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<pre xml:space="preserve">

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cap'n Warren's Wards, by Joseph C. Lincoln

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Cap'n Warren's Wards

Author: Joseph C. Lincoln

Release Date: June 11, 2009 [EBook #3280]
Last Updated: September 27, 2016

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAP'N WARREN'S WARDS ***




Produced by Donald Lainson and D. A. Alexander





</pre>
    <div class="figcenter" style="width: 319px;">
      <img src="images/icover.jpg" width="319" height="500" alt="" title="" />
    </div>
    <hr class="large" />
    <div class="centerbox bbox">
      <h1>
        CAP&#8217;N WARREN&#8217;S<br /> WARDS
      </h1>
      <hr class="full" />
      <hr class="full" />
      <h2>
        By Joseph C. Lincoln
      </h2>
      <hr class="full" />
      <p class="center">
        Author of &#8220;The Depot Master,&#8221; &#8220;The Woman Haters,&#8221;<br />
        &#8220;The Postmaster,&#8221; &#8220;Cap&#8217;n Erie,&#8221;<br />
        &#8220;Mr. Pratt,&#8221; etc.
      </p>
      <div class="figcenter" style="width: 79px;">
        <img src="images/i001.jpg" width="79" height="80" alt="" title="" />
      </div>
      <h4>
        With Illustrations
      </h4>
      <h3>
        <span class="smcap">By</span> EDMUND FREDERICK
      </h3>
      <hr class="full" />
      <hr class="full" />
      <h2>
        A. L. BURT COMPANY
      </h2>
      <h3>
        Publishers&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; New York
      </h3>
    </div>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p class="smallgap">
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p class="center">
      <span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1911, <span class="smcap">by</span><br />
      D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
    </p>
    <p class="center">
      <i>Published October, 1911</i>
    </p>
    <p class="center">
      Printed in the United States of America
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <div class="figcenter" style="width: 306px;">
      <img src="images/i003.jpg" class="smallgap" width="306" height="500"
      alt="&#8220;Captain Warren has risen from his chair and was facing her.&#8221; [Page 48."
      title="" /> <span class="caption">&#8220;Captain Warren has risen from his
      chair and was facing her.&#8221; [Page <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.]</span>
    </div>
    <hr class="large" />
    <h2>
      CONTENTS
    </h2>
    <div class="centered">
      <table border="0" width="40%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="1" summary="CONTENTS">
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER I.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_1">1</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER II.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_13">13</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER III.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_31">31</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER IV.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_49">49</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER V.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_67">67</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER VI.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_85">85</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER VII.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_103">103</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER VIII.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_118">118</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER IX.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_136">136</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER X.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_151">151</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER XI.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_171">171</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER XII.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_188">188</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER XIII.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_200">200</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER XIV.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_221">221</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER XV.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_235">235</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER XVI.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_247">247</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER XVII.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_258">258</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER XVIII.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_274">274</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER XIX.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_292">292</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER XX.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_315">315</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER XXI.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_331">331</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
        <tr>
          <td align="left">
            CHAPTER XXII.
          </td>
          <td align="right">
            <a href="#Page_356">356</a>
          </td>
        </tr>
      </table>
    </div>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h2>
      CAP&#8217;N WARREN&#8217;S WARDS
    </h2>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER I
    </h3>
    <p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">
      &#8220;
    </p>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">O</span>stable!&#8221;
      screamed the brakeman,opening the car door and yelling his loudest, so as
      to be heard above the rattle of the train and the shriek of the wind;
      &#8220;Ostable!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The brakeman&#8217;s cap was soaked through, his hair was plastered down
      on his forehead, and, in the yellow light from the car lamps, his wet nose
      glistened as if varnished. Over his shoulders the shiny ropes of rain
      whipped and lashed across the space between the cars. The windows streamed
      as each succeeding gust flung its miniature freshet against them.
    </p>
    <p>
      The passengers in the car&mdash;there were but four of them&mdash;did not
      seem greatly interested in the brakeman&#8217;s announcement. The
      red-faced person in the seat nearest the rear slept soundly, as he had
      done for the last hour and a half. He had boarded the train at Brockton,
      and, after requesting the conductor not to &#8220;lemme me git by Bayport,
      Bill,&#8221; at first favored his fellow travelers with a song and then
      sank into slumber.
    </p>
    <p>
      The two elderly men sitting together on the right-hand side of the car
      droned on in their apparently endless Jeremiad concerning the low price of
      cranberries, the scarcity of scallops on the flats, the reasons why the
      fish weirs were a failure nowadays, and<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> similar cheerful topics. And
      in his seat on the left, Mr. Atwood Graves, junior partner in the New York
      firm of Sylvester, Kuhn and Graves, lawyers, stirred uneasily on the lumpy
      plush cushion, looked at his watch, then at the time-table in his hand,
      noted that the train was now seventy-two minutes late, and for at least
      the fifteenth time mentally cursed the railway company, the whole of Cape
      Cod from Sandwich to Provincetown, and the fates which had brought him
      there.
    </p>
    <p>
      The train slowed down, in a jerky, hiccoughy sort of way, and crept on
      till the car in which Mr. Graves was seated was abreast the lighted
      windows of a small station, where it stopped. Peering through the
      water-streaked pane at the end of his seat, the lawyer saw dim silhouettes
      of uncertain outline moving about. They moved with provoking slowness. He
      felt that it would be joy unspeakable to rush out there and thump them
      into animation. The fact that the stately Atwood Graves even thought of
      such an undignified proceeding is sufficient indication of his frame of
      mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, behind the door which the brakeman, after announcing the station,
      had closed again, sounded a big laugh. The heartiness of it grated on Mr.
      Graves&#8217;s nerves. What idiot could laugh on such a night as this
      aboard a train over an hour late?
    </p>
    <p>
      The laugh was repeated. Then the door was flung briskly open, and a man
      entered the car. He was a big man, broad-shouldered, inclined to
      stoutness, wearing a cloth cap with a visor, and a heavy ulster, the
      collar of which was turned up. Through the gap between the open ends of
      the collar bristled a short, grayish beard. The face above the beard and
      below the visor was sunburned, with little wrinkles about the eyes and
      curving lines from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg
      3]</a></span> nostrils to the corners of the mouth. The upper lip was
      shaved, and the eyebrows were heavy and grayish black. Cap, face, and
      ulster were dripping with water.
    </p>
    <p>
      The newcomer paused in the doorway for an instant, evidently to add the
      finishing touch to a conversation previously begun.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I tell you, Ezra,&#8221; he called, over his shoulder,
      &#8220;if it&#8217;s too deep to wade, maybe I can swim. Fat floats, they
      tell me, and Abbie says I&#8217;m gettin&#8217; fleshier every day. So
      long.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He closed the door and, smiling broadly, swung down the aisle. The pair of
      calamity prophets broke off their lament over the declining fisheries and
      greeted him almost jovially.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hello, Cap&#8217;n!&#8221; cried one. &#8220;What&#8217;s the south
      shore doin&#8217; over here in this flood?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What&#8217;s the matter, Cap&#8217;n?&#8221; demanded the other.
      &#8220;Broke loose from your moorin&#8217;s, have you? Did you ever see
      such a night in your life?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The man in the ulster shook hands with each of his questioners, removing a
      pair of wet, heavy leather gloves as he did so.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t know&#8217;s I ever did, Dan,&#8221; he answered.
      &#8220;Couldn&#8217;t see much of this one but its color&mdash;and that&#8217;s
      black. I come over this mornin&#8217; to attend to some business at the
      court-house&mdash;deeds to some cranberry bog property I just bought&mdash;and
      Judge Baxter made me go home with him to dinner. Stayed at his house all
      the afternoon, and then his man, Ezra Hallett, undertook to drive me up
      here to the depot. Talk about blind pilotin&#8217;! Whew! The Judge&#8217;s
      horse was a new one, not used to the roads, Ezra&#8217;s near-sighted, and
      I couldn&#8217;t use my glasses &#8217;count of the rain. Let alone that,
      &#8217;twas darker&#8217;n the fore-hold of Noah&#8217;s ark. Ho, ho!
      Sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>
      we was in the ruts and sometimes we was in the bushes. I told Ez we&#8217;d
      ought to have fetched along a dipsy lead, then maybe we could get our
      bearin&#8217;s by soundin&#8217;s. &#8216;Couldn&#8217;t see &#8217;em if
      we did get &#8217;em,&#8217;&#8217; says he. &#8216;No,&#8217; says I,
      &#8216;but we could taste &#8217;em. Man that&#8217;s driven through as
      much Ostable mud as you have ought to know the taste of every road in
      town.&#8217;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, you caught the train, anyhow,&#8221; observed Dan.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. If we&#8217;d been crippled as <i>well</i> as blind we could
      have done that.&#8221; He seated himself just in front of the pair and
      glanced across the aisle at Mr. Graves, to find the latter looking
      intently at him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Pretty tough night,&#8221; he remarked, nodding.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; replied the lawyer briefly. He did not encourage
      conversation with casual acquaintances. The latest arrival had caught his
      attention because there was something familiar about him. It seemed to
      Graves that he must have seen him before; and yet that was very
      improbable. This was the attorney&#8217;s first visit to Cape Cod, and he
      had already vowed devoutly that it should be his last. He turned a
      chilling shoulder to the trio opposite and again consulted the time-table.
      Denboro was the next station; then&mdash;thank the Lord&mdash;South
      Denboro, his destination.
    </p>
    <p>
      Conversation across the aisle was brisk, and its subjects were many and
      varied. Mr. Graves became aware, more or less against his will, that the
      person called &#8220;Cap&#8217;n&#8221; was, if not a leader in politics
      and local affairs, still one whose opinions counted. Some of those
      opinions, as given, were pointed and dryly descriptive; as, for instance,
      when a certain town-meeting candidate was compared to a sculpin&mdash;&#8220;with
      a big head that sort of impresses you, till you get close enough to
      realize it <i>has</i> to be big to make room for so much mouth.&#8221;<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> Graves, who
      was fond of salt water fishing, knew what a sculpin was, and appreciated
      the comparison.
    </p>
    <p>
      The conductor entered the car and stopped to collect a ticket from his new
      passenger. It was evident that he, too, was acquainted with the latter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Evening, Cap&#8217;n,&#8221; he said, politely. &#8220;Train&#8217;s
      a little late to-night.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It is&mdash;for to-night&#8217;s train,&#8221; was the prompt
      response, &#8220;but if it keeps on at the rate it&#8217;s travelin&#8217;
      now, it&#8217;ll be a little early for to-morrow mornin&#8217;s, won&#8217;t
      it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The conductor laughed. &#8220;Guess you&#8217;re right,&#8221; he said.
      &#8220;This is about as wet a storm as I&#8217;ve run through since I&#8217;ve
      been on the road. If we get to Provincetown without a washout we&#8217;ll
      be lucky.... Well, we&#8217;ve made another hitch. So far, so good.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The brakeman swung open the door to shout, &#8220;Denboro! Denboro!&#8221;
      the conductor picked up his lantern and hurried away, the locomotive
      whistled hoarsely, and the train hiccoughed alongside another little
      station. Mr. Graves, peering through his window, imagined that here the
      silhouettes on the platform moved more briskly. They seemed almost
      excited. He inferred that Denboro was a bigger and more wide-awake village
      than Ostable.
