto, nodded +also, though her majestic bow could scarcely be termed a nod. It +was more like the acknowledgment, by a queen in her chariot, of the +applauding citizen on the sidewalk. She saw me, and she deigned to +let me know that I was seen, that was all. + +But when I inferred that her daughter had forgotten, or had decided +not to make the call at our house, I misjudged the young lady. I +returned, one afternoon, from a cruise up and down the bay in the +Comfort, to find our small establishment--the Rogers portion of it, +at least--in a high state of excitement. Lute and Dorinda were in +the kitchen and before I reached the back door, which was open, I +heard their voices in animated discussion. + +"Why wouldn't I say it, Dorinda?" pleaded Lute. "You can't blame +me none. There I was, with my sleeves rolled up and just settin' +in the chair, restin' my arms a jiffy and thinkin' which window I'd +wash next, when there come that knock at the door. Thinks I, 'It's +Asa Peters' daughter's young-one peddlin' clams.' That's what come +to my mind fust. That idee popped right into my head, it did." + +"Found plenty of room when it got there, I cal'late," snapped +Dorinda. "Must have felt lonesome." + +"That's it! keep on pitchin' into me. I swan to man! sometimes I +get so discouraged and wore out and reckless--hello! here's Ros. +You ask him now! Ros, she's layin' into me because I didn't +understand what--" + +"Roscoe," broke in his wife, "I never was more mortified in all my +born days. He--" + +"Let me tell you all about it, Ros. I went to the door--thinkin' +'twas a peddler, you know; had this old suit on, all sloshed up +with soapsuds and water, and a wet rag in my hand; and there she +stood, styled up like the Queen of Sheby. Well, sir! I'll leave it +to you if 'tain't enough to surprise anybody. HER! comin' HERE!" + +"That wan't any reason why you should behave like a natural born--" + +"Hold on! you let me finish tellin' Roscoe. 'Good afternoon,' says +she. 'Is Mrs. Paine in?' Said it just like that, she did. I was +so flustered up from the sight of her that I didn't sense it right +off and I says, 'What ma'am?' 'Is Mrs. Paine in?' says she. 'In?' +says I--" + +"Just like a poll parrot," interjected Dorinda. + +"Are you goin' to let me tell this or ain't you? 'In?' says I; +hadn't sensed it yet, you see. 'Is Mrs. Paine to home?' she says. +Now your ma, Ros, ain't never been nowheres else BUT home sence +land knows when, so I supposed she must mean somebody else. 'Who?' +says I, again. 'Mrs. Comfort Paine,' says she. She raised her +voice a little; guessed I was deef, probably." + +"If she'd guessed you was dumb she wouldn't have been fur off," +commented Dorinda. I had not seen her so disturbed for many a day. + +Her husband disdained to notice this interruption. + +"'Mrs. Comfort Paine,' says she," he continued. "'She is in? And +I says 'In?'" + +"No, you didn't. You said, 'In where?' And she had all she could +do to keep from laughin'. I see her face as I got to the door, and +it's a mercy I got there when I did. Land knows what you'd have +said next!" + +"But, Dorindy, I tell you I thought--" + +"YOU thought! I know what SHE must have thought. That she'd made +a mistake and run afoul of an asylum for the feeble-minded." + +"Umph! I should have GOT feeble-minded if I'd had any more of that +kind of talk. What made her ask if a sick woman like Comfort was +'in' and 'to home'? Couldn't be nowheres else, could she?" + +"Rubbish! she meant could Mrs. Paine see folks, that's all." + +"See 'em! How you talk! She ain't blind." + +"Oh, my soul and body! She was tryin' to ask if she might make a +call on Comfort." + +"Well then, why didn't she ask it; 'stead of wantin' to know if she +was in?" + +"That's the high-toned way TO ask, and you'd ought to have known +it." + +"Humph! Do tell! Well, I ain't tony, myself. Don't have no +chance to be in this house. Nothin' but work, work, work! tongue, +tongue, tongue! for me around here. I'm disgusted, that's what I +am." + +"YOU'RE disgusted! What about, me?" + +I had listened to as much of this little domestic disagreement as I +cared to hear. + +"Wait a minute," I said. "What is all this? Who has been here to +see Mother?" + +Both answered at once. + +"That Colton girl," cried Lute. + +"That Mabel Colton," said Dorinda. + +"Miss Colton? She has been here? this afternoon." + +"Um-hm," Dorinda nodded emphatically. "She stayed in your ma's +room 'most an hour." + +"'Twas fifty-three minutes," declared Lute. "I timed her by the +clock. "And she fetched a great, big bouquet. Comfort says she--" + +I waited to hear no more, but went into Mother's room. The little +bed chamber was fragrant with the perfume of flowers. A cluster of +big Jacqueminot roses drooped their velvety petaled heads over the +sides of the blue and white pitcher on the bureau. Mother loved +flowers and I frequently brought her the old fashioned posies from +Dorinda's little garden or wild blossoms from the woods and fields. +But roses such as these were beyond my reach now-a-days. They grew +in greenhouses, not in the gardens of country people. + +Mother did not move as I entered and I thought she was asleep. But +as I bent over the roses she turned on the pillow and spoke. + +"Aren't they beautiful, Roscoe?" she said. + +"Yes," I answered. "They are beautiful." + +"Do you know who brought them to me?" + +"Yes, Mother. Lute told me." + +"She did call, you see. She kept her word. It was kind of her, +wasn't it?" + +I sat down in the rocking chair by the window. + +"Well," I asked, after a moment, "what did she say? Did she +condescend to pity her pauper neighbors?" + +"Roscoe!" + +"Did she express horrified sympathy and offer to call your case to +the attention of her cousin in charge of the Poor Ward in the City +General Hospital, like that woman from the Harniss hotel last +summer?" + +"Boy! How can you!" + +"Oh, well; I am a jealous beast, Mother; I admit it. But I have +not been able to bring you flowers like that and it galls me to +think that others can. They don't deserve to have all the +beautiful things in life, while the rest of us have none." + +"But it isn't her fault that she has them, is it? And it was kind +to share them with us." + +"I suppose so. Well, what did she say to you? Dorinda says she +was with you nearly an hour. What did you and she talk about? She +did not offer charity, did she?" + +"Do you think I should have accepted it, if she had? Roscoe, I +have never seen you so prejudiced as you are against our new +neighbors. It doesn't seem like you, at all. And if her father +and mother are like Miss Mabel, you are very wrong. I like her +very much." + +"You would try to like any one, Mother." + +"I did not have to try to like her. And I was a little prejudiced, +too, at first. She was so wealthy, and an only child; I feared she +might be conceited and spoiled. But she isn't." + +"Not conceited! Humph!" + +"No, not really. At first she seemed a trifle distant, and I +thought her haughty; but, afterward, when her strangeness and +constraint had worn away, she was simple and unaffected and +delightful. And she is very pretty, isn't she." + +"Yes." + +"She told me a great deal about herself. She has been through +Vassar and has traveled a great deal. This is the first summer +since her graduation which she has not spent abroad. She and I +talked of Rome and Florence. I--I told her of the month I spent in +Italy when you were a baby, Roscoe." + +"You did not tell her anything more, Mother? Anything she should +not know?" + +"Boy!" reproachfully. + +"Pardon me, Mother. Of course you didn't. Did she tell you why +she called on us--on you, I mean?" + +"Yes, in a way. I imagine--though she did not say so--that you +are responsible for that. She and Nellie Dean seem to be well +acquainted, almost friendly, which is odd, for I can scarcely think +of two girls more different. But she likes Nellie, that is +evident, and Nellie and George have told her about you and me." + +"I see. And so she was curious concerning the interesting invalid. +Probably anything even mildly interesting is a godsend to her, down +here. Did she mention the Shore Lane rumpus?" + +"Yes. Although I mentioned it first. It was plain that she could +not understand your position in the matter, Roscoe, and I explained +it as well as I could. I told her that you felt the Lane was a +necessity to the townspeople, and that, under the circumstances, +you could not sell. I told her how deeply you sympathized with her +mother--" + +"Did you tell her that?" + +"Why, yes. It is true, isn't it?" + +"Humph! Mildly so, maybe. What more did she say?" + +"She said she thought she understood better now. I told her about +you, Boy, and what a good son you had been to me. How you had +sacrificed your future and your career for my sake. Of course I +could not go into particulars, at all, but we talked a great deal +about you, Roscoe." + +"That must have been deliriously interesting--to her." + +"I think it was. She told me of your helping her home through the +storm, and of something else you had not told me, Boy: of your +bringing her and Mr. Carver off the flat in the boat that day. Why +did you keep that a secret?" + +"It was not worth telling." + +"She thought it was. She laughed about it; said you handled the +affair in a most businesslike and unsentimental way; she never felt +more like a bundle of dry-goods in her life, but that that appeared +to be your manner of handling people. It was a somewhat startling +manner, but very effective, she said. I don't know what she meant +by that." + +I knew, but I did not explain. + +"You don't mean to say, Mother, that you glorified me to her for an +hour?" I demanded. + +"No, indeed. We talked of ever so many things. Of books, and +pictures, and music. I'm afraid I was rather wearisome. It seemed +so good to have some one--except you, of course, dear--to discuss +such subjects with. Most of my callers are not interested in +them." + +I was silent. + +"She is coming again, she says," continued Mother. "She has some +new books she is going to lend me. You must read them to me. And +aren't those roses wonderful? She picked them, herself, in their +conservatory. I told her how fond you were of flowers." + +I judged that the young lady must have gone away with the idea that +I was a combination of longshore lout and effeminate dilettante, +with the financial resources of the former. She might as well have +that idea as any other, I supposed, but, in her eyes, I must be +more of a freak than ever. I should take care to keep out of the +sight of those eyes as much as possible. But that the millionaire's +daughter had made a hit on the occasion of her first call was plain. +Not only had Mother been favorably impressed, but even the practical +and unromantic Dorinda's shell was dented. She deigned to observe +that the young lady seemed to have "consider'ble common-sense, +considerin' her bringin' up." This, from Dorinda, was high praise, +and I wondered what the caller had said or done to win such a +triumph. Lute made the matter clear. + +"By time!" he said, when he and I were together, "that girl's a +smart one. I'd give somethin' to have her kind of smartness. +Dorindy was terrible cranky all the time she was in your ma's room +and I didn't know what would happen when she come out. But the +fust thing she done when she come out was to look around the dinin' +room and say, 'Oh! what a pleasant, homey place! And so clean! +Why, it is perfectly spotless!' Land sakes! the old lady thawed +out like a cranberry bog in April. After that they talked about +housekeepin' and cookin' and such, sociable as could be. Dorindy's +goin' to give her her receipt for doughnuts next time she comes. +And I bet that girl never cooked a doughnut in her life or ever +will. If I could think of the right thing to say, like that, +'twould save me more'n one ear-ache. But I never do think of it +till the next day, and then it's too late." + +He borrowed my tobacco, filled his pipe, and continued: + +"Say, Ros," he asked, "what's your idea of what made her come here?" + +"To see Mother, of course," I answered. + +"That's your notion, is it?" + +"Certainly. What else?" + +"Humph! There's other sick folks in town. Why don't she go to see +them?" + +"Perhaps she does. I don't know." + +"I bet you ten cents she don't. No, I've been reasonin' of it out, +same as I gen'rally do, and I've got some notions of my own. You +don't cal'late her pa sent her so's to sort of soft soap around +toward his gettin' the Shore Lane? You don't cal'late 'twas part +of that game, do you?" + +That supposition had crossed my mind more than once. I was ashamed +of it and now I denied it, indignantly. + +"Of course not," I answered. + +"Well, I don't think so, myself. But if 'tain't that it's another +reason. She may be interested in Comfort; I don't say she ain't; +but that ain't all she's interested in." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Never mind. I ain't said nothin'. I'm just waitin' to see, +that's all. I have had some experience in this world, I have. +There's different times comin' for this family, you set that down +in your log-book, Ros Paine." + +"Look here, Lute; if you are hinting that Miss Colton or her people +intend offering us charity--" + +"Who said anything about charity? No; if she had that idee in her +head, her talk with your ma would drive it out. 'Tain't charity, I +ain't sayin' what 'tis. . . . I wonder how 'twould seem to be +rich." + +"Lute, you're growing more foolish every day." + +"So Dorindy says; but she nor you ain't offered no proof yet. All +right, you wait and see. And say, Ros, don't mention our talk to +Dorindy. She's more'n extry down on me just now, and if I breathe +that Mabel Colton's name she hops right up in the air. How'd I +know that askin' if a woman who's been sick in bed six year or more +was 'in' meant could she have folks come to see her?" + +Mother would have discussed the Coltons with me frequently, but I +avoided the subject as much as possible. The promised books +arrived--brought over by Johnson, the butler, who viewed our humble +quarters with lofty disdain--and I read one of them aloud to +Mother, a chapter each evening. More flowers came also and the +darkened bedroom became a bower of beauty and perfume. If I had +yielded to my own wishes I should have returned both roses and +books. It was better, as I saw it, that we and our wealthy +neighbors had nothing to do with each other. Real friendship was +out of the question; the memory of Mrs. Colton's frigid bow and her +reference to me as a "person" proved that. Her daughter might +think otherwise, or might think that she thought so, but I knew +better. However, I did not like to pain Mother by refusing +offerings which, to her, were expressions of sympathy and regard, +so I had no protest and tried to enthuse over the gifts and loans. +After all, what did they amount to? One tea-rose bred from +Dorinda's carefully tended bush, or one gushful story book selected +by Almena Doane from the new additions to the town library and sent +because she thought "Mrs. Comfort might find it sort of soothin' +and distractin'," meant more real unselfish thought and kindly +feeling than all the conservatory exotics and new novels which the +rich girl's whim supplied from her overflowing store. I was +surprised only that the whim lasted so long. + +Behind all this, I think, and confirming my feeling, was the fact +that Miss Colton did not repeat her call. A week or more passed +and she did not come. I caught glimpses of her occasionally in the +auto, or at the post-office, but I took care that she should not +see me. I did not wish to be seen, though precisely why I could +not have explained even to myself. The memory of that night in the +rain, and of our meetings in the grove, troubled me because I could +not keep them from my mind. They kept recurring, no matter what I +did or where I went. No, I did not want to meet her again. +Somehow, the sight and memory of her made me more dissatisfied and +discontented than ever. I found myself moodily wishing for things +beyond my reach, longing to be something more than I was--more than +the nobody which I knew I must always be. I remembered my feelings +on the morning of the day when I first saw her. Now they seemed +almost like premonitions. + +I kept away; not only from her, but from George Taylor and Captain +Dean and the townspeople. I went to the village scarcely at all. +Sim Eldredge, who had evidently received orders from headquarters +to drop the Lane "agency," troubled me no more, merely glowering +reproachfully when we met; and Alvin Baker, whose note had been +renewed, although he hailed me with effusive cordiality, did not +press his society upon me, having no axe to grind at present. Zeb +Kendrick was using the Lane again, but he took care to bring no +more "billiard roomers" as passengers. I had as yet heard nothing +from my quarrel with Tim Hallet. + +I spent a good deal of my time in the Comfort, or wandering about +the shore and in the woods. One warm, cloudy morning the notion +seized me to go up to the ponds and try for black bass. There are +bass in some of the larger ponds--lakes they would be called +anywhere else except on Cape Cod--and, if one is lucky, and the +weather is right, and the bait tempting, they may be caught. This +particular morning promised to furnish the proper brand of weather, +and a short excursion on the flats provided a supply of shrimps and +minnows for bait. Dorinda, who happened to be in good humor, put +up a lunch for me and, at seven o'clock, with my rod and landing +net in their cases, strapped, with my fishing boots and coffee pot, +to my back, and my bait pail in one hand and lunch basket in the +other, I started on my tramp. It was a long four miles to +Seabury's Pond, my destination, and Lute, to whom, like most +country people, the idea of a four-mile walk was sheer lunacy, +urged my harnessing the horse and driving there. But I knew the +overgrown wood roads and the difficulty of piloting a vehicle +through them, and, moreover, I really preferred to go afoot. So I +marched off and left him protesting. + +Very few summer people--and only summer people or irresponsible +persons like myself waste time in freshwater fishing on the Cape-- +knew where Seabury's Pond was. It lay far from macadam roads and +automobile thoroughfares and its sandy shores were bordered with +verdure-clad hills shutting it in like the sides of a bowl. To +reach it from Denboro one left the Bayport road at "Beriah Holt's +place," followed Beriah's cow path to the pasture, plunged into the +oak and birch grove at the southern edge of that pasture, emerged +on a grass-grown and bush-encumbered track which had once been the +way to some early settler's home, and had been forsaken for years, +and followed that track, in all its windings, until he saw the +gleam of water between the upper fringe of brush and the lower +limbs of the trees. Then he left the track and clambered down the +steep slope to the pond. + +I am a good walker, but I was tired long before I reached the +slope. The bait pail, which I refilled with fresh water at +Beriah's pump, grew heavier as I went on, and I began to think Lute +knew what he was talking about when he declared me to be "plumb +crazy, hoofin' it four mile loaded down with all that dunnage." +However, when the long "hoof" was over, and I sat down in a patch +of "hog-cranberry" vines for a smoke, with the pond before me, I +was measurably happy. This was the sort of thing I liked. Here +there were no Shore Lane controversies, but real independence and +peace. + +After my smoke was finished and I had rested, I carried my +"dunnage" around to the point where I intended to begin my fishing, +put the lunch basket in a shady place beneath the bushes, and the +bait pail in the water nearby, changed my shoes for the fishing +boots, rigged my rod and was ready. + +At first the fishing was rather poor. The pond was full of perch +and they were troublesome. By and by, however, I hooked a four- +pound pickerel and he stirred my lagging ambition. I waded on, +casting and playing beyond the lily pads and sedge. At last I got +my first bass, a small one, and had scarcely landed him than a big +fellow struck, fought, rose and broke away. That was spur +sufficient. All the forenoon I waded about the shores of that +pond. When at half-past eleven the sun came out and I knew my +sport was over, for the time at least, I had four bass--two of them +fine ones--and two, pickerel. Then I remembered my appetite and +Dorinda's luncheon. + +I went back to the point and inspected the contents of the basket. +Sandwiches, cold chicken, eggs, doughnuts and apple puffs. They +looked good to me. Also there were pepper and salt in one paper, +sugar in another, coffee in a third, and milk in a bottle. I +collected some dry chips and branches and prepared to kindle a +fire. As I bent over the heap of sticks and chips I heard the +sound of horses' hoofs in the woods near by. + +I was surprised and annoyed. The principal charm of Seabury Pond +was that so few people visited it. Also fewer still knew how good +the fishing was there. I was not more than ordinarily selfish, but +I did not care to have the place overrun with excursionists from +the city, who had no scruples as to number and size of fish caught +and would ruin the sport as they had ruined it at other and better +known ponds. The passerby, whoever he was--a native probably-- +would, if he saw me, ask questions concerning my luck, and be +almost sure to tell every one he met. I left my fire unkindled, +stepped back to the shade of the bushes and waited in silence, +hoping the driver would go on without stopping. There was no real +road on this side of the pond, but there was an abandoned wood +track, like that by which I had come. The horse was approaching +along the track; the sounds of hoofs and crackling branches grew +plainer. + +The odd part of it was that I heard no rattle of wheels. It was +almost as if the person was on horseback. This seemed impossible, +because no one in Denboro or Bayport--no one I could think of, at +least--owned or rode a saddle horse. Yet the hoof beats grew +louder and there was no squeak, or jolt, or rattle to bear them +company. They came to a point in the woods directly opposite where +I sat in the shade of the bushes and there they stopped. Then they +recommenced and the crackle of branches was louder than ever. The +rider, whoever he was, was coming down the bank to the pond. + +A moment more and the tall swamp-huckleberry bushes at the edge of +the sandy beach parted and between them stepped gingerly a clean- +cut, handsome brown horse, which threw up its head at the sight of +the water and then trotted lightly toward it. The rider, who sat +so easily in the saddle, was a girl. And the girl was Mabel +Colton! + +She did not notice me at first, but gave her attention to the +horse. The animal waded into the water to its knees and, in +obedience to a pull on the reins, stopped, bent its head, and began +to drink. Then the rider turned in her seat, looked about her, saw +the heap of wood for the fire, the open lunch basket, the rods and +landing-net, and--me. + +I had stepped from the bushes when she first appeared and was +standing motionless, staring, I imagine, like what Dorinda +sometimes called her husband--a "born gump." There was Fate in +this! no doubt about it. The further I went to avoid this girl, +and the more outlandish and forsaken the spot to which I fled, the +greater the certainty of our meeting. A feeling of helplessness +came over me, as if I were in the clutch of destiny and no effort +of mine could break that clutch. + +For a moment she looked as if she might be thinking the same thing. +She started when she saw me and her lips parted. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed, softly. Then we gazed at each other without +speaking. + +She was the first to recover from the surprise. Her expression +changed. The look of alarm caused by my sudden appearance left her +face, but the wonder remained. + +"Why! Why, Mr. Paine!" she cried. "Is it you?" + +I stepped forward. + +"Why, Miss Colton!" said I. + +She drew a breath of relief. "It IS you!" she declared. "I was +beginning to believe in hallucinations. How you startled me! What +are you doing here?" + +"That is exactly what I was going to ask you," I replied. "I am +here for a fishing excursion. But what brought you to this out-of- +the-way place?" + +She smiled and patted the horse's shoulder. "Don here brought me," +she answered. "He saw the water and I knew he was thirsty, so I +came straight down the bank. But I didn't expect to find any one +here. I haven't seen a horse or a human being for an hour. What a +pretty little lake this is. What is its name?" + +"It is called Seabury's Pond. How did you find it?" + +"I didn't. Don found it. He and I came for a gallop in the woods +and I let him choose his own paths. I have been in his charge all +the morning. I haven't the least idea where we are. There, Don! +you have had enough and you are splashing us dreadfully. Come +back!" + +She backed the horse out of the water and turned his head toward +the woods. + +"It is great fun to be lost," she observed. "I didn't suppose any +one could be lost in Denboro." + +"But this isn't Denboro. Seabury's Pond is in Bayport township." + +"Is it, really? In Bayport? Then I must be a long way from home." + +"You are; four miles and a half, at least. More than that over the +road." + +She looked at her watch and frowned slightly. + +"Dear me!" she said. "And it is after twelve already. I am +perfectly sure I can't find the way back in time for luncheon." + +"I shall be glad to go with you and show you the way." + +"No, indeed! Don and I will get home safely. This isn't the first +time we have been lost together, though not on Cape Cod. Of course +I shouldn't think of taking you from your fishing. Have you had +good luck?" + +"Pretty fair. Some bass and two good-sized pickerel." + +"Really! Bass? I didn't know there were any about here. May I +see them?" + +"Certainly. They are over there in the bushes." + +She swung lightly down from the saddle and, taking her horse by the +bridle, led him toward the spot where my catch lay, covered with +leaves and wet grass. I removed the covering and she bent over the +fish. + +"Oh, splendid!" she exclaimed, with enthusiasm. "That big one must +be a three-pounder. I envy you. Bass fishing is great sport. Did +you get these on a fly--the bass, I mean?" + +"No. I use a fly in the spring and fall, but seldom in June or +July, here. Those were taken with live bait-shrimp. The pickerel +with minnows. Are you fond of fishing, Miss Colton?" + +"Yes, indeed. Whoa, Don! steady! Yes, I fish a good deal in +September, when we are at our lodge in the Adirondacks. Trout +there, principally. But I have caught bass in Maine. I thought I +must give it up this year. I did not know there were fish, in +fresh water, on the Cape." + +"There are, a few. The people about here pay no attention to them. +They scorn such small fry. Cod and pollock are more in their +line." + +"I suppose so. But that is all the better for you, isn't it? Were +you fishing when I interrupted you?" + +"No, I was just getting ready for lunch. My fire was ready to +kindle." + +"Fire? Why did you need a fire?" + +"For my coffee." + +"Coffee! You are a luxurious picnicer, Mr. Paine. Hot coffee on a +fishing trip! and without a guide. And you are unfeeling, besides, +for you remind me that I am very hungry. I must go at once. How +far am I from home? Four miles, did you say?" + +"Four and a half, or more, by road. And the roads are like those +you have been traveling this morning. I doubt if you could find +the way, even with your horse's help. I must insist upon going +with you as far as the main road between Denboro and Bayport." + +"I shall not permit it." + +"But I insist." + +Her answer was a little laugh. She put her foot in the stirrup and +vaulted to the saddle. + +"Your insisting is useless, you see," she said. "You are on foot +and I have the advantage. No, Don and I will go alone, thank you. +Now, will you please tell me the way?" + +I shrugged my shoulders. "Go back along the road you came," I +said, "until you reach the second, no, the third, path to the +right. Follow that to the second on the left. Then follow that +for two hundred yards or so until--well, until you reach a clump of +bushes, high bushes. Behind these is another path, a blind one, +and you must take care to pick the right clump, because there is +another one with a path behind it and that path joins the road to +Harniss. If you should take the Harniss road you would go miles +out of your way. Take the blind path I speak of and--" + +She interrupted me. "Stop! stop!" she exclaimed; "please don't. I +am absolutely bewildered already. I had no idea I was in such a +maze. Let me see! Second to the right; third to the left--" + +"No, third to the right and second to the left." + +"And then the bushes and the choice of blind paths. Don, I see +plainly that you and I must trust to Providence. Well, it is +fortunate that the family are accustomed to my ways. They won't be +alarmed, no matter how late I may be." + +"Miss Colton, I am not going to allow you to go alone. Of course I +am not. I can set you on the right road and get back here in +plenty of time for fishing. The fish are not hungry in the middle +of the day." + +"No, but you are. I know you must be, because--no, good day, Mr. +Paine." + +She spoke to the horse and he began to move. I took my courage +between my teeth, ran after the animal and seized the bridle. + +"You are not going alone," I said, decidedly. I was smiling, but +determined. + +She looked at me in surprised indignation. + +"What do you mean?" she said. + +I merely smiled. Her chin lifted and her brows drew together. I +recognized that look; I had seen it before, on that afternoon when +I announced my intention of carrying her from the dingy to the +skiff. + +"Will you be good enough to let go of my rein?" she asked. Every +word was a sort of verbal icicle. I felt the chill and my smile +was rather forced; but I held the bridle. + +"No," I said, serenely as I could. For a minute--I suppose it was +not longer than that, it seemed an hour to me--we remained as we +were. Then her lips began to curl upward at the corners, and, to +my surprise, she burst out laughing. + +"Really, Mr. Paine," she said, "you are the most impossible person +I ever met. Do you always order people about this way? I feel as +if I were about five years old and you were my nurse. Are we to +stand here the rest of the afternoon?" + +"Yes; unless you permit me to go with you and show you the way." + +"But I can't. I'm not going to spoil your picnic. I know you want +your lunch. You must. Or, if you don't, I want mine." + +"If you go alone, there are nine chances in ten that you will not +get home in time for dinner, to say nothing of lunch." + +She looked at me oddly, I thought, and started to speak. Whatever +it was she was going to say she evidently thought better of it, for +she remained silent. + +Then I had a new idea. Whether or not it was her look which +inspired it I do not know. I think it must have been; I never +would have dared such a thing without inspiration. + +"Miss Colton," I said, hesitatingly, "if you really are not--if you +are sure your people will not worry about you--I--I should be glad +to share my lunch with you. Then we could go home together +afterward." + +She did not look at me now. Instead she turned her head. + +"Are--are you sure there is enough for two?" she asked, in a +curiously choked tone. + +By way of answer I led the horse to the bushes, drew the lunch +basket from the shade, and threw back the cover. Dorinda's picnic +lunches were triumphs and she had never put up a more tempting one. + +Miss Colton looked down into the basket. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed. + +"There appears to be enough, doesn't there?" I observed, drily. + +"But--but I couldn't think of . . . Are you sure I won't be . . . +Thank you. Yes, I'll stay." + +Before I could offer my hand to help her from the saddle she sprang +to the ground. Her eyes were sparkling. + +"Mr. Paine," she said, in a burst of confidence, "it is shameless +to tell you so, I know, but I was dreadfully afraid you weren't +going to ask me. I am absolutely STARVED." + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +"And now," continued Miss Colton, after an interval during which, +I presume, she had been waiting for some reply to her frank +declaration concerning mind and appetite, "what must I do to help? +Shall I unpack the basket?" + +I was struggling, as we say in Denboro, to get the ship under +control. I had been taken aback so suddenly that I had lost +steerage way. My slight experience with the vagaries of the +feminine mind had not prepared me for the lightning changes of this +kind. Not two minutes before she had, if one might judge by her +look and tone, been deeply offended, almost insulted, because I +refused to permit her wandering off alone into the woods. My +invitation to lunch had been given on the spur of the moment and +with no idea that it would be accepted. And she not only accepted, +but had expected me to invite her, had been fearful that I might +not do so. She told me so, herself. + +"Shall I unpack the basket?" she repeated. She was looking at me +intently and the toe of her riding boot was patting the leaves. +"What is the matter? Are you sorry I am going to stay?" + +It was high time for me to get under way. There were squalls on +the horizon. + +"Oh, no, no!" I exclaimed, hastily. "Of course not. I am +delighted. But you need not trouble to help. Just let me attend +to your horse and I will have lunch ready in a jiffy." + +I led Don over to the little green belt of meadow between the trees +and the sand of the beach, unbuckled the reins and made him fast to +a stout birch. He bent his head and began to pull big mouthfuls of +the rich grass. He, too, was evidently glad to accept my +invitation. + +When I returned to my camping ground I found the basket unpacked +and the young lady arranging the eatables. + +"You shouldn't have done that," I said. "I am the host here." + +She did not look up. "Don't bother the table maid," she observed, +briskly. "That fire is not kindled yet." + +I lit the fire and, going over to the bushes, selected two of the +fish, a bass and a pickerel. I carried them down to the shore of +the pond and began cleaning them, using my jacknife and a flat +stone. I was nearing the end of the operation when she came over +to watch. + +"Why are you doing that?" she asked. "You are not going to cook +them--now--are you?" + +"I am going to try," I replied. + +"But how? You haven't anything to cook them in." + +"I don't need it. You don't appreciate the conveniences of this +hotel, Miss Colton. There! now we're ready." + +I rose, washed my hands in the pond, and picked up two other flat +stones, large ones, which I had previously put aside. These I +carried to the fire and, raking aside the burning logs with a +stick, laid the stones in a bed of hot coals. + +"Those are our frying pans," I informed her. "When they are hot +enough they will cook the fish. At least, I hope they will. Now +for the coffee." + +But she waved me aside. "The coffee is my affair," she said. "I +insist upon making the coffee. Oh, you need not look at me like +that. I am not altogether useless. I studied Domestic Science--a +little--in my prep school course. As much as I studied anything +else," laughingly. + +"But--" + +"Mr. Paine, I am not on horseback now and you can't hold my bridle +as you did Don's. If you will fill the coffee pot and put it on to +boil. Thank you. I am glad to see that even you obey orders, +sometimes." + +I had cooked fish in out-of-door fashion often before, but I am +quite sure I never took such pains as I did with these. They were +not culinary triumphs, even at that, but my guest was kind enough +to pronounce them delicious. The lunch basket contained two +plates, but only one knife and fork. These I insisted upon her +using and I got on very well with sharpened sticks and a spoon. +The coffee was--well, it had one qualification, strength. + +We conversed but little during the meal. The young lady said she +was too hungry to talk and I was so confounded with the strangeness +of the whole affair that I was glad to be silent. Sitting opposite +me, eating Dorinda's doughnuts and apple puffs and the fish that +I--_I_ had cooked, was "Big Jim" Colton's daughter, the automobile +girl, the heiress, the "incarnation of snobbery," the young lady +whose father I had bidden go to the devil and to whom, in company +with the rest of the family, I had many times mentally extended the +same invitation. And now we were picnicing together as if we were +friends of long standing. Why, Nellie Dean could not appear more +unpretentious and unconscious of social differences than this girl +to-day! What would her parents say if they saw us like this? What +would Captain Jed, and the rest of those in rebellion against the +Emperor of New York, say? That I was a traitor, hand and glove +with the enemy. Well, I was not; and I did not intend to be. But +for her to-- + +She interrupted my meditations. + +"Mr. Paine," she observed, suddenly, "you will excuse my mentioning +it, but you are distinctly not entertaining. You have not spoken a +word for five minutes. And you are not attending to my needs. The +apple puffs are on your side of the--table." + +I hastened to pass the paper containing the puffs. + +"I beg your pardon," I said, hurriedly. "I--I was daydreaming, I +guess." + +"So I imagined. I forgive you; this lunch would tempt me to +forgive greater sins than yours. Did that delightful old +housekeeper of yours cook all these nice things?" + +"She did. So you think Dorinda delightful, do you?" + +"Yes. She is so sincere and good-hearted. And so odd and bright +and funny. I could listen to her for hours." + +"Humph! Well, if you were a member of her household you would have +that privilege often. I doubt if her husband considers it such a +privilege." + +"Her husband? Oh, yes! I met him. He is a character, too, isn't +he?" + +"Yes; a weak one." + +She put down her coffee cup and sighed, contentedly. + +"I think I never tasted anything so good as this lunch," she +observed. "And I'm quite sure I never ate so much at one sitting. +I am going to help you clear away, but please don't ask me to do it +just now. Have you finished? You may smoke, if you like." + +I had been longing for a smoke and now I filled my pipe and lighted +it. + +"Now we can talk, can't we?" she said. "I want you to tell me +about your mother. How is she?" + +"Just as she was when you saw her," I answered. "Mother is always +the same." + +"She is a dear. I had heard so many nice things about her and I +was not disappointed. I intended to make only a short call and I +stayed and stayed. I hope I did not tire her." + +"Not at all. Mother enjoyed your call exceedingly." + +"Did she? I am so glad. I really am. I went to your house with a +good deal of misgiving, Mr. Paine. I feared that my coming might +be considered an intrusion." + +"I told you that it would not." + +"I know. But, under the circumstances--Father's disagreement with-- +considering all the--the-- Oh, what shall I call it?" + +"The late unpleasantness," I suggested. + +Again came the twinkle in her eye. She nodded. + +"Thank you," she said. "That is a quotation, but it was clever of +you to think of it. Yes, considering the late unpleasantness, I +was afraid my visit might be misunderstood. I was fearful that +your mother or--someone--might think I came there with an ulterior +motive, something connected with that troublesome Lane dispute. Of +course no one did think such a thing?" + +She asked the question quickly and with intense seriousness. I +remembered Lute's hint and my own secret suspicions, but I answered +promptly. + +"Of course not," I said. + +"You did not think that, did you?" + +"No," unblushingly. + +"I came because from what I had heard of your mother I was sure she +must be a wonderful woman. I wanted to meet her. And she IS +wonderful; and so patient and sweet and good. I fell in love with +her. Everyone must love her. You should be proud of your mother, +Mr. Paine." + +"I am," I answered, simply. + +"You have reason. And she is very proud of you." + +"Without the reason, I'm afraid." + +She did not speak. Her silence hurt. I felt that I knew what she +was thinking and I determined to make her say it. + +"Without the reason," I repeated. + +"I did not say that." + +"But you thought it." + +My stubborn persistence was a mistake. Again, as at our meeting in +the grove, I had gone too far. Her answer was as completely +indifferent as speech and tone could be. + +"Indeed?" she said, coldly. "It is barely possible that I did not +think about it at all. . . . Now, Mr. Paine, if you are ready +shall we clear away?" + +The clearing, most of it, was done silently. I washed the plates, +the coffee pot and other things, in the pond and she packed them in +the basket. As I returned with the knife and forks I found her +looking at the coffee pot and smiling. + +"What is the matter?" I asked, sulkily. I was provoked with myself +for forgetting who and what I was, and with her for making me +forget. "Isn't it clean?" + +"Why, yes," she answered, "surprisingly so. Did they teach +Domestic Science at your college, too?" + +I started. "MY college!" I repeated. "How did you know I had been +at college? Did Mother tell you?" + +She laughed gleefully. + +"Did Mother tell you?" I demanded. "If she did--" + +"Well, what if she did? However, she did not. But you have told +me now. Harvard, was it? or Yale?" + +I tossed the knife and fork into the basket and turned away. + +"Princeton, perhaps," suggested Miss Colton. + +I walked over and began to unjoint my rod. I was a fool to be +trapped like this. No one in Denboro except Mother and George +Taylor knew of my brief college career, and now I had, practically, +told this girl of it. She might--if she were sufficiently +interested to remember, which was fortunately not probable--tell +her father and he might ask other questions concerning my history. +Where would those questions lead? + +I was angrily tugging at the rod when I heard her step behind me. +I did not turn. + +"I beg your pardon," she said. + +I pretended not to hear. + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Paine," she said again. + +"It's all right," I muttered. "No apologies are necessary." + +I said it like a sullen schoolboy. There was another moment of +silence. Then I heard her move away. I looked over my shoulder. +She was walking toward the meadow where Don, the horse, was +picketed. There was offended dignity in every line of her figure. + +For a moment I fought with my pride and injured self-respect. Then +I hurried after her. + +"Miss Colton," I said. + +"Well?" she neither turned nor stopped. + +"Miss Colton, I should not have answered like that. I was rude." + +She stopped. "You were," she said. + +"I know it. I am sorry. I apologize." + +"No apologies are necessary." + +Here was tit for tat. I did not know what more to say, so I said +nothing. + +"Do I understand that you ask my pardon?" she inquired, still +without turning. + +"I do. If you will permit me, I will explain. I--" + +She whirled about and faced me. To my astonishment she was smiling +once more. + +"Of course you won't explain," she declared. "I had no right to +ask you about your college. But I couldn't help guessing. I told +you that I liked puzzles. We'll say no more about it. I have +enjoyed this picnic and I won't have it spoiled. Now why are you +taking your rod apart?" + +"Because I know you want to go home and I am going with you to show +you the way." + +"But I don't have to go yet, do I? It is not late. And I thought +perhaps you would let me see you catch another bass. Won't you? +Please." + +Once more she had me at a disadvantage. I had no desire for more +fishing, and I was fearful of further questions, but what could I +do? And it was not late--but a little past two o'clock. + +So I rigged the rod again and led the way down the shore to the +spot where the sedge extended out into the pond, with the lily pads +beyond it. She walked beside me. Then she seated herself on a +fallen tree and I baited the hook with a lively minnow and cast. +For some time I got not even a nibble. As I waited she and I +talked. But now it was I who questioned. + +"Do you like Denboro?" I asked. + +"I am beginning to like it very much. At first I thought it very +dull, but now I am getting acquainted." + +"There are few cottagers and summer people here. But in Harniss +there is a large colony. Very nice people, I believe." + +"Yes, I have met some of them. But it was not the summer people I +meant. I am beginning to know the townspeople and to like some of +them. I met that delightful old Captain Warren the other day." + +"He is as good as they make." + +"Indeed he is. And I had an interview with another captain, Miss +Dean's father, yesterday. We had an interesting encounter." + +"So I should imagine. Captain Jed! Whew! It MUST have been +interesting." + +"It was. Oh, we were very fierce at first--at least he was, and I +fought for my side as hard as I could. He said Father was a +selfish pig for wanting to close the Lane, and I said it was +because of its use by the pigs that he wished to close it." + +"Ha! ha! How did it end?" + +"Oh, we agreed to disagree. I respect Captain Dean for his fight; +but Father will win, of course. He always does." + +"He won't win this time, Miss Colton." + +"Why not? Oh, I actually forgot I was talking to the head and +front of the opposition. So you think he will not win, Mr. Paine?" + +"I am sure of it. He cannot close that Lane until I sell it, and I +shall not sell." + +She regarded me thoughtfully, her chin upon her hand. + +"It would be odd if he should not, after all," she said. "He +prides himself on having his own way. It would be strange if he +should be beaten down here, after winning so often in New York. +Your mother told me something of your feeling in the matter, Mr. +Paine. Father has offered you a good price for the land, hasn't +he?" + +"He has offered me a dozen times what it is worth." + +"Yes. He does not count money when he has set his heart upon +anything. And you refused?" + +"Yes." + +"But Nellie Dean says the town also wished to buy and you refused +its offer, too." + +"Yes." + +"You don't seem to care for money, either, Mr. Paine. Are all Cape +Cod people so unmercenary? Or is it that you all have money +enough--. . . Pardon me. That was impolite. I spoke without +thinking." + +"Oh, never mind. I am not sensitive--on that point, at least." + +"But I do mind. And I am sorry I said it. And I should like to +understand. I see why the townspeople do not want the Lane closed. +But you have not lived here always. Only a few years, so Miss Dean +says. She said, too, that that Mr. Taylor, the cashier, was almost +the only intimate friend you have made since you came. Others +would like to be friendly, but you will not permit them to be. +And, yet for these people, mere acquaintances, you are sacrificing +what Father would call a profitable deal." + +"Not altogether for them. I can't explain my feeling exactly. I +know only that to sell them out and make money--and heaven knows I +need money--at their expense seems to me dead wrong." + +"Then why don't you sell to THEM?" + +"I don't know. Unless it was because to refuse your father's offer +and accept a lower one seemed a mean trick, too. And I won't be +bullied into selling to anyone. I guess that is it, as much as +anything." + +"My! how stubborn you must be." + +"I don't know why I have preached this sermon to you, Miss Colton. +your sympathies in the fight are with your father, naturally." + +"Oh, no, they are not." + +I almost dropped the rod. + +"Not--with--" I repeated. + +"Not altogether. They are with you, just at present. If you had +sold--if you had given in to Father, feeling as you do, I should +not have any sympathy with you at all. As it is--" + +"As it is?" I asked eagerly--too eagerly. I should have done +better to pretend indifference. + +"As it is," she answered, lightly, "I respect you as I would any +sincere fighter for a losing cause. And I shall probably feel some +sympathy for you after the cause is lost. Excuse my breaking in on +your sermon, provided it is not finished, but--I think you have a +bite, Mr. Paine." + +I had, very much of a bite. The minnow on my hook had been +forgotten and allowed to sink to the bottom, and a big pout had +swallowed it, along with the hook and a section of line. I dragged +the creature out of the water and performed a surgical operation, +resulting in the recovery of my tackle. + +"There!" I exclaimed, in disgust. "I think I have had enough +fishing for one day. Suppose we call it off. Unless you would +like to try, Miss Colton." + +I made the offer by way of a joke. She accepted it instantly. + +"May I?" she cried, eagerly. "I have been dying to ever since I +came. + +"But--but you will get wet." + +"No matter. This is an old suit." + +It did not look old to my countrified eyes, but I protested no +more. There was a rock a little below where we then were, one of +the typical glacial boulders of the Cape--lying just at the edge of +the water and projecting out into it. I helped her up on to this +rock and baited her hook with shrimp. + +"Shall I cast for you?" I asked. + +"No indeed. I can do it, thank you." + +She did, and did it well. Moreover, the line had scarcely +straightened out in the water when it was savagely jerked, the pole +bent into a half-circle, and out of the foaming eddy beneath its +tip leaped the biggest bass I had seen that day, or in that pond on +any day. + +"By George!" I exclaimed. "Can you handle him? Shall I--" + +She did not look at me, but I received my orders, nevertheless. + +"Please don't! Keep away!" she said sharply. + +For nearly fifteen minutes she fought that fish, in and out among +the pads, keeping the line tight, handling him at least as well as +I could have done. I ran for the landing net and, as she brought +her captive up beside the rock, reached forward to use it. But she +stopped me. + +"No," she said, breathlessly, "I want to do this all myself." + +It took her several more minutes to do it, and she was pretty well +splashed, when at last, with the heavy net dragging from one hand +and the rod in the other, she sprang down from the rock. Together +we bent over the fish. + +"A four-pounder, if he is an ounce," said I. "I congratulate you, +Miss Colton." + +"Poor thing," she mused. "I am almost sorry he did not get away. +He IS a beauty, isn't he! Now I am ready to go home." + +That journey home was a strange experience to me. She rode Don and +bore the lunch basket and the net before her on the saddle. I +walked alongside, carrying the rod, boots, and the fish in the +otherwise empty bait pail. The sunshine, streaming through the +leaves of the arching boughs overhead, dappled the narrow, +overgrown paths with shifting blotches of light and shadow. Around +us was the deep, living green of the woods, the songs of birds, the +chatter of red squirrels, and the scent of wild honeysuckle. And +as we moved onward we talked--that is, she did most of the talking +and I listened. Yet I must have talked more than I knew, because I +remember expressing opinions concerning books and operas and +pictures, subjects I had not discussed for years except occasionally +with Mother, and then only because she was still interested in them. +I seemed, somehow, to have become a different, a younger man, under +the influence of these few hours with the girl I had professed to +hate so cordially. Our companionship--perfectly meaningless as it +was, the mere caprice of an idle day on her part--had rejuvenated +me. During that homeward walk I forgot myself entirely, forgot that +I was Ros Paine, the country loafer; forgot, too, that she was the +only child of the city millionaire, that we had, or could have, +nothing in common. She, also, seemed to forget, and we chatted +together as unconsciously and easily as if we had known each other +all our lives. + +Yet it may be that her part in the conversation was not altogether +without a purpose. She led me to speak of Denboro and its people, +of how they lived, and of the old days of sailing ships and deep +sea skippers. George Taylor's name was mentioned and I praised him +highly, telling of his rise from poor boy to successful man, as we +rated success locally. + +"He manages that bank well," I declared. "Everyone says so. And, +from what I have seen of his management, I know it to be true." + +"How do you know?" she asked. + +"Because I have had some experience in banking myself. I--" + +I stopped short. My tongue was running away with me. She did not +ask the question which I dreaded and expected. Instead she said, +looking down at me: + +"You are a loyal friend, aren't you, Mr. Paine." + +"I have reason to be loyal to George," I answered, with feeling. + +"Are you as loyal to yourself?" + +I looked up at her in surprise. + +"What do you mean?" I asked. + +"I have been trying to understand you, Mr. Paine. Trying to get +the answer to the puzzle. In one way I think I have it. I +understand your attitude in the Lane affair and I think I know why +you came to Denboro and are staying here." + +I stopped short. "You--you know THAT?" I cried. + +"I think I do. You believe that your mother needs you and you will +not leave her. That is your reason for living here, I think. But, +in another way, I cannot understand you at all." + +She spoke to the horse and we moved on again. I waited for her to +continue, but she was silent. + +"How? What is the other way! The way in which you cannot +understand me?" I asked. + +"Shall I tell you? Do you wish me to be perfectly frank?" + +"Yes." + +"I cannot understand how a man such as you seem to be, young, +educated, and with life before him, can be content to do as you do, +spend your time in fishing, or sailing, or shooting. To have no +ambition at all. My father was a poor country boy, like your +friend, Mr. Taylor, but he worked night and day until he became +what he is now. And even now he works, and works hard. Oh, I am +proud of him! Not because he is what he is, but because he has +done it all himself. If I were a man I would have some purpose in +life; I would do SOMETHING worth while if it were only to sell fish +from a cart, like that old fellow with the queer name--what is it?