    </p>
    <p>
      But he was mistaken. The reason for the excitement was made plain by the
      conductor a moment afterwards. That official entered the car, removed his
      uniform cap, and rubbed a wet forehead with a wetter hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, gentlemen,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I&#8217;ve been expecting
      it, and here it is. Mark me down as a good prophet, will you? There&#8217;s
      a washout a mile further on, and a telegraph pole across the track. It&#8217;s
      blowing great guns and raining pitchforks. It&#8217;ll be out of the
      question for us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
      to go forward before daylight, if then. Darn a railroad man&#8217;s job
      anyhow!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Five minutes later Mr. Graves descended the steps of the car, his
      traveling bag in one hand and an umbrella in the other. As soon as both
      feet were securely planted on the platform, he put down the bag to wrestle
      with the umbrella and the hurricane, which was apparently blowing from
      four directions at once. Feeling his hat leaving his head, he became aware
      that the umbrella had turned inside out. He threw the wreck violently
      under the train and stooped to pick up the bag. The bag was no longer
      there.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;s all right,&#8221; said a calm voice behind him. &#8220;I&#8217;ve
      got your satchel, neighbor. Better beat for harbor, hadn&#8217;t we? Here!
      this way.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The bewildered New Yorker felt his arm seized in a firm grip, and he was
      rushed across the platform, through a deluge of wind-driven water, and
      into a small, hot, close-smelling waiting room. When he pushed his hat
      clear of his eyes he saw that his rescuer was the big man who boarded the
      train at Ostable. He was holding the missing bag and smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Dirty weather, hey?&#8221; he observed, pleasantly. &#8220;Sorry
      your umbrella had to go by the board. I see you was carryin&#8217; too
      much canvas and tried to run alongside in time to give you a tow; but you
      was dismasted just as I got there. Here&#8217;s your dunnage, all safe and
      sound.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He extended the traveling bag at arm&#8217;s length. Mr. Graves accepted
      his property and murmured thanks, not too cordially. His dignity and
      temper had gone overboard with the umbrella, and he had not yet recovered
      them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; went on his companion, &#8220;here we are! And<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> I, for one,
      wanted to be somewheres else. Caleb,&#8221; turning to the station master,
      who came in at that moment, &#8220;any way of my gettin&#8217; home
      to-night?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8217;Fraid not, Cap&#8217;n,&#8221; was the answer. &#8220;I don&#8217;t
      know of any. Guess you&#8217;ll have to put up at the hotel and wait till
      mornin&#8217;.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s right,&#8221; agreed the passenger called &#8220;Dan,&#8221;
      who was standing near. &#8220;That&#8217;s what Jerry and I are goin&#8217;
      to do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, but you and Jerry are bound for Orham. I&#8217;m booked for
      South Denboro, and that&#8217;s only seven miles off. I&#8217;d <i>swim</i>
      the whole seven rather than put up at Sim Titcomb&#8217;s hotel. I&#8217;ve
      been there afore, thank you! Look here, Caleb, can&#8217;t I hire a team
      and drive over?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I don&#8217;t know. S&#8217;pose you might ring up Pete
      Shattuck and ask him. He&#8217;s pretty particular about his horses,
      though, and I cal&#8217;late he&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right. I&#8217;ll ring him up. Pete ought to get over some of
      his particularness to oblige me. I&#8217;ve helped <i>him</i> once or
      twice.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was on his way to the ticket office, where the telephone hung on the
      wall. But Mr. Graves stepped forward and spoke to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Excuse me, sir,&#8221; said the lawyer. &#8220;Did I understand you
      to say you were going to South Denboro?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. I am, if the powers&mdash;and Pete Shattuck&mdash;&#8217;ll
      let me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You were going to drive over? May I go with you? I&#8217;m very
      anxious to get to South Denboro to-night. I have some very important
      business there, and I want to complete it and get away to-morrow. I must
      be back in New York by the morning following.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain looked his questioner over. There was a doubtful look on his
      face, and he smiled quizzically.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>&#8220;Well,
      I don&#8217;t know, Mr.&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Graves is my name.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know, Mr. Graves. This ain&#8217;t goin&#8217; to be
      a pleasure cruise exactly. You might get pretty wet.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t care. I can get dry again when I get there. Of course
      I shall share the expense of the livery. I shall be greatly obliged if I
      may go with you. If not, I must try for a rig myself.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, if you feel that way about it, why, come ahead and welcome. I
      was only warnin&#8217; you, that&#8217;s all. However, with me aboard for
      ballast, I guess we won&#8217;t blow away. Wait a jiffy till I get after
      Pete.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He entered the ticket office and raised a big hand to the little crank of
      the telephone bell.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Let&#8217;s see, Caleb,&#8221; he called; &#8220;what&#8217;s
      Shattuck&#8217;s number?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Four long and two short,&#8221; answered the station master.
    </p>
    <p>
      Graves, wondering vaguely what sort of telephone system was in use on Cape
      Cod, heard his prospective pilot ring the instrument for a full two
      seconds, repeating the ring four times altogether. This he followed with
      two sharp tinkles. Then came a series of shouted &#8220;Hellos!&#8221;
      and, at last, fragments of one-half of a dialogue.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That you, Shattuck? Know who this is, don&#8217;t you? Yes, that&#8217;s
      right.... Say, how many folks listen every time a bell rings on this line?
      I&#8217;ve heard no less&#8217;n eight receivers come down so far.... Two
      of &#8217;em went up then, did you hear &#8217;em?... Sartin ... I want to
      hire a team to go over home with... To-night&mdash;Sartin ... I don&#8217;t
      care.... Yes, you will, too... <i>Yes</i>, you <i>will</i>.... Send my man
      back with it to-morrow....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9"
      id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> I don&#8217;t care <i>what</i> it is, so it&#8217;s
      got four legs and wheels....&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      And so on for at least five minutes. Then the captain hung up the receiver
      and came back to the waiting room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Bargain&#8217;s made, Mr. Graves,&#8221; he announced. &#8220;Pete&#8217;ll
      have some sort of a turn-out alongside soon&#8217;s he can get it
      harnessed. If you&#8217;ve got any extra storm duds in that satchel of
      yours, I&#8217;d advise you to put &#8217;em on. We&#8217;re goin&#8217;
      to have a rough passage.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Just how rough it was likely to be, Graves realized when he emerged from
      the station to board the Shattuck buggy. &#8220;Pete&#8221; himself had
      driven the equipage over from the livery stable.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t do this for anybody but you, Cap&#8217;n,&#8221;
      he vouchsafed, in what might be called a reproachful shout. Shouting was
      necessary, owing to the noise of the storm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Wouldn&#8217;t do what?&#8221; replied the captain, looking first
      at the ancient horse and then at the battered buggy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Let this horse out a night like this.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! I should think night would be the only time you would let
      him out.... There! there! never mind. Get aboard, Mr. Graves. Put your
      satchel on the floor between your feet. Here, let me h&#8217;ist that boot
      for you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The &#8220;boot&#8221; was a rubber curtain buttoned across the front of
      the buggy, extending from the dashboard to just below the level of the
      driver&#8217;s eyes. The lawyer clambered in behind it, the captain
      followed, the end of the reins was passed through a slit in the boot, Mr.
      Shattuck, after inquiring if they were &#8220;all taut,&#8221; gave the
      command, &#8220;Gid-dap!&#8221; and horse and buggy moved around the
      corner of the station, out into darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg10]</a></span>Of
      the next hour Graves&#8217;s memories are keen but monotonous,&mdash;a
      strong smell of stable, arising from the laprobe which had evidently been
      recently used as a horse blanket; the sound of hoofs, in an interminable
      &#8220;jog, jog&mdash;splash, splash,&#8221; never hurrying; a series of
      exasperated howls from the captain, who was doing his best to make them
      hurry; the thunderous roar of rain on the buggy top and the shrieking gale
      which rocked the vehicle on its springs and sent showers of fine spray
      driving in at every crack and crevice between the curtains.
    </p>
    <p>
      The view ahead, over the boot, was blackness, bordered by spidery trees
      and branches whipping in the wind. Occasionally they passed houses sitting
      well back from the road, a lighted window gleaming cozily. And ever, as
      they moved, the storm seemed to gather force.
    </p>
    <p>
      Graves noticed this and, at length, when his nervousness had reached the
      breaking point, screamed a question in his companion&#8217;s ear. They had
      attempted no conversation during the ride, the lawyer, whose contemptuous
      opinion of the locality and all its inhabitants was now a conviction,
      feeling that the result would not be worth the effort, and the captain
      busy with his driving.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It is blowing worse than ever, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221; yelled the
      nervous Graves.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey? No, just about the same. It&#8217;s dead sou&#8217;-west and
      we&#8217;re getting out of the woods, that&#8217;s all. Up on those bare
      hills we catch the full force of it right off the Sound. Be there pretty
      soon now, if this Old Hundred of a horse would quit walkin in his &#8217;sleep
      and really move. Them lights ahead are South Denboro.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lights were clustered at the foot of a long and rather steep hill.
      Down the declivity bounced and rocked<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> the buggy. The horse&#8217;s
      hoofs sounded hollow on the planks of a bridge. The road narrowed and
      became a village street, bordered and arched by tall trees which groaned
      and threshed in the hurricane. The rain, as it beat in over the boot, had,
      so the lawyer fancied, a salty taste.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain bent down. &#8220;Say, Mister,&#8221; he shouted, &#8220;where
      was it you wanted to stop? Who is it you&#8217;re lookin&#8217; for?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I say&mdash;Heavens to Betsy! how that wind does screech!&mdash;I
      say where&#8217;bouts shall I land you. This is South Denboro. Whose house
      do you want to go to?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m looking for one of your leading citizens. Elisha Warren
      is his name.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Elisha Warren. I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was interrupted. There was a sharp crack overhead, followed by a
      tremendous rattle and crash. Then down upon the buggy descended what, to
      Graves, appeared to be an avalanche of scratching, tearing twigs and
      branches. They ripped away the boot and laprobe and jammed him back
      against the seat, their sharp points against his breast. The buggy was
      jerked forward a few feet and stopped short.
    </p>
    <p>
      He heard the clatter of hoofs and shouts of &#8220;Whoa!&#8221; and
      &#8220;Stand still!&#8221; He tried to rise, but the tangle of twigs
      before him seemed impenetrable, so he gave it up and remained where he
      was. Then, after an interval, came a hail from the darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hi, there! Mr. Graves, ahoy! Hurt, be you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; the lawyer&#8217;s tone was doubtful. &#8220;No&mdash;o,
      I&mdash;I guess not. That you, Captain?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>&#8220;Yes,
      it&#8217;s me. Stand still, you foolhead! Quit your hoppin&#8217; up and
      down!&#8221; These commands were evidently addressed to the horse. &#8220;Glad
      you ain&#8217;t hurt. Better get out, hadn&#8217;t you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&mdash;I&#8217;m not sure that I can get out. What on earth has
      happened?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Tree limb carried away. Lucky for us we got the brush end, &#8217;stead
      of the butt. Scooch down and see if you can&#8217;t wriggle out
      underneath. I did.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Graves obediently &#8220;scooched.&#8221; After a struggle he managed
      to slide under the tangle of branches and, at length, stood on his feet in
      the road beside the buggy. The great limb had fallen across the street,
      its heavy end near the walk. As the captain had said, it was fortunate for
      the travelers that the &#8220;brush&#8221; only had struck the carriage.
    </p>
    <p>
      Graves found his companion standing at the horse&#8217;s head, holding the
      frightened animal by the bridle. The rain was descending in a flood.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well!&#8221; gasped the agitated New Yorker. &#8220;I&#8217;ll be
      hanged if this isn&#8217;t&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ain&#8217;t it? But say, Mr. Graves, <i>who</i> did you say you was
      comin&#8217; to see?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, a person named Elisha Warren. He lives in this forsaken hole
      somewhere, I believe. If I had known what an experience I must go through
      to reach him, I&#8217;d have seen him at the devil.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      From the bulky figure at the horse&#8217;s head came a chuckle.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! Well, Mr. Graves, if the butt of that limb had fetched us,
      instead of t&#8217;other end, I don&#8217;t know but you <i>might</i> have
      seen him there. I&#8217;m Elisha Warren, and that&#8217;s my house over
      yonder where the lights are.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER II
    </h3>
    <p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">
      &#8220;
    </p>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>his
      is your room, Mr. Graves,&#8221; said Miss Abigail Baker, placing the
      lighted lamp on the bureau. &#8220;And here&#8217;s a pair of socks and
      some slippers. They belong to Elisha&mdash;Cap&#8217;n Warren, that is&mdash;but
      he&#8217;s got more. Cold water and towels and soap are on the washstand
      over yonder; but I guess you&#8217;ve had enough <i>cold</i> water for one
      night. There&#8217;s plenty hot in the bathroom at the end of the hall.
      After you change your wet things, just leave &#8217;em spread out on the
      floor. I&#8217;ll come fetch &#8217;em by and by and hang &#8217;em to dry
      in the kitchen. Come right downstairs when you&#8217;re ready. Anything
      else you want? No? All right then. You needn&#8217;t hurry. Supper&#8217;s
      waited an hour &#8217;n&#8217; a half as &#8217;tis. &#8217;Twon&#8217;t
      hurt it to wait a spell longer.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She went away, closing the door after her. The bewildered, wet and
      shivering New Yorker stared about the room, which, to his surprise, was
      warm and cozy. The warmth was furnished, so he presently discovered, by a
      steam radiator in the corner. Radiators and a bathroom! These were modern
      luxuries he would have taken for granted, had Elisha Warren been the sort
      of man he expected to find, the country magnate, the leading citizen,
      fitting brother to the late A. Rodgers Warren, of Fifth Avenue and Wall
      Street.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the Captain Warren who had driven him to South Denboro in the rain was
      not that kind of man at all. His manner and his language were as far
      removed from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
      those of the late A. Rodgers as the latter&#8217;s brown stone residence
      was from this big rambling house, with its deep stairs and narrow halls,
      its antiquated pictures and hideous, old-fashioned wall paper; as far
      removed as Miss Baker, whom the captain had hurriedly introduced as
      &#8220;my second cousin keepin&#8217; house for me,&#8221; was from the dignified
      butler at the mansion on Fifth Avenue. Patchwork comforters and feather
      beds were not, in the lawyer&#8217;s scheme of things, fit associates for
      radiators and up-to-date bathrooms. And certainly this particular Warren
      was not fitted to be elder brother to the New York broker who had been
      Sylvester, Kuhn and Graves&#8217; client.
    </p>
    <p>
      It could not be, it <i>could</i> not. There must be some mistake. In
      country towns there were likely to be several of the same name. There must
      be another Elisha Warren. Comforted by this thought, Mr. Graves opened his
      valise, extracted therefrom other and drier articles of wearing apparel,
      and proceeded to change his clothes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, Miss Abigail had descended the stairs to the sitting room.
      Before a driftwood fire in a big brick fireplace sat Captain Warren in his
      shirt-sleeves, a pair of mammoth carpet slippers on his feet, and the said
      feet stretched luxuriously out toward the blaze.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Abbie,&#8221; observed the captain, &#8220;this is solid comfort.
      Every time I go away from home I get into trouble, don&#8217;t I? Last
      trip I took to Boston, I lost thirty dollars, and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Lost it!&#8221; interrupted Miss Baker, tartly. &#8220;Gave it
      away, you mean.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I didn&#8217;t <i>give</i> it away. I lent it. Abbie, you ought to
      know the difference between a gift and a loan.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I do&mdash;when there is any difference. But if lendin&#8217;<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> Tim
      Foster ain&#8217;t givin&#8217; it away, then I miss my guess.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; with another chuckle, &#8220;Tim don&#8217;t feel that
      way. He swore right up and down that he wouldn&#8217;t take a cent&mdash;as
      a gift. I offered to make him a present of ten dollars, but he looked so
      shocked that I apologized afore he could say no.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, and then <i>lent</i> him that thirty. Shocked! The only thing
      that would shock that good-for-nothin&#8217; is bein&#8217; set to work.
      What possessed you to be such a soft-head, <i>I</i> don&#8217;t know. When
      you get back a copper of that money I&#8217;ll believe the millennium&#8217;s
      struck, that&#8217;s all.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hum! Well, I&#8217;ll help you believe it&mdash;that is, if I have
      time afore I drop dead of heart disease. Abbie, you&#8217;d make a good
      lawyer; you can get up an argument out of a perfect agreement. I said the
      thirty dollars was lost, to begin with. But I knew Tim Foster&#8217;s
      mother when she used to think that boy of hers was the eighth wonder of
      the world. And I promised her I&#8217;d do what I could for him long&#8217;s
      I lived.... But it seems to me we&#8217;ve drifted some off the course,
      ain&#8217;t we? What I started to say was that every time I go away from
      home I get into trouble. Up to Boston &#8217;twas Tim and his &#8216;loan.&#8217;
      To-night it&#8217;s about as healthy a sou&#8217;-wester as I&#8217;ve
      ever been out in. Dan fetched in the team, has he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. It&#8217;s in the stable. He says the buggy dash is pretty
      well scratched up, and that it&#8217;s a wonder you and that Graves man wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      killed. Who is he, anyhow?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Land knows, I don&#8217;t.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You don&#8217;t know! Then what&#8217;s he doin&#8217; here?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Changin&#8217; his duds, I guess. That&#8217;s what I&#8217;d do if
      I looked as much like a drowned rat as he did.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>&#8220;&#8217;Lisha
      Warren! if you ain&#8217;t the most <i>provokin&#8217;</i> thing! Don&#8217;t
      be so unlikely. You know what I mean. What&#8217;s he come here, to this
      house, for?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t know, Abbie. I didn&#8217;t know he <i>was</i> comin&#8217;
      here till just as we got down yonder by Emery&#8217;s corner. I asked him
      who he was lookin&#8217; for, he said &#8216;Elisha Warren,&#8217; and
      then the tree caved in on us.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8217;Lisha, you&mdash;you don&#8217;t s&#8217;pose &#8217;twas a&mdash;<i>sign</i>,
      do you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sign?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, a sign, a prophecy-like, a warnin&#8217; that somethin&#8217;
      is goin&#8217; to happen.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain put back his head and laughed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sign somethin&#8217; <i>had</i> happened, I should think,&#8221; he
      answered. &#8220;What&#8217;s <i>goin&#8217;</i> to happen is that Pete
      Shattuck&#8217;ll get his buggy painted free-for-nothin&#8217;, at my
      expense. How&#8217;s supper gettin&#8217; along? Is it ready?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ready? It&#8217;s been ready for so long that it&#8217;ll have to
      be got ready all over again if.... Oh! Come right in, Mr. Graves! I hope
      you&#8217;re drier now.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Warren sprang from the chair to greet his visitor, who was
      standing in the doorway.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, come right in, Mr. Graves,&#8221; he urged, cordially. &#8220;Set
      down by the fire and make yourself comf&#8217;table. Abbie&#8217;ll have
      somethin&#8217; for us to eat in a jiffy. Pull up a chair.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer came forward hesitatingly. The doubts which had troubled him
      ever since he entered the house were still in his mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you, Captain,&#8221; he said. &#8220;But before I accept more
      of your hospitality I feel I should be sure there is no mistake. I have
      come on important business, and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>&#8220;Hold
      on!&#8221; The captain held up a big hand. &#8220;Don&#8217;t you say
      another word,&#8221; he commanded. &#8220;There&#8217;s just one business
      that interests me this minute, and that&#8217;s supper. There&#8217;s no
      mistake about <i>that</i>, anyhow. Did you say &#8216;Come ahead,&#8217;
      Abbie? or was you just going to? Good! Right into the dinin&#8217; room,
      Mr. Graves.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The dining room was long and low. The woodwork was white, the floor green
      painted boards, with braided rag mats scattered over them. There were
      old-fashioned pictures on the walls, pictures which brought shudders to
      the artistic soul of Atwood Graves. A broad bay window filled one side of
      the apartment, and in this window, on shelves and in wire baskets, were
      Miss Baker&#8217;s cherished and carefully tended plants. As for the
      dining table, it was dark, old-fashioned walnut, as were the chairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Set right down here, Mr. Graves,&#8221; ordered the captain.
      &#8220;I&#8217;ll try to keep you supplied with solid cargo, and Abbie&#8217;ll
      &#8217;tend to the moistenin&#8217;. Hope that teapot is full up, Abbie.
      Hot tea tastes good after you&#8217;ve swallered as much cold rain as Mr.
      Graves and I have....
      Father-we-thank-thee-for-these-mercies-set-before-us-Amen.... How&#8217;s
      your appetite when it comes to clam pie, Mr. Graves?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Graves&#8217;s appetite was good, and the clam pie was good. So, too,
      were the hot biscuits and the tea and homemade preserves and cake.
      Conversation during the meal was, for the most part, a monologue by the
      captain. He gave Miss Baker a detailed and exaggerated account of his
      adventures in Ostable, on board the train, and during the drive home. The
      housekeeper listened, fidgeting in her chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8217;Lisha Warren,&#8221; she interrupted, &#8220;how you do
      talk! Rainin&#8217; so hard you had to hold the reins taut to keep<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> the
      horse&#8217;s head out of water so he wouldn&#8217;t drown! The idea!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Fact,&#8221; asserted Captain Warren, with a wink at his guest.
      &#8220;And that wa&#8217;n&#8217;t the worst of it. &#8217;Twas so dark I
      had to keep feelin&#8217; the buggy with my foot to be sure I was in it.
      Ain&#8217;t that so, Mr. Graves?... Here! Abbie won&#8217;t like to have
      you set lookin&#8217; at that empty plate. She&#8217;s always afraid folks&#8217;ll
      notice the gilt&#8217;s wearin&#8217; off. Pass it over quick, and let me
      cover it with some more pie.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, and have some more tea,&#8221; urged Miss Abbie. &#8220;You
      mustn&#8217;t pay attention to what he says, Mr. Graves,&#8221; she went
      on. &#8220;Some day he&#8217;ll tell the truth by accident, and then I&#8217;ll
      know it&#8217;s time to send for the doctor.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Several times the lawyer attempted to mention the business which had
      brought him to the Cape, and the probability of his having made a mistake.
      But neither host nor housekeeper would listen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;When you&#8217;ve been in South Denboro as long as I have,&#8221;
      declared the former, &#8220;you&#8217;ll understand that the time to talk
      business is when you can&#8217;t think of anything else. Wait till we get
      into the settin&#8217; room. Abbie, those six or eight biscuits I&#8217;ve
      ate are gettin&#8217; lonesome. I&#8217;ll take another for sociability,
      thank you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      But, at last, when all the biscuits but one were gone, and the cake plate
      looked like the Desert of Sahara, the captain pushed back his chair, rose,
      and led the way into the next room. Miss Baker remained to clear the
      table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Set down by the fire, Mr. Graves,&#8221; urged the captain. &#8220;Nothin&#8217;
      like burnin&#8217; wood to look hot and comf&#8217;table, is there? It don&#8217;t
      always make you feel that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19"
      id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> way&mdash;that&#8217;s why I put in hot
      water heat&mdash;but for looks and sociableness you can&#8217;t beat a log
      fire. Smoke, do you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Occasionally. But, Captain Warren&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Here, try that. It&#8217;s a cigar the Judge gave me over to
      Ostable. He smokes that kind reg&#8217;lar, but if you don&#8217;t like
      it, throw it away. He ain&#8217;t here to see you do it, so you won&#8217;t
      be fined for contempt of court. I&#8217;ll stick to a pipe, if you don&#8217;t
      mind. Now we&#8217;re shipshape and all taut, I cal&#8217;late. Let&#8217;s
      see, you wanted to talk business, I believe.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, I did. But before I begin I should like to be sure you are the
      Elisha Warren I came from New York to interview. Is there another of that
      name in Denboro?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. There&#8217;s Warrens a-plenty all through this section of
      the Cape. Our family blew ashore here a hundred and fifty years ago, or
      such matter. My dad&#8217;s name was Elisha; so was my grandfather&#8217;s.