-- +Oh, yes! Theophilus Newcomb." + +I did not answer. She had said all that was necessary, and more. +It was quite enough for me. + +"There!" she observed, after a moment. "You asked me to tell you +and I did. If you never speak to me again it will be exactly what +I deserve. But I thought it and so I said it. Expressing my +thoughts is one of my bad habits. . . . Oh, why, we are almost +home, aren't we!" + +We had come to the edge of the grove bordering Beriah Holt's +pasture. The grove was on the west side of a little hill. Before +us the pasture sloped away to Beriah's house and barn, with the +road beyond it. And beyond that, in the distance, were the +steeples and roofs of Denboro. Among them the gables and tower of +the Colton mansion rose, conspicuous and costly. + +She turned in the saddle. "I presume I may leave you now, Mr. +Paine," she said. "Even you must admit that the rest of the way is +plain sailing. Thank you for your hospitality and for your +services as guide. I will send the basket and net over by one of +the servants." + +"I will take them now," I said, shortly. + +"Very well, if you prefer. Here they are." + +I took them from her. + +"Good afternoon," she said. "And thanks once more for a very +pleasant picnic." + +"You are quite welcome, I'm sure. Thank you for your frank opinion +of my--worthlessness. It was kind of you to express it." + +The sarcasm was not lost upon her. + +"I meant it as a kindness," she replied. + +"Yes. And it was true enough, probably. Doubtless I shall derive +great benefit from your--words of wisdom." + +Her patience, evidently, was exhausted. She turned away. "Oh, +that," she said, indifferently, "is your affair. I told you what I +believed to be the truth, that was all. What you do is not likely +to be of vast importance to me, one way or the other. Come, Don!" + +Don cantered down the slope. I watched him and his rider disappear +beyond the trees in the distance. Then I picked up my pail and +other burdens and followed in their wake. The sun was behind a +cloud. It had been a strange day with a miserable ending. I was +furiously angry with her, but I was more angry with myself. For +what she had told me WAS the truth, and I knew it. + +I strode on, head down, through the village. People spoke to me, +asking what luck I had had and where I had been, but I scarcely +noticed them. As I reached the Corners and was passing the bank +someone called my name. I glanced up and saw George Taylor +descending the steps. + +"Hold on, Ros," he hailed. "Wait a minute. What's your rush? +Hold on!" + +I halted reluctantly. + +"Fishing again, I see," he observed, as he reached my side. "Any +luck?" + +"Fair," I told him. + +"What pond?" + +"Seabury's." + +"Go alone?" + +"Yes." That I had not been alone since was no business of his. + +"Humph! You ain't exactly what a fellow'd call talkative this +afternoon, seems to me. Anything wrong?" + +"No." + +"Tuckered out?" + +"I guess so." + +"Well, so am I, but I ain't had your fun getting that way. Small +and I have been at it night and day getting things in shape so he +could leave. He's gone. Went this noon. And that ain't the worst +of it; I haven't got anybody yet to take his place. I'll have to +be cashier and bookkeeper too for a spell. There's applicants +enough; but they don't suit. Guess likely you'll have to help me +out, after all, Ros. The job is yours if you say the word." + +He laughed as he said it. Even to him the idea of my working was a +joke. + +But the joke did not seem funny to me, just then. I walked on for +some distance without a word. Then I asked a question. + +"What is expected of a man in that position?" I asked. + +"Expected? Why, plain bank bookkeeping--not much else at first. +Yet there's a good chance for a likely fellow to be considerable +more, in time. I need help in my part of the work. That's why I +haven't hired any of the dozen or so who are after the place. What +makes you ask? You don't know of a good man for me, do you, Ros?" + +"When do you want him to begin?" + +"To-morrow morning, if he satisfies me." + +"Would I satisfy you?" + +"You! Humph! Try me and see, that's all I'd ask." + +"All right. I'll be on hand in the morning." + +He stopped, looked at me, and then seized me by the arm. + +"See here!" he cried, "I'm lost in the fog, I guess likely. What +do you mean by that? Is it time to laugh--or what?" + +"It may be; I don't know. But I take the bookkeeper's position in +your bank. Now, good-by. Don't talk to me. I don't feel like +talking." + +"But--but, Ros." + +"Good-by." + +I walked on. I had taken but a few steps when he overtook me. + +"Ros," he said, "I ain't going to say but just one thing. If you +meant what you said I'm the most tickled man on the Cape. But you +ain't asked a word about the salary." + +"I know it. I haven't asked because I don't care. I'll be on hand +in the morning." + +I left him standing there, and hurried down the Lower Road. As I +had said to him, I did not feel like talking. I did not want even +to see any one. I wanted to be let alone. But it was fated that I +should not be, not yet. Sim Eldredge was waiting for me around the +corner. He stepped out from behind the fence where he had been +hidden. + +"Ros!" he whispered. "Ros Paine! Wait. It's me, Sim. I want to +ask you somethin'. Wan't that George Taylor you was speakin' to +just now?" + +"Yes," I answered, impatiently. "What of it?" + +"Say, Ros, you and me ain't pulled that Colton trade off, but it +ain't my fault. You ain't got no hard feelin's against me, I know. +And I want you to do a little mite of favor for me. Will you?" + +"What is it? If it has anything to do with the Lane, I tell you +now that--" + +"It ain't--it ain't. It's about that bookkeepin' job in the bank, +Henry Small's place, the one he's just quit. I've got a third +cousin, name of Josiah Badger, over to South Harniss. He's a smart +young chap, and an A-1 accountant at figgers. He's been keepin' +books down at the fish wharf--see? Now, he'd like that job and, +bein' as you and George are so thick, I cal'lated maybe you'd sort +of use your influence along of George, and--and get it for him. +There ain't nothin' in it for me--that is, nothin' much. But I +feel friendly toward Josiah and you know I like to do little +kindnesses for folks. So--" + +"There! there!" I interrupted. "It's no use, Sim. I can't help +you." + +"Why! yes you can." + +"No, I can't. I don't know your cousin, and besides--well, you are +too late. The place is filled." + +Sim's expression changed. He looked surprised and crestfallen. + +"Filled?" he exclaimed. "Why, no, 'tain't! If 'twas I'd have +known it, wouldn't I? Who'd you hear had got it? Whoever you +heard, 'tain't so." + +"Yes, it is." + +"How do you know? Who is it, then?" + +I hesitated. Before noon of the next day every soul in Denboro +would have heard the news. Eldredge might as well hear it now. + +"I've taken the place myself," I said. + +"You?" Sim actually forgot to whisper; he shouted the word. "YOU! +Ha! ha! ha! Ros, quit your foolin'." + +"I'm not fooling. I go to work in the bank to-morrow morning." + +"But-- Oh, my soul! You! Aw, I know better! Say, Ros, don't +let's waste time like this. Fun's all right, but . . . My heavens +to Betsy! YOU work for a livin'! If I believed that I'd believe +anything. Tell me, now. Who has got that job? . . . Why don't +you answer me?" + +I answered him. "Shut up!" I said, fiercely. Then I vaulted the +fence and set out for home across lots. + +I heard the next day that Sim went back to the post-office and +informed the gathering there that Ros Paine had taken to drinking. + +"He was tight as a biled owl," declared Sim; "and ugly--don't talk! +Wanted to fight me because I wouldn't believe he was goin' to work. +Him! What in the everlastin' would HE want to work for? My +heavens to Betsy!" + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +I think Taylor was almost as surprised as Eldredge had been, when, +at half-past eight the following morning, I appeared at the bank. +He was already at his desk and, when he looked up and saw me, he +whistled. + +"Whew!" he exclaimed. "So. I didn't dream it, after all. You're +here, ain't you." + +"I am here," I answered, opening the gate and stepping in behind +the rail. + +"Going to take it back and say you never said it?" + +"No." + +"Come to go to work? Really?" + +"That is my intention, unless you have changed your mind." + +"Not me. It ain't likely. But, Ros, I--sit down a minute and +let's talk. What are you doing this for?" + +It was a question I had been asking myself at intervals during a +restless night. Now I gave the only truthful answer. + +"I don't know," I said. + +"You don't know!" + +"No. And I don't seem to care. Suppose we don't talk about it. I +am here, and I am ready to begin work. That's enough, isn't it?" + +"Why, no; not quite. You're not doing it just to help me out?" + +"No." + +"You don't need to work. You've got money enough." + +"No, I haven't. But money isn't my reason. I haven't any reason. +Now show me the books, will you?" + +"Don't be in a hurry. What does your mother think about it?" + +"I haven't told her yet. Time enough for that when I know that I +really mean it and you know that I am competent to fill the +position. George, if you keep on cross-examining me I am likely to +quit before I begin. I don't know why I am doing this, but just +now I think I am going to do it if I can. However, I am not sure. +So you had better be careful." + +"Humph! What did you catch up at that pond yesterday? I never saw +a day's fishing make such a difference in a man in my life. . . . +All right, Ros. All right. I won't pester you. Too glad to have +you here for that. Now about the salary." + +"Before we speak of that there is one more point. How about your +directors? Dean and the rest? Do they know you offered me the +position?" + +"Sure thing! They put the whole affair in my hands. They'll be +satisfied. And as for Cap'n Jed--why, he was the one that +suggested hiring you in the first place." + +"Captain Jed! Captain Jed Dean! HE suggested it?" + +"Yup. In a way, he did. You may not know it, Ros, but you've made +a good deal of a hit with the old man. He ain't been used to +having anybody stand up to him as you have. As a general thing +Denboro jumps when he snaps the whip. You didn't, and he couldn't +understand why. He is the kind that respects anything they can't +understand. Then, too, Nellie likes you, and she's his idol, you +know. Ah hum!" + +He sighed and, for a moment, seemed to forget me altogether. I +reminded him by another question. + +"But why should the captain think of me for this place?" I asked. +"Why should he dream that I would take it? I gave you no +encouragement." + +"I don't know as he did dream it. But he and I were speaking of +you and he said he'd like to do something to show you what the town +thought of your holding out against Colton. That tickled him down +to the keel. I said you'd be a first-class helper to me in this +bank, that I heard you knew something about banking--" + +"George!" + +"It's all right. I only mentioned that I heard rumors that you +were in a city bank somewhere at one time. He didn't ask any more +and I shouldn't have told him if he had. But the idea pleased him, +I could see that. 'Why don't you try to get him?' says he. 'Maybe +the days of miracles ain't past. Perhaps even he'd condescend to +work, if the right job came his way.'" + +"So that's what you call his suggesting me, do you? Humph!" + +"Well, I told him about it last night, when I was up to see Nellie, +and he was pleased as Punch. Surprised, of course, but pleased. +He's practically the whole board, as far as settling things is +concerned, so it is all right. He ain't the worst friend you've +got, by a long shot." + +I imagined that I understood what Captain Jed's "friendship" meant. +My accepting the bank position was one more bond binding me to his +side in the Shore Lane battle. And, so long as I was under +Taylor's eye and his own, I could not be subject to the Colton +influence. + +George and I discussed the question of salary, if his offer and my +prompt acceptance might be called a discussion. The pay was not +large to begin with, but it was more than I had a right to expect. +And I was perfectly honest when I said that money was not the +consideration which led me to make the sudden change in my habit of +life. I was sick of idleness; I had longed for something to occupy +my life and time; I might as well be doing this as anything; +Taylor's offer had appealed to me when he first made it; these were +the excuses I evolved for my own satisfaction and I tried to +believe them real. But one reason I would not admit, even in my +thoughts, as a possibility. It was not that girl, or anything she +had said, which influenced me. No! over and over again--no. + +Sam Wheeler, the young fellow who acted as assistant bookkeeper and +messenger, came in, and Taylor, after showing me the books and +giving me a few hints as to what my duties would be, turned me over +to him for further instruction. I found I needed but little. The +pages, with their rows of figures, seemed like old friends. I +almost enjoyed poring over them. Was it possible that I was going +to like this new venture of mine? + +Before noon I was fairly certain of it. The work in a country bank +is different from that in the large city institutions, in that it +is by no means as specialized. I found that, later on, I should be +expected to combine the work of teller with that of bookkeeper. +And this, too, seemed natural. I worked as steadily as I could, +considering interruptions, and the forenoon was over almost before +I knew it. + +The interruptions, however, were numerous and annoying; some of +them, too, were amusing. Depositors came, saw me behind the bars +of the window, and, after expressing their astonishment, demanded +to know what I was doing there. If I had answered all the +questions put to me by the curious Denboroites I should have found +time for little else. But Taylor helped me by shooing the curious +ones away. "Don't bother the new hand," he said. "If you want to +know particulars ask me. Anything I don't tell you you can read in +next week's Item. This is a bank, not a question box." + +Captain Elisha Warren came in and was as surprised as the rest. +After an interview with the cashier he returned to my window and +requested me to open up. When I did so he reached in a big hand +and seized mine. + +"Shake, Ros," he said, heartily. "I'm glad for the bank and I'm +gladder still for you. Come hard at fust, does it?" + +"A little," I confessed. "Not as hard as I expected, though." + +"Fust day or two out of port is always the toughest. You'll get +your sea legs on pretty soon. Then you'll be glad you shipped, I +cal'late." + +"I hope so," I answered, rather dubiously. + +"I know you will. There's nothin' so tiresome as doin' nothin'. I +know, because that's been my job for quite a spell. Seems +sometimes as if I'd have a fit, I get so sick of loafin'." + +His idea of a "loaf" was rising at six and weeding his garden, +superintending the labor on his cranberry swamps or about his barns +and grounds, attending bank and Selectmen's meetings, and generally +keeping busy until sunset. + +"I tell Abbie, my housekeeper," he continued, "that if 'twan't for +my age I believe I'd go to sea again just to keep from fallin' +apart with dry rot. I asked her if she'd noticed how my timbers +creaked, and she said I didn't keep still long enough for her to +notice anything. Ho! ho! Nothin' makes her more provoked than for +me to mention gettin' old or goin' to sea. All the same, I envy +you your youth, Ros. You've got your life afore you, and I'm glad +to see that you're goin' to make somethin' of it. I always said +you'd wake up if somebody give you a punch. Who punched you, Ros?" + +My reply was non-committal. + +"Better mind my own business, hadn't I," he observed. "All right, +I will. No offense meant, you understand. But, you see, I've +never believed that work was the cuss of mankind, like some folks, +and no matter how much money a young feller's got I think he's +better off doin' somethin'. That's the gospel accordin' to Elisha. +Well, good luck and a pleasant v'yage. See you again soon. Say," +turning back, "keep an eye on George, will you? Folks in love are +l'ble to be absent-minded, they tell me, and I should not want him +to be absent with any of my money. Hear that, do you, George?" + +Taylor, who was standing near, laughed and walked away. A moment +later I saw him looking out of the window with the same strange +expression on his face which I had noticed several times before +when his approaching marriage was hinted at. Something was +troubling him, that was plain. He loved Nellie devotedly, I knew; +yet he obviously did not like to hear the marriage mentioned. + +Sim Eldredge was one of the first visitors to the bank, but his +visit was a short one. He entered the door, walked straight to the +teller's window and peered through the bars. I heard him catch his +breath. + +"Good morning, Sim," said I. "What can I do for you?" + +"Do?" he repeated. "Do for me? Nothin'--nothin', 'special. You-- +you meant it, then?" + +"I told you I did." + +"My soul!" was all the answer he made. Then he turned and walked +out. + +At about eleven o'clock I was half-way through the addition of a +column of figures when I heard some one say, "Well, by time!" with +such anguished fervor that it was almost like a prayer for help. I +looked up. Lute Rogers was staring in at me, open-mouthed and +horror-stricken. + +"Hello, Lute!" I said. + +Lute swallowed hard. + +"They told me 'twas so," he stammered. "They said so and--and I +laughed at 'em. Ros, you ain't, be you?" + +"What?" + +"Goin' to stay in there and--and take Henry's job?" + +"Yes." + +"You be! And you never said nothin' to nobody? To Dorinda? Or +even Comfort?" + +"No; not yet." + +"Nor to me. To ME, by time! You let them fellers at the store +make a fool of me--" + +"No one could do that, Lute. I have told you so often." + +"And you let them know it afore I did. And me livin' right in the +house with you! By time! I--I--" + +"There, there, Lute! don't cry. I'll tell you all about it when I +come home for dinner." + +"Yes, I should think you might do that much. Treatin' your own +family like--why did you tell Sim Eldredge?" + +"Sim asked me and so I told him, that was all. Don't stand there +fidgeting. Run along home, there's a good fellow. Mr. Taylor has +his eye on you already." + +Lute glanced apprehensively toward the cashier's desk and turned to +go. + +"Well!" he exclaimed, "I've said you was crazy more'n once, that's +some satisfaction. Say! can I tell 'em to home?" + +I hesitated. "You may tell Dorinda if you like," I answered. "But +I prefer to tell Mother, myself." + +George rose from his desk just then and Lute hurried to the door. +I smiled. I imagined his arrival in our kitchen and how he would +explode the sensational news upon his unsuspecting wife. + +But I was not altogether calm, though I did my best to appear so, +when I entered that kitchen at a quarter past twelve. Lute was +seated in a chair by the window, evidently watching and waiting. +He sprang up as I entered. + +"Set down," ordered Dorinda, who was taking a clam pie from the +oven. She merely nodded when I came in. Dorinda often spoke in +meeting against "sinful pride"; yet she had her share of pride, +sinful or not. She would not ask questions or deign to appear +excited, not she. + +"But Dorinda," cried her husband, "it's Ros. Don't you see?" + +"You set down, Lute Rogers. Well," turning to me, "dinner's ready, +if you are." + +"I shall be in a few minutes," I answered. "I want to see Mother +first." + +Breaking the news to Mother was a duty which I dreaded. But it +turned out to be not dreadful at all. Mother was surprised, of +course, but she did not offer a single objection. Her principal +feeling seemed to be curiosity as to my reasons for the sudden +change. + +"Of course, Roscoe, if you are happier I shall be, too," she said. +"I know it must have been very dull for you here. My conscience +has troubled me not a little all these years. I realize that a +man, a young man like you, needs an interest in life; he wants +something more than the care and companionship of a useless +creature like me." + +"Mother, how often have I told you not to speak like that." + +"But he does. Many times, when you and I have been here together, +I have been on the point of urging you to leave me and go back to +the world and take your place in it. More than once, you remember, +dear, I have hinted at such a thing, but you have always chosen not +to understand the hints, and I have been so weak and selfish that I +have not pressed them. I am glad you have done this, if it seems +right to you. But does it? Are you sure?" + +"I think so, Mother. I confess I am not sure." + +"This country bank is a pretty small place, isn't it? Not big +enough for my boy to prove his worth in." + +"It is quite big enough for that. That doesn't require a +Rothschild's establishment." + +"But your decision must have been a very sudden one. You did not +mention that you thought of such a thing. Not even to me." + +"It was sudden," I answered. "I took the position on the spur of +the moment." + +"But why? What led you to do it?" + +"I don't know, Mother." + +"What influenced you? Has any one urged you?" + +"George Taylor offered me the place some time ago. He urged me." + +"No one else?" + +I avoided the issue. "You don't mind, then, Mother," I said. "You +are willing that I should try the experiment?" + +"I am glad, if it pleases you. And you must let me say this now, +Roscoe, because it is true and I mean it. If another and better +opportunity comes to you, one that might take you away from +Denboro--and from me--for a time, of course, I want you to promise +me that you will not refuse it on my account. Will you promise?" + +"No. Of course I shan't promise any such thing. Is it likely that +I would leave you, Mother?" + +"I know that you would not leave me unless I were willing for you +to go. I know that, Roscoe. But I am much better and stronger +than I was. I shall never be well--" + +"Don't say that," I interrupted, hastily. + +"But I must say it, because it is true. I shall never be well, but +I am strong enough now to bear the thought of your leaving me and +when the time comes I shall insist upon your doing so. I am glad +we have had this talk, dear. I am glad, too, that you are going to +be busy once more in the way you like and ought to be. You must +tell me about your work every day. Now go, because your dinner is +ready and, of course, you must be getting back to the bank. Kiss +me, Boy." + +And as I bent over her she put her arms about my neck. + +"Boy," she whispered, "I know there is some reason for your doing +this, a reason which you have not told me. You will tell me some +day, won't you?" + +I straightened hurriedly and tried to laugh. "Of course I'll tell +you, Mother," I replied. "If there is anything to tell." + +The clam pie was on the table in the dining-room and Dorinda was +seated majestically before it. Lute was fidgeting in his chair. + +"Here he is," he exclaimed, as I joined the pair at the table. +"Ros, how did you ever come to do it?" + +His wife squelched him, as usual. "If Roscoe's got anything to +tell," she observed, with dignity, "he'll tell it without your help +or anybody else's. If he ain't, he won't. This pie's colder than +it ought to be, but that isn't my fault." + +As I ate I told them of my sudden determination to become a +laboring man. I gave the reasons that I had given Mother. + +"Um-hm," said Dorinda. + +"But I can't understand," pleaded Lute. "You don't need to work, +and I've sort of took a pride in your not doin' it. If I was well- +off, same as you be, I bet George Taylor'd have to whistle afore I +wore out MY brains in his old bank." + +"He wouldn't have time to whistle more'n once," was Dorinda's +comment. + +"Now, Dorinda, what kind of talk is that? Wouldn't have time to +whistle? You do say more things without any sense to 'em! Just +talk to hear yourself, I cal'late. What are you grinnin' at, +Roscoe?" + +"I can't imagine, Lute. This clam pie is a triumph. May I have +another helping, Dorinda?" + +Dorinda did not answer, but the second helping was a liberal one. +She was so quiet and the glances she gave me from time to time were +so odd that I began to feel uneasy. I was fairly sure that she +approved of my new venture, but why did she look at me like that? + +"Well," said I, looking at my watch and rising, "what do you think +of it? Am I doing right?" + +Lute leaned back in his chair. "There's consider'ble to be said on +that subject," he announced. "Work, as a general thing, I consider +all right; I've told you that afore. But when it comes to--" + +"What do you think, Dorinda?" I interrupted. + +Dorinda stirred her tea. + +"Think?" she repeated. "I think . . . When's that Colton girl +comin' to call on Comfort again?" + +I had taken my hat from the hook. Now, with it in my hand, I +turned and faced her. + +"How should I know that?" I demanded. "That's a trifle off the +subject, isn't it?" + +"Um-hm," said Dorinda. "Maybe 'tis." + +I went out hurriedly. + +Within the week I was at home in my new position. The strangeness +of regular hours and regular employment wore away with surprising +rapidity. There were, of course, mornings when sea and sky and the +freshness of outdoors tempted me and I wondered whether or not I +had been foolish to give up my fine and easy life. But these +periods of temptation were shorter and less frequent as I became +more and more familiar with my duties and with the routine of the +bank. I found myself taking a greater interest in the institution +and, to my astonishment, I was actually sorry when Saturday came. +It seemed odd enough to once more have money in my pocket which I +had earned. It was not a great amount, of course, but I felt it to +be mine. Yes, there was no doubt about it, I had done the right +thing, and was glad. I was grateful to Taylor for having given me +the opportunity. Perhaps I should have been grateful to the person +whose brutal and impertinent frankness had piqued me into grasping +that opportunity, but I was not. + +She made her second call upon Mother two days after our impromptu +picnic at Seabury's Pond. I heard all about it when I came home +that afternoon. It appeared that she had brought more flowers and +a fresh supply of books. She had remained even longer than on her +first visit and she and Mother had talked about almost everything +under the sun. One topic, however, had not been discussed, a fact +which my guarded questions made certain. She, like myself, had +said nothing concerning the day in the woods. + +"I told her of your consenting to help Mr. Taylor in his dilemma," +said Mother. + +"Did you?" said I. "It was kind of you to put it in that way." + +"That was the truthful way of putting it, wasn't it? She seemed +very much interested." + +"Indeed. And surprised, I presume." + +"Why, yes, I think so. She seemed surprised at first; then she +laughed; I could not understand why. She has a very pleasant +laugh, hasn't she?" + +"I have never noticed." This was untrue. + +"She has. She is a charming girl. I am sorry you were not here +when she called. I told her you would be home soon and asked her +to wait, but she would not." + +"I am glad she didn't." + +"Roscoe!" + +"I am, Mother. That young lady comes here to see you merely +because she has nothing else to do just now. I shouldn't accept +too many favors from her." + +Mother said I was unreasonable and prejudiced and I did not argue +the point. Lute and Dorinda discussed the caller at the supper +table until I was constrained to leave the room. Mabel Colton +might amuse herself with Mother and the two members of our +household whom she had described as "characters," she might delude +them into believing her thoughtful and sympathetic and without +false pride, but I knew better. She had insulted me. She had, in +so many words, told me that I was lazy and worthless, just as she +might have told her chauffeur or one of the servants. That it was +true made no difference. Would she have spoken in that way to--to +Victor Carver, for instance? Hardly. She was just what I had +thought her at first, a feminine edition of Victor, with more +brains than he possessed. + +Captain Jed Dean came into the bank the third day after my +installation as bookkeeper and teller. I was alone in the +director's room, going over some papers, and he entered and shook +hands with me. The old fellow professed delight at my presence +there. + +"George tells me you're takin' hold fust-rate," he said. "That's +good. I'm glad to hear it." + +"Why?" I asked. There was a trace of his old pomposity in the +speech--or I imagined there was--and I chose to resent it. These +were the days when I was in the mood to resent almost anything. + +"Why?" he repeated, in surprise. "What do you mean?" + +"Why are you glad?" I said. "I can't see what difference it makes +to you whether I succeed or not." + +He regarded me with a puzzled expression, but, instead of taking +offense, he laughed. + +"You've got a chip on your shoulder, ain't you, Ros?" he observed. +"Workin' you too hard at the start, are we?" + +"No," I answered, curtly. + +"Then what is the matter?" + +"Why, nothing, unless it is that everyone I meet seems to take such +a great interest in my being here. I believe all of Denboro talks +of nothing else." + +"Not much else, I shouldn't wonder. But that's to be expected, +ain't it? Everybody's glad you're makin' good." + +"Humph! They all seem to regard that as the eighth wonder of the +world. The position doesn't require a marvel of intelligence; +almost any one with a teaspoonful of brains could fill it." + +"Why no, they couldn't. But that's nothin' to do with it. I see +what's the matter with you, Ros. You think all hands are knocked +on their beam ends because you've gone to work. Some of 'em are, +that's a fact, and you can't blame 'em much, considerin' how long +you've lived here without doin' anything. But all of 'em that +amount to a three-cent piece are glad, and the rest don't count +anyway. You've made a good many friends in this town lately, son." + +I smiled bitterly. "Friends," I said. + +"Why, yes, friends. And friends are worth havin', especially if +you make 'em without beggin' for their friendship. I give in that +you've surprised some of us. We didn't know that you had it in +you. But your standin' up to old Colton was a fine thing, and we +appreciated it." + +"That is because you were against his grabbing the Lane." + +"What of it? And 'twan't that altogether. I, for one, ain't +complainin' because you stood up to me and wouldn't sell to the +town. By the way, Tim Hallet's gang haven't bothered you lately, +have they?" + +"No. And I advise them not to." + +He chuckled. "I heard you advised 'em to that effect," he said. +"I ain't complainin' at that, either, even though I knew what they +was up to and thought 'twas more or less of a joke. But I liked +the way you fired 'em out of there, not carin' a tinker's darn who +was behind 'em. So long as a man stands square in his boots and +don't knuckle to anybody he won't lose anything with Jed Dean. +That's me!" + +"You ought to like Colton, then," I said. "He hasn't knuckled, +much." + +Captain Jed grinned. "Well," he said, slowly, "I don't object to +that in him. He seems to be a fighter and that's all right. Maybe +if I was one of his tribe in New York I should like him. But I +ain't. And you ain't, Ros. We're both of us country folks, livin' +here, and he's a city shark buttin' into the feedin' grounds. He +wants to hog the whole place and you and I say he shan't. I'm +thankful to him for one thing: his comin' here has waked you up, +and it's goin' to make a man of you, or I miss my guess." + +I did not answer. + +"You mustn't get mad because I talk this way," he went on. "I'm +old enough to be your dad, Ros Paine, and I know what I'm talkin' +about. I never took much of a shine to you in the old days. You +was too much of what the story books call a 'gentleman' to suit me. +I've had to scratch all my life for what I've got, but I've got it. +When a young, able feller like you was contented to loaf around as +you did and take no interest in nothin', I, naturally, figgered he +was no-account. I see now I was wrong. All you needed was +somethin' to stir you up and set you goin'. KEEP goin', that's my +advice to you. And so long as you do, and don't bend when the +pressure gets hard, you'll be somebody afore you die. And the +friends you've made'll stand back of you." + +"How about the enemies I have made?" + +"Enemies? I suppose likely you have made some enemies, but what of +it? I've made enemies all my life. It ain't because I'm popular +here in Denboro that I'm what I am. Now is it?" + +The truthful answer would have been no. Captain Dean was not +popular, but he was respected even by the many who disliked and +disagreed with him. I hesitated, trying to think what to say. + +"You know 'tain't that," he said. "Popularity I never had, though +it's a pleasant enough thing and sometimes I wish-- But there, +this ain't experience meetin'. I'm glad you're here in this bank. +You're smart, and George says you are worth more than Henry Small +ever was, even so early. If you really are what it begins to look +as if you are I'm glad for Denboro. Maybe there'll be somebody +besides George fit to run this town after I'm gone." + +I smiled. The last remark was so characteristic that it was funny. +He was turning away, but he noticed the smile and turned back. + +"That's a joke, hey?" he asked. + +"Captain," I said, "you are not consistent. When you and I first +talked about the Lane you said that you would not blame me if I +closed it. If it was yours you wouldn't have Tom, Dick, and Harry +driving fish carts through it." + +"Did I say that?" + +"Yes. And you said, on another occasion, that anyone would sell +anything if they were offered money enough." + +"Humph! Well, sometimes I say 'most anything but my prayers. +Matildy says I forget them pretty often, but I tell her her Friday +night speeches are long enough to make up. Maybe I meant what I +said to you at those times, Ros. I shouldn't wonder if I did. But +'twas a lie just the same. There are things I wouldn't sell, of +course. Nellie, my daughter's one of 'em. She's goin' to get a +good husband in George here, but her happiness means more to me +than money. She's one of the things I wouldn't sell. And my +Selectman's job is another. I fought for that, not so much for the +honor, or whatever you call it, but because--well, because I wanted +to show 'em that I could get it if I set out to. I don't presume +likely you can understand that feelin'." + +"I think I can," I answered. "Mr. Colton gave about the same +reason for his determination to close the Lane. You and he seem to +be a good deal alike, after all." + +He looked at me from beneath his bushy brows. His mouth twisted in +a grim smile. + +"Say, son," he said, "if I hadn't been so free with my proclamations +about bein' your friend you and me would have a settlement for +that little bit of talk. The Emperor and me alike! Ugh!" + +The next afternoon he came in again and asked me to step outside +the railing. He had something to say to me, he declared. + +We sat down together on the settee by the wall. + +"Ros," he said, in a low tone, "have you had any new offer for your +property? Not from Colton or the town, but from anybody else?" + +"No," I answered. "What do you mean?" + +"You ain't heard anything from a Boston firm claimin' to represent +the Bay Shore Development Company, or some such?" + +"No. What sort of a company is that?" + +"I don't know; that is, I don't know much about it. But there's +talk driftin' 'round that a Boston syndicate is cal'latin' to buy +up all the shore front land from South Ostable to the Bayport line +and open it up for summer house lots. The name is the Bay Shore +Development Company, or somethin' like that. You ain't heard from +'em, then?" + +"Not a word. Where did your information come from?" + +"From nobody in particular. It just seems to be in the air. Alvin +Baker heard it over to Ostable. The feller that told him got it +from somebody else, who got it from another somebody, and so on. +There's talk about good prices bein' offered and, accordin' to +Alvin, Ostable folks are pretty excited. Elnathan Mullet, who owns +that strip below your house, knows somethin' about it, I think. I +shouldn't wonder if he'd had an offer, or a hint, or somethin'. +But Elnathan's mouth shuts tighter than a muskrat trap and I +couldn't get nothin' out of him. He just looked knowin' and that +was all. But, if it's so, it may mean a heap to Denboro." + +I was considering the news when he spoke again. + +"It might mean a lot to you, Ros," he whispered. + +"How so?" + +"Why, this way: If this concern offered you enough money you might +sell out to them, mightn't you? Sell all your place, I mean; you +could get another one easy enough. You ain't particular about +livin' by the shore." + +"But--you urge me to SELL!" I exclaimed. "Sell the Shore Lane with +the rest?" + +"Why not? You wouldn't be sellin' to Colton. And, if this +development scheme is what they say it is, there'll be roads cut +through all along shore. The town could use any of 'em; at least +that arrangement might be made. Think it over, Ros. If they do +offer and offer enough, I'd sell, if I was you. Say! that would be +a reef under His Majesty's bows, hey? Jolt him some, I cal'late." + +I did not answer. This was a new possibility. Of course his +reason for advising my selling was plain enough, but, leaving the +Coltons entirely aside, the idea was not without allurement. The +town's convenience in the matter of a road might be considered, +just as he said. And my scruples against selling at a profit were, +after all, based upon that feature. + +"You think it over," he counseled. "Don't say nothin' to nobody, +but just think--and wait. I'll keep my eye to wind'ard and see +what I can find out. I tell you honest, Ros, I'll feel safer when +I know old Imperial's game's blocked for good and all." + +Old Imperial himself made his appearance before closing hours. I +looked up from my work to see him standing by the window. He had +not expected to see me there--evidently his daughter had not +considered Mother's news of sufficient importance to repeat--and, +at first, he did not recognize me. + +"Good afternoon, Mr. Colton," said I. + +He nodded. "Cash this for me, will you," he said, pushing a check +through the opening. "What? Hello! What in blazes are you doing +in there?" + +"I am employed here now," I answered. + +"Humph! how long since?" + +"Ten days, or such matter." + +"What are you doing in a bank?" + +"Banking was my business, at one time." + +"Thought you hadn't any business." + +"I haven't had any, for some years. Now I have. How do you wish +this money? In tens and fives?" + +"Yes. Nothing bigger. Down here it restricts the circulation if +you spring a twenty dollar bill on them. So you've taken to +banking? I was thinking of corraling you for a gunning trip one of +these days. Now it's all off, I suppose." + +"It looks that way. Sorry I am to be deprived of the pleasure." + +"Humph!" Then, with one of his sudden changes, "How big a business +does this concern do? What do your deposits amount to?" + +I gave him the figures, as printed in the yearly statement. He +made no comment. Instead he observed, "You haven't been around to +accept that offer of mine yet, Paine." + +"Not yet," I answered. + +"Suppose I ought to raise it, now that you're a financier yourself. +However, I shan't." + +"I haven't asked you to." + +He smiled. "No, you haven't," he said. "Well, it is open--for a +while. If I were you I'd accept it pretty soon." + +"Possibly." + +"Meaning that I am not you, hey? I'm not. I haven't your high +principles, Paine. Can't afford 'em. You're what they call a +'Progressive' in politics, too, aren't you?" + +"Here is your money," I said, ignoring the question. + +"I'll bet you are!" he declared, taking the bills. "I never saw +one of you high-principled chaps yet that wasn't--until he got rich +enough to be something else. Progress is all right, maybe, but I +notice that you fellows pay for it and the rest of us get it. Just +as I am going to get that land of yours." + +"You haven't got it yet," I said, serenely. I had made up my mind +that this time he should not provoke me into losing my temper. + +He seemed to divine my determination. His eye twinkled. "You're +improving, Paine," he observed. "I'll give you a piece of advice; +it has cost me a good deal to learn, but I'll give it to you: +Don't ever let the other fellow make you mad." + +I remembered our first interview and I could not resist the +temptation to retort. + +"If my recollection is correct," I said, "you forgot that the first +time we met." + +He laughed aloud. "So I did," he admitted. "Maybe if I hadn't it +would not cost me so much to get my own way in your case." + +He walked out of the building. I heard one exclamation from behind +and, turning, saw Sam Wheeler, my youthful assistant, staring at +me. + +"My--gosh!" exclaimed Sam, his tone a mixture of wonder and +admiration, "I don't see how you dast to talk back to him like +that, Ros. He'll sic the--the 'System' onto you, won't he?" + +It was evident that Sam had been reading the magazines. + +I heard no more from Captain Jed and nothing from the mysterious +"Development Company" for the remainder of that week. But on +Sunday, as I sat in the boat house, smoking my after dinner pipe +and reading, Lute excitedly entered, followed by a well-dressed, +smooth-shaven man of middle age, whom he introduced as Mr. Keene of +Boston, "who's driven all the way from Ostable a-purpose to see +you, Ros." + +Mr. Keene shook hands with me cordially and apologized for +intruding upon my day of rest. He intended returning to the city +in the morning, he said, and, as he had a little matter to discuss +with me, had taken the liberty of calling. "I shan't take more +than half an hour of your time, Mr. Paine," he explained. "At +least I feel certain that you and I can reach an agreement in that +period. If I might be alone with you--" + +This hint, evidently intended for Lute's benefit, was quite lost +upon the last named individual, who had seated himself on the edge +of the work bench and was listening with both ears. I was obliged +to tell him that his presence was superfluous and request his +returning to the house, which he reluctantly did, moving slowly and +looking back with an expression of grieved disappointment. After +he had gone I asked Mr. Keene what his "little matter" might be. + +His reply was prompt and to the point. He gave me his card. He +was, it seemed, junior partner in the firm of Barclay and Keene, +real estate brokers and promoters, Milk Street, Boston. And, just +now, he was acting as representative of the Bay Shore Development +Company. "A concern of which, in spite of all our precautions and +attempts at secrecy, you may, perhaps, have heard, Mr. Paine," he +added, smiling. + +I admitted that I had heard rumors concerning the company's +existence. But, except for these very vague rumors, I knew nothing +about it. + +He expected that, he said, and was glad to give me further and +complete information. In fact, that was his reason for coming so +many miles to see me. If I would be good enough to listen he would +tell me just what the Bay Shore Company was and what it contemplated +doing. + +I listened and he talked. According to him the Bay Shore +syndicate--that is what it was, a syndicate of capitalists-- +represented one of the biggest real estate propositions ever +conceived. Those behind it were awake to the possibilities of the +Cape as a summer resort. Shore land, water front property in the +vicinity, was destined to increase in value, provided it was +properly exploited and developed. The company's idea was to do +just that--exploit and develop. + +"We've been quietly looking about," he continued, "and are all +ready for the preliminaries. And naturally, the first preliminary +is to secure the land to develop. You have some of that land, Mr. +Paine. We know just how much, as we do the holdings of every other +party we have approached or intend to approach. I am here to get +your figures and, if possible, conclude the purchase of your +property this afternoon. It is Sunday, of course," he added, with +a good-humored laugh, "and contracts signed to-day are not legal; +but we can make a verbal contract and the papers may be signed +later. I will defer my departure until the afternoon train +to-morrow for that purpose. Now name your figure, Mr. Paine." + +Of course I had guessed what was coming. If I intended to sell at +all here was my opportunity to do so--to, as Captain Jed expressed +it, "block Colton's game" without sacrificing the principle for +which I had fought, and make a good bit of money for myself. +Another home near by could be secured, I had no doubt, and to it +Mother might be safely and easily moved. Yet I hesitated to +express even a qualified willingness. + +"You appear to be certain that I will sell," I observed. "Isn't +that taking a good deal for granted, Mr. Keene?" + +He smiled--in fact he smiled almost too often to please me. There +is such a thing as being too cordial and good-natured; and he was +so very friendly on short acquaintance. + +"I understand," he said. "I have heard about you, Mr. Paine. +This, however, is a different matter. We are not hogs, Mr. Paine, +but business men. If our plans go through, Denboro will be +grateful to us and to you." + +"IF they go through? I thought you were certain of their going +through." + +"Certainly, certainly. There is, of course, an 'if' in all human +plans, but our particular 'if' is a small one. I hope you will +name your figure now, at once. Don't be afraid. We are disposed +to be liberal. And, understand, this is entirely a cash +transaction. You shall have the money in one hand as you sign the +contract with the other. Ha! ha! What is the price to be?" + +But I would not name a price. I seemed to feel as unreasonably +reluctant to close with the Bay Shore Development Company as I had +been with Captain Jed or Colton. + +"Shall I make a bid?" asked Keene. + +"No, not yet at any rate. Tell me, this: Whose land have you +already bought?" + +He shook his head. "That, of course," he said, with the same +gracious smile, "I can hardly tell even to you. Some of the deals +are not yet closed, and, as a business man yourself, Mr. Paine, +you--" + +"I am not a business man," I interrupted, impatiently. "At least, +not much of a one. You say there are capitalists behind your +scheme. Who are they?" + +He laid his hand on my knee. "Why, that," he said, "is a secret no +one is supposed to know. Men--financiers such as we are proud to +serve--permit their names to be known only when the corporation is +ready to begin actual operations. That is natural enough. If I +were to mention names--well, some of your Yankee neighbors would +want to become millionaires before selling." + +There was truth in this. I imagine that he guessed he had made an +impression, for he went on to shout his praises of the company and +the greatness of its plan. He talked and talked; in fact he talked +too much. I did not like to hear him. I did not like HIM, that +was the trouble. He was too smooth and voluble altogether. And he +made a mistake in patting my knee. + +"Very well," said I, rising from my chair; "I'll think it over." + +He was plainly disappointed. "I don't wish to hurry you, of +course," he said, not moving from his chair, "but we are anxious to +close. This is to be cash, remember, and I stand ready to make an +offer. I am sure we can reach an agreement, satisfactory to both +sides, Mr. Paine." + +"Perhaps, but I prefer to think the matter over before naming a +price or hearing your offer." + +As a matter of fact I did not intend to sell, or consider selling, +until I had discussed the whole affair with Mother. But there was +no need to tell him that. + +"I am sorry, I confess," he said. "I hoped this particular deal +might be closed. We have so many of these little details, Mr. +Paine, and time is money. However, if you insist upon it, I +presume the company will be willing to wait a few days." + +"I am afraid it will have to." + +"Very well, very well. I shall be down again in a day or two. Of +course, waiting may have some effect upon the price. To-day I was +empowered to . . . You don't care to hear? Very well. So glad to +have met you, Mr. Paine. Of course you will not mention the +subject of our interview to anyone. Business secrets, you know. +Thank you, thank you. And I will see you again--Thursday, shall we +say?" + +I refused to say Thursday, principally because he had said it +first. I suggested Saturday instead. He agreed, shook hands as if +I were an old friend from whom he parted with regret, and left me. + +No, I did not like Mr. Keene. He was too polite and too familiar. +And, as I thought over his words, the whole prospectus of the Bay +Shore Development Company seemed singularly vague. The proposal to +buy my land was definite enough, but the rest of it was, apparently, +very much in the air. There was too much secrecy about it. No one +was to tell anyone anything. I was glad I had insisted upon time +for consideration. I intended to consider thoroughly. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +When I left the boat house I did not go directly home, but wandered +along the beach. I had puzzled my brain with Mr. Keene and his +errand until I determined not to puzzle it any longer that day. If +my suspicions were unfounded and existed merely because of my +dislike of the Bay Shore Company's representative, then they were +not worth worry. If they were well founded I had almost a week in +which to discover the fact. I would dismiss the whole matter from +my thoughts. The question as to whether or not I would sell the +land at all to anybody, which was, after all, the real question, I +resolved to put off answering until I had had my talk with Mother. + +I walked on by the water's edge until I reached the Lane; turning +into that much coveted strip of territory I continued until I came +opposite the Colton mansion, where, turning again, I strolled +homeward by the path through the grove. Unconsciously my wandering +thoughts strayed to Mabel Colton. It was here that I had met her +on two occasions. I had an odd feeling that I should meet her here +again, that she was here now. I had no reason for thinking such a +thing, certainly the wish was not father to the thought, but at +every bend in the path, as the undergrowth hid the way, I expected, +as I turned the corner, to see her coming toward me. + +But the path was, save for myself, untenanted. I was almost at its +end, where the pines and bushes were scattering and the field of +daisies, now in full bloom, began, when I heard a slight sound at +my left. I looked in the direction of the sound and saw her. She +was standing beneath a gnarled, moss-draped old pine by the bluff +edge, looking out over the bay. + +I stopped, involuntarily. Then I moved on again, as noiselessly as +I could. But at my first step she turned and saw me. I raised my +hat. She bowed, coldly, so it seemed to my supersensitive +imagination, and I replaced the hat and continued my walk. I +thought I heard the bushes near which she stood rustle as if she +had moved, but I did not look back. + +Then, close behind me, I heard her voice. + +"Mr. Paine," she said. + +I turned. She had followed me and was standing in the path, a bit +out of breath, as if she had hurried. I waited for her to speak, +but she did not. + +"Good afternoon, Miss Colton," I said, awkwardly. Some one had to +speak, we could not stand staring at each other like that. + +She said "Good afternoon," also. Then there was another interval +of silence. + +"You--you wished to speak to me?" I stammered. + +"I DID speak to you," with significant emphasis on the "did." "I +thought you might, possibly, be interested to know that Don and I +reached home safely the other day." + +Considering that she had called upon Mother since, it seemed to me +that my knowledge of her reaching home safely might have been taken +for granted; but I said: + +"I am very glad to hear it, Miss Colton." + +"We had no difficulty in finding the way after you left us." + +The way being almost straight, and over the main traveled roads, +this, too, was fairly obvious. + +"I felt sure you would have no trouble--after I left you," I +answered, with a significant emphasis of my own. + +She did not reply and, as I had nothing further to say, I waited +for her to continue, or to break off the interview. She did +neither, but stood, as if irresolute, looking down and stirring +with her foot the leaves at the edge of the path. Suddenly she +looked up. + +"Mr. Paine," she said, "you are making it hard for me to say what I +intended. But I think I should say it, and so I will. I beg your +pardon for speaking as I did when I last saw you. I had no right +to judge or criticize you, none whatever." + +"You do not need to apologize, Miss Colton. What you told me was +probably true enough." + +The conventional answer to this would have been a half-hearted +denial of my statement. I presume I expected something of the +sort. But this girl was not conventional. + +"Yes," she said, thoughtfully, "I think it was. If I had not +thought so I should not have said it. But that makes no difference. +You and I are strangers, almost, and I had no right to speak as I +did. I am impulsive, I know it, and I often do and say things on +impulse which I am sorry for afterward. I offended you." + +"Oh no, no," I put in, hurriedly. She had offended me, but this +frank confession touched me more than the offense had hurt. She +was doing a hard thing and doing it handsomely. + +"Yes, I offended you," she repeated, firmly. "I have considered +the matter a good deal since then, and it seems to me that you were +right to feel offended. You had been very kind to me on several +occasions and I had been your"--with a half smile--"your guest that +day. I should not have hurt your feelings. Will you accept my +apology?" + +"Why, yes, of course, since you insist, Miss Colton." + +"Thank you." + +She was turning to go; and I could not let her go thus. Although +she had apologized for speaking her thought she had not retracted +the thought itself. I was seized with a desire for justification +in her eyes. I wanted to explain; forgetting for the moment that +explanations were impossible. + +"Miss Colton," I said, impulsively. + +"Yes?" + +"May I--may I say a word?" + +"Certainly, if you wish." + +She turned again and faced me. + +"Miss Colton, I--I--" I began, and paused. + +"Well?" she said, patiently, "What is it?" + +"Miss Colton," I blundered on, "you should not have apologized. +You were right. Your estimate of me was pretty nearly correct. I +realized that when you gave it and I have been realizing it ever +since. I deserved what I got--perhaps. But I should not wish you +to think--that is, I--well, I had reasons, they seemed to me +reasons, for being what I was--what I am. I doubt if they were +altogether good reasons; I am inclined now to think they were not. +But I had come to think them good. You see, I--I--" + +I stopped, face to face with the fact that I could not give those +reasons to her or any one else. She was looking at me expectantly, +and with, so it seemed to me, an expression of real, almost eager +interest. I faltered, tried to go on, and then surrendered, +absolutely, to the hopelessness of the situation. + +"It is no use," I said, "I can't tell you what those reasons were." + +I turned as I said it. I did not care to see her expression +change. I knew what she must be thinking and I had no desire to +read the thought in her eyes. I stood there, waiting for her to +leave in disgust. + +"I can't tell you," I repeated, stubbornly. + +"Very well." Her tone was as coldly indifferent as I had +anticipated. "Was that all you wished to say to me, Mr. Paine?" + +"Miss Colton, I should like to explain if I could. But I cannot." + +"Pray don't trouble yourself. I assure you I had no intentions of +asking for your--reasons. Good afternoon." + +I heard her skirts brush the leaves at the border of the path. She +was going; and the contemptuous slur at my "reasons" proved that +she did not believe them existent. She believed me to be a liar. + +"Miss Colton," I said, sharply; "wait." + +She kept on. + +"Wait," I said again. "Listen to me." + +She seemed to hesitate and then turned her head. + +"I am listening," she said. "What is it?" + +"You have no right to disbelieve me." + +"I disbelieve you? Why should you think I disbelieve you? I am +not sufficiently interested to believe or disbelieve, I assure +you." + +"But you do. You judge me--" + +"_I_ judge you! You flatter yourself, Mr. Paine." + +"But you do. You apologized just now for judging me without a +hearing the other day. You acknowledged that you should not have +done it. You are doing the same thing now." + +"I apologized for presuming to offer advice to a stranger. I did +not apologize for the advice itself. I think it good. I do not +care to argue the matter further." + +"You are not asked to argue. But your sneer at my reasons proves +that you believe that I have none and am merely trying to justify +myself with trumped up and lying excuses. You are wrong, and since +you presumed to judge me then you must listen to me now. I have-- +or had--reasons for living as I have done, for being the idler and +good-for-nothing you believe me to be. I can't tell you what they +are; I can tell no one. But I do ask you to believe that I have +them, that they are real, and that my being what you termed +ambitionless and a country loafer is not my condition from choice. +It is my right to insist upon your believing that. Do you believe +it?" + +At last I had made an impression. My earnestness seemed to have +shaken her contemptuous indifference. She looked at me steadily, +frowning a little, but regarding me less as if I were a clod and +more and more as if I were the puzzle she had once declared me to +be. I did not shun her look now, but met it eye to eye. + +"Do you believe me?" I demanded. + +Slowly her frown was disappearing. + +"Do you believe me?" I said, again. "You must." + +"Must?" + +"Yes, you must. I shall make you. If not now, at some other time. +You must believe me, Miss Colton." + +The frown disappeared altogether and she smiled. + +"If you order me to I suppose I must," she said, with a shrug of +mock resignation. "I should have learned by this time that it is +useless to say no when you say yes, Mr. Paine." + +"But do you?" + +She turned altogether and faced me. + +"I am very glad to believe you," she said, with simple directness. + +I stammered a "Thank you" and was silent. I dared not trust myself +to speak at the moment. Somehow the sincerity of her words moved +me far more than their trifling import warranted. She had declared +her belief that I was not a liar, that was all; and yet I stood +there fighting down all sorts of ridiculous emotions. The +situation was decidedly strained, but, as usual, she saved it. + +"It seems to me," she said, with the twinkle which I had learned to +recognize as a forerunner of mischief on her part, "that you are +inclined to make mountains out of mole-hills, Mr. Paine. Was there +any need to be quite so fiercely tragic? And, besides, I think +that even now you have not told the whole truth." + +"The whole truth? Why, Miss Colton, I have just explained that--" + +"Oh, not that truth! Your mysterious 'reasons' are not my affair. +And I have told you that I was willing to take those on trust. But +you have not been quite truthful in another particular. You +intimated that you were an idler. I have been given to understand +that you are far from being an idler just now." + +I was relieved. "Oh, I see!" I exclaimed. "You mean--some one has +told you of my employment at the bank." + +"A number of persons have told me. Surely you did not expect to +keep THAT a secret--in Denboro?" + +"Well, scarcely," I admitted, with a laugh. "That was known almost +before I was sure of it myself. You should have seen Eldredge's +face when I announced my intention. And Lute--Mrs. Rogers' +husband--hasn't completely recovered yet. The sight of me, +actually trying to earn a living, was too much for him. You see +what a miracle worker you are, Miss Colton." + +"Did you really accept the position simply because of what I said +to you?" + +"Yes. The chance had been offered me before, but it was your +frankness that shocked me into taking it." + +"Not really? You are joking." + +"No, I'm not. You are responsible. Are you sorry?" + +Her answer was a question. + +"Are you?" she asked. + +"No. At first it seemed ridiculous and strange, even to myself; +but now I like the work. It is like old times." + +"Old times?" + +I was forgetting myself again; talking too much was a dangerous +train--for me. I laughed, with pretended carelessness. + +"Why, yes; I was employed in a bank at one time. I think I told +you that. Have you been motoring much of late, Miss Colton?" + +"Yes. Tell me, please: You really like your work?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"Then I will answer your question. I am not a bit sorry. I am +glad I was impertinent and intrusive, especially now that I have +apologized and you have accepted the apology. I am very glad I +told you you should do something worth while." + +"Even if it were nothing more than to follow Thoph Newcomb's +example and sell fish." + +"Yes," laughingly, "even that. I WAS impertinent, wasn't I! I +don't wonder you were offended." + +"I needed the impertinence, I guess. But frankly, Miss Colton, I +can't see why you should be glad because I have gone to work. I +can't see what difference my working or idling can possibly make to +you." + +"Oh, it doesn't, of course--except on general principles. I am a +dreadful idler myself; but then, I am a woman, and idleness is a +woman's right." + +I thought of Dorinda and of the other housewives of Denboro and how +little of that particular "right" they enjoyed; which thought +brought again and forcibly to my mind the difference between this +girl's life and theirs--and Mother's--and my own. + +"A man," continued Miss Colton, sagely, "should not idle. He +should work and work hard--so that the rest of us may be as good +for nothing as we please. That is philosophy, isn't it?" + +"Yes." + +"You were good enough not to say what sort of philosophy. Thank +you. But seriously, Mr. Paine, I am fond of your mother--very +fond, considering our short acquaintance--and when I saw her lying +there, so patient, and deprived of the little luxuries and +conveniences which she needs, and which a little more money might +bring to her, it seemed to me . . . Gracious! what a lot of +nonsense I am talking! What is the matter with me this afternoon? +Do let's change the subject. Have you sold your land yet, Mr. +Paine? Of course you haven't! That is more nonsense, isn't it." + +I think she had again spoken merely on the impulse of the moment; +doubtless there was no deliberate intention on her part to bring me +to a realization of my position, the position I occupied in her +thoughts; but if she had had such an intent she could not have done +it more effectively. She believed me to have been neglecting +Mother, and her interest in my "doing something worth while" was +inspired merely because she wished Mother to be supplied with those +"luxuries and conveniences" she had mentioned. Well, my question +was answered; this was the difference my working or idling made to +her. And, for a minute or two, I had been foolish enough to fancy +her interested, as a friend, in my success or failure in life. I +might have known better. And yet, because of the novelty of the +thing, because I had so few friends, I felt a pang of disappointment. + +But I resolved she should not know she had disappointed me. I +might have been a fool, but I would keep my foolishness a secret. + +"No, Miss Colton," I said, with a smile, "I haven't sold yet." + +"Father said he saw you at the bank. Did he say anything about the +land?" + +"He said his offer was still open, that was all." + +"You are resolved not to sell." + +"To him? Yes, I am resolved. I think he knows it. I tried to +make it plain." + +"You say to him. Are you thinking of selling to any one else? To +the town?" + +"No. Probably not to any one. Certainly not to your father or the +town." + +She looked at me, with an odd expression, and seemed to hesitate. + +"Mr. Paine," she said, slowly, "would you resent my giving you +another bit of--advice?" + +"Not at all. What is it this time?" + +"Why, nothing. I must not give you any advice at all. I won't. +Instead I'll give you one of Father's pet proverbs. It isn't an +elegant one, but he is very fond of repeating it. 'There are more +ways of killing a cat than choking it to death with butter.' +There! you will admit it is not elegant." + +"But Miss Colton! Killing a cat! What in the world?" + +"You mustn't ask me. I shouldn't have said even that. But +remember, it is father's pet proverb. I must go. Please give my +love to your mother and tell her I shall call again soon. +Good-by." + +She walked briskly away and did not look back. I went home. I +thought a great deal during the evening and until late that night. +When, at last, I did go to bed I had not made much progress in the +problem of the cat, but I did believe that there was a rat in the +vicinity. I was beginning to scent one. If I was not mistaken it +called itself the Bay Shore Development Company. + +I said nothing to Mother of the new proposal to buy our land, but +next morning at the bank I wrote a letter to the cashier of a bank +in Boston, one of our correspondents, and with which our little +institution was on very friendly terms. I asked the cashier to +make some guarded inquiries concerning the Bay Shore Company, to +find out, if possible, who was behind it and also to inquire +concerning Barclay and Keene, the real estate brokers of Milk +Street. + +The reply to my letter reached me on Friday. It was satisfactory, +eminently so. And when, on Saturday afternoon, Mr. Keene, bland +and smiling as ever, made his appearance at the house, I was ready +for him. I stood on the step and made no move to invite him +within. "Well, Mr. Paine," he said, cordially, "are you ready to +talk business?" + +"Quite ready," I answered. + +He beamed with satisfaction. + +"Good!" he exclaimed. "Then what is your figure?" + +"My figure is a naught," I replied, with emphasis. "You may tell +your employer that I do not care to sell the land to him, no matter +whether he calls himself James Colton or the Bay Shore Development +Company. Oh yes; and, if you like, you may add that this +particular cat declines to be choked." + +Mr. Keene showed signs of choking, himself, and I shut the door and +left him outside. Lute, who had been listening at the dining-room +window and had heard only fragments of the brief interview, was in +a state of added incoherence. + +"Well, by time!" he gasped. "What--what sort of talk was that? +Chokin' a cat! A cat!! We ain't got no cat." + +"Haven't we?" I observed. "Why, no, so we haven't! Perhaps you +had better explain that to Mr. Keene, Lute. It may help him to +understand the situation. And add that I suggest his telling the +person who sent him here that soft-soap is no improvement on +butter." + +I think Lute did tell him just that, doubtless with all sorts of +excuses for my insanity, for the next day, Sunday, as I walked +along the beach, a big body came ploughing down the sandy slope and +joined me. + +"Hello!" said Colton. + +"Good morning," said I. + +"How are independence and public spirit these days?" + +"Very well, thank you. How are Development Companies developing?" + +He put back his head and laughed. He did not seem a bit chagrined +or discomfited. The joke was on him, but he could enjoy it, +nevertheless. In spite of my antagonism toward this man I could +not help admiring certain traits of his character. He was big, in +every way. Little repulses or setbacks did not trouble him. + +"Say," he said, "how did you know about that cat?" + +"Saw his footprints," I replied. "They were all over the scheme. +And your friend Keene purred too loud." + +"I don't mean that. Keene was a fool; that was plain enough for +anyone to see. I had to use him; if Barclay hadn't been sick it +might have been different. But how did you come to send me that +message about the butter? Man, that is one of my favorite sayings-- +the choking the cat thing! How did you know that? I never said +it to you." + +"Oh, it is an old saying. I have heard it often; and it did seem +to fit in this case. I imagined you would understand and +appreciate." + +"Um--yes," dryly. "I appreciated all right. As to understanding-- +well, I'll understand later on. That's another little conundrum +for me to work out. Somebody's been talking, of course. Here! +hold on!" as I was walking away: "Don't go. I want to talk to +you." + +He characteristically did not ask whether or not I wanted to talk +to him, but, as I happened to be in no hurry, I stopped and waited +for him to continue. He thrust his hands into his pockets and +looked me over, very much as he might have looked over a horse he +was thinking of buying. + +"Paine," he said, suddenly, "do you want to go to work?" + +"Work?" I repeated. "I am at work already." + +"You've got a job, such as it is. It might be work for the average +jay, but it isn't for you. I'll give you something to work at-- +yes, and work for." + +I stared at him in wondering suspicion. + +"What is this; another Development Company?" I demanded. + +"Ha! ha! not this time. No, this is straight. If you'll say that +you'll work for me I'll make an opening for you in my New York +office." + +I did not answer. I was trying to fathom the motive behind this +new move. + +"I'll put you to work in my office," he went on. "It may not be +much to begin with, but you can make it anything you like; that'll +be up to you. As to salary--well, I don't know what you're getting +in that one-horse bank, but I'll double it, whatever it is. That +will be the start, of course. After that it is up to you, as I +said." + +"Mr. Colton this may be a good joke, but I don't see it--yet." + +"I don't joke often in business; can't afford to." + +"You are really serious? You mean what you say?" + +"Yes." + +"But why? You don't know anything about me." + +"I know all that is necessary. And I have found out that you are +all right, so far as bank work goes. That fellow Taylor and some +others told me that. But I didn't need their telling. Why, man, +it is part of my trade to know men when I see them. I have to know +'em. I said a while ago that you didn't belong in this forsaken +hole of a town. God knows it IS forsaken! Even my wife is +beginning to admit that, and she was the keenest to come here. +Some day I shall get sick of it and sell out, I suppose." + +"Sell out?" + +"Oh, not yet. Mabel--my daughter--seems to like it here, for some +unknown reason, and wants to stay. And I don't intend to sell +until I've bought--what I set out to buy. But I'm not the subject +we're talking about just now. You are. Come! here's your chance +to be somebody. More chance than I had, I'll tell you that. You +can go to work in my office next week, if you want to. Will you?" + +I laughed at the idea. I believed I had found the motive I was +seeking. "Of course not," I said. "You can't close the Lane by +that kind of bribery, Mr. Colton." + +"Bribery be hanged! Come, come, Paine! Wake up, or I shall think +your brains aren't up to standard, after all. When I bribe I +bribe. When I ask a man to work for me there are no strings tied +to the offer. Forget your picayune land for a minute. Time enough +to remember that when I've got it, which will be some day or other, +of course. I'm making you this offer because I want you. You're +sharp; you saw through that Development game. You're clever--your +sending me that 'cat' message proves it. And your not telling me +where the idea for the message came from proves that you can keep +your mouth shut. I could use a dozen fellows like you, if I could +get them. You interested me right at the start. A chap with sand +enough to tell Jim Colton to go to the devil is always interesting. +I'm offering you this chance because I think it is a good chance +for both of us. Yes, and because I like you, I suppose, in spite +of your pig-headedness. Will you take it?" + +"No, thank you," I answered. + +"Why? Because you can't leave your sick mother? She'll be all +right. I was talking with the doctor--Quimby, his name is, isn't +it--and he happened to mention that he was encouraged about her. +Said she had been distinctly better for the last month." + +I could not believe it. Doctor Quimby had said nothing of the sort +to me. It was impossible. Mother BETTER! + +"That doesn't mean she is going to be well and strong again, of +course," he added, not unkindly. "But I think Quimby believes she +may be well enough to--perhaps--sit up one of these days. Be +wheeled about in a chair, or something of that sort . . . Why! +what is the matter? You looked as if I had knocked you out. +Hasn't the doctor said anything to you?" + +"No," I stammered. I WAS knocked out. I could not believe it. +Mother, the bed-ridden invalid of six long years, to be well enough +to sit up! to use a wheeled chair! It could not be true. It was +too good to be true. + +"So, you see, you could leave her all right," went on Colton. "If +it was necessary you could get a nurse down here to look after her +while you were away. And you might get home every fortnight or so. +Better take my offer, Paine. Come!" with a grunt of impatient +amusement, "don't keep me waiting too long. I am not used to +coaxing people to work for me; it is usually the other way around. +This offer of mine happens to be pretty nearly a disinterested one, +and," with one of his dry smiles, "all my offers are not that kind, +as you ought to know. Will you say yes now? Or do you want till +to-morrow to think it over?" + +The news concerning Mother had upset me greatly, but my common- +sense was not all gone. That there was something behind his offer +I believed, but, even if there were not--if it was disinterested +and made simply because my unearthing of the Bay Shore "cat" had +caught his fancy--I did not consider for a moment accepting it. +Not if Mother was like other women, well and strong, would I have +accepted it. In Denboro I was Roscoe Paine, and my life story was +my own secret. In New York how long would it be before that secret +and my real name were known, and all the old disgrace and scandal +resurrected? + +"What do you say?" asked Colton, again. "Want more time to think +about it, do you?" + +I shook my head. "No," I answered. "I have had time enough. I am +obliged for the offer and I appreciate your kindness, but I cannot +accept." + +I expected him to express impatience or, perhaps, anger; at least +to ask my reasons for declining. But his only utterance was a +"Humph!" For a moment he regarded me keenly. Then he said: + +"Haven't got the answer yet, have I? All right. Well," briskly, +"when are you and I going on that shooting trip?" + +"There is no shooting at present," I answered, as soon as I could +adjust my mind to this new switch in the conversation. + +"That so? Any fishing?" + +"I believe the squiteague are running outside. I heard they were." + +"What? Squit--which?" + +"Squiteague. Weakfish some people call them." + +"They are pretty fair sport, aren't they?" + +"Yes, fair. Nothing like bluefish, however." + +"All right. What is the matter with our going squint--squint-- +something or othering one of these days? Will you go? Or are you +as pig-headed about that as you are about other things?" + +I laughed. "Not quite," I said. "I should be glad of your +company, Mr. Colton." + +"Next Saturday suit you?" + +"Yes. After bank hours." + +"All right. I'll look after the boat. You provide the bait and +tackle. That's fair, isn't it? Right. Be on hand at my dock at +one o'clock. Morning." + +He walked off. Neither of us had thought of the tide--he, +probably, not realizing that high water was an important factor, +and I being too much agitated by what he had said about Mother, and +the suddenness with which the fishing trip was planned, to think +calmly of anything. + +That week was a strange one to me, and the first of many strange +ones. My manner of life was changing, although I did not realize +it and although the change came through no effort of my own. Our +house, which had been so long almost a hermitage, if a home +containing four persons might be called that, was gradually +becoming a social center. Matilda Dean had called once a week +regularly for some time and this particular week Captain Jed came +with her. Captain Elisha Warren and his cousin and housekeeper, +Miss Abbie Baker, drove down for a half-hour's stay. George Taylor +and Nellie spent an evening with us. I feared the unaccustomed +rush of company might have a bad effect upon Mother, but she seemed +actually the better for it. She professed to believe that Denboro +was awakening to the fact of my merits as a man and a citizen. +"They are finding you out at last, Boy," she said. I laughed at +her. I knew better. It was because of my position in the bank +that these people came. I was making good there, apparently, and +the surprise at this caused Captain Warren and the rest to take a +new, and no doubt transitory interest in me. + +And I thought I knew Captain Jed's reason for coming. An interview +between us gave me the inkling. Matilda was in Mother's room and +Dean and I were together in the dining-room. + +"Ros," said the captain, suddenly, "you ain't backin' water, are +you?" + +"Backing water? What do you mean by that?" + +"In this Lane business. You ain't cal'latin' to sell out to +Colton, after all?" + +"Well, hardly. Why do you say that?" + +"Nothin', maybe. But they tell me you're kind of thick with the +R'yal family lately. Beriah Holt says he see you and the Colton +girl come out of the woods back of his place one afternoon a spell +ago. She was on horseback and you was walkin', but Beriah says you +and she was mighty friendly." + +I might have expected this. In Denboro one does few things +unnoticed. + +"She had lost her way in the woods and I helped her to find the +road home," I said, "that was all." + +"Hum! You helped her to find the road the night of the strawberry +festival, too, didn't you?" + +"How in the world did you find that out?" + +"Oh, it just sort of drifted around. I've got pretty big ears-- +maybe you've noticed 'em--and they gen'rally catch some of what's +blowin' past. There was a coachman mixed up in that night's work +and he talked some, I shouldn't wonder; most of his kind do." + +"Well, what of it?" I asked, sharply. "I helped her as I would +your daughter if she had been caught alone in a storm like that. I +should have been ashamed not to." + +"Sartin! Needn't get mad about it. What's this about your takin' +his Majesty off fishin' next Saturday?" + +All of my personal affairs seemed to be common property. I was +losing my temper in spite of my recent good resolutions. + +"Look here, Captain Dean," I said, "I have a right to take any one +fishing, if I choose. Mr. Colton asked me to do it and I saw no +reason for saying no." + +"Funny he should ask you. He ain't asked anybody else in town." + +"I don't know that and I don't care. I shall do as I please. I +have no grievance against the Coltons. I shall not sell them my +land, but I reserve the right to meet them--yes, and to associate +with them--if I choose. You and your friends may as well +understand that, Captain." + +"There! there! don't get huffy. I ain't got the right to say what +your rights are, Ros. And I don't think for a minute you'd back +water on the Lane business a-purpose. But I do think you're takin' +chances. I tell you, honest, I'm scart of old Colton, in a way, +and I ain't scart of many folks. He's a fighter and he's smart. +He and I have had some talks--" + +"You have?" I interrupted. + +"Yup. Lively squabbles they was, too. Each of us expressin' our +opinion of t'other and not holdin' back anything to speak of. I +don't know how he felt when we quit, but I know I respected him-- +for his out and open cussedness and grit, if nothin' else. And I +think he felt the same way about me. But he's smart--consarn him, +he is! And HE never backs water. That's why I think you're takin' +chances in bein' too friendly with him. He's layin' low and, if +you get off your guard just once he'll grab." + +I hesitated; then I made up my mind. + +"Captain Dean," I said, "his smartness hasn't caught me yet. I'm +going to tell you something, but first you must promise not to tell +anyone else." + +He promised and I told him of Mr. Keene and the Bay Shore Company. +He listened, interrupting with chuckles and exclamations. When I +had finished he seized my hand and wrung it. + +"By the everlastin'!" he exclaimed, "that was great! I say again, +you're all right, Ros Paine. Even _I_ swallered that Development +Company, hook, line, and sinker. But YOU saw through it!" + +"I tell you this," I said, "so that you will understand I have no +intention of backing water." + +"I know you ain't. Knew it afore and now I know it better. But I +can't understand what the Colton game is--and there is a game, +sure. That daughter of his, now--she may be in it or she may not. +She's pretty and I will give in that she's folksy and sociable with +us natives; it's surprisin', considerin' her bringin' up. Nellie +and Matildy like her, Nellie especial. They're real chummy, as you +might say. Talk and talk, just as easy and common as you and I +this minute. I've heard 'em two or three times at my house when +they thought I wasn't listenin' and twice out of the three they was +talkin' about you." + +"About ME?" I repeated. + +"Yes. I don't wonder you're surprised. I was myself. Asked +Nellie about it and she just laughed. Said you was the principal +object of interest in town just now, which is more or less true. +But it makes me suspicious, all the same. Why should a girl like +that Colton one talk about a feller like you? You're as fur apart, +fur's anything in common is concerned, as molasses is from vinegar. +Ain't that so?" + +It was so, of course, but he need not have been so brutally frank +in telling me. However, I nodded and admitted that he was right. + +"Yes," he said. "A blind horse could see there was no sensible, +open and above-board reason for HER bein' interested in YOU. So +there's another reason, the way I look at it, and that's why I'd be +mighty careful, mighty careful, Ros. Her pa's got a new trick up +his sleeve and she's helpin' him play it, that's my notion. So be +careful, won't you." + +"I'll be careful," said I. I knew, as well as I knew my real name-- +which he did not--that Mabel Colton was not helping her father +play any tricks. I had seen enough of her to be certain she was +not tricky. And, besides, if she were in sympathy with her parent, +why had she given me the hint which put me on the trail of the +Development Company? Why had she given me the hint at all? That +was the real riddle, and I had not, as yet, hit upon a plausible +answer. Those I had hit upon were ridiculous and impossible, and I +put them from my mind. But she was not tricky, that I knew. + +Captain Jed changed the subject and we talked of Nellie's wedding, +which was to take place in a month. The captain was full of +various emotions, regret at losing his daughter and joy because of +her getting such a good husband. His last words were these: + +"Ros," he said, "be careful, for my sake full as much as yours. +This Lane business and Nellie's gettin' married have sort of +possessed me, same as the evil spirits did the swine, in scriptur'. +I lay awake nights fussin' for fear the marriage won't turn out +happy or for fear you'll sell the Lane after all. And one's just +as likely to happen as t'other--which means they're both impossible, +I cal'late. But look out for that Colton girl, whatever else you +do. She's a good deal better lookin' than her dad, but she's just +as dangerous. You mark my words, son, the feller that plays with +fire takes chances. So don't be TOO sociable with any of the +tribe." + +And the very next afternoon the dangerous person herself called and +she and I spent an hour in Mother's room, where the three of us +chatted like old friends. She had the rare power of making one +forget self and personal worries and I could readily understand why +Mother had been so completely won by her. She was bright and +cheery and sympathetic. Here there was no trace of the pride of +class and the arrogance which had caused me to hate her so heartily +at first. It seemed almost as if she had set herself the task of +making me like her in spite of my prejudices. My reason told me +that this could not be; it was merely her fancy for Mother which +caused her to notice me at all; she had as much as said so more +than once. But I did like her; I acknowledged it in my thoughts; +and, after she had gone, the room, with its drawn shades, seemed +doubly dark and gloomy. Mother was silent for a few minutes and I, +too, said nothing. Then: + +"She is a wonderful girl, isn't she, Roscoe," said Mother. + +She was altogether too wonderful, that was the trouble. A girl +like her had no place in our lives. I went out for a walk and a +smoke by the bluff edge; and, almost before I knew it, I found +myself standing at the border of the grove, looking at the great +house and trying to guess which was her room and if she was there +and of what or whom she might be thinking just then. "Mark my +words, son," Captain Jed had declared, "the feller that plays with +fire takes chances." + +I turned on my heel and set out for home. I would take no chances. +I must not play with fire, even though the flames had, for the +moment, dazzled me. I had called myself a fool many times in the +past few years, but I would not be so great a fool as that. + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +So I resolved, more resolutely than ever, to keep out of her way, +to see as little of her as possible! and, as had happened before to +similar resolutions of mine with which she was concerned, this one +was rendered non-effective, through no fault of my own, almost as +soon as it was made. For on Saturday afternoon, as I approached +the Colton wharf, laden with bait and rods for the fishing +excursion in the Colton boat, I saw her standing there beside her +father, waiting for me. + +"We've got a passenger, Paine," said "Big Jim." "You've met her +before, I believe--on the water and in it. No objections to my +daughter's going along, have you?" + +What could I say; except to announce delight at the addition to our +party? Perhaps I did not say it as heartily as I might, for, Miss +Colton, who was regarding me with a mischievous smile, observed +demurely: + +"I am sure he must be delighted, Father. Mr. Paine knows I am very +fond of fishing; don't you, Mr. Paine?" + +"Yes; oh, yes, of course," I stammered. + +"He does, eh!" Her father seemed surprised. "How did he find that +out?" + +I thought the question was addressed to her, so I did not answer. +She seemed to think otherwise, for she said: + +"Did you hear, Mr. Paine? Father asks how you knew I was fond of +fishing." + +"Why--er--you told me so, Miss Colton," I replied. If she had not +related her Seabury Pond experience to her parents I did not +propose to be trapped into doing so. She laughed merrily. + +"Did I?" she asked. "Yes, I believe I did." + +Mr. Colton looked at us, each in turn. + +"Humph!" he observed; "I don't seem to be aboard this train. +What's the joke?" + +She saved me the problem of inventing a satisfactory answer. + +"Oh, it's a little joke of Mr. Paine's and my own," she explained. +"I'll tell you about it by and by, Father. It would take too long +to tell now. He saved my life once more, that's all." + +"Oh! that's all! Humph! And you did not think a trifle like that +worth mentioning to me, I suppose. Would you mind telling me what +it was he saved you from this time?" + +"From starvation. I was a famished wayfarer and he took me in. +There, Daddy, don't puzzle your poor brain any longer. It is all +right and I'll tell you all about it when we get home. Now I am +sure we should be starting if we are to have any fishing at all. +Shall we cast off, Mr.--that is, Captain Paine?" + +That fishing trip was not a huge success if judged solely by the +size of the catch. The weakfish were not hungry or we did not +tempt them with bait to their taste that day. We got a half dozen, +of which I caught three, Miss Colton two, and her father but one. +His, however, was a big one, much the biggest of the six, and he +had a glorious time landing it. He fished as he appeared to do +everything else, with intense earnestness and determination. He +evidently considered the struggle a sort of personal disagreement +between the fish and himself and, as usual, intended to have his +way. He succeeded after a while, and announced that he had not +enjoyed anything as much since arriving in Denboro. + +His daughter also seemed to be enjoying herself. She was quite as +good a fisher as her father, and, when the sport was over, and we +reeled in our lines preparatory to starting for home, rallied him +not a little at having been the least successful of the party. He +took her teasing good-naturedly. + +"You think it is quite a feat to get the better of your old dad, +don't you, my lady," he observed. + +"Of course I do. It is, isn't it?" + +He chuckled. "Well, maybe you're right," he admitted. "You do it +oftener than any one else, that is certain. Paine, you might take +lessons from her, if you are still hoping to keep up your end in +the little fight you and I have on hand." + +She turned to me and smiled. Her graceful head was silhouetted +against the red glow of the sunset and a loosened strand of her +hair waved in the light breeze. + +"I think Mr. Paine does not need lessons from any one," she said. +"He seems to be holding his own very well." + +"But he's frightened, all the same. Come, Paine, own up now. You +know you are frightened, don't you?" + +"Not very," I answered, truthfully. + +"So? Then you aren't as sensible as you ought to be. A wise man +knows when to be scared. Let's make a little bet on it. I'll bet +you two to one that I'll own that land of yours inside of six +months." + +I shook my head. "I never bet on certainties," I declared. "I +should be ashamed to collect my winnings." + +This seemed to amuse them both, for they both laughed. + +"Father," said Miss Colton, "I am afraid you don't learn by +experience. You have lost one bet already, you know." + +"That's so. And I haven't paid it yet, either. I must, or you'll +be telling every one that I am a poor sport. Paine, this young +lady bet me a new pipe against a box of gloves that you wouldn't--" + +"Father," broke in the young lady, herself, "stop." + +"Oh, all right, all right. Just as you say. But I tell you this, +Paine; SHE hasn't any scruples against betting on certainties." + +She was leaning against the cockpit rail, looking forward, and I +could not see her face. She spoke without turning. + +"You thought yours was the certainty," she said. "You warned me +that I was sure to lose." + +"Did I? Well, you may, even yet. On the whole, I think I'll wait +a while before buying those gloves. Remember, there was no time +limit. When you said that--" + +"Father," more firmly, "please be quiet. You have said quite +enough. Mr. Paine is not likely to be interested in the family +gambling." + +I was interested in this particular "gamble." The wager had, +obviously, something to do with me. I suppose I should have felt +flattered at being made the subject of a bet in such select +circles, but I did not. I had not been informed as to the details +of that bet. + +There was nothing more said about it at the time and my passengers +talked of other things as we sailed home before the fast dying +breeze. It died almost altogether as we passed the lighthouse at +Crow Point and entered the bay and, for an hour, we barely held our +own against the tide. The sun set, twilight came, and the stars +appeared one by one. Colton, lying at full length on the deck +forward of the cockpit, smoked in lazy enjoyment. His only remark +in ten minutes was to the effect that his wife had probably drowned +us all, in her mind, a dozen times over by now. + +His daughter, sitting by the rail and looking out over the smooth, +darkly glimmering water, bade him be quiet. + +"You must not talk," she said. "This is the most wonderful night I +ever experienced. How still it is! You can hear every sound. +Hark!" + +From the dusk, to port, came the clear strokes of a church bell +striking eight. + +"That is the clock at the Methodist Church, isn't it?" asked Miss +Colton. + +"Yes," said I. + +"The church where the strawberry festival was held?" + +"Yes." + +Colton struck a match to relight his cigar. + +"Shouldn't think that would be a pleasant reminder to either of +you," he observed. "I am mighty sure it wasn't to me." + +Miss Colton did not answer, nor did I. + +The breeze sprang up again soon after, from a different quarter +this time, but the tide had ebbed so far that I was obliged to make +the detour around the end of the flat upon which Victor had +grounded the dingy. "Big Jim" raised himself on his elbow. + +"Hello!" he exclaimed, "here's another joyful spot. Mabel, it was +along here somewhere that Paine acquired the habit of carrying you +about like a bundle. It must have been a picturesque performance. +Wish I might have seen it." + +He laughed heartily. + +"Father," said the young lady, coldly, "don't be silly--please." + +He chuckled and lay down again, and no one spoke during the rest of +the voyage. It was after nine when I brought the boat up to the +wharf, made her fast, and lowered and furled the sail. + +"Better come up to the house with us and have a bit to eat, Paine," +urged Colton. "You must be hungry; I know I am." + +"Oh, no, thank you," said I. "Supper will be waiting for me at +home." + +"Glad to have you, if you'll come. Tell him to come, Mabel." + +Miss Colton's invitation was not over-cordial. + +"I presume Mr. Paine knows what is best for him to do," she said. +"Of course we shall be glad to have him, if he will come." + +I declined, and, after thanking me for the sail and the pleasure of +the fishing trip, they left me, Colton carrying his big squiteague +by the gills, its tail slapping his leg as he climbed the bluff. A +moment later I followed. + +The night was, as my feminine passenger had said, wonderfully +quiet, and sounds carried a long way. As I reached the juncture of +the path and the Lane I heard a voice which I recognized as Mrs. +Colton's. She was evidently standing on the veranda of the big +house and I heard every word distinctly. + +"You are so unthinking, James! You and Mabel have no regard for my +feelings at all. I have been worried almost to death. Do you +realize the time? I warned you against trusting yourself to the +care of that common FELLOW--" + +The "fellow" heard no more. He did not wish to. He was tramping +heavily through the dew-soaked undergrowth. He needed now no +counsel against "playing with fire." The cutting contempt of Mrs. +James W. Colton's remark was fire-extinguisher sufficient for that +night. + +Miss Colton and I met again at the door of the bank a day or two +later, just at closing time. Sam Wheeler had already gone and I +left George at his desk, poring over papers and busily figuring. +He was working over time much of late and explained his industry by +the fact of his approaching marriage and his desire to make things +easy for me to handle while he was on his brief wedding trip. I +was not much alarmed by the prospect. He was to be gone but a week +and I had become sufficiently familiar with the routine to feel +confident in assuming the responsibility. Small, my predecessor, +had a brother who had formerly been employed in the bank and was +now out of work, and he was coming in to help during the cashier's +absence. I was not worried by the prospect of being left in +charge, but I was worried about George. He, so it seemed to me, +had grown pale and thin. Also he was nervously irritable and not +at all like his usual good-natured self. I tried to joke him into +better humor, but he did not respond to my jokes. He seemed, too, +to realize that his odd behavior was noticeable, for he said: + +"Don't mind my crankiness, Ros. I've got so much on my mind that +I'd be mean to my old grandmother, if I had one, I guess likely. +Don't let my meanness trouble you; it isn't worth trouble." + +I laughed. "George," I said, "if I ever dreamed of such a thing as +getting married myself, you would scare me out of it. You ought to +be a happy man, and act like one; instead you act as if you were +about to be jailed." + +He caught his breath with a sort of gasp. Then, after a pause and +without looking up, he asked slowly: + +"Jailed? What in the world made you say that, Ros?" + +"I said it because you act as if you were bound for state's prison +instead of the matrimonial altar. George, what IS troubling you?" + +"Troubling me? Why--why, nothing special, of course. Catching up +with my work here makes me nervous and--and kind of absent-minded, +I guess. Act absent-minded, don't I?" + +He did, there was no doubt of that, but I did not believe it was +his work which caused the absent-mindedness. + +"If there is any trouble, George," I said, earnestly; "if you're in +any difficulty, personally, I shall be very glad to help you, if I +can. I mean that." + +For a moment I thought he hesitated. Then he shook his head. + +"I know you mean it, Ros," he answered. "I'm much obliged to you, +too. But there's nothing to help me with. I'm just nervous and +tired, that's all." + +I did not believe it, but I felt that I had said all I could, +considering his attitude. I bade him good night and left the +building. As I came down the steps Miss Colton was just crossing +the road from Eldredge's store, a good sized brown paper parcel in +her hand. + +Ever since the day when Captain Jed had given me his warning I had +been strengthening my resolution. The remark of Mrs. Colton's +which I had overheard on the night of the fishing trip, although it +revealed to me, as I believed, my real standing in the minds of my +neighbors, whatever they might pretend when in my company, was, +after all, only a minor detail. I knew that I must break off my +acquaintance with this girl. By all that was sensible and sane it +must be broken off. I must not, for my own sake, continue to meet +her, to see her and speak with her. No; I would avoid her if I +could, but, at all events, I would break off the association, even +if I were obliged to offend her, deliberately offend her, to +accomplish my purpose. I swore it; and then I swore at myself for +being so weak-minded as to need to swear. That I should be afraid +of a girl, a mere girl, ten years younger than I, who, as the +casual pastime of an idle summer, had chosen to pretend an interest +in me! I was not afraid of her, of course; I was afraid of myself. +Not that I was in danger of falling in love with her--that idea was +too ridiculous to be even funny. But she was becoming a disturbing +influence in my life--that was it, a disturbing influence--and I +must not permit myself to be disturbed. + +So now, as I saw the disturbing influence crossing the road in my +direction, my first thought was to retreat to the bank. But it was +too late to retreat; she had seen me, and she bowed pleasantly as +she approached. + +"Good afternoon," she said. + +I bowed and admitted that the afternoon was a good one, conscious +as I did so that Sim Eldredge had followed her to the door of his +store and was regarding us with marked interest. + +She exhibited the package. "I am acting as my own errand boy, you +see," she said, smiling. "It was such a beautiful day that I +refused to send any one for this, or even to ride. I did not +realize that a few yards of muslin would make such a bundle. Now I +must carry it, I suppose, in spite of appearances." + +I believed I saw an opportunity to escape. + +"I am going directly home," I said. "Let me carry it down for you. +I will send it over to your house by Lute." + +"Oh, no thank you. I could not think of troubling Mr. Rogers. But +do you really want to carry it? You may, for a while. We will +take turns. I am going directly home, too; and we will walk down +together. Unless, of course, you are in a hurry." + +I think it was the expression of my face which led her to add the +last sentence. If I had had time to think, to summon my resolution, +it is possible--yes, it is possible that I should have declared +myself to be in a hurry and gone on alone. But she had caught me +unawares and resolution was wanting. I announced that I was in no +hurry at all, and took the parcel. + +We walked on together, she chatting easily, and I pretending to +listen, although aware that our progress was watched by eager eyes +and commented upon and exclaimed over by many tongues. The drawn +shades of parlor windows moved significantly as we passed and, as +we turned into the Lower Road, I glanced over my shoulder and saw +Sim Eldredge and his clerk and Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker on the +store platform, staring after us. As if this audience was not +sufficient, and to make the affair complete, we met Captain Dean +strutting importantly on his way to the post-office. He bowed and +said "Afternoon," but the look he gave me was significant. There +was surprise in it, and distrust. I knew I should have to do more +explaining at our next meeting. And I knew, too, or could guess, +what was being said that very moment at the store, and of the +surmising and theorizing and strengthening of suspicions which +would go on at a dozen supper tables that evening. + +My companion, however, appeared to be quite unconscious of all +this. That I might be suspected and misjudged because she had +chanced to prefer my company to a walk home alone did not, +evidently, occur to her. There was no reason why it should, of +course; she was not in the position where the opinion or suspicions +of Denboro's inhabitants need concern her in the least. But I, +angry at Captain Jed for his look and with Sim Eldredge and his +companions for their impudent stares and the trouble I knew their +gossipy tongues would make for me, was gloomy and resentful. + +She did most of the talking and I walked beside her, putting in a +word occasionally and doing my best to appear as unconcerned as she +really was. We crossed Elnathan Mullet's bridge and continued down +the Shore Lane. Suddenly I was aware that she had not spoken for +some minutes. + +"Eh? Yes, Miss Colton; what is it?" I stammered. Then I realized +that we were standing beside the granite posts marking the entrance +to the Colton grounds. I had been so wrapped in my unpleasant +thoughts and forebodings that we had reached our journey's end +without my noticing it. + +"Well!" I exclaimed, and then added the brilliant observation, "We +are here, aren't we." + +"We are," she said, dryly. "Didn't you know it?" + +"Why, I had not realized. The walk has seemed so short." + +"Yes, I'm sure it must. I think you have spoken exactly six words +in the last five minutes. Will you come in?" + +"Oh no; no, thank you." + +"Why not? Father is in and will be glad to see you." + +"I--I must be getting on toward home. Supper will be ready." + +She bit her lip. "Far be it from me to criticize your domestic +arrangements, Mr. Paine," she said, "but it does seem to me that +your housekeeper serves meals at odd hours. It is only a few +minutes after four, by my watch." + +She had me at a disadvantage. I imagined I must have appeared +embarrassed. I know I felt that way. + +"I did not realize . . . I thought it much later," I stammered. + +"Then you will come in? Father will like to discuss the fishing +with you, I know. He has talked of little but his wonderful +weakfish ever since he caught it." + +"No, thank you, Miss Colton. Really, I must not stop." + +She took the parcel from my hands. + +"Very well," she said, indifferently; "as you please. I thank you +for your kindness in walking down with me. Good afternoon, Mr. +Paine." + +She turned away. Here was the opportunity I had been waiting for, +the opportunity of breaking off our acquaintance. If I knew +anything I knew the tone of that "Good afternoon" meant that, for +some reason or other, she was offended, just as I had been certain +I wished her to be. Here was the opportunity, Heaven sent, to rid +my life of its disturbing influence. Just what I had prayed for +had come to pass. + +And so, to prove the sincerity of my prayers and the worth of my +high resolve, I--called her back. + +"Miss Colton," I said. + +She, apparently, did not hear me, so I called again. + +"Miss Colton." + +"Yes?" + +"I seem somehow or other to have offended you." And even as I said +it I realized the completeness of the back-down, realized it and +blushed. I was ashamed of my weakness. Yet when she asked me to +repeat my words I did so. + +"You spoke to me?" she said, coldly. + +"I--I said I had not meant to offend you." + +"Why should you imagine that I am offended, pray? You seem to +think other people must necessarily regard you as seriously as you +do yourself. I am not offended." + +"But you are." + +"Very well; then I am. We won't argue the matter; it is scarcely +worth argument, is it?" + +This observation called for no answer in particular, at least I +could not think of one. While I was groping for a word she spoke +again. + +"Don't let me detain you, Mr. Paine," she said. "I am sure your-- +supper, was it?--must be waiting." + +"Miss Colton, you--you seem to resent my not accepting your +invitation to visit your father. I assure you I--I should be very +glad to call upon him." + +"Thank you. I will tell him so. He will be grateful, doubtless. +Your condescension is overwhelming, Mr. Paine." + +"Miss Colton, everything I say seems to be wrong this afternoon. I +don't know what I have done. Twice you have spoken of my +condescension." + +Her foot was beginning to pat the grass. I recognized the battle +signal, but I kept on. + +"I don't understand what you mean by condescension," I said. + +"Don't you, indeed? You are very dense all at once, Mr. Paine." + +"Possibly. But I don't understand." + +For an instant she hesitated. Then she turned on me with a gust of +fierce impatience which took my breath away. Her eyes flashed. + +"You do," she declared. "You do understand, I am not blind. Do +you suppose I could not see that you wished to avoid me when I met +you at the bank just now? That my company was neither welcome nor +desired? That you accepted my suggestion of walking down together +merely because you could think of no excuse for declining?" + +This was a staggerer. And the worst of it was its truth. + +"Miss Colton," I faltered, "I can't understand what you mean. I--" + +"You do understand. And please," with a scornful laugh, "oh, +PLEASE understand that I am not troubled because of THAT. Your +charming and cultivated society is not indispensable to my +happiness, Mr. Paine, strange as that may appear to you. Really," +with cutting contempt, "it is not." + +"That I quite understand, Miss Colton," I said, "but--" + +"But you are like every one else in this horrid, narrow, bigoted +place. Don't you suppose that I see it everywhere I go! Every one +here hates us--every one. We are intruders; we are not wanted +here, and you all take pains to make us feel as uncomfortable as +you can. Oh, you are all snobs--all of you." + +I actually gasped. + +"Snobs!" I repeated. "We--snobs?" + +"Yes. That is exactly what you are. When Father came here he +meant to be a citizen, a good citizen, of the town. He had +intended to do all sorts of things to help the village and the +people in it. He and I discussed ever so many plans for doing good +here. And we wanted to be friendly with every one. But how have +you treated us! No one comes to see us. We are avoided as if we +had the small-pox. The majority of people scarcely speak to us on +the street. I am so lonely and--" + +She stopped. I had never seen her so agitated. As for me, +astonishment is much too mild a term to use in describing my +feelings. That these people, these millionaires and aristocrats +should feel that they had been avoided and slighted, that we +Denboroites were the snobs, that THEY should be lonely because no +one, or almost no one, came to call upon them--this was too much +for my bewildered brain to grasp all at once. + +The young lady went on. + +"And you!" she exclaimed. "You are as bad as the rest. Father has +called upon you several times. I have called on your mother. +Father and I have tried to be friendly and neighborly. Not that we +are lacking in friends. We," haughtily, "are not obliged to BEG +for friendship. But we felt it our duty to--" + +I interrupted. There is a limit to forbearance and I considered +that limit reached. + +"Miss Colton," I declared, "you are talking nonsense. Considering +the manner in which your father treated me when we first met, I--" + +"How did you treat him? How did you treat Mr. Carver and me when +you first met us in the auto? You insulted us. It was plain +enough then that you hated us." + +"I--why, Miss Colton, I did not know who you were." + +"Indeed! Would it have made any difference if you had known? I +doubt it. No, you are like the rest of the people here. Because +we have come from the city you have chosen to be as envious and +petty and disagreeable as you can. Even Nellie Dean, whom I know +better than any one here, has never returned my call. There is a +concerted plan to make us feel we are neither welcome nor wanted. +Very well," disdainfully, "we know it. I, for one, shall not force +my presence upon any one of you again. And it is probable that I +shall manage to exist even without the delights of Denboro society. +Good-by, Mr. Paine." + +"But, Miss Colton--" + +"Good-by." + +"Miss Colton, listen to me. You are wrong, all wrong, I tell you. +There is no plan or plot to make you feel uncomfortable. We are +plain village people here, and you are wealthy and have been used +to associating with those of your class. Every one in Denboro knew +that when you came, and they have been shy of intruding where they +might not be welcome. Then there was that matter of the Lane +here." + +"Oh, that precious Lane! I wish I had never seen it." + +"I have wished that a number of times in the past few months. But +it is here and the question overshadows everything else in the +village just now. It does not seem of much importance to you, +perhaps; perhaps it is not so very important to me; but--" + +Again she interrupted me. + +"I think it is important enough to make you forget--ordinary +courtesy," she declared. "Yes, courtesy. DON'T look at me like +that! You know what I mean. As I told you before, I am not blind. +Do credit me with some intelligence. All the way during this +cheerful walk of ours you scarcely spoke a word. Did you suppose I +did not know what was troubling you? I saw how that Captain Dean +looked at you. I saw those people staring from the post-office +door. I knew what you were afraid of their saying: that you are +altogether too companionable with Father and me; that you intend +selling the land to us, after all. That is what you thought they +would say and you were afraid--AFRAID of their gossip. Oh, it is +humiliating! And, for a time, I really thought you were different +from the rest and above such things." + +I began to feel as if I were once more a small boy receiving a +lecture from the governess. + +"I am not at all afraid of them, Miss Colton," I protested. + +"You are. Why? Your conscience is clear, isn't it? You don't +intend selling out to my father?