      Both sea cap&#8217;ns, and both dead. There&#8217;s another Elisha livin&#8217;
      over on the shore lane.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Indeed. Then perhaps it is he I want.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;P&#8217;raps. He&#8217;s keeper of the town poorhouse. I can tell
      you better if you give me an idea what your business is.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I am an attorney. And now let me ask another question, please. Have
      you&mdash;had you a brother in business in New York?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey?&#8221; The captain turned and looked his guest squarely in the
      eye. His brows drew together.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;ve got a brother in New York,&#8221; he answered, slowly.
      &#8220;Did <i>he</i> send you here?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Was your brother&#8217;s name A. Rodgers Warren?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;A. Rodgers&#8217;? No. His name is Abijah Warren,<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> and&mdash;Wait!
      His middle name is Rodgers, though. Did &#8217;Bije send you to me?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;A moment, Captain. Was your brother a broker?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. His office is&mdash;or used to be on Broad Street. What&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You have not heard from him for some time?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not for eighteen years. He and I didn&#8217;t agree as well as we
      might. Maybe &#8217;twas my fault, maybe &#8217;twas his. I have my own
      ideas on that. If you&#8217;re lookin&#8217; for &#8217;Bije Warren&#8217;s
      brother, Mr. Graves, I guess you&#8217;ve come to the right place. But <i>what</i>
      he sent you to me for, or what he wants&mdash;for he wants somethin&#8217;,
      or he wouldn&#8217;t have sent&mdash;I don&#8217;t understand.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why do you think he wanted something?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Because he&#8217;s &#8217;Bije Warren, and I was brought up with
      him. When we was young ones together, he went to school and I went to
      work. He got the frostin&#8217; on the cake, and I got the burnt part next
      to the pan. He went to college, and I went to sea. He.... However, you
      mustn&#8217;t think I find fault with him for that. I sp&#8217;iled him as
      much as anybody, I guess. &#8217;Twas later on that we.... Well, never
      mind that, either. What is it he wants of me, after eighteen years?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He wants a good deal of you, Captain Warren. Or <i>did</i> want it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Did? Don&#8217;t he want it now?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know. Captain, I&#8217;m surprised that you haven&#8217;t
      heard. It seems that I am the bearer of bad news. Your brother&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Is &#8217;Bije <i>dead</i>?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He died ten days ago very suddenly. In a way it was a great shock
      to us all, yet we have known that his heart was weak. He realized it, too.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>&#8220;So
      &#8217;Bije is dead, hey?&#8221; Captain Elisha&#8217;s face was very
      grave, and he spoke slowly. &#8220;Dead! Well, well, well!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused and looked into the fire. Graves saw again that vague
      resemblance he had caught on the train, but had forgotten. He knew now why
      he noticed it. Unlike as the two brothers were, unlike in almost every
      way, the trace of family likeness was there. This sunburned, retired
      captain <i>was</i> the New York financier&#8217;s elder brother. And this
      certainty made Mr. Graves&#8217;s errand more difficult, and the cause of
      it more inexplicable.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha cleared his throat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, well!&#8221; he sighed. &#8220;So &#8217;Bije has gone. I s&#8217;pose
      you think it&#8217;s odd, maybe,&#8221; he went on, &#8220;that I ain&#8217;t
      more struck down by the news. In a way, I am, and, in a way, I&#8217;m
      mighty sorry, too. But, to speak truth, he and I have been so apart, and
      have had nothin&#8217; to do with each other for so long that&mdash;that,
      well, I&#8217;ve come to feel as if I didn&#8217;t have a brother. And I
      know he felt that way. Yes, and <i>wanted</i> to feel so&mdash;I know
      that.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t say that, if I were you,&#8221; observed the
      lawyer, gently. &#8220;I think you&#8217;re mistaken there.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I ain&#8217;t mistaken. Why, look here, Mr. Graves! There was a
      time when I&#8217;d have got down on my knees and crawled from here to New
      York to help &#8217;Bije Warren. I lent him money to start in business.
      Later on him and I went into partnership together on a&mdash;a fool South
      American speculation that didn&#8217;t pan out for nothin&#8217;. I didn&#8217;t
      care for that. I took my chance same as he did, we formed a stock company
      all amongst ourselves, and I&#8217;ve got my share of the stock somewhere
      yet. It may come in handy if I ever want to paper the <span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>barn. But &#8217;twa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      business deals of that kind that parted us, &#8217;twas another matter.
      Somethin&#8217; that he did to other folks who&#8217;d trusted us and....
      Humph! this don&#8217;t interest you, of course.... Well, &#8217;Bije was
      well off, I know. His wife died way back in the nineties. She was one of
      them fashionable women, and a hayseed salt-herrin&#8217; of a bachelor
      brother-in-law stuck down here in the sandheaps didn&#8217;t interest her
      much&mdash;except as somethin&#8217; to forget, I s&#8217;pose. I used to
      see her name in the Boston papers occasionally, givin&#8217; parties at
      Newport and one thing a&#8217;nother. I never envied &#8217;em that kind
      of life. I&#8217;m as well fixed as I want to be. Got some money put by
      for a rainy spell, comf&#8217;table house and land, best town on earth to
      live in and work for; I&#8217;m satisfied and always have been. I wouldn&#8217;t
      change for nothin&#8217;. But I&#8217;m nine year older than &#8217;Bije
      was&mdash;and yet I&#8217;m left alive. Hum!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Your brother had two children by his marriage,&#8221; said Graves,
      after a moment of silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey? Two children? Why, yes, I remember he did. Boy and girl, wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      they? I never saw em. They&#8217;ve growed up by this time, of course.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, the eldest, Caroline, is nearly twenty. The boy, Stephen, is a
      year younger. It is concerning those children, Captain Warren, that I have
      come to you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha turned in his chair. &#8220;Hey?&#8221; he queried. &#8220;The
      children? You&#8217;ve come to me about &#8217;Bije&#8217;s children?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Graves nodded. &#8220;Yes,&#8221; he answered, solemnly. &#8220;That is
      what I meant by saying your brother had not forgotten you or wished to
      forget you. In spite of the estrangement, it is evident that his
      confidence in your judgment and integrity was supreme. His children<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> were his
      idols, Captain Warren, and he has left them in your charge.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain&#8217;s pipe fell to the hearth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>What</i>?&#8221; he shouted. &#8220;Left his children to&mdash;to
      <i>me</i>! Mr. Graves, you&#8217;re&mdash;you&#8217;re out of your head&mdash;or
      I am!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, I&#8217;m perfectly sane. I have a copy of the will here, and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was interrupted by Miss Baker, who appeared at the door of the dining
      room. &#8220;Did you want me, &#8217;Lisha?&#8221; she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her employer stared at her in a dazed, uncomprehending way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Want you?&#8221; he repeated. &#8220;Want you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes; I heard you holler, and I thought p&#8217;raps you was callin&#8217;
      me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey? No, I don&#8217;t want you, Abbie.... Holler! I shouldn&#8217;t
      wonder! If all I did was holler, I&#8217;m surprised at myself. No, no!
      Run along out and shut the door. Yes, shut it.... Now, Mr. Graves, say
      that over again and say it slow.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I say that your brother has left his two children in your care
      until the youngest shall become of age&mdash;twenty-one. I have a copy of
      his will here, and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Wait, wait! let me think. Left his children to me!... to <i>me</i>.
      Mr. Graves, had &#8217;Bije lost all his money?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. He was not the millionaire that many thought him. Miss Warren
      and her brother will be obliged to economize somewhat in their manner of
      living. But, with care <i>and</i> economy, their income should be quite
      sufficient, without touching the principal, to&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hold on again; the income, you say. What is that income?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>&#8220;Roughly
      speaking, a mere estimate, about twenty to twenty-five thousand yearly.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha had stooped to pick up the pipe he had dropped. His fingers
      touched it, but they did not close. Instead he straightened up in his
      chair as if suffering from an electric shock.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Graves,&#8221; he began; &#8220;Mr. Graves, are you cra&mdash;.
      No, I asked you that before. But&mdash;but twenty <i>thousand</i> a&mdash;a
      year! For mercy sakes, what&#8217;s the principal?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;In the neighborhood of five hundred thousand, I believe. Of course,
      we had no authority to investigate thoroughly. That will be a part of your
      duties, but&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;S-shh! Let me soak this into my brains a little at a time. &#8217;Bije
      leaves his children five hundred thousand, half a million, and&mdash;and
      they&#8217;ve got to <i>economize</i>! And I&#8217;m.... Would you mind
      readin&#8217; me that will?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The attorney drew a long envelope from his pocket, extracted therefrom a
      folded document, donned a pair of gold-mounted eyeglasses, and began to
      read aloud.
    </p>
    <p>
      The will was short and very concise. &#8220;&#8216;I, Abijah Rodgers
      Warren, being of sound mind&mdash;&#8217;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You&#8217;re sartin that part&#8217;s true, are you?&#8221; broke
      in the captain.
    </p>
    <p>
      Graves nodded, rather impatiently, and continued. &#8220;&#8216;Of sound
      mind, memory and understanding, do make, publish and declare this to be my
      last will and testament, in manner following, that is to say:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;First:&mdash;I direct my executor hereinafter named to pay
      my just debts and funeral expenses as soon as maybe convenient after my
      decease.&#8217;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Did he owe much, think likely?&#8221; asked Captain Elisha.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>&#8220;Apparently
      not. Very little beyond the usual bills of a household.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, yes. Grocer and butcher and baker and suchlike. Well, I guess
      they won&#8217;t have to put in a keeper. Heave ahead.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;Second:&mdash;I give, devise and bequeath all my estate,
      both real and personal, to my brother, Elisha Warren, if he survive&mdash;&#8217;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain gasped. &#8220;To me?&#8221; he cried, in utter amazement.
      &#8220;He leaves it to <i>me</i>? &#8217;Bije leaves&mdash;say, Mr.
      Graves, there&#8217;s some mistake here somewhere, sure! And besides, you
      said&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Just a minute, Captain Warren, if you please. If you&#8217;ll be
      patient and not interrupt, I&#8217;ll try to make the whole matter plain.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, if you can do <i>that</i>, you&#8217;ll have King Solomon and
      all his wisdom beat a mile, that&#8217;s all I&#8217;ve got to say. Go on.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;To my brother, Elisha Warren, if he survive me, <i>in trust</i>,
      nevertheless, for the following purpose, to wit:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;To invest the same and to use the income thereof for the
      education and maintenance of my two children, Caroline Edgecombe Warren&mdash;&#8217;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Edgecombe? Named for some of his wife&#8217;s folks, I presume
      likely. Excuse me for puttin&#8217; my oar in again. Go on.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;And Stephen Cole Warren&mdash;&#8217;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>That&#8217;s</i> his wife, sartin. She was a Cole. I swan, I beg
      your pardon.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;Until the elder, Caroline Edgecombe Warren, shall have
      reached her twenty-first birthday, when one-half of the principal of said
      estate, together with one-half of the accumulated interest, shall be given
      to her, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
      trust continued for the education and maintenance of my son, Stephen Cole
      Warren, until he shall have reached his twenty-first birthday, when I
      direct that the remainder be given to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;Third:&mdash;I appoint as testamentary guardian of my said
      children my said brother, Elisha Warren.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;Fourth:&mdash;I appoint as sole executor of this, my last
      will and testament, my said brother, Elisha Warren.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;Fifth:&mdash;Imposing implicit trust and confidence in
      Elisha Warren, my brother, I direct that he be not required to give bond
      for the performance of any of the affairs or trusts to which he has been
      herein appointed.&#8217;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The remainder,&#8221; concluded Graves, refolding the will, &#8220;is
      purely formal. It is dated May 15th, three years ago. Your brother,
      Captain Warren, evidently realized, although no one else seems to have
      done so, the precarious state of his health, and prepared, as every
      careful person should, for the great emergency.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The attorney removed his eyeglasses and rubbed them with his handkerchief.
      Captain Elisha sat silent, staring at the fire. After an interval, Graves
      spoke again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Of course, Captain,&#8221; he went on, &#8220;my errand is now
      plain. I come to acquaint you with your brother&#8217;s last wishes and to
      ascertain whether or not you are willing to accept the trust and
      responsibility he has laid upon you. As you doubtless know, the state
      provides a legal rate of reimbursement for such services as yours will&mdash;or
      may&mdash;be. Ahem!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;May be? You mean I ain&#8217;t got to do this thing unless I want
      to?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Certainly. You have the right to renounce the various appointments,
      in which case another executor, trustee, and guardian will be appointed. I
      realize, and I&#8217;m sure that your brother&#8217;s children will
      realize, your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
      hesitance in assuming such a responsibility over persons whom you have
      never even met.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, I guess we&#8217;ll all realize it; you needn&#8217;t worry
      about that. Look here, do the children know I&#8217;m elected?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Of course, the will has been read to them.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hum! I s&#8217;pose likely they was overcome with joy, wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      they?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Graves bit his lip. Remembering the comments of Miss Caroline and her
      brother when they learned of their uncle&#8217;s appointment, he had
      difficulty in repressing a smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; he replied, slowly, &#8220;of course, one could
      scarcely expect them to rejoice. They have never seen you. In fact, I
      doubt if either of them knew their father had a brother, living.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Y-e-e-s. That part don&#8217;t surprise me. But the rest of it
      does. By the miracles of the prophets! the rest of it does! That &#8217;Bije&mdash;&#8217;Bije&mdash;should
      leave his children and their money to <i>me</i> to take care of is passin&#8217;
      human belief, as our old minister used to say&mdash;....Humph! I s&#8217;pose
      likely, Mr. Graves, you&#8217;d like to have me say yes or no to the thing
      while you&#8217;re here, hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Graves nodded. &#8220;It would be well to do so,&#8221; he said. &#8220;The
      settlement of the estate must be taken in hand as soon as possible. The
      law so directs.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, I see that. Well, what would you advise my doin&#8217;?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      To this direct question the lawyer returned a noncommittal answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid that must be answered by yourself alone, Captain
      Warren,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Of course, the acceptance of the trust will
      necessarily involve much trouble and inconvenience,<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> especially to one of your&mdash;er&mdash;settled
      and&mdash;er&mdash;conservative&mdash;I judge merely from what you have
      said&mdash;your conservative habits. The estate is large, the investments
      are, doubtless, many and varied, and the labor of looking into and
      investigating them may require some technical skill and knowledge of
      finance. Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm.... Well, I judge that that kind of skill and knowledge could
      be hired, if a feller felt like payin&#8217; fair wages; hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, yes, yes. Any good lawyer could attend to that, under the
      supervision of the executor, certainly. But there are other inconveniences
      to a&mdash;a&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Country jay like me. I understand. Go ahead.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I mean that you would probably be required to spend much, or all,
      of the next two or three years in New York.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Would, hey? I didn&#8217;t know but bein&#8217; as a guardian has
      entire charge of the children and their money and all&mdash;I understand
      that&#8217;s what he does have&mdash;he could direct the children fetched
      down to where <i>he</i> lived, if he wanted to. Am I wrong?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; the lawyer&#8217;s hesitancy and annoyance was plainly
      evident. &#8220;No-o. Of course, that <i>might</i> be done. Still, I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You think that wouldn&#8217;t cause no more rejoicin&#8217; than
      some other things have? Yes, yes; I cal&#8217;late I understand, Mr.
      Graves. Well, I guess you&#8217;ll have to give me to-night to chew over
      this. I guess you will. It&#8217;s come on me so sudden, &#8217;Bije&#8217;s
      death and all, that I want to be by myself and think. I don&#8217;t want
      to seem unsociable or lackin&#8217; in hospitality. The whole house is
      yours. Help yourself to it. But when I&#8217;m caught in a clove hitch, I
      just have to set down and think myself out of it.<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> I <i>have</i> to. I was
      built and launched that way, I guess, and maybe you&#8217;ll excuse me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Certainly, Captain Warren. You&#8217;re quite right in wishing to
      deliberate on so important a matter. And, if you will excuse me in return,
      I believe I will go to my room. I&#8217;ve had a rather wearing day.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And a damp evenin&#8217;. Yes, I&#8217;ll excuse and sympathize
      with you, too. I&#8217;ll see you to your room, and I&#8217;ll hope you&#8217;ll
      have consider&#8217;ble more sleep than I&#8217;m likely to get. Abbie!...
      Abbie!... Fetch Mr. Graves&#8217;s lamp, won&#8217;t you, please?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      It was after two the next morning before Captain Elisha rose from his
      chair by the fire and entered his bed chamber. Yet, when Atwood Graves
      came down to breakfast, he found his host in the sitting room awaiting
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Afore we tackle Abbie&#8217;s pancakes and fishballs, Mr. Graves,&#8221;
      said the captain, &#8220;let&#8217;s get the rest of that will business
      off our minds. Then we can have the pancakes to take the taste out of our
      mouths, as you might say. And let me ask you one more question. This&mdash;er&mdash;er&mdash;Caroline
      and Stephen, they&#8217;re used to livin&#8217; pretty well&mdash;fashionable
      society, and the like of that, hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Their home was on Fifth Avenue, and the family moved in the
      best circles.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hum! I should imagine life on twenty-odd thousand a year must be
      pretty much all circles, one everlastin&#8217; &#8216;turn your partners.&#8217;
      Well, Mr. Graves, my circles down here are consider&#8217;ble smaller, but
      they suit me. I&#8217;m worth twenty-odd thousand myself, not in a year,
      but in a lifetime. I&#8217;m selectman and director in the bank and
      trustee of the church. When I holler &#8216;Boo,&#8217; the South Denboro
      folks&mdash;some of them, anyhow&mdash;set up and take notice. I can lead
      the grand march down in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30"
      id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> neighborhood once in a while, and I cal&#8217;late
      I&#8217;m prettier leadin&#8217; it than I would be doin&#8217; a
      solitaire jig for two years on the outside edge of New York&#8217;s best
      circles. And I&#8217;m mighty sure I&#8217;m more welcome. Now my eyesight&#8217;s
      strong enough to see through a two-foot hole after the plug&#8217;s out,
      and I can see that you and &#8217;Bije&#8217;s children won&#8217;t shed
      tears if I say no to that will. No offense meant, you know; just common
      sense, that&#8217;s all.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      This was plain speaking. Mr. Graves colored, though he didn&#8217;t mean
      to, and for once could not answer offhand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So,&#8221; continued the captain, &#8220;I&#8217;ll ease your and
      their minds by sayin&#8217; that, the way I feel now, I probably sha&#8217;n&#8217;t
      accept the trust. I <i>probably</i> sha&#8217;n&#8217;t. But I won&#8217;t
      say sure I won&#8217;t, because&mdash;well, because &#8217;Bije was my
      brother; he was that, no matter what our diff&#8217;rences may have been.
      And I know&mdash;I <i>know</i> that there must be some reason bigger than
      &#8216;implicit trust&#8217; and the other May-baskets for his appointin&#8217;
      me in his will. What that reason is I <i>don&#8217;t</i> know&mdash;yet.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Then you intend&mdash;?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know what I intend&mdash;in the end. But for a
      beginnin&#8217;, I cal&#8217;late to run down to New York some time durin&#8217;
      the next week, take a cruise &#8217;round, and sort of look things over.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER III
    </h3>
    <p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">
      &#8220;
    </p>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>t&#8217;s
      a box of a place, though, isn&#8217;t it,&#8221; declared Mr. Stephen
      Warren, contemptuously glancing about the library of the apartment.
      &#8220;A box, by George! I think it&#8217;s a blooming shame that we have
      to put up with it, Sis.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Warren sprawled in the most comfortable chair in the room, was looking
      out through the window, across the wind-swept width of Central Park West,
      over the knolls and valleys of the Park itself, now bare of foliage and
      sprinkled with patches of snow. There was a discontented look on his face,
      and his hands were jammed deep in his trousers pockets.
    </p>
    <p>
      His sister, Caroline, sat opposite to him, also looking out at the
      December landscape. She, too, was discontented and unhappy, though she
      tried not to show it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why don&#8217;t you say something,&#8221; snapped Stephen, after a
      moment of silence. &#8220;<i>Isn&#8217;t</i> it a box of a place? Now
      come.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; replied the young lady, without looking at her brother.
      &#8220;Yes, Steve, I suppose it is. But you must remember that we must
      make the best of it. I always wondered how people could live in
      apartments. Now I suppose I shall have to find out.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I maintain that we don&#8217;t have to. We aren&#8217;t
      paupers, even though father wasn&#8217;t so well fixed as everyone
      thought. With management and care, we could have stayed in the old house,
      I believe, and kept up appearances,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32"
      id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> at least. What&#8217;s the use of
      advertising that we&#8217;re broke?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But, Steve, you know Mr. Graves said&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, yes, I know. You swallowed every word Graves said, Caro, as if
      he was the whole book of Proverbs. By George, <i>I</i> don&#8217;t; I&#8217;m
      from Missouri.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Warren, being in the Sophomore class at Yale, was of the age when one
      is constitutionally &#8220;from Missouri.&#8221; Probably King Solomon, at
      sixty, had doubts concerning the scope and depth of his wisdom; at
      eighteen he would have admitted its all-embracing infallibility without a
      blush.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I tell you,&#8221; continued Stephen, &#8220;there&#8217;s no sense
      in it, Sis. You and I know plenty of people whose incomes are no larger
      than ours. Do they &#8216;economize,&#8217; as Graves is continually
      preaching? They do not, publicly at least. They may save a bit, here and
      there, but they do it where it doesn&#8217;t show and nobody knows. Take
      the Blaisdells, for instance. When the Sodality Bank went up, and old
      Blaisdell died, everybody said the family was down and out. They must have
      lost millions. But did <i>they</i> move into &#8216;apartments&#8217; and
      put up a placard, &#8216;Home of the Dead-Brokes. Walk in and Sympathize?&#8217;
      I guess they didn&#8217;t! They went into mourning, of course, and that
      let them out of entertaining and all that, but they stayed where they were
      and kept up the bluff. That&#8217;s the thing that counts in this world&mdash;keeping
      up the bluff.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, but everyone knows they are&mdash;bluffing, as you call it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What of it? They don&#8217;t really know, they only suspect. And I
      met Jim Blaisdell yesterday and he shook my hand, after I had held it in
      front of his eyes where he couldn&#8217;t help seeing it, and had the
      nerve to tell me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg
      33]</a></span> he hoped things weren&#8217;t as bad with us as he had
      heard.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I never liked the Blaisdells,&#8221; declared Caroline,
      indignantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Neither did I. Neither do most people. But Jim is just as much in
      the swim as he ever was, and he&#8217;s got his governor&#8217;s place on
      the board of directors at the bank, now that it&#8217;s reorganized, and
      an office down town, and he&#8217;s hand and glove with Von Blarcom and
      all the rest. They think he&#8217;s a promising, plucky young man. They&#8217;ll
      help his bluff through. And are his mother and sister dropped by the
      people in their set? I haven&#8217;t noticed it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, Mrs. Corcoran Dunn told me that everyone was talking about
      the Blaisdells and wondering how long they could keep it up. And the
      newspapers have been printing all sorts of things, and hinting that young
      Mr. Blaisdell&#8217;s appointment as director, after his father wrecked
      the bank, was a scandal. At least, we haven&#8217;t <i>that</i> to bear up
      under. Father was honest, if he wasn&#8217;t rich.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Who cares for the newspapers? They&#8217;re all run by demagogues
      hunting sensations. What makes me feel the worst about all this is that
      Stock Exchange seat of father&#8217;s. If I were only of age, so that I
      could go down there on the floor, I tell you it wouldn&#8217;t be long
      before you and I were back where we belong, Sis. But, no, I&#8217;m a kid,
      so Graves thinks, in charge of a guardian&mdash;a <i>guardian</i>, by gad!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He snorted, in manly indignation. Caroline, her pretty face troubled, rose
      and walked slowly across the room. It was a large room, in spite of the
      fact that it was one of a suite in an apartment hotel, and furnished
      richly. A. Rodgers Warren spent his money with taste,<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> and spent it freely while
      he lived. The furniture, the paintings, and bric-a-brac were of the very
      best, chosen with care, here and abroad.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, dear!&#8221; sighed the girl. &#8220;I do hope Mr. Graves will
      be well enough to call to-day. He expected to. Except for the telephone
      message telling us that that <i>man</i> at Denboro&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Our dear Uncle Elisha,&#8221; put in Stephen, with sarcasm. &#8220;Uncle
      &#8216;&#8217;Lish!&#8217; Heavens! what a name!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hush! He can&#8217;t help his name. And father&#8217;s was worse
      yet&mdash;Abijah! Think of it!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t want to think of it. Neither did the governor; that&#8217;s
      why he dropped it, I suppose. Just what did Graves say? Give me his exact
      words.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;His partner, Mr. Kuhn, telephoned. He said that Mr. Graves had a
      bad cold, having been wet through in a dreadful storm down there in the
      country. The doctor forbade his leaving the house for a day or two, but he
      would call on Tuesday&mdash;to-day&mdash;if he was sufficiently recovered.