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Then why should you care what people like that may think? Oh, you +weary me! I admired you for your independence. There are few +persons with the courage to face my father as you have done and I +admired you for it. I would not have had you sell us the land for +ANYTHING." + +"You would not?" I gasped. + +"Certainly not! I have been on your side all the time. If you had +sold I should have thought you, like all the rest, holding back +merely for a higher price. I respected you for the fight you were +making. You must have known it. If I had not why do you suppose I +gave you that hint about the Development Company?" + +"Goodness knows!" I exclaimed, devoutly. + +"And I was sure you could not be bribed by an offer of a position +in Father's office. It was not really a bribe--Father has, for +some unexplainable reason, taken a fancy to you--but I knew you +would believe it to be bribery. That is why I was so positive in +telling him that you would not accept. And now you--oh, when I +think of how I have LOWERED myself! How I have stooped to . . . +But there! I am sure that supper of yours must be waiting. Pray +condescend to convey my regrets to the faithful--what is her name? +Odd that I should forget a name like THAT. Oh, yes! Dorinda!--Pray +convey my regrets to the faithful Dorinda for being unwittingly the +cause of the delay, and assure her that the offense will NOT be +repeated. Good-by, Mr. Paine." + +She walked off, between the granite posts and along the curved +drive. This time I made no attempt to call her back. The storm +had burst so unexpectedly and had developed into such a hurricane +that I had had time to do little more than bend my head before it. +But I had had time enough to grow angry. I would not have called +her back then for the world. She had insulted me, not once only, +but again and again. I stood and watched her go on her way, and +then I turned and went on my own. + +The parting had come. The acquaintance was broken off; not precisely +as I had intended it to be broken, but broken, nevertheless, and +ended for good and all. I was glad of it. There would be no more +fishing excursions, no more gifts of flowers and books, no more +charity calls. The "common fellow" was free from the disturbing +influence and he was glad of it--heartily glad of it. + +Yet his gladness was not as apparent to others as it should, by +all that was consistent, have been. Lute, evidently, observed no +traces of transcendent happiness, when I encountered him in the +back yard, beside the woodpile, sharpening the kindling hatchet +with a whetstone, a process peculiarly satisfying to his +temperament because it took such a long time to achieve a +noticeable result. + +"Hello, Ros!" he hailed. "Why! what ails you?" + +"Ails me?" I repeated, crossly. "Nothing ails me, of course." + +"Well, I'm glad to hear it. You look as if you'd lost your last +friend." + +"I haven't lost any friends. Far from it." + +"Nobody's dead, then?" + +"No. Though I could find some who are half dead without trying +very hard." + +More perfectly good sarcasm wasted. Lute inquired eagerly if I +meant old Mrs. Lobelia Glover. "I heard yesterday she was pretty +feeble," he added. "'Tain't to be expected she'll last a long +spell, at her age. Doctor Quimby says she had a spine in her back +for twenty years." + +I made no comment upon poor Mrs. Glover's surprising affliction. I +merely grunted and went into the house. Dorinda looked at me +curiously. + +"What's the trouble?" she asked. + +"Trouble! There isn't any trouble. You and Lute seem to be +looking for trouble." + +"Don't have to look far to find it, in this world. Anything wrong +at the bank?" + +"No." + +"Um-hm. Settin' so long on the fence make you uneasy? I told you +the pickets would wear through if you roosted on 'em too long." + +"There is nothing the matter, I tell you. How is Mother?" + +"She ain't any wuss. If 'twan't an impossibility I'd say she was +better the last month than I'd seen her since she was took. Nellie +Dean called on her this afternoon." + +"Humph! I should think a next week's bride would be too busy to +call on any one except possibly the dressmaker." + +"Um-hm. Well, Nellie looks as if she'd been callin' on the +dressmaker pretty often. Anyhow she looked worried and Olindy +Cahoon's dressmakin' gabble is enough to worry anybody. She left a +note for you." + +"Who? Olinda?" + +"Land sakes! no! What would Olindy be doin' down here? There +ain't any brides to dress in this house, or bridegrooms either +unless you're cal'latin' to be one, or Lute turns Mormon. That +last notion ain't such a bad one," with a dry smile. "Another wife +or two to help me take care of him would come in handy." + +"Who did leave the note for me, then?" + +"Nellie, of course. She wanted me to be sure you got it. +Somethin' about that wonderful weddin', I s'pose. I left it +upstairs on your bureau." + +I found the note and put it in my pocket to read later on. I did +not feel like reading it then. I did not feel like doing anything +or seeing any one; yet least of all did I feel like being alone. +For if I was alone I should think, and I did not want to think. I +prowled about my room for a time and then went down and spent a +short time with Mother. Her first question was concerning my day +at the bank, and her second if I had seen any of the Coltons +recently. "I rather hoped Miss Mabel would come to see me to-day," +she added. "I look forward to her visits so, I think she's a real +friend of ours, Roscoe. I know you don't, dear, or you try to +believe you do not; but she is--I am convinced of it. I wonder if +she will come to-morrow." + +I could have put a stop to her wondering on that subject, but I was +in no mood to do it then. I went into the dining-room. Dorinda +warned me not to go far from the house because supper would be ready +in a few minutes. The word "supper" reminded me of my unfortunate +choice of an excuse and the sarcastic reference to our odd domestic +arrangements; which reminded me, in its turn, of other sarcasms +which had followed it. My "charming and cultivated society" was not +necessary to her happiness . . . When she thought of how she had +lowered herself . . . Other people did not necessarily regard me as +seriously as I did myself . . . And so on . . . until Dorinda +called me in to sit at the table, and pretend to eat while she and +Lute commented on my lack of appetite and my absent-mindedness. + +It was eight o'clock, and I had gone up to my room to escape from +their solicitude and pointed questioning, when I happened to think +of Nellie's note. I had not been curious concerning its contents, +for, as I had agreed to act as best man at the wedding, I assumed, +as Dorinda had done, that she had written on that, to her, all- +important topic. I took the note from my pocket and tore open the +envelope. + +Nellie had not written about the wedding. Her letter was a long +one, evidently written in great agitation and with words blotted +and underscored. Its subject was the man she loved, George Taylor. +She was so anxious about him. Did I remember, that night when my +mother was ill, how she had spoken of him to me and asked if I had +noticed how troubled and worried he seemed of late? + +"And, Roscoe," she wrote, "I have noticed it more and more since +then. He IS in trouble. There is something on his mind, something +that he will not tell me and that I can see is worrying him +dreadfully. He is not like himself at all. I KNOW something is +wrong, and I cannot find out what it is. I want to help him SO +much. Oh, please, Roscoe, don't think this is just a foolish +girl's imagination, and does not amount to anything. It does. I +know it does. You are his best friend. Can't YOU find out what is +troubling him and help him, for my sake? I have meant to speak to +you about this ever so many times, but I seldom see you alone and I +could not speak while he was with me. So I decided to write this +letter. If you will try, just TRY to find out what ails him and +help him I shall never, NEVER forget your kindness. Perhaps he +does not want to marry me. Perhaps he does not care for me as much +as he thought he did and will not tell me because he does not want +me to feel bad. If that is it tell him not to mind my feelings at +all. I want him to be happy. If it would make him happier to have +me give him up I will do it, even though I shall pray to die right +away. Oh can't you help him and me, Roscoe? Please, PLEASE try. +A girl ought to be perfectly happy who is going to be married. And +I am so miserable. I can't tell Mother and Father because they +would not believe me. They would think I just imagined it all. +But YOU won't think that, will you? You will see him and try to +help him, for my sake." + +And so on, eight closely written pages, ending with another plea to +me to see "poor George" and help him, and begging me to "burn this +letter, because I should be so ashamed to have any one else see +it." + +It was a pitiful letter and, even in the frame of mind I was then +in, disgusted with humanity and hating the entire feminine sex, I +could not help feeling sorry for Nellie Dean. Of course I was +surprised at receiving such a letter and I believed, just as she +begged me not to believe, that the cause of her distress and +anxiety was more imaginary than real. But that something was +troubling George Taylor I had felt certain for a good while. The +idea that he did not love Nellie I knew was preposterous. That was +not it. There was something else, but what I could not imagine. I +wanted to help the girl if I could, but how could I ask George to +tell me his secrets? I, with a secret of my own. + +After pondering for some time I decided to walk up to George's +boarding place and talk with him. Nothing would come of the +interview, probably, but I might as well do that as anything else. +I must do something, something besides sit in that room and see +mocking faces in every corner, faces with dark eyes and scornful +lips which told me that my charming and cultivated society was not +necessary to their happiness. + +Taylor rented the upper floor of a house a quarter of a mile from +the bank. His housekeeper answered my ring and informed me that +her employer had not yet come home. + +"He did not even come home for supper," she said. "Stayed over to +Nellie's probably. You'll most likely find him there." + +But I was pretty certain he was not at the Deans', for as I passed +their house, I noticed the windows were dark, indicating that the +family, like most of respectable Denboro, had already retired. I +walked on to the Corners. Eldredge's store was closed, but the +billiard room was radiant and noisy. I could hear Tim Hallet's +voice urging some one to take a new cue, "'cause that one ain't +pocketed many balls yet." + +I looked across at the bank. The front portion of it was black +enough, but the window of the directors' room was alight. I had +located the object of my search; the cashier was there, working +overtime, as he did so often nowadays. + +I had my key in my pocket and I unlocked the big door and entered +quietly. The door of the directors' room was open a little way and +I tiptoed over and peeped in through the crack. Taylor was seated +in a chair beside the big table, his elbows upon the table and his +head in his hands. As I stood there, watching him, he took his +hands away and I saw his face. Upon it was an expression of abject +misery and utter despair. I opened the door and entered. + +He heard the sound of the opening door and leaped to his feet. His +chair fell backward on the floor with a clatter, but he paid no +attention to it. + +"Good God!" he cried, wildly. "Who's that?" + +He was deathly pale and trembling violently. His appearance +startled and alarmed me. + +"It's all right," I said, hastily. "It is I--Paine. I saw the +light and knew you must be here. What ails you? What IS the +matter?" + +For a moment he stood there staring. Then he turned and picked up +the fallen chair. + +"Oh, it's you, Ros, is it?" he faltered. "I--I--Lord, how you +scared me! I--I--" + +"George! what IS the matter with you? For heaven's sake! stand up, +man!" He was swaying and I thought he was going to faint. +"George! George Taylor! Are you ill? I am going for the doctor." + +"No, no! Stay where you are. I ain't sick. I'll be all right in +a minute. You--you scared me, creeping in that way. Sit down, sit +down." + +He steadied himself with one hand on the table and with the other +reached to shut a drawer which had been open beside him. The +drawer was almost full of papers, and, lying upon those papers, was +a revolver. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +Before he could close the drawer completely I caught his arm and +held it. + +"George," I cried, "George, what is the matter? Tell me; you must +tell me." + +He tried to pull his arm free. Finding that I would not let him do +this he gave up the attempt and, with a poor attempt at a laugh, +answered, "Matter? Why, nothing is the matter. I am tired and +nervous, same as I've told you I've been for the last two or three +months, and you scared me, tiptoeing in like a sneak thief, this +time of night." + +"Time of night! It is but a little after nine. What is the matter +with you?" + +"Nothing is the matter, I tell you. Let go of my arm, Ros. What +do you mean by holding on to me like this?" + +"What do YOU mean, George? What does THAT mean?" + +I pointed to the drawer. He looked and, with a sudden effort, +jerked his arm free and closed the drawer. + +"That?" with a forced laugh. "Oh, that's nothing. It was late and +I was alone here, so--" + +"I know better. George, you're frightening us all. Don't you +suppose we can see that something is wrong with you? I have seen +it ever since I came here to work. You are worrying your friends. +You worry me. Give us a chance to help you. Give ME a chance. +You owe me that. Tell me your trouble and I'll pull you out of it; +see if I don't." + +My confidence was, of course, only pretence, but my earnestness had +some effect. He looked at me wistfully, and shook his head. + +"Nobody can pull me out," he said. "You're a good fellow to want +to help, but you can't. There ain't any trouble. I'm just +nervous--" + +"I know better. You're lying, George. Yes, you are; you're +lying." + +"Humph! You're pretty plain spoken, Ros Paine. There ain't many +people I'd take that from." + +"You'll take it from me, because you can't help it and because you +know it is true. Come, George; come. You have been a friend to +me; the only real friend I have had in years. I have been looking +for a chance to get even for what you have done for me. Maybe here +is the chance. Let me help you. I will." + +He was wavering; I could see it. But again he shook his head. + +"Nobody can help me," he said. + +"George, for my sake--well, then, if not for my sake or your own, +then for Nellie's, give me a chance. You aren't treating her +right, George. You should think of her. You--" + +"Stop! Damn you, Ros Paine! what right have you to--" + +"The right of a friend, her friend and yours. You're frightening +the poor girl to death. She is beginning to be afraid you don't +care for her." + +"I? I don't care for HER? I don't-- Oh, my God!" + +To my utter amazement he began to laugh. And then, all at once, +his laughter ceased, he swayed, choked, and, suddenly collapsing in +the chair, dropped his head upon his arms on the table and sobbed, +sobs that shook him from head to heel. + +For one strong, healthy, normal man to see another cry is a +disconcerting and uncomfortable experience. Masculine tears do not +flow easily and poor George, on the verge of hysterics, was a +pitiful and distressing spectacle. I was almost as completely +disorganized as he. I felt ashamed for him and ashamed of myself +for having seen him in such a condition. I wanted desperately to +help him and I did not know what to do, so beyond patting him on +the back and begging him repeatedly to brace up and not behave like +that, I did nothing. At last his sobs ceased and he was silent. I +had risen from my chair and now I stood there with a hand on his +shoulder; the ticking of the ancient eight-sided clock on the wall +sounded loud in the room. + +Suddenly he sat up and threw off my hand. + +"Well," he said, bitterly, "I'm a fine specimen of a man, ain't I. +Ain't you proud of me?" + +"I am mighty sorry for you," I answered. "And I mean to help you." + +"You can't." + +"How do you know?" + +"Because I do know, Ros," he turned and looked me straight in the +eye. "I am going to give you some good advice. Take it, for your +own sake. Clear out of here and leave me. Don't have anything +more to do with me. Clear out." + +I did not move. + +"Are you going to do as I tell you?" he demanded. "Mind, I'm +telling you this for your own good. Will you clear out and leave +me?" + +I smiled. "Of course not," I answered. + +"Don't be a fool. You can't afford to be my friend. Clear out and +leave me, do you hear?" + +"I hear. Now, George, what is it?" + +His fingers tapped the table. I could see he was making up his +mind. + +"You want to know?" he said. "You won't be satisfied until you +do?" + +"I have made that fairly plain, I hope. At least I've tried to." + +His fist clenched and he struck the table. + +"Then, by the Almighty, I'll tell you!" he cried, fiercely. "It'll +be all over the county in a week. You might as well know it now. +I'm a crook. I'm a thief. I've stolen money from this bank and I +can't pay it back because I haven't got it and can't get it. I'm a +crook, I tell you, and in a week or so it'll be the county jail for +mine. Unless--unless," with a significant glance at the drawer, +"something else happens to me in the meantime. There; now you +know. Are you satisfied? Are you happy because you've found out?" + +I did not answer. To tell the truth I was not entirely overcome by +surprise at the disclosure. I had begun to suspect something of +the sort. Yet, now that my suspicions were confirmed, I was too +greatly shocked and horrified to speak at once. + +"Well?" he sneered. "Now will you clear out and let me settle this +my own way?" + +I pulled my chair forward and sat down. + +"Tell me all about it, George," I said, as calmly as I could. "How +much is it?" + +He stared at me aghast. "You won't go?" he cried. "You--you are +going to stick by me even--even--" + +"There! there! pull yourself together, old fellow. We won't give +up the ship yet. How much is it? It can't be a great sum." + +"It ain't. But, Ros--you--you can't--you mustn't be mixed up in +this. I shan't let you. Don't you see?" + +I argued and pleaded and reasoned with him for what seemed a long +time before he would consent to tell me the whole story. And when +it was told there was nothing new or novel in it. The old tale of +an honest man who had not meant to go wrong, but, tempted by one of +those wiles of the devil, an "inside tip" on the stock market, had +bought heavily on margins, expecting to clear a handsome profit in +a short time. The stock was Louisville and Transcontinental and +the struggle for its control by certain big interests had made copy +for financial writers for nearly a year. George had bought at a +time when one syndicate had, so it believed, secured the control. + +Then something went wrong in the deal and the shares began to +decline in value. He put up more margins and still more, but it +continued to decline. Finally under the spur of another "tip," the +last of his own savings having gone to the insatiate brokers, he +sent, to bolster his account and to save him from utter ruin, some +bonds belonging to the bank. + +"Not much," he declared, "only about thirty-five hundred dollars' +worth, that's all. I never would have done it, Ros, but I was +wild, desperate, you see. Here I was, getting ready to be married; +Nellie and Cap'n Jed and the rest believing me to be comfortably +fixed. It's easy enough now to say that I ought to have gone to +her and told her. If I hadn't been certain that the market would +turn and I'd be all right in a week, I'd have done it. But I was +sure I'd be all right and I couldn't take the chance. I knew what +her father would say about her marrying a pauper, and I just +couldn't take the risk of losing her; I couldn't. She means more +to me than--than--oh, wait until your time comes! Wait until the +girl comes along that you care for more than the whole world. And +then see what you'd do. See what it would mean to give her up! +Just wait--wait and see!" + +"Yes, yes," I put in, hastily. "I understand, George. But the +stock, Louisville and Transcontinental, how is it now?" + +"Just the same. It is dead, practically speaking. It hasn't moved +half a point for six weeks. I've been expecting it would, but it +hasn't. It's all right; the value is there; I know it. If I could +only hang on and wait I could get my money back, part of it, +anyhow. But I can't. I can't wait. And the broker people have +got those bonds. Ros, I've been fighting this thing for weeks and +weeks. I ain't slept a night for years, or so it seems. And next +week--next WEEK I was to be married. My God! think of it!" + +"Here, here! Don't do that," I urged. "Brace up. You and I must +work this out. Wasn't there any one you could go to? Anyone you +could borrow the money of? Thirty-five hundred isn't such a lot." + +"Whom could I go to? I tried. Lord knows I tried! I did borrow a +thousand of Cap'n Elisha Warren; trumped up some excuse or other +and got that. But that was all he could let me have. And I know +he thought my asking for that was queer." + +"Did you consider going straight to Cap'n Dean and--" + +"Dean? Cap'n Jed? Her father? Oh, Ros, don't be a fool altogether! +I beg your pardon, old man! I don't mean it. You mustn't mind. I +ain't responsible for what I say just now. But I couldn't go to +Cap'n Jed. You know him. He's as straight and square and honest as +he is obstinate and cranky. If I went to him I couldn't tell him +the truth. And if I lied he'd suspect and want to know why I needed +to borrow money. And Nellie--don't you see? There's the real +awfulness of the whole thing. I couldn't go to her and tell her I +was a thief. I couldn't see her face when I told her. And yet +she's got to know it. She's got to know it!" + +"But why? The stock may go up any day and then you could withdraw +part of your margin." + +He struck the table with another blow. "The stock ain't moved for +six weeks, I tell you," he declared. "And, Ros," he leaned +forward, his haggard face working with emotion, "those bonds ain't +in our safe here, where they should be, and the bank examiner is +due here within the next four days. He's at Middleboro now. I +'phoned Bearse, the cashier there, this very forenoon on a matter +of business, and he happened to mention that the examiner was in +his bank and working his way down the Cape. It's all up with me! +All up! And Nellie! poor girl; I can't be here when she finds it +out. I know you think I'm a poor specimen of a man, Ros, but I +can't face the music. No," desperately, "and I won't." + +He was giving way again, but I seized his shoulder and shook him. + +"Stop it!" I commanded. "Stop it, George! Let me think. Be quiet +now and let me think. There must be a way out somewhere. Let me +think." + +He leaned back in his chair. "All right," he said, hopelessly; +"think, if you want to. Though why you should want to think about +a thing like me I don't see. And I used to despise a crook as much +as any one! and a coward still more! And now I'm both a crook and +a coward." + +I knew his cowardice was merely on Nellie's account. George Taylor +was no coward in the ordinary sense of the word, nor was he a +crook. I rose and paced up and down the room. He watched me +listlessly; it was plain that he felt no confidence whatever in my +being able to help him. After a time he spoke. + +"It's no use, Ros," he said. "Don't worry your head about me; I +ain't worth it. If there was any way out, any way at all, I'd have +sighted it long ago. There ain't. Take my advice and leave me. +You don't want to be mixed up with an embezzler." + +I turned on him, impatiently. "I have been mixed up, as you call +it, with one before," I said, sharply. "Is my own family record so +clean that I need to pretend--there, George! don't be an idiot. +Let me think." + +The clock chimed ten. I stopped in my walk and turned to him. + +"George," I said, "tell me this: If you had the money to buy back +these bonds belonging to the bank you would be all right, wouldn't +you? If you had it in your hands by to-morrow morning, I mean." + +"Yes; IF I had it--but I haven't." + +"You could send the money to the brokers and--" + +"Send! I wouldn't send; I'd go myself and fetch the bonds back +with me. Once I had them in that safe again I--" + +"And you would not take any more risks, even if the market dropped +and they had to sell out your account? Even if you lost every cent +of your investment?" + +The fierce earnestness of his answer satisfied even me. "What do +you think I am?" he demanded. "Investment be hanged! It's my name +as an honest man that I care about. Once let me get that back +again and I'll face the poorhouse. Yes, and I'll tell Nellie the +truth, all except that I was a thief; I can't tell her that. But I +will tell her that I haven't got a cent except my salary. Then if +she wants to give me up, all right. I'll bear it as best I can. +Or, if she doesn't, and I lose my job here, I'll get another one +somewhere else; I'll work at anything. She and I can wait and . . . +But what is the use of talking like this? I've been over every +inch of the ground a thousand times. There ain't a ray of light +anywhere. The examiner will be here, the bonds will be missing, +and I--I'll be in jail, or in hell, one or the other." + +"No, you won't," I said, firmly. + +"I won't! Why not?" + +"Because there IS a ray of light. More than a ray. George, you go +home and go to bed. To-morrow morning I may have news for you, +good news." + +The blood rushed to his face. He seized the arm of his chair. + +"Good news!" he gasped. "Good news for ME! Ros--Ros, for the +Lord's sake, what do you mean? You don't mean you see a way to--" + +"Never mind what I mean. But I should like to know what you mean +by not coming to me before? What are friends for, if not to help +each other? Who told you that I was dead broke?" + +"You? Why, you ain't got . . . Have you? Ros Paine, you ain't +got thirty-five hundred to spare. Why, you told me yourself--" + +"Shut up! Get up from that chair and come with me. Yes, you; and +now, this minute. Give me that thing you've got in the drawer +there. No, I'll take it myself. You ought to be ashamed of its +being there, George. I am ashamed of you, and, if I thought you +really meant to use it, I should be still more ashamed. Come! +don't keep me waiting." + +"But--but Ros--" + +"Will you do as I tell you?" + +I dragged him, almost literally dragged him, from the chair. Then, +after extinguishing the lamp, I led him to the door of the bank and +locked it, putting the key in my pocket. + +"Now," said I, "I want you to make me a promise. I want you to +quit behaving like a coward, because you are not one, and promise +me that you will go straight home and to bed. I'll see you again +the first thing in the morning. Then, I think--yes, I think your +troubles, the worst part of them, will be over." + +"But, Ros, PLEASE--I can't believe it! Won't you tell me--" + +"Not a word. Will you promise me to behave like a man and go home? +Or must I go with you?" + +"No. I'll--I'll promise. I'll go straight home. But, oh Ros, I +can't understand--" + +"Good night." + +I left him standing there, stammering incoherently like a man +awakening from a nightmare, and hurried away. + +I could not describe my progress down the dark Lower Road and along +the Shore Lane. I do not remember any portion of it. I think I +ran most of the way and if I met any one--which is not likely, +considering the time--he or she must have thought me crazy. My +thoughts were centered upon one fixed purpose. I had made up my +mind to do a certain thing and, if possible, to do it that very +night. If I did not, if I had time in which to reflect, to +consider consequences, I might lose my nerve and it would not be +done at all. + +It was with a feeling of great relief that, as I came in sight of +the Colton house, I saw lights in the rooms on the lower floor. +The family, not being native born Denboroites, had not retired even +though it was well after ten. I hastened up the long drive, and +stood before the big door, my hand upraised to the knocker. And +then, just for a moment, I hesitated. + +If I lifted that knocker and let it fall; if I summoned the servant +and announced that I wished to speak with Mr. Colton; if I did what +I had come there to do, it would be all over with me in the +village. My new born popularity, the respect which Cap'n Warren +and Cap'n Jed and the rest of the townspeople had shown toward me +of late, the cordial recognition which had been mine during the +past few weeks and which, in spite of pretended indifference, I had +come to expect and enjoy, all these would be lost if I persisted in +my purpose. My future in Denboro depended upon whether or not I +knocked at that door. And it was not too late to back out, even +yet. I had only to turn quietly away and tell George, when I saw +him in the morning, that I could not help him as I had hoped. And +then I thought of his face as I saw it when I entered the bank--and +of Nellie's letter to me. + +I seized the knocker and rapped sharply. + +For a few moments my knock was unanswered. Then I heard footsteps +and the door was opened. Johnson, the butler, opened it, and his +clerical countenance assumed a most astonished expression when he +saw me standing before him. + +"Is Mr. Colton in?" I asked. + +"What? What--sir?" stammered Johnson. The "sir" was added under +protest. He did not wish to show more respect than was absolutely +necessary to a countryman, but he scarcely dared speak as +disrespectfully as he felt. Therefore he compromised by voicing +the respect and looking the other way. + +"Is Mr. Colton in?" I repeated. + +"I don't know. I--I don't think so--sir." + +The windows at my left were, I knew, those of the library, the room +where "Big Jim" and I had had our first lively discussion of the +Shore Lane matter. I glanced at them. + +"I think he is," I said. "In fact I know it; there is his shadow +on the curtain. Tell him Mr. Paine wishes to speak with him." + +Johnson looked as insolent as he dared, and still hesitated. + +"It is very late," he said. "Mr. Colton is not in the 'abit of +receiving callers at this time of night and--" + +He was interrupted. The door behind him, the door leading from the +library to the hall, opened and Colton himself appeared. + +"What is it, Johnson?" he asked. "Anything wrong?" + +The butler hastened to explain. + +"No sir," he said; "nothing wrong exactly, sir. There is a person +'ere to see you, sir, and--" + +"To see me, eh? Who is it? Why, hello, Paine! is that you?" + +"Mr. Colton," said I, "I am sorry to disturb you at such a late +hour, but--" + +"Come in, come in," he interrupted. "What are you standing out +there for? Johnson, why didn't you ask Mr. Paine in? What do you +mean by keeping him out there?" + +Mr. Johnson looked troubled. + +"It was so late, sir," he stammered, "I thought--" + +"You thought! If I had wanted any one to think I never should have +hired you. Come in, Paine. Come into the library." + +He led the way to the library and I followed him. It was my second +visit to the big, handsomely furnished room and again, as on the +first occasion, the sight of the books and all the other refinements +and luxuries which money brings to its possessor gave me a pang of +envy and resentment. It added increased bitterness to the +humiliation of my errand. I had left that room defiantly expressing +my independence. I had come back to it--" + +"Sit down," ordered Colton, pulling forward the big, leather- +covered chair. "Have a cigar?" + +"No thank you." + +"Humph! That's what you said when you were here before. You're +young, Paine. When you get to be as old as I am you'll never +refuse a good cigar, or anything else that is good, when it is +offered you. Well, you're still standing. Aren't going to refuse +to sit down, are you?" + +That was exactly what I was going to do. I would not sit down in +that house. I would not accept the slightest courtesy from this +man or any of his people. I would get rid of the unpleasant task I +had come to do and then go away, never to return. They might make +the most of the triumph which was to be theirs, but I would compel +them to understand that I was not seeking their favor. I would not +accept their patronage and they should know it. This, as I look +back at it now, seems silly and childish enough, but I was not +myself that night. + +"Mr. Colton," said I, ignoring the proffered chair, "I have come to +see you on a matter of business." + +"Business, eh? Umph! I thought probably you were going to ask me +to go fishing with you again. I'm all ready for another tussle +with those--what do you call 'em--squid--squit--good Lord! what a +name for a decent fish! But I don't care a continental what you +call 'em. I'm ready to get at 'em when you say the word." + +"My business will not detain either of us long. I--" + +"Sit down, man, sit down. You make me nervous standing there." + +"No. I won't sit." + +He looked at me. + +"What is the matter with you?" he asked. "You haven't got a balky +digestion, have you? I've been fighting one for the last week. +That fool of a country doctor tells me if I'm not careful what I +eat I'll keel over pretty soon. I told him I'd eaten what I dashed +please ever since I'd had teeth and I wasn't going to quit now. +But I do feel like the devil. Look it, don't I?" + +He did look ill, that was a fact, though I had not noticed it +before and was far from feeling pity for him then. In fact I was +rather glad to know that he was uncomfortable. I wanted him to be. + +"What is the matter with you?" he demanded. "You look as if you +had seen your grandmother's ghost." + +I ignored the question. "Mr. Colton," I began again. "You made an +offer not long ago." + +I had caught his attention at last. He leaned back in his chair. + +"I did," he said. "Ye-es, I did. Do you mean you are going to +accept it?" + +"In a way--yes." + +"In a way? What do you mean by that? I tell you frankly, Paine, +if you go to work for me there must be no 'ifs' or 'buts' about it. +You'll enter my office and you'll do as I, or the men under me, +tell you to do." + +I was glad he said that, glad that he misunderstood me. It gave me +an opportunity to express my feelings toward him--as I was feeling +then. + +"Don't let that trouble you," I said, sarcastically. "There will +be no 'ifs' and 'buts' so far as that is concerned. I have no +desire to work for you, Mr. Colton, and I don't intend doing so. +That was not the offer I meant." + +He was surprised, I am sure, but he did not express astonishment. +He bent forward and looked at me more keenly than ever. + +"There was only one other offer that I remember making you," he +said, slowly. "That was for that land of yours. I offered you +five thousand dollars for it. Do you mean you accept that offer?" + +"Not exactly." + +"Humph! Paine, we're wasting a lot of time here, it seems to me. +My time is more or less valuable, and my digestion is, as I told +you, pretty bad. Come! get it over. What do you mean? Are you +going to sell me that land?" + +"Yes." + +He puffed deliberately at his cigar. His gaze did not leave my +face. + +"Why?" he asked, after a moment. + +"That is my own affair. I will sell you the land, but not for five +thousand dollars." + +His expression changed. He knocked the ashes from his cigar and +frowned. + +"I see," he sneered. "Humph! Well, I've tried to make it plain to +you fellows down here that I couldn't be held up. I thought I'd +done it, but evidently I haven't. Five hundred is a good price for +that land. Five thousand is ridiculous, but I gave you my reasons +for being willing to be robbed that much. That, however, is the +limit. I'll give you five thousand, but not another cent. You can +take it or get out." + +This was better. When he talked like that I could answer him and +enjoy it. + +"I'll get out very shortly," I said. "You are no more anxious to +have that happen than I am. I don't want your other cent. I don't +want your five thousand dollars. I'll sell you the land on one +condition--no, on two. The first is that you pay me thirty-five +hundred dollars for it." + +"WHAT?" + +I had upset his composure this time. He forgot to sneer; he even +forgot to smoke. + +"What?" he cried again. "Thirty-five hundred! Why, I offered you--" + +"I know your offer. This is mine: I will sell you the land for +thirty-five hundred, and not another cent. That, as you say, is +the limit. You can take it or--or I will follow your suggestion +and get out." + +We looked at each other. His fingers moved toward the match box on +the table. He took a match, scratched it, and held it to the end +of his cigar. Then he took the cigar from his lips, blew out the +match and tossed the latter into the fireplace. + +"What is the second condition?" he asked, abruptly. + +"That you pay me in cash, in money and not by check, at once." + +"At once? Now, do you mean?" + +"Yes, now. To-night if possible; if not, no later than nine +o'clock to-morrow morning." + +"Humph! Do you think I carry thirty-five hundred loose in my +change pocket?" + +"I don't know. But that is the second condition." + +"Humph! . . . Look here, Paine; what--? I offered you the five +thousand. That offer holds good." + +"I don't accept it. I will sell for thirty-five hundred; no more +and no less." + +"But why not more?" + +"I don't know. Yes, I do, too. You said once that you were +willing to pay forty-five hundred for the privilege of having your +own way. Perhaps I am willing to sacrifice fifteen hundred for the +privilege of having mine. At all events I mean what I say." + +"But why just thirty-five? Wouldn't you take thirty-six?" + +"No. It is useless to argue, Mr. Colton, and useless to ask my +reasons. I have them, and that is enough. Will you accept MY +offer?" + +He hesitated. The sneer had left his face and his tone when he +addressed me was respectful, though there was a curious note of +chagrin or dissatisfaction in it. I had expected him to be eager +and, perhaps, mockingly triumphant. He was not. He seemed +reluctant, almost disappointed. + +"I suppose I'll have to," he said. "But, Paine, what is up? Why +are you doing this? You're not afraid of me? No, of course you're +not. You're not the kind to squeal and lie down because you think +the odds are against you . . . Confound you!" with a sudden burst +of impatience, "you are enough to upset all the self-conceit a +man's got in him. Just as I think I'm beginning to size you up you +break loose in a new place." + +"Pardon me," I put in, "but I don't see that you are helping to +save that valuable time of yours. I understand that you accept. +Will you pay me now?" + +He rose, threw away his cigar, and, with his hands in his pockets, +stood regarding me. + +"Your mind is made up, is it?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"Humph! Have you thought of what our mutual friend Dean and the +rest of the patriots may say when they find this out?" + +I had thought of little else all the way from the bank to his door. +I was thinking of it then. + +"Of course," he added, "that is not my affair, but--" + +"It is not." + +"You're right; it isn't. Still--hang it all, Paine! I don't often +feel any compunctions when I beat a fellow in a game like this, and +I did intend to have my own way in this one--" + +"Well, you're having it, aren't you?" I put in. "Why talk so much +about it?" + +"Because I am not so sure I am having it. Of course I can see +that, for some reason or other, you need thirty-five hundred +dollars. Anyone but you, if they were going to sell, would get the +last dime they could squeeze. You won't, because you are as pig- +headed as--as--" + +"Oh, do cut it short," I snapped. And then, a trifle ashamed of my +rudeness, "Excuse me, Mr. Colton, but this isn't exactly pleasant +for me and I want to get it over. Will you pay me now?" + +"Hold on; let me finish. I was going to say that, if you needed +the thirty-five, perhaps I could manage to let you have it." + +I stared at him. "Let me have it!" I cried. "Do you mean you'll +lend it to me?" + +"Why, yes, maybe. You and I have had such a first-rate, square, +stand up fight that I rather hate to have it end. I want to lick +you, not have you quit before I've really begun to fight. There's +no fool philanthropy in this, understand; it is just for my own +satisfaction." + +I was so taken aback by this totally unexpected offer from the man +whom I had insulted a dozen times since I entered his house, that I +found it almost impossible to answer. + +"What do you say?" he asked. + +"No," I faltered. And then more firmly, "No; certainly not. I--I +am much obliged to you, Mr. Colton, but--no." + +"All right. You know best. I'll take your offer and I will hand +you the money at the bank to-morrow morning. Will that do?" + +"Not at the bank, Mr. Colton. Send it over to the house, if you +can conveniently." + +"I'll have it here before ten. My lawyer will draw up the papers +and arrange for transfer of title in a few days. What? Going, are +you? Good night. Oh--er--Paine, remember that my other offer, +that of the place in my office, is open when you're ready to take +it." + +I shook my head. I had turned to go, but now I turned back, +feeling that, perhaps, I should apologize again for my rudeness. +After all, he had been kind, very kind, and I had scarcely thanked +him. So I turned back to say something, I hardly knew what. + +My doing so was a mistake. The door behind me opened and a voice +said reproachfully, "Father, are you still here? The doctor +said . . . Oh, I beg pardon." + +I recognized the voice. Of all voices in the world I wished least +to hear it just then. My back was toward the door and I kept it +so. If she would only go! If she would only shut that door and go +away! + +I think she would have gone but her father called her. + +"Mabel," he cried, "Mabel, don't go. It's all right. Come in. +Paine and I have finished our talk. Nothing more you wished to +say, was there, Paine?" + +"No," said I. I was obliged to turn now; I could not get out of +that room without doing it. So turn I did, and we faced each +other. + +"Good evening, Miss Colton," I said, with all the calmness I could +muster. + +She said, "Good evening," distantly and without any enthusiasm, but +I saw her glance at her father and then at me and I knew she was +wondering what our being together could possibly mean. + +"Paine has been making me a little call," explained Colton, his eye +twinkling. "Mabel, I'll risk another bet that you can't guess why +he came." + +"I shall not try," she said, disdainfully. + +"Oh, you'd better! No? You won't? Well, then, I'll tell you. He +has just sold me that land of his . . . Don't look at me like +that; he has. We had a little disagreement as to price, but," with +a grin, "I met his figures and we closed the deal. Aren't you +going to congratulate him on having come to his senses at last? +Come! he's waiting for congratulations." + +This was not true. I was waiting for nothing; I was on my way to +the door. But, to reach it I was obliged to pass her and our eyes +met. My glance wavered, I know, but hers did not. For a moment +she looked at me. Then she smiled. Whenever I am tempted to be +vain, even now, I remember that smile. + +"I congratulate him," she said. "Come, Father; you must go to bed +now." + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +I am not going to attempt a description of my thoughts that night. +It would take too long and the description would be wearisome. +Other people's miseries are not interesting and I shall not catalog +mine. Morning came at last and I rose, bathed my hot face in cold +water, and went down stairs. Early as it was, not yet six, I heard +Dorinda in the kitchen and, having no desire for conversation, I +went out and walked up and down the beach until breakfast time. I +had to pretend to eat, but I ate so little that both Lute and +Dorinda once more commented upon my lack of appetite. Lute, who +had never become fully reconciled to my becoming a member of the +working class, hastened to lay the blame for my condition upon my +labors at the bank. + +"The trouble is," he announced, dogmatically, "the trouble is, +Roscoe, that you ain't fitted for bein' shut up astern of a deck. +Look at yourself now! Just go into Comfort's room and stand in +front of her lookin' glass and look at yourself. There you be, +pale and peaked and wore out. Look for all the world just as I +done when I had the tonsils two winters ago. Ain't that so, +Dorindy?" + +His wife's answer was a contemptuous sniff. + +"If you mean to say that you looked peaked when you had sore +throat," she announced, "then there's somethin' the matter with +your mind or your eyesight, one or t'other. You peaked? Why, your +face was swelled up like a young one's balloon Fourth of July Day. +And as for bein' pale! My soul! I give you my word I couldn't +scurcely tell where your neck left off and the strip of red flannel +you made me tie 'round it begun." + +"Don't make no difference! I FELT pale, anyhow. And I didn't eat +no more'n Ros does. You'll have to give in to that, Dorindy. I +didn't eat nothin' but beef tea and gruel." + +"You et enough of them to float a schooner." + +"Maybe I did," with grieved dignity; "maybe I did. But that's no +reason why you should set there and heave my sufferin's in my +face." + +"What is the man talkin' about now? I didn't heave 'em in your +face. They come there themselves, same as sore throat sufferin's +generally do, and if you hadn't waded around in the snow with leaky +boots, because you was too lazy to take 'em to the shoemaker's to +be patched, they wouldn't." + +Lute drew back from the table. "It's no use!" he declared, "a man +can't even be sick in peace in this house. Some wives would have +been sorry to see their husbands with one foot in the grave." + +"Your feet was in the cookstove oven most of the time. There! +there! the more you talk the further from home you get. You +started in with Roscoe and the bank and you're in the grave +already. If I was you I'd quit afore I went any further. Land +knows where you might fetch up if you kept on! I . . . Mercy on +us! who's at the kitchen door this time in the mornin'?" + +Her husband, ever curious, was on his way to answer the knock +already. He came back, a moment later, sputtering with excitement. + +"It's that Mr. butler, the Johnson over to Mr. Colton's," he +whispered. "I mean it's that Jutler--that-- There, Dorindy! you +see what sort of a state your hectorin' has worked me into! It's +that parson critter who opens Colton's door for him, that's who +'tis. And he wants to see Ros. I tried to find out what for, but +he wouldn't tell." + +Even Dorinda showed surprise. She looked at the clock, "This hour +of the mornin'!" she exclaimed; "what in the world--?" + +I hastened to the kitchen, closing the dining-room door behind me +just in time to prevent Lute's following me. Johnson, the butler, +was standing on the mica slab at the threshold inspecting our +humble premises with lofty disdain. + +"Mr. Colton sent this to you, sir," he said, handing me an +envelope. "He wishes you to send a receipt by me." + +I took the envelope and, stepping back out of sight, tore it open. +Inside was a check on a New York bank for four thousand dollars. +It was made payable to "Bearer." With it was this brief note: + + +Dear Paine: + +This is the best I can do for you, as I haven't the money on hand. +Cash it yourself, take out your thirty-five hundred and hold the +additional five hundred until I, or one of the family, call for it. +I made the thing payable to Bearer because I imagined you would +prefer it that way. Send me some sort of receipt by Johnson; +anything will do. I will see my lawyer in a day or two. Meanwhile +have your papers, deeds, etc., ready when he calls for them. + +Yours truly, + +JAMES W. COLTON. + + +For a minute I considered. If I could cash the check at the bank +without Taylor's knowledge and get him off to Boston on the early +train, I might be able to cover my tracks. It was necessary that +they should be covered. Knowing George as I did I knew that he +would never consent to my sacrifice. He would not permit me to +wreck my future in Denboro to save him. The money must be turned +over to the Boston bankers and the bank's bonds once more in the +vault where they belonged before he learned where that money came +from. Then it would be too late to refuse and too late to undo +what had been done. He would have to accept and I might be able +to prevail upon him to keep silent regarding the whole affair. I +disliked the check with Colton's name upon it; I should have much +preferred the cash; but cash, it seemed, could not be had without +considerable delay, and with that bank examiner's visit imminent +every moment of time was valuable. I folded the check, put it in +my pocketbook, and, hastily scribbling a receipt in pencil at the +bottom of Colton's note, replaced the latter in the envelope and +handed it to Johnson, who departed. + +Entering the dining-room I found Dorinda and Lute at the window, +peering after the butler. + +"By time!" exclaimed Lute, "if I didn't know I should say he was a +bigger big-bug than old Colton himself. Look how he struts! He +sartin is a dignified lookin' man. I don't see how he ever come to +be just hired help." + +"Um-hm," sniffed the cynical Mrs. Rogers. "Well; you can get an +awful lot of dignity for its board and lodgin'! There's nothin' +much more dignified or struts much better'n a rooster, but it's the +hens that lay the eggs. What did he want, Roscoe?" + +I made some excuse or other for Mr. Johnson's early call and, +taking my cap from the rack, hurried from the house. I went +"across lots" and, running a good part of the way, reached the bank +just as Sam Wheeler was sweeping out. He expressed surprise at my +early arrival and wished to know what was up. + +"Ain't nothin' wrong, is there, Ros?" asked Sam anxiously. "I saw +by the paper that the market was feverish again yesterday." + +Sam was an ambitious youth and, being desirous of becoming a banker +in the shortest possible time, read the financial page with +conscientious thoroughness. I assured him that the market's fever +was not contagious--at least I had not contracted the disease--and +sent him out to sweep the front steps. As soon as he had gone I +opened the safe, found, to my joy, that we had an abundance of +currency on hand, cashed the Colton check and locked it securely in +the drawer of my own desk. So far I was safe. Now to secure +George's safety. + +He came in soon after, looking as if, as he had told me, he had not +slept for years. He bade Sam good morning and then walked over to +my side. + +"Well, Ros?" he asked, laying a shaking hand on the desk beside me. + +"Not here, George," I whispered. "Come into the directors' room." + +I led the way and he followed me. I closed the door behind us, +took the thirty-five hundred dollars in notes from my pocket and +laid them on the table. + +"There's the money, George," I said. "Now you've got just time +enough to catch that nine o'clock train for Boston." + +I thought, for a moment, he was going to collapse altogether. Then +he pounced upon the money, counted it with fingers that trembled so +he could scarcely control them, and turned to me. + +"Ros--Ros--" he stammered. "Where did you--how did you--Great God, +man! I--I--" + +"There! there!" I interrupted. "I told you I wasn't a pauper +exactly. Put that where you won't lose it and clear out. You +haven't any time to argue." + +"But--but, Ros, I hadn't ought to take this from you. I don't see +where you got it and--" + +"That's my business. Will you go?" + +"I don't know as I ever can pay you. Lord knows I'll try all my +life, but--" + +I seized his arm. "George," I urged, impatiently, "you fool, don't +waste time. Get that train, do you hear! Those bonds must be in +that safe by night. Go!" + +The mention of the bonds did what my urging had failed to do. He +crammed the bills into his pocket book, thrust the latter into an +inside pocket, and rushed from the room. I followed him as far as +the outer door. He was running up the road like a wild man. Sam +stared after him. + +"For mercy sakes!" he cried, "what's the matter with the boss? Has +he gone loony?" + +"No," I said, turning back to my desk; "he's sane enough, I guess. +He's after the train." + +"I should think he was after somethin'. Did you see the face he +had on him? If he ain't crazy then you and I are, that's all I've +got to say." + +"All right, Sam," I answered, drawing a long breath, "perhaps +that's it. Perhaps you and I are the crazy ones--one of us, at any +rate." + +All that day I worked hard. I did not go home for lunch, but sent +Sam over to Eldredge's store for canned ham and crackers which I +ate at my desk. It was a fairly busy day, fortunately, and I could +always find some task to occupy my mind. Lute called, at two +o'clock, to inquire why I had not been home and I told him that +Taylor was away and I should be late for supper. He departed, +shaking his head. + +"It's just as I said," he declared, "you're workin' yourself sick, +that's what you're doin'. You're growin' foolish in the head about +work, just the same as Dorindy. And YOU don't need to; you've got +money enough. If I had independent means same as you've got I tell +you I'd have more sense. One sick invalid in the family's enough, +ain't it?" + +"No doubt, Lute," I replied. "At all events you must take care of +your health. Don't YOU work yourself sick." + +Lute turned on me. "I try not to," he said, seriously; "I try not +to, but it's a hard job. You know what that wife of mine is +cal'latin' to have me do next? Wash the hen house window! Yes +sir! wash the window so's the hens can look at the scenery, I +presume likely. I says to her, says I, 'That beats any foolishness +ever I heard! Next thing you'll want me to put down a carpet in +the pigsty, won't ye? You would if we kept a pig, I know.'" + +"What did she say to that?" I inquired. + +"Oh, the land knows! Somethin' about keepin' one pig bein' trouble +enough. I didn't pay much attention. But I shan't wash no hen's +window, now you can bet on that!" + +I shouldn't have bet much on it. He went away, to spend the next +hour in a political debate at Eldredge's, and I wrote letters, +needlessly long ones. Closing time came and Sam went home, leaving +me to lock up. The train was due at six-twenty, but it was nearly +seven before I heard it whistle at the station. I stood at the +front window looking up the road and waiting. + +I waited only a few minutes, but they were long ones. Then I saw +George coming, not running this time, but walking with rapid +strides. The crowd, waiting on the post-office steps, shouted at +him but he paid no attention. He sprang up the steps and entered +the bank. I stepped forward and seized his hand. One look at his +face was enough; he had the bonds, I knew it. + +"Ros, you here!" he exclaimed. "Is it all right? The examiner +hasn't showed up?" + +"No," I answered. "You have them, George?" + +"Right in my pocket, thank the Lord--and you, Ros Paine. Just let +me get them into that safe and I-- What! You're not going?" + +"Yes, I'm going. I congratulate you, George. I am as glad as you +are. Good night." + +"But Ros, I want to tell you about it. I want to thank you again. +I never shall forget . . . Ros, hold on!" + +But I was already at the door. "Good night," I called again, and +went out. I went straight home, ate supper, spent a half hour with +Mother, and then went to my room and to bed. The excitement was +over, for good or bad the thing was done beyond recall, and I +suddenly realized that I was very tired. I fell asleep almost +immediately and slept soundly until morning. I was too tired even +to think. + +I had plenty of time to think during the fortnight which followed +and there was enough to think about. The lawyer came and the +papers were signed transferring to James W. Colton the strip of +land over which Denboro had excited itself for months. Each day I +sat at my desk expecting Captain Dean and a delegation of indignant +citizens to rush in and denounce me as a traitor and a turncoat. +Every time Sam Wheeler met me at my arrival at the bank I dreaded +to look him in the face, fearing that he had learned of my action +and was waiting to question me about it. In spite of all my boasts +and solemn vows not to permit "Big Jim" Colton to obtain the Shore +Lane I had sold it to him; he could, and it was to be expected that +he would, close it at once; Denboro would make its just demand upon +me for explanations, explanations which, for George and Nellie's +sake, I could not give; and after that the deluge. I was sitting +over a powder mine and I braced myself for the explosion. + +But hours and days passed and no explosion came. The fishcarts +rattled down the Lane without hindrance. Except for the little +flurry of excitement caused by the coming wedding at the Dean +homestead the village life moved on its lazy, uneventful jog. I +could not understand it. Why did Colton delay? He, whose one +object in life was to have his own way, had it once more. Now that +he had it why didn't he make use of it? Why was he holding back? +Out of pity for me? I did not believe it. Much more likely that +his daughter, whose pride I had dared to offend, had taken the +affair in her hands and this agony of suspense was a preliminary +torture, a part of my punishment for presuming to act contrary to +her imperial will. + +I saw her occasionally, although I tried my best not to do so. +Once we passed each other on the street and I stubbornly kept my +head turned in the other direction. I would risk no more looks +such as she had given me when, in response to her father's would-be +humorous suggestion, she had offered me her "congratulations." +Once, too, I saw her on the bay, I was aboard the Comfort, having +just anchored after a short cruise, and she went by in the canoe, +her newest plaything, which had arrived by freight a few days +before. A canoe in Denboro Bay was a distinct novelty; probably +not since the days of the Indians had one of the light, graceful +little vessels floated there, and this one carried much comment +among the old salts alongshore. It was the general opinion that it +was no craft for salt water. + +"Them things," said Zeb Kendrick, sagely, "are all right for ponds +or rivers or cricks where there ain't no tide nor sea runnin'. +Float anywheres where there's a heavy dew, they say they will. But +no darter of mine should go out past the flats in one of 'em if I +had the say. It's too big a risk." + +"Yup; well, Zeb, you ain't got the say, I cal'late," observed Thoph +Newcomb. "And it takes more'n say to get a skiff like that one. +They tell me the metal work aboard her is silver-plated--silver or +gold, I ain't sure which. Wonder the old man didn't make it solid +gold while he was about it. He'd do anything for that girl if she +asked him to. And she sartin does handle it like a bird! She went +by my dory t'other mornin' and I swan to man if she and the canoe +together wan't a sight for sore eyes. I set and watched her for +twenty minutes." + +"Um--ye-es," grunted Zeb. "And then you charged the twenty minutes +in against the day's work quahaugin' you was supposed to be doin' +for me, I suppose." + +"You can take out the ten cents when you pay me--if you ever do," +said Newcomb, gallantly. "'Twas wuth more'n that just to look at +her." + +The time had been when I should have agreed with Thoph. Sitting in +the canoe, bare-headed, her hair tossing in the breeze, and her +rounded arms swinging the light paddle, she was a sight for sore +eyes, doubtless. But it was not my eyes which were sore, just +then. I watched her for a moment and then bent over my engine. I +did not look up again until the canoe had disappeared beyond the +Colton wharf. + +I did not tell Mother that I had sold the land. I intended to do +so; each morning I rose with my mind made up to tell her, and +always I put off the telling until some other time. I knew, of +course, that she should be told; that I ought to tell her rather +than to have her learn the news from others as she certainly would +at almost any moment, but I knew, too, that even to her I could not +disclose my reason for selling. I must keep George's secret as he +had kept mine and take the consequences with a close mouth and as +much of my old indifference to public opinion as I could muster. +But I realized, only too well, that the indifference which had once +been real was now only pretense. + +I have said very little about George Taylor's gratitude to me, nor +his appreciation of what I had done for him. The poor fellow would +have talked of nothing else if I had let him. + +"You've saved my good name and my life, Ros," he said, over and +over again, "and not only my life, but what is a mighty sight more +worth saving, Nellie's happiness. I don't know how you did it; I +believe yet that there is something behind all this, that you're +keeping something from me. I can't see how, considering all you've +said to me about your not being well-off, you got that money so +quick. But I know you don't want me to talk about it." + +"I don't, George," I said. "All I ask of you is just to forget the +whole thing." + +"Forget! I shan't forget while I live. And, as soon as ever I can +scrape it together, I'll pay you back that loan." + +He had kept his word, so far as telling Nellie of his financial +condition was concerned. He had not, of course, told her of his +use of the bank bonds, but he had, as he said he would, told her +that, in all probability, he should be left with nothing but his +salary. + +"I told her she was free to give me up," he said, with emotion, +"and what do you suppose she said to me? That she would marry me +if she knew she must live in the poorhouse the rest of her days. +Yes, and be happy, so long as we could be together. Well, I ain't +worth it, and I told her so, but I'll do my best to be worth +something; and she shan't have to live in the poorhouse either." + +"I don't think there's much danger of that," I said. "And, by the +way, George, your Louisville and Transcontinental speculation may +not be all loss. You may save something out of it. There has been +considerable trading in the stock during the past two days. It is +up half a point already, according to the papers. Did you notice +it?" + +"Yes, I noticed it. But I tell you, Ros, I don't care. I'll be +glad to get some of my money back, of course; enough to pay you and +Cap'n Elisha anyhow; but I'm so happy to think that Nellie need +never know I was a thief that I don't seem to care much for +anything else." + +Nellie was happy, too. She came to me and told me of her happiness. +It was all on George's account, of course. + +"The poor fellow had lost money in investments," she said, "and he +thought I would not care for him if I found out he was poor. He +isn't poor, of course, but if he was it would make no difference to +me. I am so glad to see him without that dreadful worried look on +his face that I--I-- Oh, you must think me awful silly, Roscoe! I +guess I am. I know I am. But you are the only one I can talk to +in this way about--about him. All Ma wants to talk about now is +the wedding and clothes and such, and Pa always treats me as if I +was a child. I feel almost as if you were the closest friend I +have, and I know George feels the same. He says you have helped +him out of his troubles. I was sure you would; that is why I wrote +you that letter. We are both SO grateful to you." + +Their gratitude and the knowledge of their happiness were my sole +consolations in this trying time. They kept me from repenting what +I had done. It was hard not to repent. If Colton had only made +known his purchase and closed the Lane at once, while my resolution +was red hot, I could have faced the wrath of the village and its +inevitable consequences fairly well, I believed; but he still kept +silent and made no move. I saw him once or twice; on one occasion +he came into the bank, but he came only to cash a check and did not +mention the subject of the Lane. He did not look well to me and I +heard him tell Taylor something about his "damned digestion." + +The wedding day came. I, as best man, was busy and thankful for +the bustle and responsibility. They occupied my mind and kept it +from dwelling on other things. George worked at the bank until +noon, getting ready to leave the institution in my charge and that +of Dick Small, Henry's brother, who had reported for duty that +morning. The marriage was to take place at half past one in the +afternoon and the bridal couple were to go away on the three +o'clock train. The honeymoon trip was to be a brief one, only a +week. + +Every able-bodied native of Denboro, man, woman and child, attended +that wedding, I honestly believe. It was the best sort of +advertising for Olinda Cahoon and Simeon Eldredge, for Olinda had +made the gowns worn by the bride and the bride's mother and a +number of the younger female guests, and Sim had sold innumerable +bottles of a peculiarly penetrating perfume, a large supply of +which he had been talked into purchasing by a Boston traveling +salesman. + +"Smell it, Ros, do ye?" whispered Sim, grinning triumphantly +between the points of a "stand-up" collar. "I give you my word +when that slick-talkin' drummer sold me all that perfumery, I +thought I was stuck sure and sartin. But then I had an idee. +Every time women folks come into the store and commenced to talk +about the weddin' I says to 'em, says I, 'Can't sell you a couple +of handkerchiefs to cry on, can I, Miss So-and-so? Weddin's are +great places for sheddin' tears, you know.' If I sold 'em the +handkerchiefs all well and good; but if they laughed and said they +had a plenty, I got out my sample bottle of 'May Lilock', that's +the name of the cologne, and asked 'em to smell of it. 'If you cry +with that on your handkerchief,' says I, 'all hands will be glad to +have you do it. And only twenty cents a bottle!' You wouldn't +believe how much I sold. You can smell this weddin' afore you come +in sight of the house, can't ye now." + +You could, and you continued to smell it long after you left. My +best suit reeked of "May Lilac" weeks later when I took it out of +the closet. + +Dorinda was there, garbed in rustling black alpaca, her Sunday gown +for ten years at least, and made over and "turned" four or five +times. Lute was on deck, cutaway coat, "high water" trousers and +purple tie, grand to look upon, Alvin Baker and Elnathan Mullet and +Alonzo Black and Thoph Newcomb and Zeb Kendrick were, as the Item +would say, "among those present" and if Zeb's black cutaway smelled +slightly of fish it was, at least, a change from the pervading "May +Lilac." + +Captain Jed strutted pompously about, monarch of the day. He +greeted me genially. + +"Hello, Ros!" he said. "You out here? Thought you'd be busy +overhaulin' George's runnin' riggin' and makin' sure he was all +ready to heave alongside the parson." + +"I have been," I answered. "I am on my way back there now." + +"All right, all right. Matildy give me fits for not stayin' +upstairs until the startin' gun was fired, but I told her that, +between her with her eyes full of tears and Olindy Cahoon with her +mouth full of pins, 'twas no place for a male man. So I cleared +out till everything was shipshape. Say, Ros," he laid his hand on +my shoulder and bent to whisper in my ear: "Say, Ros," he said, +"I'm glad to see you're takin' my advice." + +"Taking your advice?" I repeated, puzzled. + +"Yes; about not playin' with fire, you know. I ain't heard of you +and the Princess cruisin' together for the past week. Thought +'twas best not to be too familiar with the R'yal family, didn't +you? That's right, that's right. We can't take chances. We've +got Denboro and the Shore Lane to think about, ain't we?" + +I did not answer. I did not risk looking him in the face. + +"She's liable to be here most any time, I cal'late," he went on. +"Nellie would insist on invitin' her. And I must say that, to be +honest, the present she sent is the finest that's come aboard yet. +The only thing I've got against her is her bad judgment in pickin' +a father. If 'twan't for that I--hello! Who--Why, I believe--" + +There was a commotion among the guests and heads were turned toward +the door. The captain started forward. I started back. She had +entered the room and was standing there, looking about her with +smiling interest. I had forgotten that, considering her friendship +with Nellie, she was certain to be invited. + +She was dressed in a simple, but wonderful, white gown and wore a +bunch of lilies of the valley at her bosom. The doorway was +decorated with sprays of honeysuckle and green boughs and against +this background she made a picture that brought admiring whispers +from the people near me. She did not notice me at first and I +think I should have escaped by the side door if it had not been for +Sim Eldredge. Simeon was just behind me and he darted forward with +outstretched hand. + +"Why, how d'ye do, Miss Colton!" exclaimed Sim. "You're just in +time, ain't ye! Let me get you a chair. Alvin," to Mr. Baker, +who, perspiring beneath the unaccustomed dignity of a starched +shirt front, occupied a front seat, "get up and let Miss Colton set +down." + +She looked in Sim's direction and saw me, standing beside him. I +had no opportunity to avoid her look now, as I had done when we met +in the street. She saw me and I could not turn away. I bowed. +She did not acknowledge the bow. She looked calmly past me, +through me. I saw, or fancied that I saw, astonishment on the +faces of those watching us. Captain Jed stepped forward to greet +her and I went into the adjoining room, where George was anxiously +awaiting me. + +"Good land, Ros!" he exclaimed, with a sigh of relief, "I was +beginning to be afraid you'd skipped out and left me to go through +it all alone. Say something to brace me up, won't you; I'm scared +to death. Say," with a wondering glance at my face, "what's struck +YOU? You look more upset than I feel." + +I believe I ordered him not to be an idiot. I know I did not +"brace him up" to any extent. + +It was a very pretty wedding. At least every one said it was, +although they say the same of all weddings, I am told. Personally +I was very glad when it was over. Nellie whispered in my ear as I +offered her my congratulations, "We owe it all to you, Roscoe." +George said nothing, but the look he gave me as he wrung my hand +was significant. For a moment I forgot myself, forgot to be +envious of those to whom the door for happiness was not shut. +After all I had opened the door for these two, and that was +something. + +I walked as far as the corner with Lute and Dorinda. Dorinda's +eyes were red and her husband commented upon it. + +"I thought a weddin' was supposed to be a joyful sort of thing," he +said, disgustedly. "It's usually cal'lated to be. Yet you and the +rest of the women folks set and cried through the whole of it. +What in time was there to cry about?" + +"Oh, I don't know, Luther," replied Dorinda in, for her, an +unusually tolerant tone. "Perhaps it's because we've all been +young once and can't forget it." + +"I don't forget, no more'n you do. I ain't so old that I can't +remember that fur back, I hope. But it don't make me feel like +cryin'." + +"Well, all right. We won't argue about it. Let's be pleasant as +we can, for once." + +Now that is where Lute should have taken the hint and remained +silent. At least he should have changed the subject. But he was +hot and uncomfortable and, I suspect, his Sunday shoes were tight. +He persisted. + +"Huh!" he sniffed; "I don't see's you've given me no sensible +reason for cryin'. If I recollect right you didn't cry at your own +weddin'." + +His wife turned on him. She looked him over from head to foot. + +"Didn't I?" she said, tartly. "Well, maybe not. But if I'd +realized what was happenin' to me, I should." + +"Lute," said I, as I parted from them at the corner, "I am going to +the bank for a little while. Then I think I shall take a short run +down the bay in the Comfort. Did you fill her tank with gasolene +as I asked you to?" + +Lute stopped short. "There!" he exclaimed, "I knew there was +somethin' I forgot. I'll do it soon's ever I get home." + +"When you get home," observed Dorinda, firmly, "you'll wash that +henhouse window." + +"Now, Dorinda, if that ain't just like you! Don't you hear Roscoe +askin' me about that gas? I've had that gas in my head ever since +yesterday." + +"Um-hm," wearily. "Well, I shouldn't think a little extry more or +less would make much difference. Never mind, don't waste any more +on me. Get the gas out of your head, if Roscoe wants you to. You +can wash the window afterward." + +Lute's parting words were that he would fill that tank the very +first thing. If he had--but there! he didn't. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +The fog had come almost without warning. When, after leaving the +bank, at four o'clock or thereabouts, I walked down to the shore +and pulled my skiff out to where the Comfort lay at her moorings, +there had not been a sign of it. Now I was near the entrance of +the bay, somewhere abreast Crow Point, and all about me was gray, +wet blankness. Sitting in the stern of the little launch I could +see perhaps a scant ten feet beyond the bow, no more. + +It was the sudden shift of the wind which had brought the fog. +When I left the boat house there had been a light westerly breeze. +This had died down to a flat calm, and then a new breeze had sprung +up from the south, blowing the fog before it. It rolled across the +water as swiftly as the smoke clouds roll from a freshly lighted +bonfire. It blotted Denboro from sight and moved across the bay; +the long stretch of beach disappeared; the Crow Point light and Ben +Small's freshly whitewashed dwellings and outbuildings were +obliterated. In ten minutes the Comfort was, to all appearances, +alone on a shoreless sea, and I was the only living creature in the +universe. + +I was not troubled or alarmed. I had been out in too many fogs on +that very bay to mind this one. It was a nuisance, because it +necessitated cutting short my voyage, although that voyage had no +objective point and was merely an aimless cruise in search of +solitude and forgetfulness. The solitude I had found, the +forgetfulness, of course, I had not. And now, when the solitude +was more complete than ever, surrounded by this gray dismalness, +with nothing whatever to look at to divert my attention, I knew I +should be more bitterly miserable than I had been since I left that +wedding. And I had been miserable and bitter enough, goodness +knows. + +Home and the village, which I had been so anxious to get away from, +now looked inviting in comparison. I slowed down the engine and, +with an impatient growl, bent over the little binnacle to look at +the compass and get my bearings before pointing the Comfort's nose +in the direction of Denboro. Then my growl changed to an +exclamation of disgust. The compass was not there. I knew where +it was. It was on my work bench in the boat house, where I had put +it myself, having carried it there to replace the cracked glass in +its top with a new one. I had forgotten it and there it was. + +I could get along without it, of course, but its absence meant +delay and more trouble. In a general way I knew my whereabouts, +but the channel was winding and the tide was ebbing rapidly. I +should be obliged to run slowly--to feel my way, so to speak--and I +might not reach home until late. However, there was nothing else +to do, so I put the helm over and swung the launch about. I sat in +the stern sheets, listening to the dreary "chock-chock" of the +propeller, and peering forward into the mist. The prospect was as +cheerless as my future. + +Suddenly, from the wet, gray blanket ahead came a call. It was a +good way off when I first heard it, a call in a clear voice, a +feminine voice it seemed to me. + +"Hello!" + +I did not answer. I took it for granted that the call was not +addressed to me. It came probably, from the beach at the Point, +and might be Mrs. Small hailing her husband, though it did not +sound like her voice. Several minutes went by before it was +repeated. Then I heard it again and nearer. + +"Hello! Hello-o-o! Where are you?" + +That was not Mrs. Small, certainly. Unless I was away off in my +reckoning the Point was at my right, and the voice sounded to the +left. It must come from some craft afloat in the bay, though +before the fog set in I had seen none. + +"Hello-o! Hello, the motor boat!" + +"Hello!" I answered. "Boat ahoy! Where are you?" + +"Here I am." The voice was nearer still. "Where are you? Don't +run into me." + +I shifted my helm just a bit and peered ahead. I could see +nothing. The fog was thicker than ever; if that were possible. + +"Where are you?" repeated the unseen voyager, and to my dismay, the +hail came from the right this time. + +"Don't move!" I shouted. "Stay where you are. I will keep +shouting . . . LOOK OUT!" + +Out of the fog to starboard a long dark shadow shot, silent and +swift. It was moving directly across the Comfort's bow. I jammed +the wheel over and the launch swung off, but not enough. It struck +the canoe, for it was a canoe, a glancing blow and heeled it down +to the water's edge. There was a scrape, a little scream, and two +hands clutched at the Comfort's rail. I let go the wheel, sprang +forward and seized the owner of the hands about the waist. The +canoe, half full of water, disappeared somewhere astern. I swung +Mabel Colton aboard the launch. + +I think she spoke first. I do not remember saying anything, and I +think it must have been at least a full minute before either of us +broke the silence. She lay, or sat, upon the cockpit floor, her +shoulders supported by the bench surrounding it, just where I had +placed her after lifting her over the rail. I knelt beside her, +staring as if she were a spirit instead of a real, and rather damp, +young lady. And she stared at me. When she spoke her words were +an echo of my thought. + +"It IS you?" she gasped. + +"Yes." + +"This--this is the third time." + +"Yes." + +Another interval of silence. Then she spoke once more and her tone +was one expressing intense conviction. + +"This," she said, slowly, "is getting to be positively ridiculous." + +I did not deny it. I said nothing. + +She sat up. "My canoe--" she faltered. + +The mention of the canoe brought me partially to my senses. I +realized that I was kneeling on the deck of a launch that was +pounding its way through the fog with no one at the helm. I sprang +to my feet and seized the wheel. That my doing so would be of +little use, considering that the Comfort might be headed almost +anywhere by this time, did not occur to me. Miss Colton remained +where she was. + +"My canoe--" she repeated. + +I was awakening rapidly. I looked out into the mist and shook my +head. + +"I am afraid your canoe has gone," I said. And then, as the +thought occurred to me for the first time, "You're not hurt, I +hope? I dragged you aboard here rather roughly, I am afraid." + +"No, I am not hurt. But--where are we?" + +"I don't know, exactly. Somewhere near the mouth of the bay, that +is all I can be sure of. You, are certain you are not hurt? You +must be wet through." + +She got upon her feet and, leaning over the Comfort's rail, gazed +about her. + +"I am all right," she answered. "But don't you know where you +are?" + +"Before the fog caught me I was nearly abreast the Point. I was +running at half speed up the channel when I heard your hail. Where +were you?" + +"I was just beyond your boat house, out in the middle of the bay. +I had come out for a paddle before dinner. I did not notice the +fog until it was all about me. Then I think I must have been +bewildered. I thought I was going in the direction of home, but I +could not have been--not if you were abreast the Point. I must +have been going directly out to sea." + +She shivered. + +"You are wet," I said, anxiously. "There is a storm coat of mine +in the locker forward. Won't you put that about your shoulders? +It may prevent your taking cold." + +"No, thank you. I am not wet, at all; or, at least, only my feet +and the bottom of my skirt. I shall not take cold." + +"But--" + +"Please don't worry. I am all right, or shall be as soon as I get +home." + +"I am very sorry about your canoe." + +"It doesn't matter." + +Her answers were short now. There was a different note in her +voice. I knew the reason of the change. Now that the shock and +the surprise of our meeting were over she and I were resuming our +old positions. She was realizing that her companion was the +"common fellow" whose "charming and cultivated society" was not +necessary to her happiness, the fellow to whom she had scornfully +offered "congratulations" and whom she had cut dead at the Deans' +that very afternoon. I made no more suggestions and expressed no +more sympathy. + +"I will take you home at once," I said, curtly. + +"If you please." + +That ended conversation for the time. She seated herself on the +bench near the forward end of the cockpit and kept her head turned +away from me. I, with one hand upon the wheel--a useless +procedure, for I had no idea where the launch might be headed-- +looked over the rail and listened to the slow and regular beat of +the engine. Suddenly the beat grew less regular. The engine +barked, hiccoughed, barked again but more faintly, and then stopped +altogether. + +I knew what was the matter. Before I reached the gasolene tank and +unscrewed the little cover I knew it. I thrust in the gauge stick +and heard it strike bottom, drew it out and found it, as I +expected, dry to the very tip. I had trusted, like an imbecile, to +Lute. Lute had promised to fill that tank "the very first thing," +and he had not kept his promise. + +There was not a pint of gasolene aboard the Comfort; and it would +be my cheerful duty to inform my passenger of the fact! + +She did not wait for me to break the news. She saw me standing +there, holding the gauge stick in my hand, and she asked the +natural question. + +"What is the matter?" she demanded. + +I swallowed the opinion of Mr. Rogers which was on the tip of my +tongue. + +"I am sorry," I stammered, "but--but--well, we are in trouble, I am +afraid." + +"In trouble?" she said coldly. "What trouble do you mean?" + +"Yes. The fact is, we have run out of gasolene. I told my man, +Rogers, to fill the tank and he hasn't done it." + +She leaned forward to look at me. + +"Hasn't done it?" she repeated. "You mean--why, this boat cannot +go without gasolene, can it?" + +"Not very well; no." + +"Then--then what are we going to do?" + +"Anchor and wait, if I can." + +"Wait! But I don't wish to wait. I wish to be taken home, at +once." + +"I am sorry, but I am afraid that is impossible." + +I was on my way forward to where the anchor lay, in the bow. She +rose and stepped in front of me. + +"Mr. Paine." + +"Yes, Miss Colton." + +"I tell you I do not wish you to anchor this boat." + +"I am sorry but it is the only thing to do, under the circumstances." + +"I do not wish it. Stop! I tell you I will not have you anchor." + +"Miss Colton, we must do one of two things, either anchor or drift. +And if we drift I cannot tell you where we may be carried." + +"I don't care." + +"I do." + +"Yes," with scornful emphasis, "I presume you do." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean--never mind what I mean." + +"But, as I have explained to you, the gasolene--" + +"Nonsense! Do you suppose I believe that ridiculous story?" + +"Believe it?" I gazed at her uncomprehendingly. "Believe it," I +repeated. "Don't you believe it?" + +"No." + +"Miss Colton, do you mean that you think I am not telling you the +truth? That I am lying?" + +"Well," fiercely, "and if I did, would it be so astonishing, +considering--considering the TRUTHS you have told me before?" + +I made no further effort to pass her. Instead I stepped back. + +"Would you mind telling me," I demanded, with deliberate sarcasm, +"what possible reason you think I might have for wishing to keep +you here?" + +"I shall tell you nothing. And--and I will not have you anchor +this boat." + +"Is it your desire then that we drift--the Lord knows where?" + +"I desire you to start that engine and take me home." + +"I cannot start the engine." + +"I don't believe it." + +For a moment I hesitated. Then I did what was perhaps the most +senseless thing I ever did in all my life, which is saying +considerable. I turned my back on her and on the anchor, and +seated myself once more in the stern sheets. And we drifted. + +I do not know how long we drifted before I regained my sanity. It +must have been a good while. When I first returned to my seat by +the wheel it was with the firm determination to allow the Comfort +to drift into the bottomless pit rather than to stir hand or foot +to prevent it. In fact that particular port looked rather inviting +than otherwise. Any torments it might have in store could not be +worse than those I had undergone because of this girl. I sat, +silent, with my gaze fixed upon the motionless engine. I heard my +passenger move once or twice, but I did not look at her. + +What brought me to my senses was the boat hook, which had been +lying on the seat beside me, suddenly falling to the floor. I +started and looked over the rail. The water, as much of it as I +could see through the fog, was no longer flat and calm. There were +waves all about us, not big ones, but waves nevertheless, long, +regular swells in the trough of which the Comfort rocked lazily. +There was no wind to kick up a sea. This was a ground swell, such +as never moved in Denboro Bay. While I sat there like an idiot the +tide had carried us out beyond the Point. + +With an exclamation I sprang up and hurried forward. Miss Colton +was sitting where I had left her. + +"What is it?" she asked. "What are you going to do?" + +"I am going to anchor," I said. + +"I do not wish you to anchor." + +"I can't help that. I must. Please stand aside, Miss Colton." + +She tried to prevent me, but I pushed her away, not too gently I am +afraid, and clambered forward to the bow, where the anchor lay upon +its coil of line. I threw it overboard. The line ran out to its +very end and I waited expectantly for the jerk which would tell me +that the anchor had caught and was holding. But no jerk came. +Reaching over the bow I tried the line. It was taut and heavy. +Then I knew approximately how far we had drifted. We were beyond +the shoal making out from Crow Point over the deep water beyond. +My anchor rope was not long enough to reach the bottom. + +Still I was not alarmed. I was provoked at my own stubbornness +which had gotten us into this predicament and more angry than ever +at the person who was the cause of that stubbornness. But I was +not frightened. There were other shoals further out and I left the +anchor as it was, hoping that it might catch and hold on one of +them. I went back once more to my seat by the wheel. + +Then followed another interval of silence and inaction. From +astern and a good way off sounded the notes of a bell. From the +opposite direction came a low groan, indescribably mournful and +lonely. + +My passenger heard it and spoke. + +"What was that?" she demanded, in a startled tone. + +"The fog horn at Mackerel Island, the island at the mouth of +Wellmouth harbor," I answered. + +"And that bell?" + +"That is the fog bell at Crow Point." + +"At Crow Point? Why, it can't be! Crow Point is in Denboro Bay, +and that bell is a long way behind us." + +"Yes. We are a mile or more outside the Point now. The tide has +carried us out." + +"Carried us-- Do you mean that we are out at sea?" + +"Not at sea exactly. We are in Cape Cod Bay." + +"But--why, we are still drifting, aren't we? I thought you had +anchored." + +"I tried to, but I was too late. The water is too deep here for +the anchor to reach bottom." + +"But--but what are you going to do?" + +"Nothing at present. There is nothing I can do. Sit down, +please." + +"Nothing! Nothing! Do you mean that you propose to sit there and +let us be carried out to sea?" + +"We shall not be carried far. There is no wind. When the tide +turns we shall probably be carried in again." + +"But," sharply, "why don't you do something? Can't you row?" + +"I have only one oar." + +"But you must do something. You MUST. I--I-- It is late! it is +growing dark! My people! What will they think?" + +"I am sorry, Miss Colton." + +"Sorry! You are not sorry! If you were you would do something, +instead of sitting there as--as if you enjoyed it. I believe you +do enjoy it. You are doing it purposely to--to--" + +"To what, pray?" + +"Never mind." + +"But I do mind. You have accused me of lying, Miss Colton, and of +keeping you here purposely. What do you mean by it?" + +"I mean that--that-- Oh, you know what I mean! You hate me and +you hate my father, and you are trying to--to punish us for--for--" + +I had heard enough. I did not propose to hear any more. + +"Miss Colton," I interrupted, sternly, "stop! this is silly. I +assure you that I am as anxious to end this--excursion--of ours as +you can be. Your being afloat in Denboro Bay in a canoe was your +own recklessness and not my fault. Neither was it my fault that +the launch collided with your canoe. I called to you not to move, +but to stay where you were. And, moreover, if you had permitted me +to anchor when I first attempted to do so we should not be in this +scrape. I shall get you out of it just as quick as I can. In +order that I may do so I shall expect you to stop behaving like a +child and do as I tell you. Sit down on that bench and keep +still." + +This had the effect I meant it to. She looked at me as if she +could not believe she had heard aright. But I met her gaze +squarely, and, with a shudder of disgust, or fear, I do not know +which, she turned her back upon me and was silent. I went forward +to the cuddy, found the tin horn which, until that moment, I had +forgotten, and, returning, blew strident blasts upon it at +intervals. There was little danger of other craft being in our +vicinity, but I was neglecting no precautions. + +The bell at Crow Point sounded further and further astern. The +twilight changed to dusk and the dusk to darkness. The fog was as +thick as ever. It was nearly time for the tide to turn. + +Suddenly there was a jerk; the launch quivered, and swung about. + +"Oh! what was that?" demanded Miss Colton, shortly. + +"The anchor," I answered. "We have reached the outer shoal." + +"And," hesitatingly, "shall we stay here?" + +"Yes; unless--" + +"Unless what?" + +"Unless . . . Hush! listen!" + +There was an odd rushing sound from the darkness astern, a sort of +hiss and low, watery roar. I rushed to the bow and dragged the +anchor inboard with all my strength. Then I ran to the wheel. I +had scarcely reached it when I felt a hand on my arm. + +"What is it?" asked the young lady, her voice quivering. "Oh, what +is it?" + +"Wind," I answered. "There is a squall coming. Sit down! Sit +down!" + +"But--but--" + +"Sit down." + +She hesitated and I seized her arm and forced her down upon the +bench beside me. I threw the helm over. The rushing sound grew +nearer. Then came a blast of wind which sent my cap flying +overboard and the fog disappeared as if it had been a cloth +snatched away by a mighty hand. Above us was a black sky, with +stars showing here and there between flying clouds, and about us +were the waves, already breaking into foam upon the shoal. + +The Comfort rocked and wallowed in the trough. We were being +driven by the wind away from the shoal, but not fast enough. +Somehow or other we must get out of that dangerous neighborhood. I +turned to my companion. She had not spoken since the squall came. + +"Miss Colton," I said, "give me your hands." + +I presume she could not imagine what I meant. No doubt, too, my +tone and the request frightened her. She hesitated. I seized her +hands and placed them on the spokes of the wheel. + +"I want you to hold that wheel just as it is," I commanded. "I +must go forward and get steerage way on this craft somehow, or we +shall capsize. Can you hold it, do you think?" + +"Yes; I--I think so." + +"You must." + +I left her, went to the cuddy and dragged out the small canvas +tarpaulin which I used to cover the engine at night. With this, a +cod line, the boathook, and my one oar I improvised a sort of jury +rig which I tied erect at the forward end of the cockpit. Then I +went aft and took the wheel again. The tarpaulin made a poor +apology for a sail, but I hoped it might answer the purpose well +enough to keep the Comfort before the wind. + +It did. Tacking was, of course, out of the question, but with the +gale astern the launch answered her helm and slid over the waves +instead of rolling between them. I sighed in relief. Then I +remembered my passenger sitting silent beside me. She did not +deserve consideration, but I vouchsafed a word of encouragement. + +"Don't be frightened," I said. "It is only a stiff breeze and this +boat is seaworthy. We are all right now." + +"But why did you take up the anchor?" + +By way of answer I pointed aft over the stern. In the darkness the +froth of the shoal gleamed white. I felt her shudder as she +looked. + +"Where are we going now--please?" she asked, a moment later. + +"We are headed for the Wellmouth shore. It is the only direction +we can take. If this wind holds we shall land in a few hours. It +is all deep water now. There are no more shoals." + +"But," anxiously, "can we land when we reach there? Isn't it a bad +coast?" + +"Not very. If we can make Mackerel Island we may be able to get +ashore at the light or anchor in the lee of the land. It is all +right, Miss Colton. I am telling you the truth. Strange as it may +seem to you, I really am." + +I could not help adding the last bit of sarcasm. She understood. +She drew away on the bench and asked no more questions. + +On drove the Comfort. The first fierceness of the squall had +passed and it was now merely what I had called it, a stiff breeze. +Out here in the middle of the bay the waves were higher and we +shipped some spray over the quarter. The air was sharp and the +chill penetrated even my thick jacket. + +"You must be cold," I said. "Aren't you?" + +"No." + +"But you must be. Take the wheel a moment." + +"I am not cold." + +"Take the wheel." + +She took it. I groped about in the cuddy again, got out my storm +coat, an old pea jacket which I wore on gunning expeditions, and +brought it to her. + +"Slip this on," I said. + +"I do not care for it." + +"Put it on." + +"Mr. Paine," haughtily, "I tell you . . . . oh!" + +I had wrapped the coat about her shoulders and fastened the upper +button. + +"Now sit down on the deck here," I ordered. "Here, by my feet. +You will be below the rail there and out of the wind." + +To my surprise she obeyed orders, this time without even a protest. +I smiled grimly. To see her obey suited my humor. It served her +right. I enjoyed ordering her about as if I were mate of an old- +time clipper and she a foremast hand. She had insulted me once too +often and she should pay for it. Out here social position and +wealth and family pride counted for nothing. Here I was absolute +master of the situation and she knew it. All her life she would +remember it, the humiliation of being absolutely dependent upon me +for life and safety and warmth. I looked down at her crouching at +my feet, and then away over the black water. The Comfort climbed +wave after wave. + +"Mr. Paine." + +The tone was very low but I heard it. + +I came out of my waking dream--it was not a pleasant one--and +answered. + +"Yes?" I said. + +"Where are we?" + +"We are making fair progress, everything considered. Are you +warmer now?" + +"Yes--thank you." + +She said no more, nor did I. Except for the splash of the spray +and the flapping of the loose ends of the tarpaulin, it was quiet +aboard the Comfort. Quiet, except for an odd sound in the shadow +by my knee. I stooped and listened. + +"Miss Colton," I said, quickly. "What is it?" + +No answer. Yet I heard the sound again. + +"What is it, Miss Colton?" I repeated. "What is the matter? Why +are you crying?" + +"I--I am NOT crying," indignantly. And on the very heels of the +denial came a stifled sob. + +That sob went to my heart. A great lump rose in my own throat. My +brain seemed to be turning topsy-turvy. A moment before it had +been filled with bitterness and resentment and vengeful thoughts. +Now these had vanished and in their place came crowding other and +vastly different feelings. She was crying, sobbing there alone in +the dark at my feet. And I had treated her like a brute! + +"Miss Colton," I pleaded, in an agony of repentance, "what is it? +Is there anything I can do? Are you still cold? Take this other +coat, the one I have on. I don't need it, really. I am quite +warm." + +"I am not cold." + +"But--" + +"Oh, please don't speak to me! PLEASE!" + +I closed my lips tightly and clutched the wheel with both hands. +Oh, I had been a brute, a brute! I should have known that she was +not herself, that she was frightened and nervous and distraught. I +should have been considerate and forbearing. I should have +remembered that she was only a girl, hysterical and weak. Instead +I had-- + +"Miss Colton," I begged, "please don't. Please!" + +No answer; only another sob. I tried again. + +"I have been a cad," I cried. "I have treated you abominably. I +don't expect you to forgive me, but--" + +"I--I am so frightened!" The confession was a soliloquy, I think; +not addressed to me at all. But I heard it and forgot everything +else. I let go of the wheel altogether and bent over her, both +hands outstretched, to--the Lord knows what. I was not responsible +just then. + +But while I still hesitated, while my hands were still in the air +above her, before they touched her, I was brought back to sanity +with a rude shock. A barrel or so of cold water came pouring over +the rail and drenched us both. The launch, being left without a +helmsman, had swung into the trough of the sea and this was the +result. + +I am not really sure what happened in the next few seconds. I +must, I imagine, have seized the wheel with one hand and my +passenger with the other. At any rate, when the smoke, so to +speak, had cleared, the Comfort was headed on her old course once +more, I was back on the bench by the wheel, Mabel Colton's head was +on my shoulder, and I was telling her over and over that it was all +right now, there was no danger, we were perfectly safe, and various +inanities of that sort. + +She was breathing quickly, but she sobbed no more. I was glad of +that. + +"You are sure you are not hurt?" I asked, anxiously. + +"Yes--yes, I think so," she answered, faintly. "What was it? I--I +thought we were sinking." + +"So did I for a moment. It was all my fault, as usual. I let go +the wheel." + +"Did you? Why?" + +"I don't know why." This was untrue; I did. "But you are wet +through," I added, remorsefully. "And I haven't another dry wrap +aboard." + +"Never mind. You are as wet as I am." + +"Yes, but _I_ don't mind. I am used to it. But you--" + +"I am all right. I was a little faint, at first, I think, but I am +better now." She raised her head and sat up. "Where are we?" she +asked. + +"We are within a few miles of the Wellmouth shore. That light +ahead is the Mackerel Island light. We shall be there in a little +while. The danger is almost over." + +She shivered. + +"You are cold!" I cried. "Of course you are! If I only had +another coat or something. It is all my fault." + +"Don't say that," reproachfully. "Where should I have been if it +had not been for you? I was paddling directly out toward those +dreadful shoals. Then you came, just as you have done before, and +saved me. And," in a wondering whisper, "I knew it was you!" + +I did not ask her what she meant; I seemed to understand perfectly. + +"Yes," I said. + +"But I tell you I knew it was you," she repeated. "I did not know-- +I did not suspect until the moment before the collision, before +the launch came in sight--then, all at once, I knew." + +"Yes. That was when I knew." + +She turned and gazed at me. + +"YOU knew?" she gasped, hysterically. "Why--what do you mean?" + +"I can't explain it. Just before your canoe broke through the fog +I knew, that is all." + +It was unexplainable, but it was true. Call it telepathy or what +you will--I do not know what it was--I am certain only that, +although I had not recognized her voice, I had suddenly known who +it was that would come to me out of the fog. And she, too, had +known! I felt again, with an almost superstitious thrill, that +feeling of helplessness which had come over me that day of the +fishing excursion when she rode through the bushes to my side. It +was as if she and I were puppets in the hands of some Power which +was amusing itself at our expense and would have its way, no matter +how we might fight against it. + +She spoke as if she were struggling to awaken from a dream. + +"But it can't be," she protested. "It is impossible. Why should +you and I--" + +"I don't know . . . Unless--" + +"Unless what?" + +I closed my lips on the words that were on the tip of my tongue. +That reason was more impossible than all else. + +"Nothing," I stammered. + +She did not repeat her question. I saw her face, a dainty +silhouette against the foam alongside, turned away from me. I +gazed at it until I dared gaze no longer. Was I losing my senses +altogether? I--Ros Paine--the man whose very name was not his own? +I must not think such thoughts. I scarcely dared trust myself to +speak and yet I knew that I must. This silence was too dangerous. +I took refuge in a commonplace. + +"We are getting into smoother water," I said. "It is not as rough +as it was, do you think?" + +If she heard the remark she ignored it. She did not turn to look +at me. After a moment she said, in a low voice: + +"I can't understand." + +I supposed her to be still thinking of our meeting in the fog. + +"I cannot understand myself," I answered. "I presume it was a +coincidence, like our meeting at the pond." + +She shook her head. "I did not mean that," she said. "I mean that +I cannot understand how you can be so kind to me. After what I +said, and the way I have treated you; it is wonderful!" + +I was obliged to wait another moment before I could reply. I +clutched the wheel tighter than ever. + +"The wonderful part of it all," I said, earnestly, "is that you +should even speak to me, after my treatment of you here, to-night. +I was a brute. I ordered you about as if--" + +"Hush! Don't! please don't. Think of what I said to you! Will +you forgive me? I have been so ungrateful. You saved my life over +and over again and I--I--" + +"Stop! Don't do that! If you do I shall--Miss Colton, please--" + +She choked back the sob. "Tell me," she said, a moment later, this +time looking me directly in the face, "why did you sell my father +that land?" + +It was my turn to avoid her look. I did not answer. + +"I know it was not because of the money--the price, I mean. Father +told me that you refused the five thousand he offered and would +accept only a part of it; thirty-five hundred, I think he said. I +should have known that the price had nothing to do with it, even if +he had not told me. But why did you sell it?" + +I would have given all I had, or ever expected to have, in this +world, to tell her the truth. For the moment I almost hated George +Taylor. + +"Oh, I thought I might as well, give in then as later," I answered, +with a shrug. "It was no use fighting the inevitable." + +"That was not it. I know it was not. If it had been you would +have taken the five thousand. And I know, too, that you meant what +you said when you told me you never would sell. I have known it +all the time. I know you were telling me the truth." + +I was astonished. "You do?" I cried. "Why, you said--" + +"Don't! I know what I said, and I am so ashamed. I did not mean +it, really. For a moment, there in the library, when Father first +told me, I thought perhaps you--but I did not really think it. And +when he told me the price, I KNEW. Won't you tell me why you +sold?" + +"I can't. I wish I could." + +"I believe I can guess." + +I started. "You can GUESS?" I repeated. + +"Yes. I think you wanted the money for some purpose, some need +which you had not foreseen. And I do not believe it was for +yourself at all. I think it was for some one else. Wasn't that +it?" + +I could not reply. I tried to, tried to utter a prompt denial, but +the words would not come. Her "guess" was so close to the truth +that I could only stammer and hesitate. + +"It was," she said. "I thought so. For your mother, wasn't it?" + +"No, no. Miss Colton, you are wrong. I--" + +"I am not wrong. Never mind. I suppose it is a secret. Perhaps I +shall find out some day. But will you forgive me for being so +hateful? Can you? What is the matter?" + +"Nothing--nothing. I--you are too good to me, that is all. I +don't deserve it." + +"Hush! And we will be friends again?" + +"Yes. . . . . Oh, no! no! I must not think of it. It is +impossible." + +"Must not think of it? When I ask you to? Can't you forgive me, +after all?" + +"There was nothing to forgive." + +"Yes, there was, a great deal. Is there something else? Are you +still angry with me because of what I said that afternoon at the +gate?" + +"No, of course not." + +"It was hateful of me, I know. But I could see that you wished to +avoid me and I was provoked. Besides, you have punished me for +that. You have snubbed me twice since, sir." + +"_I_ snubbed YOU?" + +"Yes--twice. Once when we met in the street. You deliberately +turned away and would not look at me. And once when I passed you +in the canoe. You saw me--I know you did--but you cut me dead. +That is why I did not return your bow to-day, at the wedding." + +"But you had said--I thought--" + +"I know. I had said horrid things. I deserved to be snubbed. +There! now I have confessed. Mayn't we be friends?" + +"I . . . Oh, no, we must not, for your sake. I--" + +"For my sake! But I wish it. Why not?" + +I turned on her. "Can't you see?" I said, despairingly. "Look at +the difference between us! You are what you are and I--" + +She interrupted me. "Oh," she cried, impatiently, "how dare you +speak so? How dare you believe that money and--all the rest of it +influences me in my friendships? Do you think I care for that?" + +"I did not mean money alone. But even that Miss Colton, that +evening when we returned from the trip after weakfish, you and your +father and I, I heard--I did not mean to hear but I did--what your +mother said when she met you. She said she had warned you against +trusting yourself to 'that common fellow,' meaning me. That shows +what she thinks. She was right; in a way she was perfectly right. +Now you see what I mean by saying that friendship between us is +impossible?" + +I had spoken at white heat. Now I turned away. It was settled. +She must understand now. + +"Mr. Paine." + +"Yes, Miss Colton." + +"I am sorry you heard that. Mother--she is my mother and I love +her--but she says foolish things sometimes. I am sorry you heard +that, but since you did, I wish you had heard the rest." + +"The rest?" + +"Yes. I answered her by suggesting that she had not been afraid to +trust me in the care of Victor--Mr. Carver. She answered that she +hoped I did not mean to compare Mr. Carver with you. And I said--" + +"Yes? You said--?" + +"I said," the tone was low but I heard every syllable, "I said she +was right, there was no comparison." + +"You said THAT!" + +"Yes." + +"You said it! And you meant--?" + +"I meant--I think I meant that I should not be afraid to trust you +always--anywhere." + +Where were my good resolutions--my stern reasons to remember who +and what I was--to be sane, no matter at what cost to myself? I do +not know where they were; then I did not care. I seized her hand. +It trembled, but she did not draw it away. + +"Mabel--" I cried. "Mabel--" + +"BUMP!" + +The Comfort shook as the bow of a dory scraped along her starboard +quarter. A big red hand clasped the rail and its mate brandished a +good-sized club before my eyes. + +"Now," said a determined voice, "I've got ye at last! This time +I've caught ye dead to rights! Now, by godfreys, you'll pay me for +them lobsters!" + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +If I had been giving undivided attention to my combined duties as +steersman and pilot, instead of neglecting them for other and more +engrossing matters, I should, doubtless, have seen the dory before. +As it was I had not seen it at all, nor heard the oars. It had +sneaked up on the Comfort out of the darkness and its occupant had +laid us aboard as neatly as you please. + +I was, to say the least, startled and surprised. I dodged the +threatening club and turned a dazed face toward the person +brandishing it. He appeared to be a middle-sized, elderly person, +in oilskins and souwester, and when he spoke a gray whisker wagged +above the chin strap of the souwester. + +"Who in blazes are you?" I demanded, as soon as I could get the +words together. + +"Never you mind that. You know who I be all right enough. Be you +goin' to pay me for them lobsters? That's what _I_ want to know." + +"What lobsters?" + +"Them lobsters you've been stealin' out of my pots for the last +fortnight." + +"_I_ have been stealing?" + +"Yes, you. I been layin' for you all night long. I don't know who +you be, but you'll pay for them lobsters or come along with me to +the lock-up, one or t'other." + +I looked about, over the water. The light toward which I had been +trying to steer blazed dead ahead, surprisingly near and bright. +Except for that, however, there was no sign of anything except +darkness and waves. + +"Look here, my man," I said. "I haven't stolen your lobsters; but--" + +"I know better. I don't know who you be, but I'd know you was a +thief if I run acrost you in prayer-meetin'. Just to look at you +is enough." + +I heard a hysterical giggle from the bench beside me. Evidently +the person with the club heard it, too, for he leaned forward to +look. + +"So there's two of ye, eh!" he said. "Well, by godfreys, I don't +care if there's a million! You'll pay for them lobsters or go to +the lock-up." + +I laughed aloud. "Very well," I said. "I am agreeable." + +"You're agreeable! What do you mean by that? This ain't no +laughin' matter, I'll tell you that." + +I laughed again. "I don't care what you tell me," I observed. +"And if you will take us somewhere ashore--to the lock-up or +anywhere else--I shall be much obliged." + +The occupant of the dory seemed to be puzzled. He leaned forward +once more. + +"What sort of talk is that?" he demanded. "Where's my lobsters? . . . +Hey! What? I swan to man, I believe one of ye's a woman! +Have the females turned thieves, too?" + +"I don't know. See here, my friend, my name is Paine, and I'm the +only lobster aboard this craft. This lady and I belong in Denboro. +My launch has run out of gasolene and we have been drifting about +the bay since five o'clock. Now, for heaven's sake, don't talk any +more, but take us to the lock-up and be quick about it." + +The unknown paid no attention to my entreaty. Instead he leaned +still further over the Comfort's rail. The dory careened until I +expected to see her capsize. + +"I swan to man!" he muttered. "I swan to man! 