      And Mr. Kuhn said that everything was satisfactory. This Captain Warren&mdash;a
      ship captain, I suppose he is&mdash;would, in all probability, refuse to
      accept the guardianship and the rest of it&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Refuse? I should think so. I&#8217;m just as certain father was
      insane when he made that will as I am that I&#8217;m alive. If I thought
      he wasn&#8217;t, I&#8217;d never forgive him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hush, Steve. You promised me you wouldn&#8217;t speak in that way.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, all right, I won&#8217;t. But, Caro, he <i>must</i> have been
      insane. If he wasn&#8217;t, do you suppose he would have put us and the
      estate in the care of a Down-East jay? It&#8217;s inconceivable! It&#8217;s
      ridiculous! Think of it. Suppose this uncle of ours had accepted. Suppose
      he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
      had come to town here and any of our friends had met him. &#8216;This is
      our guardian, Captain Warren, of Punkin Centre.&#8217; &#8216;Please to
      meet ye,&#8217; says Uncle &#8217;Lish. &#8216;How&#8217;s taters?&#8217;
      Horrors! Say, Caro, you haven&#8217;t told anyone, Malcolm or his mother,
      or anyone, have you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Of course not, Steve. You know I wouldn&#8217;t.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, don&#8217;t. They needn&#8217;t know it, now or at any other
      time. Graves will probably get himself appointed, and he&#8217;s
      respectable if he is an old fogy. We&#8217;ll worry along till I&#8217;m
      twenty-one, and then&mdash;well, then I&#8217;ll handle our business
      myself.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Evidently there was no question in his mind as to his ability to handle
      this or any business, no matter how involved. He rose from his chair and
      yawned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;s deadly dull,&#8221; he complained. &#8220;You don&#8217;t
      need me, do you, Caro? I believe I&#8217;ll go out for a while. That is,
      unless you really care.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His sister hesitated before replying. When she spoke, there was
      disappointment in her tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, Steve,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I did hope you might be here
      when Mr. Graves came. He will wish to speak of important matters, and it
      seems to me that both of us should hear what he has to say.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Young Warren, who had started for the door, stopped and kicked impatiently
      at the corners of the rug.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, <i>well</i>!&#8221; he observed, &#8220;if you want me of
      course I&#8217;ll stay. But why doesn&#8217;t old Graves come, if he is
      coming. Maybe he&#8217;s under the weather yet,&#8221; he added,
      hopefully. &#8220;Perhaps he isn&#8217;t coming at all to-day. I believe I&#8217;ll
      call up Kuhn on the &#8217;phone and find out.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was on his way to the telephone when the doorbell buzzed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Gad! there he is now,&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;Now I suppose<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> I&#8217;ll
      have to stay. We&#8217;ll hear about dear Uncle &#8217;Lish, won&#8217;t
      we? Oh, joy!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      But the staid butler, when he entered the library, did not announce the
      lawyer&#8217;s name.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mrs. Corcoran Dunn and Mr. Malcolm,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Will you
      see them, Miss Caroline?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young lady&#8217;s face lit up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Certainly, Edwards,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Show them&mdash;Oh,
      Mrs. Dunn, I&#8217;m so glad to see you! It was <i>ever</i> so good of you
      to come. And Malcolm.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. M. Corcoran Dunn was tall and, in South Denboro, would have been
      called &#8220;fleshy,&#8221; in spite of her own and the dressmaker&#8217;s
      efforts to conceal the fact. She was elaborately gowned and furred, and
      something about her creaked when she walked. She rushed into the room, at
      the butler&#8217;s heels, and, greeting Caroline with outstretched hands,
      kissed her effusively on the cheek.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;My dear child,&#8221; she cried, &#8220;how could I stay away? We
      have spoken of you and Stephen <i>so</i> often this morning. We know how
      lonely you must be, and Malcolm and I decided we <i>must</i> run in on you
      after lunch. Didn&#8217;t we, Malcolm?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Malcolm Corcoran Dunn, her son, was a blond young man, with a rather
      indolent manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sure, Mater!&#8221; he said, calmly. &#8220;How d&#8217;ye do,
      Caroline? &#8217;Lo, Steve!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The quartette shook hands. Mrs. Dunn sank creakingly into a chair and
      gazed about the room. Malcolm strolled to the window and looked out.
      Stephen followed and stood beside him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;My dear,&#8221; said Mrs. Dunn, addressing Caroline, &#8220;how are
      you getting on? How are your nerves? Is all the dreadful &#8216;settling&#8217;
      over?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Very nearly, thank goodness.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>&#8220;That&#8217;s
      a mercy. I should certainly have been here yesterday to help you in
      superintending and arranging and so on, but I was suffering from one of my
      &#8216;hearts,&#8217; and you know what <i>they</i> are.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Everyone who knew Mrs. Corcoran Dunn was acquainted with her &#8220;hearts.&#8221;
      The attacks came, so she was accustomed to explain, from an impaired
      valve, and &#8220;some day&#8221;&mdash;she usually completed the sentence
      with upturned eyes and a resigned upward wave of the hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her son turned from the window.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I say, Mother,&#8221; he explained, wearily, &#8220;I do wish you
      wouldn&#8217;t speak of your vital organs in the plural. Anyone would
      imagine you were a sort of freak, like the two-headed boy at the circus.
      It&#8217;s positively distressing.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen laughed. He admired young Dunn immensely. Mrs. Dunn sighed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t, Malcolm, dear,&#8221; she pleaded. &#8220;You sound so
      unfeeling. One not acquainted with your real kindness of heart&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, drop it,&#8221; interrupted Malcolm. &#8220;Let&#8217;s omit
      the heart interest. This isn&#8217;t a clinic. I say, Steve, how do you
      like the new flat? It is a flat, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen turned red. His sister colored and bit her lip. Mrs. Dunn hastened
      to the rescue.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Horrors!&#8221; she exclaimed. &#8220;Malcolm, you really are
      insufferable. Flat! Caroline, dear, you mustn&#8217;t mind him. He will
      have his joke. Malcolm, apologize.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The command was sharp, and her son obeyed it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Beg your pardon, Steve,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Yours, too,
      Caroline. I was only joking. There&#8217;s a little beast of a bookkeeper
      down at the office who is forever talking of his &#8216;nice flat in the
      Bronx.&#8217; It&#8217;s a standing guy, you know. So far as I can see,
      these are pretty snug<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg
      38]</a></span> quarters. And attractively arranged, too. Your taste,
      Caroline, I&#8217;m betting.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Warren, slightly mollified, bowed assent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I thought so,&#8221; continued Malcolm. &#8220;No one but you would
      have known exactly the right spot for everything. Show us through, won&#8217;t
      you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      But Mrs. Dunn had other plans.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not now, Malcolm,&#8221; she put in. &#8220;Caroline is tired out,
      I&#8217;m sure. A little fresh air will do her good. I was going to
      suggest that you and she and Stephen go for a short ride. Yes, really you
      must, my dear,&#8221; she added, turning to the girl beside her. &#8220;Our
      car is at the door, it&#8217;s not at all a bad afternoon, and the outing
      will be just what you need.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you, Mrs. Dunn,&#8221; said Caroline, gratefully. &#8220;I
      should like to. Indeed, I should. But we have been expecting a business
      call from Mr. Graves, father&#8217;s lawyer, and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, come on, Sis!&#8221; interrupted Stephen. &#8220;I&#8217;m
      dying to get out of this jail. Let old Graves wait, if he comes. We won&#8217;t
      be long; and, besides, it&#8217;s not certain that he is coming to-day.
      Come on!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid I ought not, Steve. Mr. Graves may come, and&mdash;and
      it seems too bad to trouble our friends&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;s not trouble, it&#8217;s pleasure,&#8221; urged Mrs.
      Dunn. &#8220;Malcolm will be delighted. It was his idea. Wasn&#8217;t it?&#8221;
      turning to her son.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, yes! certainly,&#8221; replied the young gentleman. &#8220;Hope
      you&#8217;ll come, Caroline. And you, of course, Steve. The blessed
      machine&#8217;s been off its feed for a week or more, but Peter says he
      thinks it&#8217;s all right again. We&#8217;ll give it a try-out on the
      Drive. Hope we have better luck than my last,&#8221; with a laugh. &#8220;They<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> nabbed
      us for speeding, and I had to promise to be a good boy or to be fined.
      Said we were hitting it at fifty an hour. We <i>were</i> going some, that&#8217;s
      a fact. Ha! ha!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But he won&#8217;t be reckless when you&#8217;re with him,
      Caroline,&#8221; put in his mother. &#8220;You will go? That&#8217;s so
      nice! As for Mr. Graves, I&#8217;ll explain if he comes. Oh, no! <i>I&#8217;m</i>
      not going! I shall remain here in this comfortable chair and rest until
      you return. It&#8217;s exactly what my physician orders, and for once I&#8217;m
      going to obey him. My heart, you know, my poor heart&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She waved her hand and raised her eyes. Miss Warren expostulated, but to
      no purpose. Mrs. Corcoran Dunn would <i>not</i> go, but the others must.
      So, at last, they did. When Caroline and her brother had gone for their
      wraps, Mrs. Dunn laid a hand on her son&#8217;s arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Now mind,&#8221; she whispered, &#8220;see if you can find out
      anything during the ride. Something more explicit about the size of their
      estate and who the guardian is to be. There are all sorts of stories, you
      know, and we <i>must</i> learn the truth very soon. Don&#8217;t appear
      curious, but merely friendly. You understand?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sure, Mater,&#8221; was the careless answer. &#8220;I&#8217;ll
      pump.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The two departed, leaving their lady visitor ensconced in the comfortable
      chair. She remained in it for perhaps five minutes. Then she rose and
      sauntered about the room. She drifted into the drawing-room, returning a
      moment later and sauntering casually toward the open desk by the
      fireplace. There were papers and letters scattered about this desk, and
      these she turned over, glancing toward the door to be sure no one was
      coming. The letters were, for the most part, messages of sympathy from
      friends of the Warren family. Hearing an approaching step, she hastily
      returned to the chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>
      Edwards, the butler, entered the library and replenished the fire. Mrs.