'Tain't possible +I'm mistook!" + +"It scarcely seems possible, I admit. But I'm afraid it is true." + +I heard the club fall with a clatter. + +"My--godfreys! Do you mean to say--? From Denboro? Out of +gasolene! Why--why, you've got sail up!" + +"Nothing but a tarpaulin on an oar." + +"And you've been cruisin' all night? Through the fog--the squall-- +and all?" + +"Yes," wearily, "yes--yes--yes." + +"But--but ain't you drownded?" + +"Not quite. If you don't let go of that rail we shall be soon." + +"Driftin' all night! Ain't you wet through?" + +"Yes. Might I suggest that we postpone the rest of the catechism +until we reach--the lock-up?" + +This suggestion apparently was accepted. Our captor suddenly +became very much alive. + +"Give me a line," he ordered. "Anchor rope'll do. Where is it? +up for'ard?" + +He pawed the dory along, hand over hand, until he reached the +Comfort's bow. I heard the thump of the anchor as he dragged it +into the dory. Then came the creak and splash of oars. His voice +sounded from somewhere ahead. + +"Head for the light," he shouted. "I'm goin' to tow you in." + +"In where?" + +"In ashore. That's Mack'rel Island light. My name's Atwood. I'm +keeper of it." + +I turned to my passenger. + +"It looks," I said, "as if our voyage was almost over." + +And it was. Mr. Atwood had a tough job on his hands, towing the +launch. But the make-shift sail helped some and I did my best to +steer in his wake. Miss Colton and I had no opportunity to talk. +The gentleman in the dory kept up a running fire of remarks, +shouted between grunts, and embroidered with cheerful profanity. +We caught fragments of the monologue. + +"I swan to man--ugh--I thought ye was thieves, for sartin. Some +everlastin', dam--ugh--have been sneakin' out nights and haulin' my +lobster pots. Ugh--if I'd caught 'em I was cal'latin' to--ugh-- +break their--ugh--ugh-- This dory pulls like a coal barge--I-- +Wet through, ain't ye? And froze, I cal'late-- Ugh--and hungry, +too-- Ugh--ugh-- My old woman's tendin' light. She--ugh-- Here +we be! Easy now!" + +A low shore loomed black across our bows. Above it the lighthouse +rose, a white chalk mark against the sky with a red glare at its +upper end. Mr. Atwood sprang overboard with a splash. The launch +was drawn in at the end of its anchor rope until its keel grated on +the sand. + +"Now then!" said our rescuer. "Here we be! Made harbor at last, +though I did think I'd crack my back timbers afore we done it. +I'll tote the lady ashore. You can wade, can't ye?" + +I could and I was very glad of the opportunity. I turned to take +Miss Colton in my arms, but she avoided me. + +"Here I am, Mr. Atwood," she said. "Oh, thank you." + +She was swung into the air and moved shoreward to the accompaniment +of mighty splashings. + +"Don't be scart, ma'am," said Mr. Atwood. "I shan't let ye drop. +Lord sakes! I've toted more women in my time than you can shake a +stick at. There's more da--that is, there's more summer folks try +to land on this island at low tide than there is moskeeters and +there's more of them than there's fiddles in-- Hi! come on, you, +Mr. What's-your-name! Straight as you go." + +I came on wading through eelgrass and water until I reached a sandy +beach. A moment later we stood before a white door in a very white +little house. Mr. Atwood opened the door, revealing a cosy little +sitting room and a gray-haired, plump, pleasant-faced woman sitting +in a rocking chair beside a table with a lamp upon it. + +"Hello, Betsy!" bellowed our rescuer, stamping his wet rubber boots +on the braided mat. "Got company come to supper--or breakfast, or +whatever you want to call it. This is Mr. Paine from Denboro. +This is his wife, Mrs. Paine. They've been cruisin' all the way +from Cape Cod to Kamchatky in a motor boat with no power to it. +Don't that beat the Old Scratch, hey?" + +The plump woman rose, without a trace of surprise, as if having +company drop in at three o'clock in the morning was nothing out of +the ordinary, and came over to us, beaming with smiles. + +"I'm real glad to see you, Mrs. Paine," she exclaimed. "And your +husband, too. You must be froze to death! Set right down while I +fix up a room for you and hunt up some dry things for you to put +on. I won't be but a minute." + +Before I could offer explanations, or do more than stammer thanks, +and rather incoherent ones at that, she had bustled out of the +room. I caught one glimpse of Mabel Colton's face; it was crimson +from neck to brow. "Mrs. Paine!" "Your husband!" I was grateful +to the doughty Mr. Atwood, but just then I should have enjoyed +choking him. + +The light keeper, quite unaware that his unfortunate misapprehension +of the relationship between his guests might be embarrassing, was +doing his best to make us feel at home. + +"Take off your boots, Mr. Paine," he urged. "The old lady'll fetch +you a pair of my slippers and some socks in a minute. She'll make +your wife comf'table, too. She's a great hand at makin' folks +comf'table. I tell her she'd make a cake of ice feel to home on a +hot stove. She beats--" + +The "old lady" herself interrupted him, entering with a bottle in +one hand and a lamp in the other. + +"Joshua!" she said, warningly. + +"Well, what is it, Betsy?" + +"Be careful how you talk." + +"Talk!" with a wink at me. "I wan't goin' to say nothin'." + +"Yes, you was. Mrs. Paine, you mustn't mind him. He used to go +mate on a fishin' schooner and, from all I can learn, they use +pretty strong language aboard these boats." + +"Pick it up same as a poll parrot," cut in her husband. "Comes +natural when you're handlin' wet trawl line in February. Can't +seem to get no comfort out of anything milder." + +"He's a real good-hearted man, Joshua is, and a profession' church +member, but he does swear more'n he ought to. But, as I tell the +minister, he don't mean nothin' by it." + +"Not a damn thing!" said Mr. Atwood, reassuringly. The bottle, it +appeared, contained Jamaica ginger, a liberal dose of which Mrs. +Atwood insisted upon our taking as a precaution against catching +cold. + +"There's nothin' better," she said. + +"You bet there ain't!" this from the lightkeeper. "A body can't +get within forty fathoms of a cold with a swallow of that amidships. +It's hotter than--" + +"Joshua!" + +"The Fourth of July," concluded her husband, triumphantly. + +"And now, Mrs. Paine," went on the lady of the house, "your room's +all ready. I've laid out some dry things for you on the bed and +some of Joshua's, too. You and your husband--" + +I thought it high time to explain. + +"The lady is not my wife," I said, quickly. + +"She ain't! Why, I thought Joshua said--" + +"He--er--made a mistake. She is Miss Colton, a summer resident and +neighbor of mine in Denboro." + +"Sho! you don't say! That's just like you, Joshua!" + +"Just like me! Well, how'd I know? I beg your pardon, Miss, I'm +sure. Shan't beg your hus--I mean Mr. Paine's pardon; he ought to +thank me for the compliment. Haw! haw!" + +Miss Colton herself made the next remark. + +"If my room is ready, Mrs. Atwood," she said,, without even a +glance in my direction, "I think I will go to it. I AM rather +wet." + +"Wet! Land sakes, yes! I guess you be! Come right in, Joshua, +take them clothes of yours into our room and let Mr. Paine put 'em +on." + +Her husband obeyed orders. After I was alone in the room to which +he conducted me and enjoying the luxury of dry socks, I heard him +justifying his mistake in stentorian tones. + +"I couldn't help it, Betsy," I heard him say. "I took it for +granted they was married. When I hove alongside that motor boat +they was a-settin' close up together in the stern sheets and so, of +course, I thought--" + +"You hadn't any business to. You made that poor young lady blush +somethin' dreadful. Most likely they're just keepin' company--or +engaged, or somethin'. You ought to be more careful." + +I wondered if the young lady herself heard all this. I didn't see +how she could help it. + +Kinder-hearted people than these two never lived, I do believe. It +was after three in the morning, both had been up all night, we were +absolute strangers to them, and yet, without a word of complaint, +they gave the remainder of the hours before daylight to making us +comfortable. When I dressed as much of myself as a suit of Mr. +Atwood's--his Sunday best, I presume--would cover, and, with a pair +of carpet slippers about the size and shape of toy ferry boats on +my feet, emerged from the bedroom, I found the table set in the +kitchen, the teapot steaming and Mrs. Atwood cooking "spider bread" +on the stove. When Miss Colton, looking surprisingly presentable-- +considering that she, too, was wearing borrowed apparel four sizes +too large for her--made her appearance, we sat down to a simple +meal which, I think, was the most appetizing I ever tasted. + +The Atwoods were bursting with curiosity concerning our getting +adrift in the motor boat. I described the adventure briefly. When +I told of Lute's forgetfulness in the matter of gasolene the +lightkeeper thumped the table. + +"There, by godfreys!" he exclaimed. "I could see it comin'! That +feller's for all the world like a cook I had once aboard the Ezry +H. Jones. That cook was the biggest numskull that ever drawed the +breath of life. Always forgettin' somethin', he was, and always at +the most inconvenient time. Once, if you'll believe it, I had a +skipper of another vessel come aboard and, wishin' to be sort of +hospitable, as you might say, I offered him a glass of rum." + +"Joshua!" + +"Oh, it's all right, Betsy. This was years ago. I'm as good a +teetotaler now as you be, and I never was what you'd call a soak. +But I've SEEN fellers-- Why, I knew one once that used to go to +bed in the dark. He was so full of alcohol he didn't dast to light +a match fear he'd catch a-fire. Fact! He was eighty-odd then, and +he lived to be nigh a hundred. Preserved, you understand, same as +one of them specimens in a museum. He'd kept forever, I cal'late, +if he hadn't fell off the dock. The water fixed him; he wasn't +used to it. He was the wust--" + +"Never mind him. Stick to the cook." + +"Yes, yes. Well, I sent that cook for the rum and when he fetched +it, I thought it smelt funny. And when I TASTED it--godfreys! +'Twas bay rum; yes, sir, bay rum! same as they put on your hair. +You see, he'd forgot to buy any rum when we was in our last port +and, havin' the bay rum along he fetched that. 'Twas SOME kind of +rum and that was enough for him. I WAS mad, but that visitin' +skipper, he didn't care. Drank it down and smacked his lips. 'I'm +a State of Maine man,' he says, 'and that's a prohibition state. +This tastes like home,' he says. 'If you don't mind I'll help +myself to another.' 'I don't mind,' says I, 'but I'm sorry I ain't +got any hair-ile. If I had you might have a barber-shop toddy.' +Yes, sir! Ho-ho! that's what I said. But he didn't mind. He was--" + +And so on. The yarns were not elegant, but, as he told them, they +were funny. Mabel Colton laughed as heartily as the rest of us. +She appeared to be in fine spirits. She talked with the Atwoods, +answered their questions, and ate the hot "spider bread" and butter +as if she had never tasted anything as good. But with me she would +not talk. Whenever I addressed a remark to her, she turned it with +a laugh and her next speech was pretty certain to be addressed to +the lightkeeper or his wife. As for our adventure in the launch, +that she treated as a joke. + +"Wan't you awful scared when that squall struck so sudden?" +inquired Mrs. Atwood. + +"Dreadfully." + +"Humph!" this from Joshua; "I cal'late Mr. Paine was some scart +too. What did you do, Mr. Paine?" + +"I rigged that canvas on the oar as soon as possible," I answered. + +"Um-hm. That was good judgment." + +"Tell me, Mr. Atwood," asked the young lady innocently, "are all +seafaring men very dictatorial under such circumstances?" + +"Very--which?" + +"I mean do they order people about and make them do all sorts of +things, whether they wish to or not?" + +"Sartin. Godfreys! I never asked nobody what they wished aboard +the Ezry H. Jones." + +"And do they tell them to 'sit down and keep still'?" + +"Gen'rally they tell 'em to get up and keep movin'. If they don't +they start 'em pretty lively--with a rope's end." + +"I see. Even when they are--ladies?" + +"Ladies? Godfreys! we never had but one woman aboard the Ezry. +Had the skipper's wife one v'yage, but nobody ever ordered her +around any to speak of. She was six feet tall and weighed two +hundred. All hands was scart to death of her." + +"Suppose she had been ordered to 'sit down and keep still'; what do +you think would have happened?" + +"Don't know. If 'twas one of the hands I guess likely she'd have +hove him overboard. If 'twas the skipper I shouldn't wonder if +she'd have knocked him down--after she got over the surprise of his +darin' to do such, a thing. She had HIM trained, I tell ye!" + +"Miss Colton thinks me rather a bully, I am afraid," I said. "I +did order her about rather roughly." + +Mr. Atwood burst into a laugh. "That Ezry Jones woman was the +skipper's wife," he declared. "Makes a lot of diff'rence, that +does. I was considerable of a bully myself afore Betsy got me on +the parson's books. Now I'm the most peaceable critter ever you +see. Your turn's comin', Miss Colton. All you got to do is be +patient." + +"Joshua!" said Mrs. Atwood, in mild reproof. "You mustn't mind his +talk, Miss Colton. He's a terrible joker." + +Miss Colton changed the subject. She did not so much as look at me +again during the meal and, after it was over, she went to her room, +explaining that she was very tired and would try to get a little +sleep. + +I had discovered that the lighthouse, being close to the mainland, +was equipped with a telephone. Now I begged permission to use it. +I called up Denboro and asked to be connected with the Colton home. +I felt very sure that there would be no sleep in the big house that +night and I wished to relieve their anxiety and to send word to +Mother. Mr. Colton himself answered my call. + +I announced my identity and explained where I was and that his +daughter was in my care and perfectly safe. + +"Thank God!" was the fervent exclamation at the other end of the +wire, and the voice which uttered it was shaking with emotion. +"Stay where you are a moment, Paine. Let me tell my wife. She is +almost crazy. Hold the wire." + +I held the wire and waited. The next voice which reached my ears +was Mrs. Colton's. She asked a dozen questions, one after the +other. Was Mabel safe? Was I sure she was safe? Wasn't the poor +child almost dead after all she'd been through? What had happened? +What was she doing away over there in that dreadful place? Why had +I taken her there? + +I answered as well as I could, telling briefly of the collision in +the fog and what followed. The explanation appeared to be rather +unsatisfactory. + +"You take the wire, James," I heard the lady say. "I can't make it +all out. Mabel is at some horrid lighthouse and there is no +kerosene, or something. The poor child! Alone there, with that +man! Tell him she must be brought home at once. It is dreadful +for her! Think what she must have suffered! And with HIM! What +will people say? Tell him to bring her home! The idea! I don't +believe a word--" + +"Hello--hello, Paine!" Colton was at the 'phone once more. "Can +you get Mabel--Miss Colton, over to Wellmouth, do you think?" + +"Yes. I will get a boat as soon as I can. Miss Colton is in her +room, asleep I hope. She is very tired and I think she should rest +until daylight. I will get her to Wellmouth in time for the +morning train." + +"Never mind the train. I'll come after her in the auto. I will +start now. I will meet you at the landing--at the wharf, if there +is one." + +"Very well. Will you be good enough to send word to my mother that +I am safe and sound? She will be worried." + +"Yes, yes, I'll send word. Tell Mabel to be careful and not take +cold. . . . Yes, Henrietta, I am attending to everything. Good- +by, Paine." + +That was all, not a word of thanks. I did not expect thanks and I +made allowances for the state of mind at the mansion; but that +telephone conversation, particularly Mrs. Colton's share in it, +cast a gloom over my spirits. I did not care to hear more of Mr. +Atwood's yarns and jokes. I went to my own room, but I did not +sleep. + +At half-past five I was astir again. The lightkeeper, it appeared, +had an auxiliary engine in a catboat which he owned and could let +me have a sufficient supply of gasolene to fill the Comfort's tank. +When this was done--and it took a long time, for Joshua insisted +upon helping and he was provokingly slow--I returned to the sitting +room and asked Mrs. Atwood to call Miss Colton. + +"Land sakes!" was the cheery answer, "I didn't have to call her. +She's been up for fifteen minutes. Said she was goin' to take a +cruise around the lighthouse. I cal'late you'll find her out there +somewheres. Go and fetch her here. You two must have a bite--a +cup of hot coffee and a biled egg, anyhow--afore you leave. Yes, +you must. I shan't listen to a no from either of you." + +I went out and crossed the sandy yard to the whitewashed lighthouse. +There was no sign of Miss Colton in the yard, but the door of the +lighthouse was open and I entered. No one there. The stairs, +winding upward, invited me to climb and I did so. The little room +with the big lantern, the latter now covered with a white cloth, was +untenanted also. I looked out of the window. There she was, on the +iron gallery surrounding the top of the tower, leaning on the rail +and gazing out over the water. She had not heard me. For a moment +I stood there, watching her. + +She was not wearing Mrs. Atwood's gown now, but her own, wrinkled +and stained from its last night's drenching in salt water, but dry +now. She was bareheaded and her brown hair was tossing in the sea +breeze. The sun, but a little way above the horizon and shining +through the morning haze, edged her delicate profile with a line of +red gold. I had never seen her look more beautiful, or more +aristocratic and unapproachable. The memory of our night in the +launch seemed more like an unbelievable dream than ever, and the +awakening more cruel. For I was awake now. What I had heard over +the 'phone had awakened me thoroughly. There should be no more +dreaming. + +I stepped out upon the gallery. + +"Good morning," I said. + +She turned quickly, and I heard her catch her breath with a little +gasp. + +"I beg pardon," said I; "I'm afraid I startled you." + +She was startled, that was evident, and, it seemed to me, a trifle +embarrassed. But the embarrassment was but momentary. + +"Good morning," she said. "How very silent you can be when you +choose, Mr. Paine. How long have you been standing there, pray?" + +"Only a moment. I came to call you to breakfast." + +"To breakfast?" + +"Yes, Mrs. Atwood insists upon our breakfasting before I take you +ashore." + +"Oh! Why didn't you call me? I would have come down." + +"I did not see you until I reached the lantern room. My silence +was not premeditated. I made noise enough, or so it seemed to me; +but you were so wrapped in your thoughts--" + +"Nonsense!" She interrupted me almost sharply. "I was not +'wrapped' in anything, except the beauty of this view. It IS +beautiful, isn't it?" + +"Very," I answered, but fear I was not looking at the view. It may +be that she noticed this, for she said: + +"You have come into your own again, I see. So have I." + +She indicated her gown with a smile and a gesture. I laughed. + +"Yes," I said. "I have returned unto Joshua that which was his." + +"You should have kept it. You have no idea what a picturesque +lightkeeper you make, Mr. Paine." + +Somehow or other this harmless joke hurt. + +"Yes," I answered, drily, "that is about my measure, I presume." + +Her eyes twinkled. "I thought the measure rather scant," she +observed, mischievously. "I wish I might have a snap-shot of you +in that--uniform." + +"I am afraid the opportunity for that is past." + +"But it--" with a little bubble of mirth, "it was so funny." + +"No doubt. I am sorry I can't oblige you with a photograph." + +She looked at me, biting her lip. + +"Is your bump of humor a dent, Mr. Paine?" she inquired. "I am +afraid it must be." + +"You may be right. I don't appreciate a joke as keenly as--well, +as Mr. Carver, for instance." + +She turned her back upon me and led the way to the door. + +"Shall we go to breakfast?" she asked, in a different tone. + +Breakfast was a silent meal, so far as we two were concerned. The +Atwoods, however, talked enough to make up the deficiency. + +As we rose from the table the young lady turned to the lightkeeper. + +"Mr. Atwood," she said, "I presume you are going to be kind enough +to take me to Wellmouth?" + +"Why, Miss, I--I wan't cal'latin' to. Mr. Paine here, he's got all +the gas he needs now and he'll take you over in his launch." + +"Oh! But you will go, if I ask you to?" + +"Sartin sure." + +"You have been so very kind that I dislike to ask another favor; +but I hoped you would send a telegram for me. My father and mother +will be very much alarmed and I must wire them at once. You will +have to send it 'collect,' for," with a rueful smile, "I haven't my +purse with me." + +"Land sakes! that'll be all right. Glad to help you out." + +I put in a word. "It will not be necessary," I said, impatiently. +"I have money enough, Miss Colton." + +I was ignored. + +"Thank you so much, Mr. Atwood. You will come with me and look out +for the telegram?" + +"Yes. Yes--yes. But I don't see what you need to send no telegram +for. Mr. Paine here, he telephoned to your folks last night." + +She looked at me and then at Joshua. + +"Last night?" she repeated. + +"Why yes--or this mornin' after you'd gone to bed. He was dead set +on it. I could see he was 'most tired and wore out, but he +wouldn't rest till he'd 'phoned your folks and told 'em you was +safe and sound. Didn't seem to care nothin' about himself, but he +was bound your pa and ma shouldn't worry." + +She turned to me. + +"Did you?" she asked. + +"Yes," I answered. "Your father is to meet us at the Wellmouth +wharf." + +"Why didn't you tell me?" + +"I intended to. I meant to tell you when I saw you in the +lighthouse, but--I forgot it." + +She said no more, but when Joshua, hat and boots on, met us at the +door she spoke to him. + +"You need not go, Mr. Atwood," she said. "It will not be +necessary--now." + +"Godfreys! I'd just as soon as not. Ruther, if anything." + +He hurried down to the beach. I was about to follow when a hand +touched my arm. I turned, to find a pair of brown eyes, misty but +wonderful, looking into mine. + +"Thank you," said Miss Colton. + +"Don't mention it." + +"But I shall. It was thoughtful and kind. I had forgotten, or--at +least--I took it for granted there was no 'phone here. But you did +not forget. It was thoughtful, but--it was like you." + +I was breathing hard. I could not look at her. + +"Don't," I said, roughly. "It was nothing. Anyone with common +sense would have thought of it and done it, of course." + +"I did not. But you-- Oh, it was like you! Always some one else +and never yourself. You were worn out. You must have been, after--" +with a shudder--"last night. Oh, I have so much to thank you +for! I--" + +"Come on! Heave ahead!" It was Mr. Atwood, bellowing from the +beach. "All aboard for Wellmouth and pints alongshore." + +Betsy appeared in the door behind us. + +"All ready, be you?" she asked. + +I could not have answered, but my companion was once more as calm +and cool as the morning itself. + +"All ready," she answered. "Good-by, Mrs. Atwood. And thank you +over and over again. You have been so kind." With a sudden flash +of enthusiasm. "Every one is kind. It is a beautiful world. +Good-by." + +She ran lightly down the slope and I followed. + +The trip to Wellmouth was of but a half hour's duration. Atwood +talked all the time. Miss Colton laughed at his stories and seemed +to be without a care. She scarcely looked at me during the +passage, and if she caught me looking at her and our glances met +she turned away. On the wharf was a big automobile, surrounded by +a gaping crowd of small boys and 'longshore loafers. + +We drew up beside the landing. Our feminine passenger sprang +ashore and ran up the steps, to be seized in her father's arms. +Mrs. Colton was there also, babbling hysterically. I watched and +listened for a moment. Then I started the engine. + +"Shove off," I ordered. The lightkeeper was astonished. + +"Ain't ye goin' ashore?" he demanded. + +"No," I answered, curtly. "I'm going home. Shove off." + +The launch was fifty feet from the pier when I heard a shout. +Colton was standing on the wharf edge, waving his hand. Beside him +stood his daughter, her mother's arms about her. + +"Here! Paine!" shouted Colton. "Come back! Come back and go home +with us in the car. There is plenty of room." + +I did not answer. + +"Come back! Come back, Paine!" he shouted again. Mrs. Colton +raised her head from her daughter's shoulder. + +"James! James!" she cautioned, without taking the trouble to lower +her voice, "don't make a scene. Let him go in his dreadful boat, +if he prefers to." + +"Paine!" cried her husband again. + +"I must look out for the launch," I shouted. "I shall be home +almost as soon as you are. Good-by." + +I left the lightkeeper at his island. He refused to accept a cent +from me, except in payment for the gasolene, and declared he had +had a "fust-rate night of it." + +"Come and see us again, Mr. Paine," he said. "Come any time and +fetch your lady along. She's a good one, she is, and nice-lookin', +don't talk! You're a lucky critter, did you know it? Haw! haw! +Good-by." + +The Comfort never made better time than on that homeward trip. I +anchored her at her moorings, went ashore in the skiff, and +hastened up to the house. It was past ten o'clock and I would be +over an hour late at the bank. A fine beginning for my first day +in charge of the institution! + +The dining-room door was open, but no one was in the dining-room. +The kitchen door, however, was shut and from behind it I heard +Dorinda's voice. + +"You can get right out of this house," she said. "I don't care if +you've got a mortgage on the rest of the Cape! You ain't got one +on this house, and you nor nobody else shall stay in it and talk +that way. There's the door." + +"Dorindy!" wailed another voice--Lute's. "You mustn't talk so--to +him! Don't you realize--" + +"I realize that if I had a husband instead of a jellyfish I +shouldn't have to talk. Be still, you!" + +A third voice made itself heard. + +"All right," it growled. "I ain't anxious to stay here any longer +than is necessary. Bein' an honest, decent man, I'm ashamed to be +seen here as it is. But you can tell that low-lived sneak, Ros +Paine, that--" + +I opened the door. + +"You may tell him yourself, Captain Dean," said I. "What is it?" + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +My unexpected entrance caused a sensation. Lute, sitting on the +edge of one of the kitchen chairs, an agonized expression on his +face, started so violently that he almost lost his balance. +Dorinda, standing with her back toward me, turned quickly. Captain +Jedediah Dean, his hand on the knob of the door opening to the back +yard, showed the least evidence of surprise. He did not start, nor +did he speak, but looked at me with a countenance as grim and set +and immovable as if it had been cast in a mould. + +Lute, characteristically enough, uttered the first word. + +"By time!" he gasped. "It's Ros himself! Ros--Ros, you know what +he says?" He pointed a shaking finger at the captain. "He says +you--" + +"Keep still!" Dorinda struck her palms together with a slap, as if +her husband had been what she often called him, a parrot. Then, +without another glance in his direction, she stepped backward and +took her stand beside me. + +"I'm real glad to see you home safe and sound, Roscoe," she said, +calmly. + +"Thank you, Dorinda. Now, Captain Dean, I believe you were sending +a message to me just now. I am here and you can deliver it. What +is it you have to say?" + +Before he could answer Dorinda spoke once more. + +"Lute," she said, "you come along with me into the dinin'-room." + +"But--but, Dorindy, I--" + +"You come with me. This ain't any of my business any more, and it +never was any of yours. Come! move!" + +Lute moved, but so slowly that his progress to the door took almost +a full minute. His wife paid no heed to the pleading looks he gave +her and stood majestically waiting until he passed her and crossed +the sill. Then she turned to me. + +"If you want me, just speak," she said. "I shall be in the dining- +room. There ain't no need for Comfort to know about this. She +doesn't know that you've been away and hasn't been worried at all. +I'll look out for her. Lute'll be with me, so you needn't fret +about him, either." + +She closed the door. + +"Now, Captain Dean," I repeated, "what is it you have to say?" + +The captain's grim mouth twisted in a savage sneer. + +"You know what I'm goin' to say as well as I do," he answered. + +"Possibly, but you had better say it." + +"It won't take me long. You've sold that Shore Lane land to Jim +Colton, ain't you?" + +"Yes." + +My calm affirmative seemed to astonish him. I think he expected a +denial. His hand left the doorknob and he stepped toward me. + +"You--HAVE!" he cried. "You don't even take the trouble to-- You +have the face to stand there and tell me--" + +He almost choked. + +"Captain Dean," I interrupted, quickly, "wait a moment. Listen to +me. I have sold Colton the land. I did not intend selling it at +all, least of all to him, but circumstances compelled me to change +my mind. I did it because I was obliged to. It is done. I am +sorry I had to do it, but, under the same conditions, I should do +it again. I am not ashamed." + +He leaned forward, steadying himself with a hand upon the table, +and stared at me. + +"You ain't ashamed?" he repeated. "You ain't ashamed! Why, you-- +Didn't you tell me you'd never sell that land? Didn't you promise +me?" + +"I did not promise anything. At first I promised not to sell +without letting you know of my intention. Afterward I took back +that promise." + +"But why did you sell? You said it wan't a question of price at +all. You made your brags that it wan't! To me, over and over, you +made 'em. And then you sneak off and--" + +"Stop! I did think it was not a question of price. Then I found +out that it was." + +He clenched his fist. + +"Damn you!" he shouted, furiously. "You liar! You sneak! After +I--" + +"That is enough, Captain. This has gone far enough. I have sold +the land--for what seemed to me a good reason--and your calling me +names will not change the situation. I don't care to hear them. +You had better go." + +"WHAT?" + +"I say you had better go." + +"_I_ go? You'll put me out?" + +"No, certainly not. But there is nothing to be gained by a +quarrel, and so, for both our sakes, I think you had better go +away." + +For a moment I thought he would strike me. Then his fist fell +heavily upon the table. His lips were quivering like those of an +infirm person. He looked old, and I had never before considered +him an old man. + +"What made you do it?" he cried, desperately. "What made you do +it? Is it all settled? Can't you back out?" + +"No." + +"But--but why didn't you sell to me--to the town? If you had to +sell why didn't you do that? Why did you go to him?" + +"Because he would pay me what I needed; because his price was +higher than any you or the town could offer." + +"How did you know that? My heavens above! I'd have paid--I'd have +paid most anything--out of my own pocket, I would. I tell you this +meant everything to me. I'm gettin' along in years. I ain't been +any too well liked here in Denboro, and I knew it. You think that +didn't make no difference to me, maybe I pretended it didn't, but +it did; by the Almighty, it did! I intended for folks to be +thankful to me for--I-- Oh, WHY did you do it, Ros?" + +I shook my head. I was sorry for him now--sorry and astonished. +He had given me a glimpse of the real Jedediah Dean, not the +pompous, loud-voiced town politician and boss, but the man desirous +of fighting his way into the esteem and liking of his neighbors. + +"I'm sorry, Captain," I said. "If I had known--if I had had time +to think, perhaps I might have acted differently. But I had no +time. I found that I must have the money which that land would +bring and that I had to have it immediately. So I went where I +knew I could get it." + +"Money? You needed money? Why didn't you come to me? I'd have +lent it to you." + +"You?" + +"Yes, me. What do you cal'late I've been backin' you all this +summer for? What did I get you that job in my bank for?" + +"YOU? George Taylor engaged me for that place." + +"Maybe so. But do you suppose he did it on his own hook? HE +couldn't hire you unless the directors said so and the directors +don't say anything, the majority of 'em, unless I say it first. +_I_ put the notion in George's head. He didn't know it, but I did. +And I put it in the directors' heads, too. Ros Paine, I always +liked you, though I did use to think you was a gentleman loafer. +There was a somethin' about you even then, a kind of hands-off, +mind your own business independence about you that I liked, though +I knew mighty well you never liked me. And after you and me got +together on this Lane thing I liked you more and more. You could +tell me to go to the devil as well as you could anybody else, and +I'll shake hands with a feller that'll do that. I always wanted a +boy of my own. Nellie's a good girl, no better afloat or ashore, +but she is a girl. George is a good feller, too, but somehow, or +'nother, I'd come to think of you as the kind of son I'd have had, +if the Almighty had give me one. Oh, what did you do this for?" + +I could not answer. He had overwhelmed me. I never felt meaner or +more wicked. I had been ready to face him, ready for the interview +with him which I knew was inevitable and which I had foreseen, but +not this kind of an interview. + +He took his hand from the table and stood erect. + +"Money!" he said. "You wanted money. You must have wanted it bad. +What did you want it for?" + +"I can't tell you." + +"You had better. It's your only chance, I tell you that!" + +"I can't help it, Captain Dean. I can't tell you. I wish I +could." + +He regarded me in silence for a moment. Then: "All right," he +said, solemnly. "I'm through with you, Ros Paine. In one way I'm +through with you. In another I ain't. I cal'late you was +figgerin' to go straight up to the bank, as bold as brass, and set +down at George Taylor's desk and draw your wages like an honest +man. Don't you ever dare set foot in that bank again. You're +fired! bounced! kicked out! Do you understand?" + +"Very well; I understand." + +"You will understand, whether you do now or not. Colton's got the +Shore Lane and you've got his dirty money in your pocket. He's +paid you, but the town ain't. The town you sold out ain't paid +you--but I'm goin' to see that it does. Ros Paine, I'm goin' to +drive you out of Denboro." + +He turned on his heel, strode to the door, went out, and slammed it +behind him. + +I went back to the dining-room. Lute was nowhere in sight, but +Dorinda was standing by the mantel, dusting, as usual, where there +was no dust. I did not speak but walked toward the door leading to +the stairs. Dorinda stepped in front of me. + +"Roscoe," she said, sharply, "can he do it?" + +"Do it?" I repeated. "What do you mean?" + +"Can he give you your walkin' papers at that bank? Oh, I heard +him! I tried not to, but he hollered so I couldn't help it. That +kitchen door ain't much thicker'n a sheet of paper, anyhow. Can he +do it?" + +"I guess so. He seems to be boss of that institution." + +"But can't 'Lisha Warren or some of the other directors help you? +Jed Dean don't boss 'Lisha Warren--not much." + +"I shan't ask for help. Please don't trouble me, Dorinda." + +I tried to pass her, but she would not permit it. + +"I shan't trouble you, Ros," she said. "I guess you've got +troubles enough without me. But you let me ask you this: Are you +goin' to let him drive you out of town?" + +I shrugged my shoulders. "It may not take much driving," I +announced, listlessly, "if it were not for Mother I should be only +too glad to go." + +Again I tried to pass, but this time she seized my arm. + +"Roscoe Paine," she cried, "don't you talk like that. I don't want +to hear another word like that. Don't you let Jed Dean or nobody +else drive you out of Denboro. You ain't done nothin' to be +ashamed of, have you?" + +"I sold that land to Mr. Colton. I don't know how Captain Jed +found it out, but it is true enough; I did exactly what he said I +did." + +"Found out! He found out from somebody over to Ostable where the +deed was recorded, that is how he found out. He said so. But I +don't care for that. And I don't care if you sold the Lane ten +times over. You didn't do it for any mean or selfish reason, that +I know. There ain't a selfish bone in your body, Roscoe. I've +lived along with you all these years and I know. Nobody that was +mean or selfish would give up their chances in life and stay here +in this one-hoss town because his ma was sick and had took a notion +that she couldn't bear to part with him. Don't you mind Jed Dean-- +pig-headed old thing!--or anybody else in Denboro. Hold up your +head and show 'em you don't care for the whole caboodle of 'em. +Let 'em talk and act like fools, if they want to. It comes natural +to most of 'em, I cal'late, and they'll be sorry some day. Don't +you let 'em drive you out. They won't come inside THIS house with +their talk, not while I'm here, I tell you that!" + +Her eyes, behind the brass-rimmed spectacles, flashed fire. This +was the longest speech I had ever heard her make. + +"There, Dorinda," I said, smiling, "don't worry on my account. I'm +not worth it. And, whatever I do, I shall see that you and Lute +are provided for." + +Instead of calming her this statement seemed to have the exactly +opposite effect. + +"Stop it!" she snapped. "The idea! Do you suppose it's for myself +I'm talkin' this way to you? I guess 'tain't! My soul! I'll look +out for myself, and Lute, too, long's I'm able to walk; and when I +can't walk 'twill be because I've stopped breathin'. It's for you +I'm talkin', for you and Comfort. Think of her." + +I sighed. "I have been thinking of her, Dorinda," I declared. +"She doesn't know a word about this." + +"Then tell her." + +"I can't tell her my reason for selling, any more than I can tell +you--or Dean." + +"Tell her what you can, then. Tell her as much of the truth as you +can. She'll say you done right, of course. Whatever you do is +right to her." + +I made no reply. She regarded me keenly. + +"Roscoe," she went on, "do you WANT to go somewheres else?" + +"I don't know, Dorinda. I might as well be here as anywhere, +perhaps. I am rather blue and discouraged just now, that's all." + +"I can't blame you much. But bein' discouraged don't do any good. +Besides, it's always darkest just afore dawn, they say; anyhow, +I've had that preached to me ever since I was a girl and I've tried +to believe it through a good many cloudy spells. Roscoe, don't you +let old Jed or anybody DRIVE you out of Denboro, but, if you WANT +to go--if you think you'd ought to go, to earn money or anything, +don't you worry about leavin' Comfort. I'll look out for her as +well as if she was my own. Remember that." + +I laid my hand on hers. "Thank you," I said, earnestly. "Dorinda, +you are a good woman." + +To my surprise the eyes behind the spectacles became misty. Tears +in Dorinda's eyes! When she spoke it was in, for her, a curiously +hesitating tone. + +"Roscoe," she faltered, "I wonder if you'd be cross if I asked +about what wan't any of my business. I'm old enough to be your +grandma, pretty nigh, so I'm goin' to risk it. You used to be +independent enough. You never used to care for the town or anybody +in it. Lately you've changed. Changed in a good many ways. Is +somethin' besides this Lane affair frettin' you? Is somebody +frettin' you? Are you worried about--that one?" + +She had caught me unawares. I felt the blood tingle in my cheeks. +I tried to laugh and made a failure of the attempt. + +"That one?" I repeated. "I-- Why, I don't understand, Dorinda." + +"Don't you? Well, if you don't then I'm just talkin' silly, that's +all. If you do, I . . . . Humph! I might have known it!" + +She turned like a shot and jerked the door open. There was a +rattle, a series of thumps, and a crash. Lute was sprawling upon +the floor at our feet. I gazed at him in open-mouthed astonishment. +Dorinda sniffed scornfully. + +"I might have known it," she repeated. "Sittin' on the stairs +there, listenin', wan't you?" + +Lute raised himself to his knees. + +"I think," he panted, "I--I swan! I shouldn't wonder if I'd broke +my leg!" + +"Um-hm! Well, if you'd broke your neck 'twouldn't have been no +more'n you deserve. Shame on you! Sneakin' thing!" + +"Now, Dorindy, I--I wan't listenin'. I was just--" + +"Don't talk to me. Don't you open your mouth. And if you open it +to anybody else about what you heard I'll--I declare I'll shut you +up in the dark closet and keep you there, as if you was three year +old. Sometimes I think your head ain't any older than that. Go +right out of this house." + +"But where'll I go?" + +"I don't care where you go. Only don't let me set eyes on you till +dinner time. March!" + +Lute backed away as she advanced, waving both his hands and +pleading and expostulating. + +"Dorindy, I tell you . . . WHAT makes you so unlikely? . . . I +was just . . . All right then," desperately, "I'll go! And if you +never set eyes on me again 'twon't be my fault. You'll be sorry +then. If you never see me no more you'll be sorry." + +"I'll set eyes on you at dinner time. I ain't afraid of that. +Git!" + +She followed him to the kitchen and then returned. + +"Ah hum!" she sighed, "it's pretty hard to remember that about +darkest just afore dawn when you have a burden like that on your +shoulders to lug through life. It's night most of the time then. +Poor critter! he means well enough, too. And once he was a likely +enough young feller, though shiftless, even then. But he had a +long spell of fever three year after we was married and he's never +been good for much since. I try to remember that, and to be +patient with him, but it's a pretty hard job sometimes." + +She sighed again. I had often wondered how a woman of her sense +could have married Luther Rogers. Now she was telling me. + +"I never really cared for him," she went on, looking toward the +door through which the discomfited eavesdropper had made his exit. +"There was somebody else I did care for, but he and I quarreled, +and I took Luther out of spite and because my folks wanted me to. +I've paid for it since. Roscoe," earnestly, "Roscoe, if you care +for anybody and she cares for you, don't let anything keep you +apart. If she's worth a million or fifty cents that don't make any +difference. It shouldn't be a matter of her folks or your folks or +money or pride or anything else. It's a matter for just you and +her. And if you love each other, that's enough. I tell you so, +and I know." + +I was more astonished than ever. I could scarcely believe that +this was the dry, practical Dorinda Rogers who had kept house for +Mother and me all these years. And with my astonishment were other +feelings, feelings which warned me that I had better make my escape +before I was trapped into betraying that which, all the way home +from Mackerel Island, I had been swearing no one should ever know. +I would not even admit it to myself, much less to anyone else. + +I did not look at Dorinda, and my answer to her long speech was as +indifferent and careless as I could make it. + +"Thank you, Dorinda," I said. "I'll remember your advice, if I +ever need it, which isn't likely. Now I must go to my room and +change my clothes. These are too badly wrinkled to be becoming." + +When I came down, after an absence of half an hour, she was sitting +by the window, sewing. + +"Comfort's waitin' to see you, Roscoe," she said. "I've told her +all about it." + +"YOU'VE told her--what?" I demanded, in amazement. + +"About your sellin' the Lane and losin' your job, and so on. Don't +look at me like that. 'Twas the only common-sense thing to do. +She'd heard old Leather-Lungs whoopin' out there in the kitchen and +she'd heard you and me talkin' here in the dinin'-room. I hoped +she was asleep, but she wan't. After you went upstairs she called +for me and wanted to know the whole story. I told her what I knew +of it. Now you can tell her the rest. She takes it just as I knew +she would. You done it and so it's all right." + +"Roscoe, is that you?" + +It was Mother calling me. I went into the darkened room and sat +down beside the bed. + +She and I had much to say to each other. This time I kept back +nothing, except my reason for selling the land. I told her frankly +that that reason was a secret, and that it must remain a secret, +even from her. + +"I hate to say that to you, Mother," I told her. "You don't know +how I hate it. I would tell you if I could." + +She pressed my hand. "I know you would, Roscoe," she said. "I am +quite content not to know. That your reason for selling was an +honorable one, that is all I ask." + +"It was that, Mother." + +"I am sure of it. But," hesitatingly, "can you tell me this: You +did not do it because you needed money--for me? Our income is the +same as ever? We have not met with losses?" + +"No, Mother. Our income is the same that it has been for years." + +"Then it was not because of me; because you felt that I should have +those 'luxuries' you talk about so often? Oh, I don't need them, +Roscoe I really don't. I am--I scarcely dare say it for fear it +may not be true--but I THINK I am better than I have been. I feel +stronger." + +"I know you are better, Mother. Doctor Quimby is very much +encouraged." + +"Is he? I am so glad! For your sake, Boy. Perhaps the time will +come when I may not be your Old Man Of the Sea as I am now. But +you did not sell the land because of me?" + +"No." + +"You did not sell it for yourself, that I know. I wonder . . . +But, there! I mustn't wonder, and I won't. Captain Dean was very +angry and unreasonable, Dorinda says. I suppose his pride is hurt. +I'm afraid he will make it unpleasant for you in the village." + +"He will do his best, I'm sure of that." + +"You poor boy! As if you did not have enough to bear without that! +He has asked you to resign from the bank?" + +I smiled. "He has pitched me out, neck and crop," I answered. "I +expected that, of course." + +"But what will you do? Can't Mr. Taylor help you? Perhaps he will +use his influence with the captain." + +"I don't need his influence, Mother. I took the place merely +because of a whim. Now that I have lost it I am no worse off than +I was before." + +"But you enjoyed the work?" + +"Yes." + +I was only beginning to realize how much I had enjoyed it. I +sighed, involuntarily. + +Mother heard the sigh and the pressure of her hand on mine +tightened. + +"Poor boy!" she said again. Then, after a moment, "I wish I might +talk with Miss Colton about this." + +I started violently. What had put that idea in her head? + +"Miss Colton!" I exclaimed. "Mother, whatever you do, don't speak +to her--about me." + +"Why not? She has not called on us for some time, but she is +interested in you, I know. And perhaps her father could--" + +"Mother, don't." + +She was silent for an instant. Then she said, quietly. "Boy, what +is it? Is there something else you haven't told me? Something +about--her?" + +"No, no," I stammered. + +"Isn't there? Are you sure?" + +I do not know what reply I should have made. Her question, coming +so close upon the heels of Dorinda's hints, upset me completely. +Was it written upon my face, for everyone to see? Did I look the +incredible idiot that I knew myself to be? For I did know it. In +spite of my determination not to admit it even in my innermost +thoughts, I knew. I was in love with Mabel Colton--madly, insanely, +hopelessly in love with her, and should be until my dying day. +I had played with fire too long. + +Before I could answer there came a knock at the door. It opened +and Dorinda's head appeared. She seemed, for her, excited. + +"There's somebody to see you, Ros," she said. "You'd better come +out soon's you can. He's in a hurry." + +"Someone to see me," I repeated. "Who is it?" + +Dorinda glanced at Mother and then at me. She did not so much as +whisper, but her lips formed a name. I rose from my chair. + +Mother looked at me and then at Dorinda. + +"Who is it, Roscoe?" she asked. + +"Just a caller on a business matter," I answered, hurriedly. "I'll +be out at once, Dorinda." + +"But who is it, Roscoe?" + +"It's Mr. Colton, Mother. He has probably come to--" + +"Dorinda," Mother interrupted me, "ask Mr. Colton to come in here." + +"But, Mother--" + +"Ask him to come in here, Dorinda. I should like to meet him." + +Dorinda hesitated, but when Mother spoke in that tone none of us +hesitated long. She disappeared. A moment later the door opened +wide and Colton entered. The sudden transition from sunlight to +semidarkness bewildered him for a moment, doubtless, for he stood +there without speaking. Dorinda, who had ushered him in, went out +and closed the door. I stepped forward. + +"Good morning, Mr. Colton," I said, as calmly as I could. "You +have never met my mother, I think. Mother, this is Mr. Colton, our +neighbor." + +Colton turned toward the bed and murmured a few words. For once, I +think, he was startled out of his customary cool self-possession. +And when Mother spoke it seemed to me that she, too, was disturbed. + +"Roscoe," she said, quickly, "will you draw that window-shade a +little more? The light is rather strong. Thank you. Mr. Colton, +I am very glad to meet you. I have heard of you often, of course, +and I have met your daughter. She has been very kind to me, in +many ways. Won't you sit down?" + +I drew forward a chair. Our visitor accepted it. + +"Thank you, Mrs. Paine," he said. "I will sit. To be honest, I'm +very glad of the opportunity. I have been under the doctor's care +for the past few weeks and last night's performance is not the best +sort of treatment for a tender digestion. The doctor told me what +I needed was rest and sleep and freedom from care. I told him I +probably shouldn't get the last item till I was dead. As for the +rest--and sleep-- Humph!" with a short laugh, "I wonder what he +would have said if he had seen me last night." + +Mother's face was turned away from him on the pillow. "I am sorry +to hear that you have been ill, Mr. Colton," she said. + +"Ill! I'm not ill. I have never been sick in my life and I don't +propose to begin now. If the crowd in New York would let me alone +I should be all right enough. There is a deal on there that is +likely to come to a head pretty soon and my people at the office +are nervous. They keep 'phoning and telegraphing and upsetting +things generally. I'll have to run over there myself in a day or +two and straighten it out. But there! I didn't come here to worry +you with my troubles. I feel as if I knew you, Mrs. Paine." + +"Knew me? Knew ME, Mr. Colton?" + +"Yes. I have never had the pleasure of meeting you before, but my +daughter has spoken of you often. She is a great admirer of yours. +I won't tell you all the nice things she has said about you, for +she has probably said them to you or to your son, already." + +"You should be very proud of your daughter, Mr. Colton. She is a +charming girl." + +"Thanks. Just among us three I'll admit, in confidence, that I +think you're right. And I'll admit, too, that you have a pretty +good sort of a son, Mrs. Paine. He is inclined to be," with a +glance in my direction, "a little too stubborn and high-principled +for this practical world, but," with a chuckle, "he can be made to +listen to reason, if you give him time enough. That is so, isn't +it, Paine?" + +I did not answer. Mother spoke for me. + +"I am not sure that I understand you, Mr. Colton," she said, +quietly. "I presume you are referring to the sale of the land. I +do not know why Roscoe changed his mind in that matter, but I do +know that his reason was a good one, and an honest one." + +"He hasn't told it to you, then?" + +"No. But I know that he thought it right or he never would have +sold." + +I broke in here. I did not care to hear my own praises. + +"Did you call to discuss the Shore Lane, Mr. Colton?" I inquired. +"I thought that affair settled." + +"It is. No, I didn't come to discuss that. Mrs. Paine, I don't +know why your son sold me that land, but I'm inclined to think, +like you, that he wouldn't have done it unless he thought it was +right. I know mighty well he wasn't afraid of me. Oh, you needn't +laugh, young man. There ARE people in that fix, plenty of 'em. +No, I didn't come to talk 'Lane.' That bird is dead. I came, +first of all, to thank you for what you did for my daughter last +night." + +Mother turned her head and looked at him. + +"For your daughter? Last night? Roscoe, what does he mean?" + +"Nothing, Mother, nothing," I said, hastily. "I was unlucky enough +to run the Comfort into Miss Colton's canoe in the bay yesterday +afternoon in the fog. Fortunately I got her into the launch and-- +and--" + +"And saved her from drowning, then and a dozen times afterward. He +hasn't told you, Mrs. Paine? No, I can see that he hasn't. All +right, I will. Paine, if your ingrowing modesty won't stand the +pressure you had better leave the room. This is about what +happened, Mrs. Paine, as Mabel tells it." + +I tried to prevent him, but it was no use. He ignored me +altogether and went on to tell of the collision in the fog, the +voyage across the bay, and my telephone from the lighthouse. The +story, as he told it, magnified what he called my coolness and +common-sense to a ridiculous extent. I lost patience as I +listened. + +"Mr. Colton," I interrupted, "this is silly. Mother, the whole +affair was more my fault than my good judgment. If I had anchored +when it first happened we should have been home in an hour, instead +of drifting all night." + +"Why didn't you anchor, then?" asked Colton. + +"Because I--I--" + +I stopped short. I could not tell him why I did not anchor. He +laughed aloud. + +"That's all right," he said. "I guess Mabel's story is near enough +to the truth for all practical purposes. Mrs. Paine," with a +sudden change to seriousness, "you can understand why I have come +here this morning. If it had not been for your son's pluck, and +cool head, and good judgment I--Mrs. Colton and I might have been-- +God knows in what state we might have been to-day! God knows! I +can't think of it." + +His voice trembled. Mother put out a hand and took mine. + +"Roscoe," she said, "Roscoe." + +"So I came to thank him," went on our visitor. "This isn't the +first time he has done something of the sort. It seems almost as +if he-- But never mind that. I'm not going to be foolish. Your +son and I, Mrs. Paine, have been fighting each other most of the +summer. That's all right. It was a square fight and, until this +newest freak of his--and he has got me guessing as to what it +means--I admit I thought he was quite as likely to lick me as I was +to lick him. I've watched him pretty closely and I am a pretty +fair judge of a man, I flatter myself. Did he tell you that, a +while ago, I offered him a place in my office?" + +"In your office? You offered him that? No, he did not tell me. +Roscoe!" reproachfully. + +"I did not tell you, Mother, because it was not worth while. Of +course I could not accept the offer." + +She hesitated and, before she spoke, Colton broke in. + +"Why not? That was what you were going to say, Mrs. Paine, I take +it. That is what _I_ said--why not? And I say it again. Paine, +that offer is still open." + +I shook my head. "I told you then that I could not accept," I +said. "It is impossible." + +"Why is it impossible? So far as I am concerned I believe you +would be a mighty good investment." + +"Impossible," I said again. + +"Nothing is impossible. We won't waste words. I am going to be +plain and I think Mrs. Paine will excuse me. You think you should +not leave your mother, perhaps. I understand that reason. It +would be a good one, except that--well, that it isn't good any +longer. Your mother is much better than she was. Quimby--her +doctor and mine--says so. I shall see that she is well looked +after. If she needs a nurse she shall have one, the best we can +get. Oh, be still and let me finish! You can talk afterward. +You're not going so far away. New York isn't the end of the earth; +it is only the center, or it thinks it is. You'll be in close +touch with Denboro all the time and you can come here whenever you +want to. Now will you take my offer?" + +"No." + +"Young man, if I didn't know there were brains inside that head of +yours I should think it was, as the boys say, solid ivory. +Confound you! Here, Mrs. Paine," turning to Mother, "you take him +in hand. Tell him he must come with me." + +"Mother--" I protested. He cut my protest short. + +"Tell him," he ordered. + +Mother looked at me. "I think, perhaps, you should accept, +Roscoe," she said, slowly. + +"Accept! Mother!" + +"Yes. I--I think you should. I am sure everyone else would think +so. I should not wish you to do so if Mr. Colton was merely trying +to be kind, to help you from motives of gratitude, or charity--" + +"Don't use that word, please," snapped "Big Jim." "When I lose my +mind I may take to charity, but not before. Charity! Good Lord!" + +"But it is not charity. I am better, Roscoe; I realize it every +day; and with Dorinda I shall get on perfectly well. I have been +thinking of something like this for a long time. You owe it to +yourself, Roscoe. The chance is one that many men would be very, +very glad to have come their way. I shall not urge you, Boy. You +must decide for yourself, and I know you will; but, Roscoe, I shall +be quite contented--yes, glad and proud, if you say yes to Mr. +Colton." + +The gentleman named nodded emphatic approval. "That's the talk!" +he exclaimed. "Mrs. Paine, I congratulate you on your common- +sense." + +"I think, like you, that you will have made a good investment, Mr. +Colton," was Mother's answer. + +I rose to my feet. This must be ended now, for all time. + +"I thank you, Mr. Colton," I said, though not as steadily as I +could have wished. "I am greatly obliged to you and I realize that +you offer me an exceptional opportunity, or what would be one for +another man. But I cannot accept." + +"Look here, Paine! I'll speak plainer still. I understand that +that Shore Lane trade of ours has become common property, or, at +any rate, it will be common property soon. If I see the situation +clearly, Denboro is likely to be a rather unpleasant place for you. +That fellow Dean has a lot of influence here--heaven knows why!-- +and he hates me worse than Old Nick hates holy water. Oh, I know +you're not afraid of him! But what is the use of taking the rough +road when the smooth one is right before your feet? Say yes, and +let's end it." + +"No," said I, stubbornly. "No, Mr. Colton." + +"You mean it? Very well, I leave you in your Mother's hands. She +will probably bring you to your senses before long. Mrs. Paine, +you can handle him, I have no doubt. I am glad to have met you, +and, with your permission, I shall call on you again. So will +Mabel. As for you, young man, I thank you for last night's work. +You will, perhaps, accept thanks if you refuse everything else. +Good morning." + +He rose, bowed, and walked to the door. As he opened it he +staggered, perceptibly. I thought, for an instant, that he was +going to fall, and I sprang to his assistance. + +"It's all right," he said, gruffly. "This digestion of mine sets +my head spinning sometimes. That doctor says I shall upset +completely unless I rest. I told him he was a fool and I intend to +prove it. Let me be. I can walk, I should hope. When I can't +I'll call the ambulance--or the hearse. I'll find the way out, +myself. Good-by." + +The door closed behind him. + +"Roscoe," said Mother, quickly, "come here." + +I turned toward her. She was looking at me with a strange +expression. + +"What is it, Mother?" I asked, anxiously. + +"Roscoe," she whispered, "I know him. I have met him before." + +"Know him! You have met Mr. Colton--before? Where?" + +"At our home in the old days. He came there once with--with your +father. He was our guest at dinner." + +I could scarcely believe it. Then, as the thought of what this +might mean flashed to my mind, I asked anxiously: + +"Did he know you, do you think?" + +"No, I am sure he did not. We met but once and I have," with a +little sigh, "changed since then. But I recognized him. The name +of Colton was familiar to me when you first mentioned it, some time +ago, but I did not remember where I had heard it. Of course, I did +not connect this Mr. Colton with--that one." + +I frowned. This complicated matters still more, and further +complications were superfluous. + +"And, knowing this, knowing that he might recognize you at any +time, you urged me to accept his offer," I said, reproachfully. +"Mother!" + +"Yes." + +"Mother, how can you? Would you have me go to New York and enter a +banking house where, any hour of any day, I might be recognized by +some of the men I once knew? Where I might expect at any moment to +be called by my real name? How can you?" + +She gazed at me earnestly. "Why not tell him, Roscoe?" she asked. + +I stared at her, aghast. "Tell him!" I repeated. "Tell him who I +am? Tell him our story, the story that-- Mother, are you crazy?" + +"No. I believe I am sane, at least. I have been thinking a great +deal of late. As I have been growing stronger I have been thinking +more and more and I am not sure that you and I have been right in +hiding here as we have done. It was all my fault, I know, but I +was weak and--and I dreaded all the gossip and scandal. But, Boy, +it was a mistake. After all, we have done no wrong, you and I--we, +personally, have nothing to be ashamed of. Why not end all this? +Go to Mr. Colton, tell him who you are, tell him our story; then, +if he still wants you--" + +I interrupted. "No, Mother," I said, "no, no! It is impossible. +Even if he knew, and it made no difference, I could not do it. I +may go away! I may feel that I must go, if you are well enough for +me to leave you, but I can not go with him. I ought not to see him +again. I must not see HER. . . . . Oh, don't you understand? +Mother, I--I--" + +She understood. I had seized her hand and now she stroked it +gently with her own. + +"So it is true," she said, quietly. "You love her, Roscoe." + +"Yes! yes! yes!" I answered, desperately. "Oh, don't speak of it, +Mother! I am insane, I think." + +"Does she care for you, Boy? Have you spoken to her?" + +"MOTHER! Is it likely?" + +"But I think she does care, Roscoe. I think she does. She must." + +This was so characteristic that, although I was in anything but a +laughing mood, I could not help smiling. + +"How could she help it? I presume you mean," I observed, +sarcastically. "There, Mother, don't worry. I did not intend that +you or anyone else should know what an idiot I am, but don't worry-- +I shan't do anything ridiculous or desperate. I may go somewhere, +to get away from Denboro, and to earn a living for you and me, but +that is all. We won't speak of her again." + +"But if she does care, Boy?" + +"If she does-- Of course, she doesn't--but, if she does, can't you +see that only makes it worse? Think who she is and who and what I +am! Her family-- Humph! you have not met her mother; I have." + +"But if she loves you--" + +"Do you think I should permit her to ruin her life--for me?" + +"Poor boy! I am SO sorry!" + +"It is all right, Mother. There! we won't be foolish any longer. +I am going for a walk and I want you to rest. I am glad, we have +had this talk; it has done me good to speak what I have been +thinking. Good-by. I will be back soon." + +She would have detained me, but I broke away and went out. My walk +was a long one. I tramped the beach for eight long miles and, +though one might think that my adventures of the night before had +provided exercise enough, this additional effort seemed to do no +harm. I forgot dinner entirely and supper was on the table when I +returned to the house. + +I found Dorinda in a condition divided between anxiety and +impatience. + +"Have you seen anything of that man of mine?" she demanded. "I +ain't seen hide nor hair of him since I pitched him out of this +room this mornin'!" + +I was surprised and a little disturbed. I remembered Lute's threat +about "never seein' me no more." + +"You don't suppose he has run away, or anything like that, do you?" +I asked. + +"He wouldn't run far; runnin's too much like work. But why he +wan't home for dinner I don't understand. I never knew him to miss +a meal's vittles afore. I hope nothin' ain't happened to him, +that's all. Well, we'll have our supper, anyhow. After that we'll +see." + +But we did not have to see. We were at the table when we heard the +sound of hurrying footsteps on the walk. The gate closed with a +bang. Dorinda rose from her chair. + +"I swan! I believe that's him now!" she exclaimed. + +"If it is, he is certainly running this time," I observed. "What--" + +The door was thrown open and the missing member of the household +appeared. He was red-faced and panting, but there was a curious +air of dignified importance in his bearing. Dorinda's lips shut +tightly. + +"Well, Lute," said I, "where have you been?" + +Lute struggled for breath. + +"Don't ask me where I've been!" he gasped. "Don't waste no time +askin' ME questions. Get your hat on, Ros! Get your hat on this +minute! Where did I put that? Where in time did I put it?" + +He was fumbling in his pockets. Dorinda and I looked at each +other. She shook her head. + +"He's gone stark foolish at last!" she said, with decision. "Well, +I've been expectin' it! Lute Rogers, stop pawin' yourself over and +act sensible, if you can. What is the matter with you?" + +"Matter with me! Nothin's the matter with ME; but there's +somethin' the matter with other folks, I tell you that! Doctor +Quimby's been there twice already, and the telephone's been goin', +and--and-- My time! you ought to seen her face! 'Twas just as +white as--as-- WHERE did I put that letter?" + +His "pawing" became more frantic than ever. His wife stepped +forward and seized him by the arm. + +"Stop it, I tell you!" she commanded. "Stop it! Who's sick? +Whose telephone's ringin'? What letter are you talkin' about? +Answer me! Stop that Saint Vitus dancin' and answer me this +minute!" + +She gave him a shake and his cap fell to the floor. From it fell +an envelope. Lute pulled himself free and pounced upon it. + +"There 'tis!" he exclaimed. "By time! I was scart I'd lost it! +Read it, Ros! read it!" + +He handed me the envelope. It bore my name. I tore it open--took +out the sheet of notepaper which it inclosed, and read as follows: + + +"Dear Mr. Paine: + +"Father is very ill, and I am in great trouble. I think you, +perhaps, can help us both. Will you come over at once? PLEASE do. + +"Hastily yours, + +"MABEL COLTON." + + +"And--and--" panted Lute, "she told me to tell you to please hurry. +And you'd ought to seen her face! She--" + +I heard no more. I did not wait to get my hat, as the excited +bearer of the note had urged me to do. Bareheaded, I hurried out +of the dining-room and along the path toward the Colton mansion. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +It was early in the evening, but the big house was lighted as if +for a reception; lights in the rooms above, lights in the library +and hall and drawing-room. Doctor Quimby's horse and buggy stood +by one of the hitching posts and the Colton motor car was drawn up +by the main entrance. From the open windows of the servants' +quarters came the sounds of excited voices. I hastened to the +front door. Before I could push the button of the electric bell +the door was opened. Johnson, the butler, peered out at me. Most +of his dignity was gone. + +"Is it you, Mr. Paine?" he asked, anxiously. "Come in, sir, +please. Miss Mabel has been asking for you not a minute ago, sir." + +I entered the hall. "What is it, Johnson?" I asked, quickly. "How +is Mr. Colton?" + +The butler looked behind him before replying. He shook his head +dubiously. + +"He's awful ill, sir," he whispered. "The doctor's been with him +for an hour; 'e's unconscious and Mrs. Colton is takin' on +something terrible. It's awful, sir, ain't it!" + +His nervousness was sufficient indication of the general +demoralization of the household. And from one of the rooms above +came the sobs of a hysterical woman. + +"Brace up, man," I whispered in reply. "This is no time for you to +go to pieces. Where is Miss Colton?" + +"She's with her father, sir. Step into the library and I'll call +her." + +He was not obliged to call her, for, at that moment, I heard her +voice speaking from the head of the stairs. + +"Who is it, Johnson?" she asked, in a low tone. + +"It's Mr. Paine, Miss Mabel." + +I heard a little exclamation, of relief it seemed to me. Then she +appeared, descending the staircase. Her face was, as Lute had +said, pale, but her manner was calm, much calmer than the butler's. + +She came to me and extended her hand. "Thank you for coming," she +said. "I was sure you would." + +"How is your father, Miss Colton?" I asked. + +"He is no worse. Come into the library, please. Johnson, if +Mother or the doctor need me, I shall be in the library. Come, Mr. +Paine." + +We entered the library together. The room in which I had had my +two memorable encounters with "Big Jim" Colton was without its +dominant figure now. His big armchair was drawn up beside the +table and the papers and writing materials were in the place where +I had seen them. A half-burned cigar lay in the ash tray. But the +strong fingers which had placed it there were weak enough now and +the masterful general of finance was in his room upstairs fighting +the hardest battle of his life, fighting for that life itself. A +door at the end of the library, a door which I had not noticed +before, was partially open and from within sounded at intervals a +series of sharp clicks, the click of a telegraph instrument. I +remembered that Colton had told me, in one of his conversations, +that he had both a private telephone and telegraph in his house. + +Miss Colton closed the door behind us, and turned to me. + +"Thank you for coming," she said, again. "I need help and I could +think of no one but you. You have hurried dreadfully, haven't +you!" + +She was looking at my forehead. I caught a glimpse of my face in +the mirror above the mantel and reached for my handkerchief. + +"I must have run every step of the way," I answered. "I didn't +realize it. But never mind that. Tell me about your father." + +"He was taken ill soon after he returned from your house. He was +in the library here and I heard him call. When I reached him he +was lying upon the couch, scarcely able to speak. He lost +consciousness before we could get him to his room. The doctor says +it is what he has feared, an attack of acute indigestion, brought +on by anxiety and lack of rest. It was my fault, I am afraid. +Last night's worry-- Poor Father!" + +For just a moment I feared she was going to break down. She +covered her eyes with her hand. But she removed it almost +immediately. + +"The doctor is confident there is no great danger," she went on. +"Danger, of course, but not the greatest. He is still unconscious +and will be for some time, but, if he is kept perfectly quiet and +not permitted to worry in the least, he will soon be himself +again." + +"Thank God for that!" I exclaimed, fervently. "And your mother-- +Mrs. Colton--how, is she?" + +Her tone changed slightly. I inferred that Mrs. Colton's condition +was more trying than serious. + +"Mother is--well, in her nervous state any shock is disturbing. +She is bearing the anxiety as well as we should expect." + +I judged that not much was expected. + +"It was not on account of Father's illness that I sent for you, Mr. +Paine," she went on. "If he had not been ill I should not have +needed you, of course. But there is something else. It could not +have happened at a more unfortunate time and I am afraid you may +not be able to give me the help I need. Oh, I hope you can! I +don't know what to do. I know it must be dreadfully important. +Father has been troubled about it for days. He has been saying +that he must go to New York. But the doctor had warned us against +his going and so we persuaded him to wait. And now . . . Sit +down, please. I want to ask your advice." + +I took the chair she indicated. She drew another beside me and +seated herself. + +"Mr. Paine--" she began. Then, noticing my expression, she asked, +"What is it?" + +"Nothing," I answered, "nothing except-- Isn't that the telegraph +instrument I hear? Isn't someone calling you?" + +"Yes, yes, it is Mr. Davis, Father's confidential man, his broker, +in New York. He is trying to get us, I am sure. He telephoned an +hour ago. I got a part of his message and then the connection was +broken off. Central says there is something the matter with the +wire, a big storm in Connecticut somewhere. It may take a whole +day to repair it. And it is SO important! It may mean--I don't +know WHAT it may mean! Oh, Mr. Paine, DO you know anything about +stocks?" + +I looked at her blankly. + +"Stocks?" I repeated. + +"Yes, yes," a trifle impatiently. "Stocks--the stock market-- +railroad shares--how they are bought and sold--do you know anything +about them?" + +I was more puzzled than ever, but I answered as best I could. + +"A very little," I replied. "I used to know a good deal about them +once, and, of late, since I have been in the Denboro bank, my +knowledge has been brushed up a bit. But I am afraid it is pretty +fragmentary." + +"Do you know anything about Louisville and Transcontinental?" + +I started. Louisville and Transcontinental was the one stock about +which I did know something. Of late I had read everything the +papers printed concerning it. It was the stock in which George +Taylor had risked so much and which had come so near to ruining +him. No wonder I was startled. Why did she mention that +particular stock? + +"What?" I stammered. + +"Louisville and Transcontinental," she repeated, eagerly. "DO you +know anything about it? Why do you look at me like that?" + +I must be careful. It was not possible that she could have learned +George's secret. No one knew that except George himself, and his +brokers, and I. Yet--yet why did she ask that question? I must be +on my guard. + +"I did not realize that I was looking at you in any extraordinary +way, Miss Colton," I answered. + +"But you were. Why? Do you know anything about it? If you do-- +oh, if you do you may be able to help me, to advise me! And, for +Father's sake, I want advice so much." + +For her father's sake! That did not sound as if her question +concerned George or me. A trifle reassured, I tried to remember +something of what I had read. + +"I know, of course," I answered, slowly, "what every one knows, +that the California and Eastern has been, or is reported to have +been, trying to get control of the L. and T. Its possession would +give the California people the balance of power and mean the end of +the present rate war with the Consolidated Pacific. The common +stock has fluctuated between 30 and 50 for months and there have +been all sorts of rumors. So much the newspapers have made common +property. That is all I know." + +"You did not know then that Father and his associates control the +California and Eastern?" + +I leaned back in my chair. + +"No," I said, "I did not know that. Then your father--" + +"Father tells me a great deal concerning his business affairs. I +have been very much interested in this. It seems almost like a +great war and as if Father were a general. He and his associates +have gradually bought up the C. and E. until they practically own +it. And they have been working to get the Louisville road. Last +winter, you remember, there was a great excitement and the stock +went up and then down again. That was when it looked as if the +other side--the Consolidated Pacific--had beaten Father, but they +had not. You remember that?" + +I remembered it. That is to say, George had told me of the rise +and fall of the stock. It was then that he had bought. + +"Yes," I said, "I remember something of it." + +"If Father had stayed in New York he would have won before this. +Oh," with a burst of pride, "they can NEVER beat him when he is +leading the fight himself! He has, through his brokers, been +selling--what do they call it? Oh, yes, selling the Louisville +stock 'short' ever since. I am not sure just what that means, but +perhaps you know." + +"I think I do," I answered, thoughtfully. "He has been selling, +quietly, so as to force the stock down, preparatory to buying in. +I remember the papers have said that the C. and E. were reported as +having lost interest in the Louisville. That was only a blind, I +presume." + +"Yes. Father never gives up, you know that. But he was very +anxious that the Consolidated Pacific people should think he had. +And now--now, when he is so ill--comes this! Mr. Davis telephoned +that-- Yes, what is it?" + +There had been a knock at the door. It opened and the butler +appeared. + +"A telegram for Mr. Colton, Miss Mabel," he said. + +"Give it to me. Tell the man to wait, Johnson. It is from Mr. +Davis," she exclaimed, turning to me. "I am sure it is. Yes. +See!" + +She handed me the yellow telegram. I read the following aloud: + + +"James W. Colton, + +"Denboro, Mass. + +"Galileo potato soap currency tomato deeds command army alcohol +thief weather family--" + + +"What on earth--!" I exclaimed. + +"That is in the code, Father's private code. Don't you see? The +code book is here somewhere. I must find it." + +She was rummaging in the drawer of the desk. With a sigh of relief +she produced a little blue leather-covered book. + +"Here it is," she said. "Now read me the telegram and I will write +the translation. Hurry!" + +I read again: + +"'Galileo'--" + +"That means 'Consolidated Pacific'. Go on." + +It took us five minutes to translate the telegram. When we had +finished the result was: + +"Consolidated Pacific crowd wise situation. Strong buying close +market to-day. Expect worse to-morrow. We are bad shape. Can +deliver only part. Sure big advance opening and more follow. What +shall I do? Why do not you answer private telegraph line? +Telephone out order. Wire instructions immediately. Better still +come yourself. Davis." + +"Is that all?" asked Miss Colton. "What answer shall we make?" + +"Wait. Wait, please, until I dig some sort of sense out of all +this. 'Wise situation'--" + +"Wise TO situation, I presume that means. The Consolidated Pacific +is wise to the situation. 'Wise' is slang, isn't it? It used to +be at college." + +"It is yet, even in Denboro. Humph! let me think. 'Sure big +advance opening.' I suppose that means the market will open with +Louisville and Transcontinental at a higher figure and that the +price is sure to advance during the day." + +"Yes. Yes, it must mean that. But why should Mr. Davis be so +excited about it? He said something about 'ruin' over the 'phone. +What does 'We are bad shape' mean? And 'Can deliver only part'?" + +"I don't know . . . unless . . . Humph! If we had some particulars. +Why don't you answer on the private telegraph, as he says?" + +"Because I can't. Don't you see? I can't. There is no telegraph +operator in the house. When we first came Father had a secretary, +who could use the telegraph; but he sent him back to New York. +Said he was sick of the sight of him. They did not get on well +together." + +"But your father must have used the telegraph since." + +"Yes. Father used it himself. He was a telegraph operator when he +was a young man. Oh, you don't know what a wonderful man my father +is! His story is like something in a book. He-- But never mind +that. Hark! there is the instrument going again. It must be +dreadfully important. Mr. Davis is so worried." + +"He seems to be, certainly." + +"But what shall we do?" + +"I wish I knew, but I don't. You know nothing of the particulars?" + +"No. Nothing more than I have told you. Oh, CAN'T you help me? I +feel somehow as if Father had left me in charge of his affairs and +as if I must not fail. Now, when he is helpless! when he is . . . +Oh, can't YOU do something, Mr. Paine? I thought you might. You +are a banker." + +"A poor imitation only, I am afraid. Let me think. Did you tell +this man Davis of your father's illness?" + +"No. I thought perhaps Father would not wish it. And I had no +opportunity . . . Oh, dear! there is someone at the door again! +Who is it?" + +Johnson's voice replied. "It is me, Miss Mabel," he said. "The +telegraph person says he can't wait any longer. He 'asn't 'ad his +supper. And there is a twenty-five-cent charge for bringing the +message, Miss." + +"Tell him he must wait a minute longer," I answered, for her. +"Miss Colton, it seems to me that, whether we can do anything or +not, we should know the particulars. Tell that man--Phineas +Cahoon, the depot master, I suppose it is--that there is an answer +and he must wait for it. Now let's consult that code." + +She took the code book and I picked up a sheet of paper and a +pencil from the table. + +"We must ask him to send all the particulars," I declared. "Look +up 'send' in the code, Miss Colton." + +She was turning the pages of the little book when the butler +knocked once more. + +"He says he can't send any message until morning, Miss Mabel. The +telegraph office closes at eight o'clock." + +The code book fell to the table. Miss Colton stared helplessly at +me. + +"What SHALL we do?" she breathed. + +I rose to my feet. "Wait, Johnson," I called. "Make that man wait +a moment longer. Miss Colton, I have an idea. Would your father +be willing to--but, that is silly! Of course he would! I'll see +Cahoon myself." + +I found Phineas, long-legged and gaunt, sitting on the front step +of the colonial portico. He had been invited into the hall, but +had refused the invitation. "I had on my workin' duds," he +explained later. "A feller that's been handlin' freight all the +afternoon ain't fit to set on gold-plated furniture." He looked up +in surprise as I came out. + +"Well, for thunder sakes!" he exclaimed, in astonishment. "It's +Ros Paine! What in the nation are you doin' in here, Ros? Ain't +married into the family, have ye? Haw, haw!" + +I could have kicked him for that pleasantry--if he had not been +just then too important a personage to kick. As it was, his chance +remark knocked my errand out of my head, momentarily. + +"How's the old man, Ros?" he whispered. "They tell me it's brought +on by high livin', champagne wine and such. Is it?" + +"Phin," said I, ignoring the question, "would you stay up all night +for twenty dollars?" + +He stared at me. + +"What kind of conundrum's that?" he demanded. "'Would I set up all +night for twenty dollars?' That may be a joke, but--" + +"Would you? I mean it. Mr. Colton is sick and his daughter needs +some one to send and receive messages over their private telegraph +wire. She will pay you twenty dollars--or I will, if she doesn't-- +if you will stay here and do that for her. Will you?" + +For a minute he sat there staring at me. + +"You mean it, Ros?" he asked, slowly. "You do, hey! I thought +p'raps--but no, it's long past April Fool day. WILL I do it? Show +me the telegraph place quick, afore I wake up and come out of the +ether. Twenty dollars! Consarn it, I send messages all the week +for twelve, and hustle freight and sell tickets into the bargain. +I ain't had no supper, but never mind. Make it twenty-five and +I'll stay all day to-morrer." + +I led him into the library and explained his presence to Miss +Colton. She was delighted. + +"It is SO good of you, Mr. Cahoon," she exclaimed. "And you shan't +starve, either. I will have some supper sent in to you at once. +You can eat it while you are at work, can't you?" + +She hurried out to order the supper. Phineas, in accordance with +my request, seated himself in the little room adjoining the +library, before the telegraph instrument. + +"Thunder!" he observed, looking about him. "I never expected to +send messages for King Solomon in all his glory, but I cal'late I +can stand it if Sol can. S'pose there'd be any objection to my +takin' off my coat? Comes more nat'ral to work in my shirt +sleeves." + +I bade him take it off and he did so. + +"This feller's in some hurry," he said, nodding toward the clicking +instrument. "Shall I tell him we're on deck and ready for +business?" + +"Yes, tell him." + +His long fingers busied themselves with the sender. A sharp series +of clicks answered the call. Phineas glanced apprehensively out +into the library. + +"Say, he ain't no parson, is he?" he chuckled. "Wants to know what +in hell has been the trouble all this time. What'll I tell him?" + +"Tell him to send particulars concerning L. and T. at once. All +the particulars." + +The message was sent. The receiver rattled a hasty reply. + +"He says you know all the particulars already. You must know 'em. +Wants to know if this is Mr. Colton." + +"Tell him Mr. Colton is here, in the house. That will be true +enough. And say we wish all particulars, figures and all. We want +to know just where we stand." + +The demand for particulars was forwarded. There was more clicking. + +"Give me a piece of paper and a pencil, quick," urged Phineas. +"This is a long feller." + +While he was writing the "long feller," as the telegraph ticked it +off, Miss Colton and the butler appeared, the latter bearing a +loaded tray. He drew a little table up beside the operator and +placed the tray upon it. Then he went away. The telegraph clicked +and clicked and Cahoon wrote. Miss Colton and I watched him +anxiously. + +"Say," observed Phineas, between intervals of clicks, "this +feller's in some loony asylum, ain't he. This is pretty nigh as +crazy as that message I fetched down. . . . Here 'tis. Maybe you +folks know what it means, I don't. It's forty fathoms long, ain't +it." + +It was long enough, surely. It was not all in the code jargon-- +Davis trusted the privacy of the wire sufficiently to send a +portion of it in plain English--but he did not trust even that +altogether. Miss Colton and I worked it out as we had the first +telegram. As the translation progressed I could feel my hair +tingling at the roots. + +Was it to help in such a complication as this that I had been +summoned? I, of all people! These waters were too deep for me. + +Boiled down, the "particulars" for which Davis had been asked, and +which he had sent, amounted to this: Colton, it seemed, had sold +L. and T. "short" for a considerable period of time in order, as I +had surmised, to force down the price and buy in at a reasonable +figure. He had sold, in this way, about three-eighths of the +common stock. Of this amount he had in his possession--in his +broker's possession, that is--but two of the eighths. The "other +crowd"--the Consolidated Pacific, presumably--had, as Davis now +discovered, three-eighths actual certificates, in its pocket, had +been acquiring them, on the quiet, while pretending to have lost +interest. The public, unsuspecting powers in this, as in most of +Wall Street little games, had still three-eighths. The "other +crowd," knowing "Big Jim's" position, had but to force immediate +delivery of the missing one-eighth--the amount of Colton's over- +selling--and he might be obliged to pay Heaven knew what for the +shares. He MUST acquire them; he must buy them. And the price +which he would be forced to pay might mean--perhaps not bankruptcy +for him, the millionaire--but certainly the loss of a tremendous +sum and all chance of acquiring control of the road. "This has +been sprung on us all at once," wired Davis. "They have got us +cold. What shall I do? You must be here yourself before the +market opens." + +And the man who "must be there himself" was critically ill and +unconscious! + +The long telegram, several hundred words of it, was before us. I +read it through again, and Miss Colton sat and looked at me. + +"Do you understand it--now?" she whispered, anxiously. + +"Yes, I think I do. . . . What is it, Phin?" + +"I was just wonderin'," drawled Cahoon's voice from the adjoining +room, "if I couldn't eat a little mite of this supper. I've got to +do it or have my nose and eyes tied up. Havin' all them good +things settin' right where I can see and smell 'em is givin' me the +fidgets." + +"Yes, yes, eat away," I said, laughing. And even Miss Colton +smiled. But my laugh and her smile were but transient. + +"Is it-- Does it mean that things are VERY wrong?" she asked, +indicating the telegram. + +"They are very serious; there is no doubt of that." + +The instrument clicked. + +"Say, Ros," said Phin, his mouth full, "this feller's gettin' as +fidgety as I was afore I got afoul of this grub. He wants to know +what his instructions are. What'll he do?" + +"What shall you tell him?" asked Miss Colton. + +"I don't know," I answered. "I do not know. I am afraid I am of +no use whatever. This is no countryman's job. No country banker, +even a real one, should attempt to handle this. This is high +finance with a vengeance. I don't know. I think he . . . Suppose +we tell him to consult the people at your father's office." + +She shook her head. "No," she said. "The people at the office +know nothing of it. This was Father's own personal affair. No one +knows of it but Mr. Davis." + +"How about them instructions?" this from Cahoon. + +"Tell him--yes, tell him Mr. Colton cannot leave here at present +and that he must use his own judgment, go ahead on his own +responsibility. That is the only thing I see to do, Miss Colton. +Don't worry; he must be a man of experience and judgment or your +father never would use him. He will pull it through, I am sure." + +I was by no means as confident as I pretended to be, however, and +the next message from Davis proved my forebodings to be well +founded. His answer was prompt and emphatic: + + +Matter too important. Decline to take responsibility. Must have +definite instructions or shall not act. Is this Mr. Colton +himself? + + +"He would not act without Father's orders in a matter like this. I +was afraid of it. And he is growing suspicious. Oh, CAN'T you +help me, Mr. Paine? CAN'T you? I relied on you. I felt sure YOU +would know what to do. I am--I am SO alone; and with Father so +ill--I--I--" + +She turned away and leaned her head upon her hand on the table. I +felt again the desperate impulse I had felt when we were alone on +board the launch, the impulse to take her in my arms and try to +comfort her, to tell her that I would do anything--anything for +her. And yet what could I do? + +"Can't you help me?" she pleaded. "You have never failed me +before." + +There came a knock at the door and Johnson's voice called her name. + +"Miss Mabel," he whispered, "Miss Mabel, will you come, please? +The doctor wants you right away." + +She rose quickly, drawing her hand across her eyes as she did so. + +"I am coming, Johnson," she said. Then, turning to me, "I will be +back as soon as I can. Do try--try to think. You MUST, for +Father's sake, for all our sakes." + +She left the room. I rose and, with my hands in my pockets, began +to pace the floor. This was the tightest place I had ever been in. +There had been a time, years before, when I prided myself on my +knowledge of the stock market and its idiosyncrasies. Then, in the +confidence of youth, I might have risen to a situation like this, +might have tackled it and had the nerve to pull it through or blame +the other fellow if I failed. Now I was neither youthful nor +confident. Whatever I did would be, in all human probability, the +wrong thing, and to do the wrong thing now meant, perhaps, ruin for +the sick man upstairs. And she had trusted me! She had sent for +me in her trouble! I had "never failed her before"! + +I walked the floor, trying hard to think. It was hard to think +calmly, to be sensible, and yet I realized that common-sense and +coolness were what I needed now. I tried to remember the outcome +of similar situations in financial circles, but that did not help +me. I remembered a play I had seen, "The Henrietta" was its name. +In that play, a young man with more money than brains had saved the +day for his father, a Wall Street magnate, by buying a certain +stock in large quantities at a critical time. He arrived at his +decision to buy, rather than sell, by tossing a coin. The father +had declared that his son had hit upon the real secret of success +in stock speculation. Possibly the old gentleman was right, but I +could not make my decision in that way. No, whatever I did must +have some reason to back it. Was there no situation, outside of +Wall Street, which offered a parallel? After all, what was the +situation? Some one wished to buy a certain thing, and some one +else wished to buy it also. Neither party wanted the other to get +it. There had been a general game of bluff and then . . . Humph! +Why, in a way, it was like the original bidding for the Shore Lane +land. + +It was like it, and yet it was not. I owned the land and Colton +wanted to buy it; so also did Jed Dean. Each side had made bids +and had been refused. Then the bidders had, professedly, stood +pat, but, in reality, they had not. Jed had told me, in his latest +interview, that he would have paid almost anything for that land, +if he had had to. And Colton--Colton had invented the Bay Shore +Development Company. That company had fooled Elnathan Mullet and +other property holders. It had fooled Captain Jed. It had come +very near to fooling me. If Mabel Colton had not given me the hint +I might have been tricked into selling. Then Colton would have +won, have won on a "bluff." A good bluff did sometimes win. I +wondered . . . + +I was still pacing the floor when Miss Colton returned to the +library. She was trying hard to appear calm, but I could see that +she was greatly agitated. + +"What is it?" I asked. "Is he--" + +"He is not as well just now. I--I must not leave him--or Mother. +But I came back for a moment, as I told you I would. Is there +anything new?" + +"No. Davis has repeated his declaration to do nothing without +orders from your father." + +She nodded. "Very well," she said, "then it is over. We are +beaten--Father is beaten for the first time. It makes little +difference, I suppose. If he--if he is taken from us, nothing else +matters. But I hoped you . . . never mind. I thank you, Mr. +Paine. You would have helped him if you could, I know." + +Somehow this surrender, and the tone in which it was made, stirred +me more than all else. She had trusted me and I had failed. I +would not have it so. + +"Miss Colton," I said, earnestly, "suppose--suppose I should go +ahead and make this fight, on my own hook. Suppose I should give +Davis the 'instructions' he is begging for. Have I permission to +do it?" + +She looked at me in surprise. "Of course," she said, simply. + +"Do you mean it? It may mean complete smash. I am no railroad +man, no stock manipulator. I have an idea and if this trouble were +mine I should act upon it. But it is not mine. It is your +father's--and yours. I may be crazy to risk such a thing--" + +She stepped forward. "Do it," she commanded. "I tell you to do +it. If it fails I will take the responsibility." + +"That you shall not do. But I will take the chance. Phin!" + +"Yup; here I be." + +"Send this message at once: 'Try your hardest to get hold of any +shares you can, at almost any figure in reason, before the market +opens. When it opens begin buying everything offered.' Got that?" + +"Yup. I've got it." + +"Sign it 'Colton' and send it along. I am using your father's +name," I added, turning to her. "It seems to me the only way to +avoid suspicion and get action. No one must know that 'Big Jim' is +critically ill; you understand that." + +"Yes, I understand. But," hesitatingly, "to buy may mean paying +tremendous prices, may it not? Can we--" + +"We must. Here is Davis's reply coming. What is it, Phin?" + +Cahoon read off the message as the receiver clicked. + + +"You are insane. Buying at such prices will be suicide." + + +"Tell him no. Tell him to let it leak out that Colton is seizing +the opportunity to clinch his control of the road. The other crowd +will think, if he is willing to buy at any price, that he cannot be +so short as they supposed. Send all that, Phin. It is a bluff, +Miss Colton, nothing but a bluff, but it may win. God knows I hope +it will." + +She did not answer. Together we waited for the reply. It came as +follows: + + +All right if you say so, of course, but still think it suicide. I +am off on the still hunt for those shares but don't believe one to +be had, Consolidated bunch too sharp for that. Stay by the wire. +Will report when I can. Good luck and good-by. + + +"He's gone, I cal'late," observed Phineas. "Need me any more, do +you think?" + +"Yes. You must stay here all night, just as I told you." + +"Right you be. Send word to the old woman, that's all, if you can. +Cal'late she's waitin' at the kitchen door with a rollin' pin, by +this time." + +"I will send the word, Mr. Cahoon," replied Miss Colton. "And-- +don't you think you could go home now, Mr. Paine? I know how +exhausted you must be, after last night." + +"No home for me," I answered, with assumed cheerfulness. "Admirals +of Finance are expected to stick by the ship. I will lie down here +on the couch and Phineas can call me if I am needed. Don't worry, +Miss Colton. Go to your father and forget us altogether, if you +can. If--if I should be needed for--for any other cause, please +speak." + +She looked at me in silence for a moment. Then she came toward me +and held out her hand. "I shall not forget, whatever else I may +do," she said, brokenly. "And I will speak if I need you, my +friend." + +She turned hastily and went to the door. + +"I will send word to your people as well as Mr. Cahoon's," she +added. "Try and sleep, if you can. Good night." + +The door closed behind her. Sleep! I was not likely to sleep. A +man who has lighted the fuse of the powder magazine beneath him +does not sleep much. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +And yet sleep I did, for a little while, just before morning broke. +I had spent the night pacing the floor and talking to Phineas, who +was wide awake and full of stories and jokes, to which I paid +little attention. Miss Colton did not come to the library again. +From the rooms above I heard occasional sobs and exclamations in +Mrs. Colton's voice. Once Doctor Quimby peeped in. He looked +anxious and weary. + +"Hello, Ros!" he hailed, "I heard you were here. This is a high +old night, isn't it!" + +"How is he?" I asked. + +"About the same. No worse; in fact, he's better than he was a +while ago. But he's not out of the woods yet, though I'm pretty +hopeful, for the old boy has a husky constitution--considering the +chances he's taken with it all his life. It's his wife that +bothers me. She's worse than one of the plagues of Egypt. I've +given her some sleeping powders now; they'll keep her quiet for a +spell, I hope." + +"And Miss Colton--how is she?" + +"She! She's as calm and sensible and helpful as a trained nurse. +By the Almighty, she is a wonder, that girl! Well, I must get back +on my job. Don't have a millionaire patient every day in the +week." + +At three o'clock came a message from Davis. He had not been able +to secure a single share. Did his instructions to buy still hold? +I answered that they did and he replied that he was going to get a +nap for an hour or so. "I shall need the rest, if I am any +prophet," he concluded. + +It was shortly after this that I lay down on the couch. I had +determined not to close my eyes, but I was utterly worn out, I +suppose, and exhaustion got the better of me. The next thing I +knew the gray light of dawn was streaming in at the library windows +and Johnson was spreading a tempting-looking breakfast on the +table. + +I sprang up. + +"What time is it?" I demanded. + +"About half-past five, sir, or thereabouts," was the answer, in a +tone of mingled weariness and resentment. Plainly Mr. Johnson had +been up all night and considered himself imposed upon. + +I was thankful that my lapse from duty had been of no longer +duration. It had been much too long as it was. + +"How is Mr. Colton?" I asked. + +"Better, sir, I believe. He is resting more quiet at present." + +"Where is Cahoon?" + +"Here I be," this from Phineas in the next room. "Have a good +snooze, did you, Ros?" + +"Too good." I walked in and found him still sitting by the +telegraph instrument. "Has anything happened?" I asked. + +"Nary thing. All quiet as the tomb since that last message, the +one you heard. Pretty nigh fell asleep myself, I did. Guess I +should have, only Miss Colton she came in and kept me comp'ny for a +spell." + +"Miss Colton--has she been here? Why didn't you call me, Ros?" + +"I was goin' to, but she wouldn't let me. Said you was all wore +out, poor feller, and that you wan't to be disturbed unless 'twas +necessary. She's an awful nice young woman, ain't she. Nothin' +stuck up about her, at all. Set here and talked with me just as +sociable and folksy as if she wan't wuth a cent. Asked more +questions than a few, she did." + +"Did she?" I was not paying much attention to his remarks. My +mind was busy with more important things. I was wondering what +Davis was doing just then. Phin went on. + +"Yup. I happened to remember that you wan't at the bank to-day and +I asked her if she knew the reason why. 'How did you know he +wasn't there?' says she. 'Alvin Baker told me fust,' I says, 'and +Sam Wheeler told him. Everybody knew it and was wonderin' about +it. They cal'lated Ros was sick,' I told her, 'but that couldn't +be or he wouldn't be round here settin' up all night.' What WAS +the reason you wan't there, Ros?" + +I thought it strange that he, and everyone else in town, did not +know the reason before this. Was it possible that Captain Dean +alone knew of my "treason" to Denboro, and that he was keeping the +discovery to himself? Why should he keep it to himself? He had +threatened to drive me out of town. + +"I had other business to-day, Phin," I answered, shortly. + +"Yup. So I gathered from what Cap'n Jed said. He was in the depot +this noon sendin' a telegram and I asked him about you. 'Is Ros +sick?' I says. 'Huh!' says he--you know how he grunts, Ros; for +all the world like a hog--'Huh!' says he, 'sick! No, but I +cal'late he'll be pretty sick afore long.' What did he mean by +that, do you s'pose?" + +I knew, but I did not explain. I made no reply. + +"Twas a queer sort of talk, seemed to me," continued Phin. "I +asked him again why you wan't at the bank, and he said you had +other business, just same as you said now. He was ugly as a cow +with a sore horn over somethin' and I judged 'twas best to keep +still. That telegram he sent was a surprisin' thing, too. 'Twas +to--but there! he made me promise I wouldn't tell and so I mustn't. +I ain't told a soul--except one--and then it slipped out afore I +thought. However, that one won't make no difference. She ain't +interested in--in the one the telegram was sent to, 'tain't +likely." + +"Where is Miss Colton now?" I asked. + +"With her ma and pa, I presume likely. Her and me set and +whispered together for a long spell. Land sakes! she wouldn't let +me speak louder'n a whisper for fear of wakin' you up. A body'd +think you was a young-one in arms, the care she took of you." + +Again I did not answer, and again the garrulous station master +continued without waiting for a reply. + +"I says to her, says I, 'It's a pity George Taylor ain't to home,' +I says. 'I shouldn't wonder if he could help you with this +Louisville stock you're so worried about. George was consider'ble +interested in that stock himself a spell ago. I sent much as a +dozen telegrams from him about that very stock to some broker folks +up to Boston, and they was mighty anxious telegrams, too. I tell +you!' I says." + +He had caught my attention at last. + +"Did you tell her that?" I demanded. + +"Sure I did! I never meant to, nuther. Ain't told another soul. +You see, George, he asked me not to. But she's got a way with her +that would make Old Nick confess his sins, if she set out to larn +'em. I was sort of ashamed after I told her and I explained to her +that I hadn't ought to done it. 'But I guess it's all right now, +anyway,' I says. 'If there was any trouble along of George and +that stock I cal'late it's all over. He acted dreadful worried for +a spell, but for the week afore he was married he seemed chipper as +ever. Biggest change in him you ever see,' says I. 'So my tellin' +you is all right, I guess,' I says. 'I'm sure it's all right,' +says she, and her face kind of lighted up, as you might say. When +she looked at me that way I'd have given her my house and lot, if +she'd wanted 'em, though you needn't tell my old woman that I said +so. He! he! 'Of course it's all right,' she says. 'But you had +better not tell anyone else. We'll have it for our secret, won't +we, Mr. Cahoon?' she says, smilin'. 'Sartin we will,' says I. +And--well, by thunder!" as if the thought occurred to him for the +first time. "I said that, and now I've been and blatted out the +whole business to you! I am the DARNDEST fool!" + +I did not contradict him. I was too angry and disturbed even to +speak to him for the moment. And, before I could speak, we were +interrupted. The young lady herself appeared in the doorway. SHE +had not slept, that was plain. Her face was pale and there were +dark shadows beneath her eyes. As I looked at her I was more +ashamed of my own unpremeditated nap than ever. Yet she was, as +the doctor had said, calm and uncomplaining. She even smiled as +she greeted us. + +"Good morning," she said. "Your breakfast is ready, Mr. Cahoon. I +know you feel that you must be getting back to your work at the +station." + +Phineas pulled out an enormous nickel watch and glanced at it. + +"Land sakes! most six, ain't it," he exclaimed. "I guess you're +right. I'll have to be trottin' along. But you needn't fuss for +no breakfast for me. I'm used to missin' a meal's vittles now and +again and I et enough last night to last me one spell." + +He was hurrying from the room, but she would not let him go. + +"There has been no 'fuss' whatever, Mr. Cahoon," she said. +"Breakfast is ready, here in the library. And yours is ready, too, +Mr. Paine. I hope your few minutes' sleep has rested you. I am +sorry you woke so soon. I told Johnson to be careful and not +disturb you." + +"I deserve to be shot for sleeping at all," I declared, in self +reproach. "I did not mean to. I lay down for a moment and--well, +I suppose I was rather tired." + +"I know. Last night's experience was enough to tire anyone." + +"Nonsense! It was no worse for me than for you," I said. + +"Yes, it was. You had the care and the responsibility. I, you +see, knew that I was well guarded. Besides, I slept for hours this +morning. Come, both of you. Breakfast is ready." + +Phineas was already seated at the table, glancing over his shoulder +at the butler, whose look of dignified disgust at being obliged to +wait upon a countryman in his shirt sleeves would have been funny, +if I had been in a mood for fun. I don't know which was the more +uncomfortable, Cahoon or the butler. + +"Won't you join us, Miss Colton?" I asked. + +"Why--why, yes, perhaps I will, if you don't mind. I am not hungry +but I will take a cup of coffee, Johnson." + +Phineas did almost all the talking while he remained with us, which +was not long. He swallowed his breakfast in a tremendous hurry, a +proceeding which still further discomposed the stately Johnson, and +then rose and put on his coat. + +"I hate to leave you short handed and on a lee shore, Miss," he +explained, apologetically; "but I know you understand how 'tis with +me. My job's all I've got and I'll have to hang onto it. The up +train's due in forty minutes and I've got to be on hand at the +deepo. However, I've got that Davis feller's address and I'll +raise him the first thing to send his messages to me and I'll get +'em right down here by the reg'lar telephone. He can use that-- +what-do-you-call-it?