      Dunn languidly accosted him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ah&mdash;er&mdash;Edwards,&#8221; she said, &#8220;you are&mdash;er&mdash;growing
      familiar with your new home?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; replied Edwards, politely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It must seem&mdash;er&mdash;small compared to the other.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Smaller; yes, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But very snug and comfortable.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma &#8217;am.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It is fortunate that Miss Warren and her brother have the aid of
      such a&mdash;an old servant of the family.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Is Miss Caroline managing her own affairs?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Apparently so. Yes, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I presume, however, a guardian has been appointed? With an estate
      such as the late Mr. Warren <i>must</i> have left, some responsible person
      would be, of course, necessary.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She paused. Edwards, having arranged the logs to his liking, brushed the
      dust from his hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know, ma&#8217;am, I&#8217;m sure,&#8221; he said.
      &#8220;Neither Miss Caroline nor Mr. Stephen have spoken with me
      concerning the family affairs.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Corcoran Dunn straightened, with hauteur.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I think that was the doorbell,&#8221; she remarked, a trifle
      sharply. &#8220;If it should be Mr. Graves, the attorney, you may show him
      into the library here.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; said Edwards once more, and departed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady visitor heard voices in the passage. She listened, but could hear
      nothing understandable. Evidently the butler was having an argument with
      someone. It could not be Graves.
    </p>
    <p>
      Edwards reappeared, looking troubled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;s a&mdash;a gentleman to see Miss Caroline,&#8221; he
      said. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>&#8220;He
      won&#8217;t give his name, ma&#8217;am, but says she&#8217;s expecting
      him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Expecting him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am. I told him she was out, but he said he was
      intending to stay a while anyway, and would wait. I asked his business,
      but he wouldn&#8217;t tell it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s odd.&#8221; Mrs. Dunn was slightly interested. &#8220;A
      tradesman, perhaps; or an agent of the landlord.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No-o, ma&#8217;am. I don&#8217;t think he&#8217;s either of them,
      ma&#8217;am.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What sort of a person is he, Edwards?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The butler&#8217;s face twitched for an instant with a troubled smile.
      Then it resumed its customary respectful calm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I hardly know, ma&#8217;am. He&#8217;s an oddish man. He&mdash;I
      think he&#8217;s from the country.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      From behind him came a quiet chuckle.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You&#8217;re right, Commodore,&#8221; said a man&#8217;s voice;
      &#8220;I&#8217;m from the country. You guessed it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Edwards jumped, startled out of his respectable wits. Mrs. Dunn rose
      indignantly from her chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I beg your pardon, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; said the intruder, appearing
      in the doorway. &#8220;You mustn&#8217;t think I&#8217;m forcin&#8217; my
      way where I ain&#8217;t wanted. But it seemed to take so long to make the
      Admiral here understand that I was goin&#8217; to wait until Caroline came
      back that I thought I&#8217;d save time and breath by provin&#8217; it to
      him. I didn&#8217;t know there was any company. Excuse me, ma&#8217;am, I
      won&#8217;t bother you. I&#8217;ll just come to anchor out here in the
      entry. Don&#8217;t mind me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He bowed politely, picked up the large suit-case, plainly bran-new, which
      he had momentarily placed on the rug at his feet, and, with it in one hand
      and a big soft felt hat in the other, stepped back into the hall out of
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>sight.
      The astonished Mrs. Dunn and the paralyzed Edwards heard a chair crack as
      if a heavy weight had descended upon it. Evidently he had &#8220;come to
      anchor.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady was the first to recover the power of speech.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why!&#8221; she exclaimed, in an alarmed whisper. &#8220;Why! I
      never heard of such brazen impertinence in my life. He must be insane. He
      is a lunatic, isn&#8217;t he, Edwards?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The butler shook his head. &#8220;I&mdash;I don&#8217;t know, ma&#8217;am,&#8221;
      he stammered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I believe he is.&#8221; Mrs. Dunn&#8217;s presence of mind was
      returning, and with it her courage. Her florid cheeks flamed a more vivid
      red, and her eyes snapped. &#8220;But whether he is or not, he sha&#8217;n&#8217;t
      bulldoze me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She strode majestically to the door. The visitor was seated in the hall,
      calmly reading a newspaper. Hat and suit-case were on the floor beside
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What do you mean by this?&#8221; demanded the lady. &#8220;Who are
      you? If you have any business here, state it at once.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The man glanced at her, over his spectacles, rose and stood looking down
      at her. His expression was pleasant, and he was remarkably cool.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he said, gravely. &#8220;I&#8217;ll be
      glad to tell you who I am, if you&#8217;d like to have me. I&#8217;d have
      done it before, but I thought there weren&#8217;t any use troublin&#8217;
      you with my affairs. But, just a minute&mdash;&#8221; he hesitated&mdash;&#8220;I
      haven&#8217;t made any mistake, have I? I understood your steward&mdash;the
      feller with the brass buttons, to say that Abijah Warren&#8217;s children
      lived here. That&#8217;s so, ain&#8217;t it? If not, then I <i>am</i>
      mistaken.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn regarded him with indignation. &#8220;You are,&#8221; she said
      coldly. &#8220;The family of the late<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> Mr. Rodgers Warren lives
      here. I presume the slight resemblance in names misled you. Edwards, show
      the gentleman out.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Just one moment more, ma&#8217;am. It was Rodgers Warren&#8217;s
      children I was lookin&#8217; for. A. Rodgers Warren he called himself,
      didn&#8217;t he? Yes. Well, the A stood for Abijah; that was his Christian
      name. And he left two children, Caroline and Stephen? Good! I thought for
      a jiffy I&#8217;d blundered in where I had no business, but it&#8217;s all
      right. You see, ma&#8217;am, I&#8217;m their uncle from South Denboro,
      Massachusetts. My name is Elisha Warren.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn gasped. Edwards, peering over her shoulder, breathed heavily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You are&mdash;their <i>uncle</i>?&#8221; repeated the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am. I&#8217;m &#8217;Bije&#8217;s brother. Oh, don&#8217;t
      worry. It&#8217;s all right. And don&#8217;t fret yourself about me,
      either. I&#8217;ll set right down out here and read my paper and wait till
      Caroline or Stephen get home. They&#8217;re expectin&#8217; me. Mr.
      Graves, the lawyer, told &#8217;em I was comin&#8217;.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He calmly seated himself and adjusted his spectacles. Mrs. Dunn stared at
      him, then at Edwards. After an instant&#8217;s indecision, she stepped
      back into the library and walked to the window. She beckoned, with an
      agitated finger, to the butler, who joined her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Edwards,&#8221; she whispered, &#8220;did you hear what he said?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; replied Edwards, wide-eyed and wondering.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Is it true?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Did Mr. Warren have a brother?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I didn&#8217;t know that he had, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>&#8220;Do
      you&mdash;do you think it likely that he would have a brother like&mdash;like
      <i>that</i>?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Was Miss Caroline expecting him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know, ma&#8217;am. She&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, you don&#8217;t know anything! You&#8217;re impossible. Go
      away!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; said Edwards thankfully; and went. Mrs.
      Corcoran Dunn stood for some minutes by the window, thinking, or trying to
      think a way to the truth in this astounding development. Of course the man
      <i>might</i> be a lunatic who had gained his information concerning the
      Warren family from the papers; but he did not look like a lunatic. On the
      other hand, he certainly did not look as one would have expected a brother
      of Rodgers Warren&#8217;s to look. Oddest of all, if he was such a
      brother, why had neither Caroline or Stephen mentioned his existence?
      According to his story, Graves, the Warren lawyer, had warned the children
      of his coming. Caroline had been very reticent concerning her father&#8217;s
      will, the amount of his estate, and the like. And Mrs. Dunn had
      repeatedly, though discreetly, endeavored to find out these important
      details. Neither hints nor questions had resulted satisfactorily. Was it
      possible that this was the reason, this country uncle? If so&mdash;well,
      if so, here was a Heaven-sent opportunity for a little genteel and
      perfectly safe detective work. Mrs. Dunn creakingly crossed the room and
      spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Warren,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I feel guilty in keeping you
      out there. Won&#8217;t you come into the library?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, thank you, ma&#8217;am, I&#8217;m all right. Don&#8217;t you
      trouble about me. Go right on with your readin&#8217; or sewin&#8217; or
      knittin&#8217; or whatever you was doin&#8217; and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>&#8220;I
      was not reading,&#8221; replied Mrs. Dunn, with a slight shudder. &#8220;Come
      in, please. I wish you to.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha folded his paper and put it in his pocket. Entering the
      library, he stood quietly waiting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Won&#8217;t you sit down?&#8221; asked his impromptu hostess,
      trying hard to be gracious.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you,&#8221; said the captain. He sank into an armchair and
      looked curiously about him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So you are the late Mr. Warren&#8217;s brother?&#8221; asked the
      lady, making her first lead in the game.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am. His older brother. &#8217;Bije was ten year
      younger&#8217;n I am, Mrs.&mdash;er&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Dunn. I am an old friend of the family.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s good. I&#8217;m glad to hear they&#8217;ve got
      friends. When you&#8217;re in sickness or trouble or sorrer, friendship
      counts for consider&#8217;ble. How are the young folks&mdash;Caroline and
      Stephen&mdash;pretty smart, hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>Smart</i>? Why, they are intelligent, naturally. I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, no. I mean are they pretty well?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Very well, indeed, considering the shock of their recent
      bereavement.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, yes. Of course. And they&#8217;ve moved, too. Movin&#8217;s an
      awful job. They say three movin&#8217;s are as bad as a fire, but I cal&#8217;late
      I&#8217;d rather burn up a set of carpets than <i>pull</i> &#8217;em up,
      &#8217;specially if they was insured. &#8217;Tain&#8217;t half so much
      strain on your religion. I remember the last time we took up our carpets
      at home, Abbie&mdash;she&#8217;s my second cousin, keepin&#8217; house for
      me&mdash;said if gettin&#8217; down on my knees has that effect on me she&#8217;d
      never ask me to go to prayer-meetin&#8217; again. Ho! ho!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He chuckled. Mrs. Dunn elevated her nose and looked out of the window.
      Then she led another small trump.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>&#8220;You
      say that Miss Caroline and her brother expect you,&#8221; she said.
      &#8220;You surprise me. Are you sure?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, yes, ma&#8217;am. I&#8217;m sure. When Mr. Graves came down to
      see me, last week &#8217;twas, I told him to say I&#8217;d be up pretty
      soon to look the ground over. This is a pretty fine place the young folks
      have got here,&#8221; he added, gazing admiringly at the paintings and
      bookcases.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; assented the lady, condescendingly. &#8220;For an
      apartment it is really quite livable.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Livable!&#8221; Captain Elisha&#8217;s astonishment got the better
      of his politeness for the moment. &#8220;Um! Yes, I should say a body <i>might</i>
      manage to worry along in it. Was the place where they used to live any
      finer than this?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Certainly!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You don&#8217;t tell me! No wonder they talked about economi&mdash;Humph!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What were you about to say, Mr. Warren?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, nothin&#8217;, nothin&#8217;! Talkin&#8217; to myself is a
      habit I&#8217;ve got. Abbie&mdash;my second cousin; I guess I told you
      about her&mdash;says it&#8217;s a sure sign that a person&#8217;s rich or
      out of his head, one or t&#8217;other. I ain&#8217;t rich, so&mdash;&#8221;
      He chuckled once more.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Graves came to see you at your home, did he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am. At South Denboro. And he certainly did have a
      rough passage. Ho! ho! Probably you heard about it, bein&#8217; so
      friendly with the family.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ahem! Doubtless he would have mentioned it, but he has been ill.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sho! I&#8217;m sorry to hear that. I was afraid he&#8217;d catch
      cold.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. I hope Mr. Graves&#8217;s errand was successful?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, sort of so-so.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>&#8220;Yes.