--that code thing, if he's scart of anybody's +findin' out what he says. The boss school-marm of all creation +couldn't read that gibberish without the book." + +I hated to have him go, but there was no alternative. After he had +gone and she and I were left together at the table a sense of +restraint seemed to fall upon us both. To see her sitting opposite +me at the table, pouring my coffee and breakfasting with me in this +intimate, family fashion, was so wonderful and strange that I could +think of nothing else. It reminded me, in a way, of our luncheon +at Seabury's Pond, but that had been out of doors, an impromptu +picnic, with all a picnic's surroundings. This was different, +quite different. It was so familiar, so homelike, so conventional, +and yet, for her and me, so impossible. I looked at her and she, +looking up at the moment, caught my eyes. The color mounted to her +cheeks. I felt my own face flushing. Dorinda--practical, +unromantic Dorinda--had guessed my feeling for this girl; Mother +had divined it. It was plain enough for anyone to read. I glanced +apprehensively at the butler, half expecting to see upon his +clerical countenance the look of scornful contempt which would +prove that he, too, was possessed of the knowledge. But he merely +bent forward with a deferential, "Yes, sir. What is it?" and I +meekly requested another roll. Then I began, desperately, to talk. + +I inquired about Mr. Colton's condition and was told that he was, +or appeared to be, a trifle better. Mrs. Colton was, at last, +thanks to the doctor's powders, asleep. Johnson left the room for +the moment and I switched to the subject which neither of us had +mentioned since the night before, the Louisville and Transcontinental +muddle. I explained what had been done and pretended a confidence +which I did not feel that everything would end well. She listened, +but, it seemed to me, she was not as interested as I expected. At +length she interrupted me. + +"Suppose we do not talk about it now," she said. "As I understand +it, you--we, that is--have made up our minds. We have decided to +do certain things which seem to us right. Right or wrong, they +must be done now. I am trying very hard to believe them right and +not to worry any more about them. Oh, I CAN'T worry! I can't! +With all the rest, I--I-- Please let us change the subject. Mr. +Paine, I am afraid you must think me selfish. I have said nothing +about your own trouble. Father--" she choked on the name, but +recovered her composure almost immediately--"Father told me, after +his return from your house this morning, that his purchase of the +land had become public and that you were in danger of losing your +position at the bank." + +I smiled. "That danger is past," I answered. "I have lost it. +Captain Dean gave me my walking papers this morning." + +"Oh, I am so sorry!" + +"I am not. I expected it. The wonder is only that it has not +happened before. I realized that it was inevitable when I made up +my mind to sell. It is of no consequence, Miss Colton." + +"Yes, it is. But Father offered you the position in his employ. +He said you refused, but he believed your refusal was not final." + +"He was wrong. It is final." + +"But--" + +"I had rather not discuss that, Miss Colton." + +She looked at me oddly, and with a faint smile. "Very well," she +said, after a moment, "we will not discuss it now. But you cannot +suppose that either Father or I will permit you to suffer on our +account." + +"There is no suffering. I sold the land to your father deliberately +and with complete knowledge of the consequences. As to the bank-- +well, I am no worse off than I was before I entered its employ. +I am satisfied." + +She toyed with her coffee spoon. + +"Captain Dean seems to be the only person in Denboro who knows of +the sale," she said. "Why has he kept it a secret?" + +"I don't know. Has he?" + +"You know he has, Mr. Paine. Mr. Cahoon did not know of it, and he +would be one of the first to hear. It seems odd that the captain +should tell no one." + +"Probably he is waiting for the full particulars. He will tell, +you may be sure of that. His last remark to me was that he should +drive me out of Denboro." + +I rather expected a burst of indignation. In fact I was somewhat +hurt and disappointed that it did not come. She merely smiled once +more. + +"He has not done it yet," she said. "If he knew why you sold that +land--your real reason for selling it--he would not drive you away, +or try to." + +I was startled and alarmed. + +"What do you mean?" I asked quickly. + +"If he knew he would not drive you away, would he?" + +"He will never know." + +"Perhaps he may. Perhaps the person for whose sake you sold it may +tell him." + +"Indeed he will not! I shall see to that." + +"Oh, then there is such a person! I was sure of it before. Now +you have told me." + +Before I could recover from the mental disturbance and chagrin +which my slip and her quick seizure of it caused me, the butler +re-entered the room. + +"Mrs. Colton is awake and asking for you, Miss Mabel," he said. +"The doctor thinks you had better go to her at once, if you +please." + +With a word of apology to me, she hurried away. I rose from the +table. I had had breakfast enough. The interruption had come at a +fortunate time for me. Her next question might have forced me to +decline to answer--which would have been equivalent to admitting +the truth--or to lie. One thing I determined to do without delay. +I would write Taylor at once warning him to be more close-mouthed +than ever. Under no conditions would I permit him to speak. If it +were necessary I would go to Washington, where he and Nellie were +spending their honeymoon, and make him promise to keep silence. +His telling the truth might ruin him, and it certainly would not +help me. In the one essential thing--the one which was clenching +my determination to leave Denboro as soon as I could and seek +forgetfulness and occupation elsewhere--no one could help me. I +must help myself, or be miserable always. Just now the eternal +misery seemed inevitable, no matter what I did. + +Johnson cleared the table and left me alone in the library. The +hours passed. Nine o'clock came, then nine-thirty. It was almost +time for the stock market to open. My thoughts, which had been +diverted from my rash plunge into the intricacies of high finance, +began to return to it. As ten o'clock drew near, I began to +realize what I had bade Davis do, and to think what might happen +because of it. I, Roscoe Paine, no longer even a country banker, +was at the helm of "Big Jim" Colton's bark in the maelstrom of the +stock market. It would have been funny if it had not been so +desperate. And desperate it was, sheer reckless desperation and +nothing else. I must have been crazier than ever, more wildly +insane than I had been for the past month, to even think of such a +thing. It was not too late yet, I could telegraph Davis-- + +The telephone on the desk--not the public, the local, 'phone, but +the other, Colton's private wire to New York--rang. I picked up +the receiver. + +"Hello-o! Hello-o!" a faint voice was calling. "Is this Colton's +house at Denboro? . . . Yes, this is Davis. . . . The wire is all +right now. . . . Is this Mr. Colton speaking?" + +"No," I answered, "Mr. Colton is here in the house. You may give +the message to me." + +"I want to know if his orders hold. Am I to buy? Ask him. I will +wait. Hurry! The market opens in five minutes." + +I put down the receiver. Now was my opportunity. I could back out +now. Five minutes more and it would be too late. But if I did +back out--what? + +One of the minutes passed. Then another. I seized the telephone. + +"Go ahead!" I shouted. "Carry out your orders." + +A faint "All right" answered me. + +The die was cast. I was in for it. There was nothing to do but +wait. + +And I waited alone. I walked up and down the floor of the little +room, looking at the clock and wondering what was happening on that +crowded floor of the big Broad Street building. The market was +open. Davis was buying as I had directed. But at what figure was +he buying? + +No one came near me, not even the butler. It was ten-twenty before +the bell rang again. + +"Hello! This is Mr. Davis's office. Is this Mr. Colton? Tell him +Mr. Davis says L. and T. is one hundred and fifty now and jumping +twenty points at a lick. There is the devil to pay. Scarcely any +stock in sight and next door to a panic. Shall we go on buying?" + +I was trying to decide upon an answer when some one touched my +elbow. Miss Colton was standing beside me. She did not speak, but +she looked the question. + +I told her what I had just heard. + +"One hundred and fifty!" she exclaimed. "That is-- Why, that is +dreadful! What will you do?" + +I shook my head. "That is for you to say," I answered. + +"No, it is for you. You are doing this. I trust you. Do what you +think is right--you and Mr. Davis. That is what Father would wish +if he knew." + +"Davis will do nothing on his own responsibility." + +"Then you must do it alone. Do it! do it!" + +I turned to the 'phone once more. "Buy all you can get," I +ordered. "Keep on bidding. But be sure and spread the news that +it is Colton buying to secure control of the road, not to cover his +shorts. Be sure that leaks out. Everything depends on that." + +I hung up the receiver. She and I looked at each other. + +"What will happen, do you think?" she asked. + +"God knows! . . . Are you going? Don't go!" + +"I must," gently. "Father is worse, I fear, and I must not leave +him. Doctor Quimby says the next few hours may tell us whether he +is--is--whether he is to be with us or not. I must go. Be brave. +I trust you. Be brave, for--for I am trying so hard to be." + +I seized her hand. She drew it from my grasp and hastened away. +Brave! Well, for her sake, I must be. Yet it was because of her +that I was such a coward. + +As I recall all this now I wonder at myself. The whole thing seems +too improbable to be true, yet true it was. I lost my identity +that day, I think, and, as the telephone messages kept coming, and +the situation became more and more desperate, became some one else, +some one a great deal braver and cooler and more clear-sighted than +ever I had been or shall be again. I seemed to see my course +plainer every moment and to feel surer of myself and that my +method--my bluff, if you like--was the only salvation. + +At eleven Louisville and Transcontinental was selling--the little +that was sold--at four hundred and fifty dollars a share, on a par +value of fifty. At eleven-thirty it had climbed another hundred. +The whole Street was a Bedlam, so they 'phoned me, and the +newspapers were issuing "panic" extras. + +"Tell Davis to stop buying now," I ordered. "Let it be known that +Colton has secured control and is satisfied." + +At noon the figure was 700 bid and 800 asked. There was no trading +at all, for the sufficient reason that no shares were to be had. +Johnson came in to ask if he should bring my luncheon. I bade him +clear out and let me alone. As he was tip-toeing away I called +after him. + +"How is Mr. Colton?" I asked. + +"Very bad indeed, sir. Miss Mabel wished me to say that she could +not leave him an instant. It is the crisis, the doctor thinks." + +There were two crises then, one on each floor of the big house. At +one Davis himself 'phoned. + +"Still hanging around 700," he announced. "Begins to look as if +the top had been reached. What shall I do now?" + +My plan was ready and I gave my orders as if I had been doing such +things for years. + +"Sell, in small lots, at intervals," I told him. "Then, if the +price breaks, begin buying through another broker as cautiously as +you can." + +The answer was in a different tone; there was a new note, almost of +hope, in it. + +"By the Lord, I believe you have got it!" he cried. "It may work. +I'll report to you, Mr. Colton, right away." + +Plainly he had no doubt that "Big Jim" was directing the fight in +person. Far was it from me to undeceive him! + +Another interval. Then he reported a drop of a hundred points. + +"The bottom is beginning to fall out, I honestly believe. They +think you've done 'em again. I am spreading the report that you +have the control cinched. As soon as the scramble is really on +I'll have a half dozen brokers buying for us." + +It was half-past two when the next message came. It was exultant, +triumphant. + +"Down like an avalanche. Am grabbing every share offered. We've +got 'em, sure!" + +And, as three o'clock struck, came the final crow. + +"Hooray for our side! They're dead and buried! You have two +hundred shares more than fifty per cent, of the common stock. The +Louisville road is in your pocket, Mr. Colton. I congratulate you. +Might have known they couldn't lick the old man. You are a wonder. +I'll write full particulars and then I am going home and to bed. +I'm dead. I didn't believe you could do it! How did you?" + +I sat there, staring at the 'phone. Then, all at once, I began to +laugh, weakly and hysterically, but to laugh, nevertheless. + +"I--I organized a Development Company," I gasped. "Good night." + +I rose from the chair and walked out into the library. I was so +completely fagged out by the strain I had been under that I +staggered as I walked. The library door opened and Johnson came +in. He was beaming, actually beaming with joy. + +"He's very much better, sir," he cried. "He's conscious and the +doctor says he considers 'im out of danger now. Miss Mabel sent +word she would be down in a short while. She can't leave the +mistress immediate, but she'll be down soon, sir." + +I looked at him in a dazed way. "Tell Miss Colton that I am very +glad, Johnson," I said. "And tell her, too, that everything here +is satisfactory also. Tell her that Mr. Paine says her father has +his control." + +"'His control!' And what may that be, if you please, sir?" + +"She will understand. Say that everything is all right, we have +won and that Mr. Colton has his control. Don't forget." + +"And--and where will you be, sir?" + +"I am going home, I think. I am going home and--to bed." + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +The next thing I remember with any distinctness is Dorinda's +knocking at my bedroom door. I remember reaching that bedroom, of +course, and of meeting Lute in the kitchen and telling him that I +was not to be disturbed, that I should not come down to supper and +that I wanted to be let alone--to be let ALONE--until I saw fit to +show myself. But these memories are all foggy and mixed with +dreams and nightmares. As I say, the next thing that I remember +distinctly after staggering from the Colton library is Dorinda's +knocking at the door of my bedroom. + +"Ros! Roscoe!" she was calling. "Can you get up now? There is +somebody downstairs waitin' to see you." + +I turned over in bed and began to collect my senses. + +"What time is it, Dorinda?" I asked, drowsily. + +"About ten, or a little after." + +Ten! Then I had not slept so long, after all. It was nearly four +when I went to bed and . . . But what made the room so light? +There was no lamp. And the windows . . . I sat up. + +"You don't mean to tell me it is ten o'clock IN THE FORENOON!" I +cried. + +"Um-hm. I hated to disturb you. You've been sleepin' like the +everlastin' hills and I knew you must be completely wore out. But +I felt pretty sartin you'd want to see the--who 'tis that here's to +see you, so I decided to wake you up." + +"It is high time you did, I should think! I'll be down in a +minute. Who is it that wishes to see me, Dorinda?" + +But Dorinda had gone. I dressed hurriedly and descended the stairs +to the dining-room. There, seated in a chair by the door, his eyes +closed, his chin resting upon his chest, and his aristocratic nose +proclaiming the fact that he slumbered, was Johnson, the Colton +butler. I was not greatly surprised. I had rather suspected that +my caller might be he, or some other messenger from the big house. + +He started at the sound of my entrance and awoke. + +"I--I beg your pardon, sir," he stammered. "I--I beg your pardon, +sir, I'm sure. I've been--I 'aven't closed my eyes for the past +two nights, sir, and I am tired out. Mr. Colton wishes to see you +at once, sir. He wishes you to come over immediately." + +I was surprised now. "MR. Colton wishes it," I repeated. "You +mean Miss Colton, don't you, Johnson." + +"No, sir. It is Mr. Colton this time, sir. Miss Colton is out in +the motor, sir." + +"But Mr. Colton is too ill to see me, or anyone else." + +"No, sir, he isn't. He's very much better. He's quite himself, +sir, really. And he is very anxious to see you. On a matter of +business, he says." + +I hesitated. I had expected this, though not so soon. He wanted +to ask questions concerning my crazy dip into his financial +affairs, doubtless. Well, I should have to see him some time or +other, and it might as well be now. + +I called to Dorinda, who was in the kitchen, and bade her tell +Mother, if she inquired for me, that I had gone out, but would be +back soon. Then Johnson and I walked briskly along the bluff path. +We entered the big house. + +"Mr. Colton is in his room, sir," explained the butler. "You are +to see him there. This way, sir." + +But before we reached the foot of the stairs Doctor Quimby came out +of the library. He and I shook hands. The doctor was a happy man. + +"Well!" he exclaimed, "what's the matter with the one-horse, +country-jay doctor now, hey! If there is any one of the Boston +specialists at a hundred a visit who can yank a man out of a +serious sickness and put him on his feet quicker than I can, why +trot him along, that's all! I want to see him! I've been throwing +bouquets at myself for the last ten hours. Ho! ho! Say, Ros, +you'll think my head is swelled pretty bad, won't you! Ho! ho!" + +I asked how the patient was getting on. + +"Fine! Tip-top! The only trouble is that he ought to keep +perfectly quiet and not do a thing or think of a thing, except +getting his strength back, for the next week. But he hadn't been +conscious more than a couple of hours before he was asking +questions about business and so on. He and his daughter had a long +confab this morning and after that he was neither to bind or tie. +He must see you, that's all there was to it. Say, Ros, what did +you and Phin Cahoon and the Colton girl do yesterday?" + +"Oh, we put through one of Mr. Colton's little trades for him, +that's all." + +"That's all, hey! Well, whatever 'twas, he and I owe you a vote of +thanks. He began to get better the minute he heard it. He's +feeling so chipper that, if it wasn't that I swore he shouldn't, +he'd have got out of bed by this time. You must go up and see him, +I suppose, but don't stay too long. He's a wonder for strength and +recuperative powers, but don't tire him too much. If that wife of +his was in Europe or somewhere, I'd feel easier. She's the most +tiring thing in the house." + +Johnson led the way upstairs. At the chamber door he knocked and +announced my presence. + +"Bring him in! What is he waiting for?" demanded a voice which, +considering how recently its owner had been at death's door, was +surprisingly strong. I entered the room. + +He was in bed, propped up with pillows. Beside him sat Mrs. +Colton. Of the two she looked the more disturbed. Her eyes were +wet and she was dabbing at them with a lace handkerchief. Her +morning gown was a wondrous creation. "Big Jim," with his iron- +gray hair awry and his eyes snapping, looked remarkably wide awake +and alive. + +"How are you, Paine?" he said. "Glad to see you. Sorry to bring +you over here, but I had to see you and that doctor says I must +stay in this room for a while yet. He may be right. My +understanding is pretty shaky, I'll admit. You've met Mrs. Colton, +haven't you?" + +I bowed and expressed my pleasure at meeting the lady. Her bow was +rather curt, but she regarded me with an astonishing amount of +agitated interest. Also she showed symptoms of more tears. + +"I don't remember whether or not Mr. Paine and I have ever been +formally introduced," she observed. "If we haven't it makes no +difference, I suppose. The other members of the family seem to +know him well enough. And--and mothers nowadays are not +considered. I--I must say that--" + +She had recourse to the lace handkerchief. I could understand what +the doctor meant by calling her the "most tiring thing in the +house." Her husband laid a hand on hers. + +"There, there, my dear," he said, soothingly, "don't be foolish. +Sit down, Paine. Henrietta, perhaps you had better leave Mr. Paine +and I together. We have some--er--business matters to discuss and +you are tired and nervous. I should go to my room and lie down, if +I were you." + +Mrs. Colton accepted the suggestion, but her acceptance was not the +most gracious. + +"I am in the way, as usual," she observed, chokingly. "Very well, +I should be resigned to that by this time, no doubt. I will go. +But James, for my sake, don't be weak. Remember what-- Oh, +remember all we had hoped and planned! When I think of it, I--I-- +A nobody! A person without . . . What SHALL I do?" + +The handkerchief was in active operation. She swept past me to the +door. There she turned. + +"I may forgive you some time, Mr. Paine," she sobbed. "I suppose I +shall have to. I can't do anything else. But don't ask me to do +it now. That would be TOO much!" + +The door closed and I heard her sobs as she marched down the hall. +To say that I was amazed and decidedly uncomfortable would be a +very mild estimate of my feelings. Why should I expect her to +forgive me? What had I done? I--or luck and I together--had saved +one of her husband's stock speculations from ending in smash; but +that was no injury for which I should beg forgiveness. At least I +could not see that it was. + +Colton looked after her with a troubled expression. + +"Nerves are the devil, aren't they," he observed. "And nerves and +a woman together are worse than that. My wife, Paine, is--well, +she hasn't been in good health for a long time and Mabel and I have +done our best to give her her own way. When you've had your own +way for years it rather hurts to be checkmated. I know that from +experience. She'll feel better about it by and by." + +"Better about what?" I demanded, involuntarily. "I don't +understand Mrs. Colton's meaning in the least." + +He looked at me keenly for a moment without speaking. + +"Don't you?" he asked. "You are sure you don't?" + +"Certainly I am sure. What I have done that requires forgiveness I +don't see." + +Another pause and more scrutiny. + +"So you don't understand what she means, hey?" he said again. "All +right, all right! We won't discuss that yet a while. If you don't +understand--never mind. Time enough for us to talk of that when +you do. But, say, Paine," with one of his dry smiles, "who taught +you to buck a stock pool?" + +This question I could understand. I had expected this. + +"No one taught me," I answered. "If I had any knowledge at all in +that direction I was born with it, I guess. A form of original +sin." + +"It's a mighty profitable sort of wickedness--for me. Young man, +do you realize what you did? How do you expect me to thank you for +that, hey?" + +"I don't expect you to thank me at all. It was bull luck that won +for you, Mr. Colton. Bull luck and desperation on my part. Miss +Colton sent for me to help her. Your confidential man, Davis, +refused to make a move without orders from you. You couldn't give +any orders. Someone had to do something, or, so it seemed to your +daughter and me, your Louisville and Transcontinental deal was a +gone goose." + +"It was more than that. I might have come pretty near being a gone +goose along with it. Not quite gone, perhaps--I should have had a +few cents left in the stocking--but I should have lost a lot more +than I care to lose. So it was bull luck, hey? I don't believe +it. Tell me the whole story, from beginning to end, will you? +Mabel has told me some, but I want to hear it all. Go ahead!" + +I thought of Quimby's warning. "I'm afraid I should tire you, Mr. +Colton. It is a long story, if I give particulars." + +"Never mind, you give them. That 'tiring' business is some more of +that doctor's foolishness. HE makes me tired, all right. You tell +me what I want to know or I'll get out of this bed and shake it out +of you." + +He looked as if he meant to carry out his threat. I began my tale +at the beginning and went on to the astonishing end. + +"Don't ask me why I did this or that, Mr. Colton," I concluded. "I +don't know. I think I was off my head part of the time. But +something HAD to be done. I tried to look at the affair in a +common-sense way, and--" + +"And, HAVING common-sense, you used it. Paine, you're a brick! +Your kind of common-sense is so rare that it's worth paying any +price for. Ha! ha! So it was Keene and his 'Development Company' +that gave you the idea. That's good! That little failure of mine +wasn't altogether a failure, after all. You saw it was a case +where a bluff might win, and you had the sand to bluff it through. +That comes of living so long where there is more sand than anything +else, I imagine, hey! Ha! ha! Well, bull luck or insanity or +whatever you call it, it did the trick. Of course I'm more obliged +to you than I can tell. You know that." + +"That's all right, Mr. Colton. Now I think I must be going. +You've talked enough." + +"You sit still. I haven't begun to talk yet. Paine, before you +did this thing for me I had taken a fancy to you. I believed there +was good stuff in you and that I could use you in my business. Now +I know I can't afford to do without you. . . . Stop! let me +finish. Young man, I told you once that when I made up my mind to +do a thing, I always did it. ALWAYS; do you understand? I am +going to get you. You are coming with me." + +I had foreseen this, of course. But I had hoped to get away from +that room before he reached the point. He had reached it, however, +and perhaps it was as well he had. We would end this for all time. + +"Mr. Colton," I answered, "you have a monopoly of some things, but +of others you have not. I am just as determined to have my own way +in this matter as you are. I shall NOT accept your offer of +employment. That is final." + +"Final be damned! Young man--" + +"Mr. Colton, if you persist I shall go away." + +"Go away! Before I tell you to? Why, you--" + +I rose. "The doctor told me that you must not excite yourself," I +said. "I am going. Good-by." + +He was excited, there was no doubt of that. He sat up in bed. + +"You come back!" he ordered. "Come back! If you don't-- Well, by +the Lord, if you don't I'll get up and come after you!" + +I believe he would have tried to do it. I was frightened, on his +account. I turned reluctantly. He sank back on the pillow, +grinning triumphantly. + +"Sit down there," he panted. "Sit down. Now I want you to tell me +the real reason why you won't work for me. By gad! you're the +first one in many a day I have had to ask twice. Why? Tell me the +truth! Why?" + +I hesitated. "Well, for one reason," I said, "I don't care for +your business." + +"Don't CARE for it! After what you just did!" + +"I did that because I was driven to it. But I don't care for the +stock game. Once I used to think I liked that sort of thing; now I +know I don't. If I am anything I am a bank man, a poor sort of +one, perhaps, but--" + +"Bank man! Why, you idiot! I don't care what you are. I can use +you in a dozen places. You don't have to buck the market. I'll do +that myself. But there are plenty of places where your brains and +that common-sense you talk about will be invaluable to me. I do a +banking business, on the side, myself. I own a mining property, a +good one, out West. It needs a financial manager, and needs one +badly. You come with me, do you hear! I'll place you where you +fit, before I get through with you, and I'll make you a rich man in +ten years. There! now will you say yes?" + +I shook my head. "No," I said. + +"NO! You are enough to drive a well man crazy, to say nothing of a +half-sick relic like me. _I_ say yes--yes--YES! Sooner or later +I'll MAKE you. You've lost your place here. You told me yourself +that that old crank Dean is going to make this town too hot to hold +you. You'll HAVE to go away. Now won't you?" + +I nodded. "I shall go away," I answered. "I have made up my mind +to go, now that Mother seems well enough for me to leave her." + +"Where will you go?" + +"I don't know." + +He stared at me in silence for what seemed a long time. I thought +he must be exhausted, and once more I rose to go. + +"Stop! Stay where you are," he ordered. "I haven't got the answer +to you yet, and I know it. There's something back of all this, +something I don't know about. I'm going to find out what it is, if +it takes me a year. You can tell me now, if you want to. It will +save time. What is the real reason why you won't take my offer?" + +I don't know why I did it. I had kept the secret all the years and +certainly, when I entered that room, I had no intention of +revealing it. Yet, now, when he asked this question I turned on +him and blurted out what I had sworn no one--least of all he or +his--should ever know. + +"I'll tell you why," I cried, desperately. "I can't take the place +you offer because you know nothing about me. You don't know who I +am. If you did you . . . . Mr. Colton, you don't even know my +name." + +He looked at me and shook his head, impatiently. "Either you ARE +crazy, or I am," he muttered. "Don't know your name!" + +"No, you don't! You think I am Roscoe Paine. I am not. I am +Roscoe Bennett, and my father was Carleton Bennett, the embezzler." + +I had said it. And the moment afterward I was sorry. I would have +given anything to take back the words, but repentance came too +late. I had said it. + +I heard him draw a deep breath. I did not look at him. I did not +care to see his face and read on it the disgust and contempt I was +sure it expressed. + +"Humph!" he exclaimed. "Humph! Do you mean to tell me that your +father was Carleton Bennett--Bennett of Bennett and Company?" + +"Yes." + +"Well! well! well! Carleton Bennett! No wonder there was +something familiar about your mother, something that I seemed to +remember. I met her years ago. Well! well! So you're Carleton +Bennett's son?" + +"Yes, I am his son." + +"Well, what of it?" + +I looked at him now. He was smiling, actually smiling. His +illness had affected his mind. + +"What OF it!" I gasped. + +"Ye-es, what of it? What has that got to do with your working for +me?" + +I could have struck him. If he had not been weak and ill and +irresponsible for what he was saying I think I should. + +"Mr. Colton," I said, striving to speak calmly, "you don't +understand. My father was Carleton Bennett, the embezzler, the +thief, the man whose name was and is a disgrace all over the +country. Mother and I came here to hide from that disgrace, to +begin a new, clean life under a clean name. Do you think--? Oh, +you don't understand!" + +"I understand all right. This is the first time I HAVE understood. +I see now why a clever man like you was willing to spend his days +in a place like Denboro. Well, you aren't going to spend any more +of them there. You're going to let me make something worth while +out of you." + +This sounded, in one way, like sanity. But in another-- + +"Mr. Colton," I cried, "even if you meant it, which you don't--do +you suppose I would go back to New York, where so many know me, and +enter your employ under an assumed name? Run the risk of--" + +"Hush! Enter it under your own name. It's a good name. The +Bennetts are one of our oldest families. Ask my wife; she'll tell +you that." + +"A good name!" + +"Yes. I declare, Paine--Bennett, I mean--I shall begin to believe +you haven't got the sense I credited you with. I can see what has +been the matter with you. You came here, you and your sick mother, +with the scandal of your father's crookedness hanging over you and +her sickness making her super-sensitive, and you two kept the +secret and brooded over it so long that you have come to think you +are criminals, too. You're not. You haven't done anything +crooked. What's the matter with you, man? Be sensible!" + +"Sensible!" + +"Yes, sensible, if you can. I don't care who your father was. He +was a smart banker, before he went wrong, and I can see now where +you inherited your ability. But never mind that. He's dead; let +him stay so. I'm not trying to get him. It's you I want." + +"You want ME! Do you mean you would take me into your employ, +knowing who I am?" + +"Sure! It is because I know WHAT you are that I want you." + +"Mr. Colton, you--I don't know what to say to you." + +"Try saying 'yes' and see how it seems. It will be a change, +anyhow." + +"No, no! I cannot; it is impossible." + +"Oh, you make me weary! . . . Humph! What is it now? Any more +'reasons'?" + +'Yes." I faced him squarely. "Yes," I said, "there is another +reason, one that makes it impossible, utterly impossible, if +nothing else did. When I tell you what it is you will understand +what I mean and agree with me. Your daughter and I have been +thrown together a great deal since she came to Denboro. Our +meetings have not been of my seeking, nor of hers. Of late I have +realized that, for my own sake, for the sake of my peace of mind, I +must not meet her. I must not be where she is. I--" + +"Here! Stop!" he broke in sharply. "What is this? Do you mean to +tell me that you and Mabel--" + +"It is not her fault. It is my own, entirely. Mr. Colton, I--" + +"Stop, I tell you! Do you mean to tell me that you are--that you +have been making love to my daughter?" + +"No. Certainly not." + +"Then what do you mean? That she has been making love to you?" + +"Mr. Colton--" + +"There! Don't act like the Wild Man of Borneo. Do you mean that +you are in love with her?" + +"Don't you see now why I cannot accept? I must go away. I am +going." + +"Humph! That will do. . . . Humph! Well, Paine--Bennett, I +should say; it is hard to keep track of your names--you are rather-- +er--reckless, it seems to me. Mabel is our only child and her +mother and I, naturally, had planned for her future . . . Have you +told her of your--recklessness?" + +"Of course not! I shall not see her again. I shall leave Denboro +as soon as I can. She will never know." + +"Humph! I see . . . I see . . . Well, I don't know that there is +anything for me to say." + +"There is not." + +"I am sorry for you, of course." + +"Thank you." + +There was a sharp rap at the door. Doctor Quimby opened it and +entered the room. He glanced from me to his patient and his face +expressed sharp disapproval. + +"You'd better go, Ros," he snapped. "What is the matter with you? +Didn't I tell you not to excite him." + +"I'M not excited," observed Colton, drily. + +"Clear out this minute!" continued the angry doctor. "Ros Paine, I +thought you had more sense." + +"So did I," this from "Big Jim". "However, I am learning a lot +these days. Good-by, Paine." + +I was at the door. + +"Oh, by the way," he called after me, "let me make a suggestion. +If I were you, Roscoe, I wouldn't leave Denboro to-day. Not before +to-morrow morning, at any rate." + +I did not understand him and I asked for no explanation. It was +the first time he had addressed me by my Christian name, but it was +not until afterward that I remembered that fact. + + + +That afternoon I was alone in my haven of refuge, the boathouse. +Mother and I had had a long talk. I told her everything that had +transpired. I kept back nothing, either of my acts or my feelings. +She said she was not sorry for what I had done. She was rather +glad, than otherwise, that I had disclosed our secret to Mr. +Colton. + +"He knows now, Roscoe," she said. "And he was right, too. You and +I have brooded over our sorrow and what we considered our disgrace +much more than we should. He is right, Boy. We are innocent of +any wrong-doing." + +"Yes, Mother," I answered, "I suppose we are. But we must keep the +secret still. No one else in Denboro must know. You know what +gossip there would be. There is enough now. I presume I am called +a traitor and a blackguard by every person in the town." + +"Why no, you are not. That is the strange thing about it. Luther +was up at the post-office this morning and no one seems to know of +your sale of the land. Captain Dean has, apparently, kept the news +to himself. Why do you suppose he does that?" + +"I don't know. I don't know, unless it is because he--no, I can't +understand it at all. However, they will know soon enough. By the +way, I have never asked Dorinda where Lute was that noon--it seems +ages ago--when he was missing at dinner time. And how did he know +of Mr. Colton's illness?" + +She smiled. "Poor Luther!" she said. "He announced his intention +of running away, you remember. As a matter of fact he met the +Coltons' chauffeur in the motor car and the chauffeur invited him +to go to Bayport with him. The chauffeur had an errand there. +Lute accepted--as he says, automobile rides don't come his way +every day in the week--and they had trouble with the engine and did +not get back until almost night. Then Miss Colton told him of her +father's seizure and gave him the note for you. It was to you she +turned in her trouble, Boy. She trusts you. Roscoe, I--I think +she--" + +"Don't say it, Mother. All that is ended. I am going to forget-- +if I can." + +The rest of our conversation need not be written here. She said +many things, such as fond mothers say to their sons and which the +sons know too well they do not deserve. We discussed my leaving +Denboro and she was so brave and self-sacrificing that my +conscience smote me. + +"I'll stay, Mother," I said. "I can't leave you. I'll stay and +fight it out with you. After all, it will not be much worse than +it was before I went to the bank." + +But she would not hear of my staying. I had a friend in Chicago, a +distant relative who knew our story. Perhaps he could help me to a +start somewhere. She kissed me and bade me keep up my courage, and +I left her. I ate a hurried meal, a combination of breakfast and +dinner, and, dodging Lute, who was in the back yard waiting to +question me concerning the Coltons, walked down to the boathouse. +There, in my armchair, I tried to think, to map out some sort of +plan for my future. + +It was a hopeless task. I was not interested in it. I did not +much care what became of me. If it were not for Mother I should +not have cared at all. Nevertheless, for her sake, I must try to +plan, and I did. + +I was still trying when I heard footsteps approaching the door, the +small door at the side, not the big one in front. I did not rise +to open the door, nor did I turn my head. The visitor was Lute, +probably, and if I kept still he might think I was not within and +go away again. + +The door opened. "Here he is," said a voice, a voice that I +recognized. I turned quickly and sprang to my feet. Standing +behind me was Captain Jedediah Dean and with him George Taylor-- +George Taylor, who should have been--whom I had supposed to be in +Washington with his bride! + +"Here he is," said Captain Jed, again. "Well, Ros, we've come to +see you." + +But I paid no attention to him. It was his companion I was staring +at. What was he doing here? + +"George!" I cried. "GEORGE!" + +He stepped forward and held out his hand. He was smiling, but +there was a look in his eye which expressed the exact opposite of +smiles. + +"Ros," he said, quietly, "Ros Paine, you bull-headed, big-hearted +old chump, how are you?" + +But I could only stare at him. Why had he come to Denboro? What +did his coming to me mean? Why had he come with Captain Jed, the +man who had vowed that he was done with me forever? And why was +the captain looking at me so oddly? + +"George!" I cried in alarm, "George, you haven't--you haven't made +a fool of yourself? You haven't--" + +Captain Jed interrupted me. "He ain't the fool, Ros," he said. +"That is, he ain't now. I'm the fool. I ought to have known +better. Ros, I--I don't know's you'll give it to me, but anyhow +I'm goin' to ask it; I beg your pardon." + +"Ros," said Taylor, before I could reply, "don't stand staring as +if you were petrified. Sit down and let me look at you. You pig- +headed old idiot, you! What do you mean by it? What did you do it +for?" + +He pushed me into the chair I had just vacated. Captain Dean took +another. George remained standing. + +"He IS petrified, I do believe!" he exclaimed. + +But my petrification was only temporary. I was beginning to +understand, and to be more alarmed than ever. + +"What are you doing here in Denboro?" I demanded. + +Captain Jed answered for him. "He's here because I telegraphed for +him yesterday," he said. "I wired him to come straight home and +take charge of the bank. I had fired you, like the dumb fool I was, +and I wanted him to take command. He got here on the mornin' +train." + +I remembered what Phin Cahoon had said about the telegram and the +captain's making him promise not to mention the name of the person +to whom it was sent. It was George, of course. If I had been in a +normal state of mind when Phin told me I should have guessed as +much. + +Taylor took up the conversation. "Yes, I got here," he said. "And +when I got here--or a little before--" with a glance at the +captain--"I found out what had been going on since I left. You old +chump, Ros Paine! What did you do it for?" + +I looked at him and then at his companion. What I saw there +confirmed my worst suspicions. + +"George," I said, "if you have told him you must be crazy." + +"I was crazy not to tell him before. I was crazy not to guess what +you had been up to. But I didn't suppose anybody would be crazy +enough to do what you did, Ros. I didn't imagine for a minute that +you would be crazy enough to throw away your job and get yourself +into the trouble you knew was sure to come, just to help me. To +help ME, by the Lord! Ros! Ros! what can I say to you!" + +"You've said enough, and more than enough," I answered, bitterly. +"I did what I did so that you might keep your secret. I did it to +help you and Nellie. And if you had kept still no one need ever +have known, no one but you and I, George. And now you--" + +"Shut up, Ros!" he interrupted. "Shut up, I tell you! Why, +confound you, what do you think I am? Do you suppose I would let +you sacrifice yourself like that, while I set still and saw you +kicked out of town? What do you think I am?" + +"But what was the use of it?" I demanded. "It was done. Nothing +you could say would change it. For Nellie's sake--" + +"There! there!" broke in Captain Jed, "Nellie knows. George told +her the day they was married. He told her before they was married. +He was man enough to do that and I honor him for it. If he'd only +come to me then it would have been a mighty sight better. I'd have +understood when I heard about your sellin' Colton the land, and I +wouldn't have made a jackass of myself by treatin' you as I done. +You! the man that sacrificed yourself to keep my girl from breakin' +her heart! When I think what you saved us all from I--I-- By the +Almighty, Ros Paine! I'll make it up to you somehow. I will! I +swear I will!" + +He turned away and looked out of the window. George laid a hand on +his shoulder. + +"I am the one to make it up, Cap'n," he said, solemnly. "If I live +I'll make it up to Ros here, and to you, and to Nellie, God bless +her! I expected you would never speak to me again when I'd told +you. Telling you--next to telling Nellie--was the toughest job I +ever tackled. But I'll make it up to you both, and to Ros. Thank +the Lord, it ain't too late to make it up to him!" + +"We'll both make it up to him, George," replied Captain Jed. "As +far as we can, we will. If he wants to come back to the bank this +minute he can. We'll be proud to have him. But I cal'late," with +a smile, "he'll have bigger fish to fry than we can give him. If +what we've just heard is true, he will." + +"I don't know what you mean," I answered. "And as for the bank-- +well, you forget one thing: I sold the Shore Lane and the town +knows it. How long would the other directors tolerate me in that +bank, after that, do you think?" + +To my surprise they looked at each other and laughed. Captain Dean +shook his head. + +"No," he said, "you're mistook, Ros. The town don't know you sold +it. I didn't tell 'em because I wanted George in command of that +bank afore the row broke loose. I larned of the sale myself, by +chance, over to Ostable and I never told anybody except Dorindy +Rogers and her fool of a husband. I'll see that they keep still +tongues in their heads. And as for the Lane--well, that won't be +closed. Colton don't own it no more." + +"Don't OWN it," I repeated. "Don't own it! He does. I sold it to +him myself." + +"Yes. And George, here, bought it back not an hour ago. We saw +His Majesty--sick in bed he was, but just as high and mighty and +independent as ever--and George bought back the land and the Lane +for thirty-five hundred dollars. The old man didn't seem to give a +durn about it any more. He'd had his own way, he said, and that +was all he cared about. Besides, he ain't goin' to stay in Denboro +much longer. The old lady--his wife--is sick of the place and he +only come here on her account. He cal'lates that New York is good +enough for him. I cal'late 'tis. Anyhow, Denboro won't hang onto +his coattails to hold him back. Tell Ros the whole story, George." + +George told it, beginning with his receipt of his father-in-law's +telegram and his hurried return to the Cape. He had gone directly +to Captain Dean and confessed the whole thing. The captain had +behaved like a trump, I learned. Instead of denouncing his +daughter's husband he had forgiven him freely. Then they had gone +to see Colton and George had bought the land. + +"And I shall give it to the town," he said. "It's the least I can +do. You wonder where the money came from, Ros? I guess you ain't +seen the newspapers. There was a high old time in the stock market +yesterday and Louisville and Transcontinental climbed half-way to +the moon. From being a pauper I'm pretty well fixed." + +"I'm heartily glad of it, George," I said. "But there is one thing +I don't understand. You say you learned of my selling the land +before you reached Denboro. Captain Jed says no one but he and my +people knew it. How did you find it out?" + +Again my two callers looked at each other. + +"Why, somebody--a friend of yours--come to me at the Ostable +station and dragged Nellie and me off the train. We rode with that +person the rest of the way and--the said person told us what had +happened and begged us to help you. Seemed to have made a middling +good guess that I COULD help, if I would." + +"A person--a friend of mine! Why, I haven't any friend, any friend +who knew the truth, or could guess." + +"Yes, you have." + +"Who was it?" + +George laughed aloud and Captain Jed laughed with him. + +"I guess I shan't tell you," said the former. "I promised I +wouldn't." + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +They left me soon after this. I tried to make them tell who the +mysterious friend might be, but they refused. The kind things they +said and the gratitude they both expressed I shall never forget. +They did not strenuously urge me to return to the bank, and that +seemed strange to me. + +"The job's yours if you want it, Ros," said Captain Jed. "We'd be +only too happy to have you if you'd come--any time, sooner or +later. But I don't think you will." + +"No," I answered, "I shall not. I have made other plans. I am +going to leave Denboro." + +That did not seem to surprise them and I was still more puzzled. +They shook hands and went away, promising to call at the house that +evening and bring Nellie. + +"She wants to thank you, too, Ros," said George. + +After they had gone I sat by the big door, looking out at the bay, +smooth and beautiful in the afternoon sunlight, and thinking of +what they had told me. For Mother's sake I was very glad. It +would be easier for her, after I had gone; the townspeople would be +friendly, instead of disagreeable. For her sake, I was glad. For +myself nothing seemed to make any difference. George Taylor's +words--those he had spoken to me that fateful evening when I found +him with the revolver beside him--came back to me over and over. +"Wait until your time comes. Wait until the girl comes along that +you care for more than the whole world. And then see what you'd +do. See what it would mean to give her up!" + +I was seeing. I knew now what it meant. + +I rose and went out of the boathouse. I did not care to meet +anyone or speak with anyone. I strolled along the path by the +bluff, my old walk, that which I had taken so many times and with +such varied feelings, never with such miserable ones as now. + +The golden-rod, always late blooming on the Cape, bordered the path +with gorgeous yellow. The leaves of the scrub oaks were beginning +to turn, though not to fall. I walked on and entered the grove +where she and I had met after our adventure with Carver and the +stranded skiff. I turned the bend and saw her coming toward me. + +I stood still and she came on, came straight to me and held out her +hand. + +"I was waiting for you," she said. "I was on my way to your house +and I saw you coming--so I waited." + +"You waited," I stammered. "Why?" + +"Because I wished to speak to you and I did not want that--that Mr. +Rogers of yours to interrupt me. Why did you go away yesterday +without even letting me thank you for what you had done? Why did +you do it?" + +"Because--because you were very busy and--and I was tired. I went +home and to bed." + +"You were tired. You must have been. But that is no excuse, no +good one. I came down and found you were gone without a word to +me. And you had done so much for me--for my father!" + +"Your father thanked me this morning, Miss Colton. I saw him in +his room and he thanked me. I did not deserve thanks. I was +lucky, that was all." + +"Father does not call it luck. He told me what you said to him." + +"He told you! Did he tell you all I told him?" + +"I--I think so. He told me who you were; what your real name was." + +"He did! And you were still willing to meet me!" + +"Yes. Why not? Does it make any difference that you are Mr. +Bennett--instead of Mr. Paine?" + +"But my father was Carleton Bennett--the--the-- You must have +heard of him." + +"I never knew your father. I do know his son. And I am very proud +to know him." + +"But--but, Miss Colton." + +"Tell me," she interrupted, quickly, "have you seen Mr. Taylor? He +is here in Denboro." + +"Yes. I have seen him." + +"And he told you about the Lane? That he has bought it?" + +"Yes." + +"And you will not be," with a smile, "driven from Denboro by that +cross old Captain Dean?" + +"I shall not be driven--no." + +"Then Mr. Taylor did help you. He promised me he would." + +"He promised you? When? When did you see George Taylor?" + +She appeared confused. "I--I-- Of course I saw him at the house +this noon, when he came to see Father." + +"But he could not have promised you then. He had helped me +already. Did you see him before that?" + +"Why, how could I? I--" + +"Miss Colton, answer me. Was it you that met him at the Ostable +station this morning? Was it?" + +She was as red as the reddest of the autumn leaves. She laughed, +confusedly. + +"I did meet him there," she confessed. "That queer Mr. Cahoon, the +station agent, told me that Captain Dean had telegraphed him to +come. I knew he would probably be on that train. And Mr. Cahoon +told me about his being interested in stocks and very much +troubled. You had told me, or as much as told me, that you sold +the land to get money to help some one. I put two and two together +and I guessed the rest. I met him and Nellie and we rode to +Denboro together in our auto. He promised me that he would make +everything right for you. I am so glad he did!" + +I caught my breath with a gasp. + +"You did that!" I exclaimed. "You did that, for me!" + +"Why not? Surely you had done enough for--us. I could not let you +be 'driven from town', you know." + +I did not speak. I knew that I must not attempt a reply. I should +say too much. She looked up at me, and then down again at the +pine-needles beneath our feet. + +"Father says he intends to do great things for you," she went on. +"He says you are to come with him. He is enthusiastic about it. +He believes you are a great man. No one but a great man, he says, +could beat the Consolidated Pacific gang single-handed. He says +you will be the best investment he ever made." + +"I am afraid not," I answered. "Your father made me a generous +offer. I wish I might have been able to accept it, but I could +not." + +"Oh, but you are going to accept." + +"No, I am not." + +"He says you are. And he always has his way, you know." + +"Not in this case, Miss Colton." + +"But _I_ want you to accept. Surely you will do it to oblige me." + +"I--I can't." + +"What are you going to do; go back to the bank?" + +"No, I am going to leave Denboro. I don't know where I shall go. +This is good-by, Miss Colton. It is not likely that we shall meet +again." + +"But why are you going?" + +"I cannot tell you." + +She was silent, still looking down at the pine-needles. I could +not see her face. I was silent also. I knew that I ought to go, +that I should not remain there, with her, another moment. Yet I +remained. + +"So you think this is our parting," she said. "I do not." + +"Don't you? I fear you are wrong." + +"I am not wrong. You will not go away, Mr.--Bennett. At least, +you will not until you go where my father sends you. You will +accept his offer, I think." + +"You are mistaken." + +"No. I think I am not mistaken. I think you will accept it, +because--because I ask you to." + +"I cannot, Miss Colton." + +"And your reason?" + +"That I cannot tell anyone." + +"But you told my father." + +I was stricken dumb again. + +She went on, speaking hurriedly, and not raising her eyes. + +"You told my father," she repeated, "and he told me." + +"He told you!" I cried. + +"Yes, he told me. I--I am not sure that he was greatly surprised. +He thought it honorable of you and he was very glad you did tell +him, but I think he was not surprised." + +The oaks and the pines and the huckleberry bushes were dancing +great giddy-go-rounds, a reflection of the whirlpool in my brain. +Out of the maelstrom I managed to speak somehow. + +"He was not surprised!" I repeated. "He was not--not-- What do +you mean?" + +She did not answer. She drew away from me a step, but I followed +her. + +"Why wasn't he surprised?" I asked again. + +"Because--because-- Oh, I don't know! What have I been saying! +I-- Please don't ask me!" + +"But why wasn't he surprised?" + +"Because--because--" she hesitated. Then suddenly she looked up +into my face, her wonderful eyes alight. "Because," she said, "I +had told him myself, sir." + +I seized her hands. + +"YOU had told him? You had told him that I--I--" + +"No," with a swift shake of the head, "not you. I--I did not know +that--then. I told him that I--" + +But I did not wait to hear any more. + + + +Some time after that--I do not know how long after and it makes no +difference anyway--I began to remember some resolutions I had made, +resolves to be self-sacrificing and all that sort of thing. + +"But, my dear," I faltered, "I am insane! I am stark crazy! How +can I think of such a thing! Your mother--what will she say?" + +She looked up at me; looking up was not as difficult now, and, +besides, she did not have to look far. She looked up and smiled. + +"I think Mother is more reconciled," she said. "Since she learned +who you were she seems to feel better about it." + +I shook my head, ruefully. "Yet she referred to me as a 'nobody' +only this morning," I observed. + +"Yes, but that was before she knew you were a Bennett. The +Bennetts are a very good family, so she says. And she informed me +that she always expected me to throw myself away, so she was not +altogether unprepared." + +I sighed. "Throwing yourself away is exactly what you have done, +I'm afraid," I answered. + +She put her hand to my lips. "Hush!" she whispered. "At all +events, I made a lucky throw. I'm very glad you caught me, dear." + +There was a rustle of leaves just behind us and a startled +exclamation. I turned and saw Lute Rogers standing there in the +path, an expression on his face which I shall not attempt to +describe, for no description could do justice to it. We looked at +Lute and he looked at us. + +He was the first to recover. + +"My time!" exclaimed Lute. "My TIME!" + +He turned and fled. + +"Come here!" I shouted after him. "Come back here this minute! +Lute, come back!" + +Lute came, looking shamefaced and awkward. + +"Where were you going?" I demanded. + +"I--I was cal'latin' to go and tell Dorindy," he faltered. + +"You'll tell nobody. Nobody, do you hear! I'll tell Dorinda +myself, when it is necessary. What were you doing here? spying on +me in that fashion." + +"I--I wan't spyin', Ros. Honest truth, I wan't. I--I didn't know +you and she was--was--" + +"Never mind that. What were you doing here?" + +"I was chasin' after you, Ros. I just heard the most astonishing +thing. Jed Dean was to the house to make Dorindy and me promise to +say nothin' about that Shore Lane 'cause you never sold it, and he +said Mr. Colton had offered you a turrible fine job along of him +and that you was goin' to take it. I wanted to find you and ask it +'twas true. 'Taint true, is it, Ros?" wistfully. "By time! I +wish 'twas." + +Before I could answer Mabel spoke. + +"Yes, it is true, Mr. Rogers," she said. "It is quite true and you +may tell anyone you like. It is true, isn't it, Roscoe?" + +What answer could I make? What answer would you have made under +the circumstances? + +"Yes," I answered, with a sigh of resignation. "I guess it is +true, Lute." + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Rise of Roscoe Paine, by J. C. Lincoln + |