      He came to see you in connection with your brother&#8217;s estate&mdash;some
      legacy, perhaps?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She did not look at the captain when she asked this question. Therefore,
      she did not notice the glance which he gave her. When he answered, it was
      in the same deliberate, provokingly deliberate, manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. Somethin&#8217; of that kind, Mrs. Dunn. I can&#8217;t help
      thinkin&#8217;,&#8221; he went on, &#8220;how nice it is that Caroline and
      Steve have such a good friend as you to help &#8217;em. Your husband and
      &#8217;Bije was chums, I s&#8217;pose?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, not exactly. The friendship was on my side of the family.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So? Want to know! Your husband dead, ma&#8217;am?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn changed the subject. Her husband, Mr. Corcoran Dunn&mdash;once
      Mike Dunn, contractor and Tammany politician&mdash;was buried in Calvary
      Cemetery. She mourned him, after a fashion, but she preferred not to talk
      about him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; she answered shortly. &#8220;It&mdash;it looks as if it
      might snow, doesn&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I shouldn&#8217;t wonder. Have you any children, ma&#8217;am?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;One&mdash;a son.&#8221; The widow&#8217;s tone was frigid.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So? He must be a comfort to you. I s&#8217;pose likely he&#8217;s a
      friend of my nephew and niece, too.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Certainly.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s good. Young folks ought to have young friends. You
      live in this neighborhood, ma&#8217;am?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady did not answer. She gazed haughtily at the trees in the Park.
      Captain Elisha rubbed a smile from his lips with his hand and remained
      silent. The tall clock ticked loud.
    </p>
    <p>
      There came the sound of laughter from the passage<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> outside. The hall door
      opened. A moment later, Caroline, followed by her brother and young Dunn,
      entered the library.
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl&#8217;s cheeks were rosy from the cold wind. Her hair, beneath
      the fur auto cap, had blown in brown, rippled disorder across her
      forehead. She was smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, Mrs. Dunn!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;I&#8217;m so glad I
      accepted your&mdash;Malcolm&#8217;s&mdash;invitation. We had a glorious
      ride! I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She stopped short. Captain Warren had risen from his chair and was facing
      her. Mrs. Dunn also rose.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline,&#8221; she said, nervously, &#8220;this&#8221;&mdash;pausing
      on the word&mdash;&#8220;gentleman is here to see you. He says he is&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain interrupted her. Stepping forward he seized his niece&#8217;s
      hands in his. &#8220;Well, well!&#8221; he exclaimed admiringly. &#8220;&#8217;Bije&#8217;s
      girl, that I ain&#8217;t seen since you was a little mite of a baby!
      Caroline, I&#8217;m your Uncle Elisha.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good <i>Lord</i>!&#8221; groaned Stephen Warren.
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER IV
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>f
      the captain heard Stephen&#8217;s fervent ejaculation, he paid no
      attention to it. Dropping his niece&#8217;s hand, he extended his own
      toward his nephew.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And this is Stephen?&#8221; he said. &#8220;Well, Steve, you and me
      have never met afore, I b&#8217;lieve. But that&#8217;s our misfortune,
      not our fault, hey? How are you? Pretty smart?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The boy&#8217;s face was flaming. He mumbled something to the effect that
      he was all right enough, and turned away without accepting the proffered
      hand. Captain Elisha glanced quickly at him, then at his sister.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, Caroline,&#8221; he said, pleasantly, &#8220;I s&#8217;pose
      you&#8217;ve been expectin&#8217; me. Mr. Graves told you I was comin&#8217;,
      didn&#8217;t he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Warren, also, was flushed with embarrassment and mortified surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; she stammered. &#8220;He has been ill.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sho! you don&#8217;t say! Mrs. Dunn&mdash;your friend here&mdash;said
      he was laid up with a cold, but I didn&#8217;t realize &#8217;twas as bad
      as that. So you didn&#8217;t know I was comin&#8217; at all.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. We&mdash;we have not heard from you since he returned.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s too bad. I hope I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t put you out any,
      droppin&#8217; in on you this way. You mustn&#8217;t treat me as comp&#8217;ny,
      you know. If &#8217;tain&#8217;t convenient, if your spare room ain&#8217;t
      ready so soon after movin&#8217;, or anything of<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> that kind, I can go to a
      hotel somewheres for a day or so. Hadn&#8217;t I better, don&#8217;t you
      think?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline hesitated. If only they might have been spared this public
      humiliation. If the Dunns had not been there. It was bad enough to have
      this dreadful country uncle come at all; but to have him come now, before
      they were prepared, before any explanations had been made! What should she
      do?
    </p>
    <p>
      Her brother, fidgeting at her elbow, not daring to look at Malcolm Dunn,
      who, he knew, was thoroughly enjoying the scene, could stand it no longer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caro,&#8221; he snapped, &#8220;what are you waiting for? Don&#8217;t
      you <i>know</i> that the rooms are not ready? Of course they&#8217;re not!
      We&#8217;re sorry, and all that, but Graves didn&#8217;t tell us and we
      weren&#8217;t prepared. Certainly he&#8217;ll have to go to the hotel, for&mdash;for
      the present.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He ventured to raise his eyes and glare indignantly at the captain.
      Finding the latter looking intently at him, he dropped them again and
      jammed his clenched fists into his pockets.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha pulled thoughtfully at his beard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph!&#8221; he grunted. &#8220;Humph! then I cal&#8217;late maybe&mdash;&#8221;
      He took a step toward the door, stopped, turned back, and said, with calm
      decision, &#8220;I guess I&#8217;d better stay. You won&#8217;t mind me,
      Caroline&mdash;you and Stephen. You <i>mustn&#8217;t</i>. As I said, I ain&#8217;t
      comp&#8217;ny. I&#8217;m one of the family, your pa&#8217;s brother, and I&#8217;ve
      come some consider&#8217;ble ways to see you two young folks and talk with
      you. I&#8217;ve come because your pa asked me to. I&#8217;m used to
      roughin&#8217; it, been to sea a good many v&#8217;yages, and if a feather
      bed ain&#8217;t handy I can get my forty winks on the floor. So that&#8217;s
      settled, and you mustn&#8217;t have me on your conscience. That&#8217;s
      sense, ain&#8217;t it, Mrs. Dunn?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>Mrs.
      Corcoran Dunn did not deign a reply. Caroline answered for her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Very well,&#8221; she said, coldly. Stepping to the desk she rang a
      bell. The butler appeared in the doorway.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Edwards,&#8221; said Miss Warren, &#8220;this gentleman,&#8221;
      indicating the captain, &#8220;is to be our guest, for the present. You
      may show him to his room&mdash;the blue room, I think. If it is not ready,
      see that it is made so.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, Miss Caroline,&#8221; replied Edwards. Retiring to the hall,
      he returned with the suit-case.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Will you wish to go to your room at once, sir?&#8221; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, I guess I might as well, Commodore,&#8221; answered Captain
      Elisha, smiling. &#8220;Little soap and water won&#8217;t do no harm. Fact
      is, I feel&#8217;s if &#8217;twas a prescription to be recommended. You
      needn&#8217;t tote that valise, though,&#8221; he added. &#8220;&#8217;Tain&#8217;t
      heavy, and I&#8217;ve lugged it so fur already sence I got off the car
      that I feel kind of lonesome without it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The butler, not knowing exactly how to answer, grinned sheepishly. Captain
      Elisha turned to Mrs. Dunn and her son.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, good afternoon, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I&#8217;m
      real glad to have made your acquaintance. Yours, too, sir,&#8221; with a
      nod toward Malcolm. &#8220;Your mother told me what a friend of the young
      folks you was, and, as I&#8217;m sort of actin&#8217; pilot for &#8217;em
      just now, in a way of speakin&#8217;, any friend of theirs ought to be a
      friend of mine. Hope to see you often, Mr. Dunn.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man addressed smiled, with amusement not at all concealed, and
      languidly admitted that he was &#8220;charmed.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Your first visit to the city?&#8221; he inquired, in a tone which
      caused Stephen to writhe inwardly.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>&#8220;No-o.
      No, not exactly. I used to come here pretty frequent, back in my sea-goin&#8217;
      days, when my ship was in port. I sailed for Osgood and Colton, down on
      South Street, for a spell. They were my owners. You don&#8217;t remember
      the firm, I s&#8217;pose?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. The privilege has been denied me. You find some changes in New
      York, don&#8217;t you&mdash;er&mdash;Captain? You are a captain, or a bos&#8217;n,
      or admiral&mdash;something of that sort, I presume?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Malcolm!&#8221; said his mother, sharply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, no offense intended. My sea terms are rather mixed. The captain
      will excuse me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sartin! Cap&#8217;n&#8217;s what they all call me, mostly. Your son
      ain&#8217;t ever been to sea, except as passenger, I cal&#8217;late, ma&#8217;am?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Certainly not,&#8221; snapped Mrs. Dunn.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Of course, of course. Well, &#8217;tain&#8217;t a life I&#8217;d
      want a boy of mine to take up, nowadays. But it did have some advantages.
      I don&#8217;t know anything better than a v&#8217;yage afore the mast to
      learn a young feller what&#8217;s healthy for him to unlearn. Good day, ma&#8217;am.
      Good day, Mr. Dunn. I mustn&#8217;t keep the Commodore waitin&#8217; here
      with that valise. I&#8217;ll be out pretty soon, Caroline; just as soon as
      I&#8217;ve got the upper layer of railroad dust off my face and hands. You&#8217;ll
      be surprised to see how light-complected I really am when that&#8217;s
      over. All right! Heave ahead, Commodore!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He departed, preceded by Edwards and the suit-case. Stephen Warren threw
      himself violently into a chair by the window. Young Dunn laughed aloud.
      His mother flashed an indignant glance at him, and then hurried to
      Caroline.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You poor dear!&#8221; she exclaimed, putting an arm about the girl&#8217;s
      shoulder. &#8220;Don&#8217;t mind us, please don&#8217;t!<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> Malcolm
      and I understand. That is, we know how you feel and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, but you <i>don&#8217;t</i> know, Mrs. Dunn,&#8221; cried
      Caroline, almost in tears. &#8220;You don&#8217;t understand! It&#8217;s
      so much worse than you think. I&mdash;I&mdash;Oh, why did father do it?
      How could he be so inconsiderate?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There! there!&#8221; purred the friend of the family. &#8220;You
      mustn&#8217;t, you know. You really mustn&#8217;t. Who is this man? This
      uncle? Where does he come from? Why does he force himself upon you in this
      way? I didn&#8217;t know your poor father had a brother.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Neither did we,&#8221; growled Stephen, savagely. Malcolm laughed
      again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What does it all mean, dear?&#8221; begged Mrs. Dunn. &#8220;You
      are in trouble, I&#8217;m sure. Don&#8217;t you think we&mdash;Malcolm and
      I&mdash;might be able to help you? We should so love to do it. If you feel
      that you <i>can</i> confide in us; if it isn&#8217;t a secret&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She paused expectantly, patting the girl&#8217;s shoulder. But Caroline
      had heard young Dunn&#8217;s laugh, and was offended and hurt. Her eyes
      flashed as she answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;s nothing,&#8221; she said. &#8220;He has come to see us
      on a matter of business, I believe. I am nervous and&mdash;foolish, I
      suppose. Mr. Graves will see us soon, and then everything will be
      arranged. Thank you for calling, Mrs. Dunn, and for the ride.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a very plain hint, but Mrs. Dunn did not choose to understand it as
      such.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You&#8217;re sure you hadn&#8217;t better tell me the whole story,
      dear?&#8221; she urged. &#8220;I am old enough, almost, to be your mother,
      and perhaps my advice might.... No? Very well. You know best but&mdash;You
      understand that it is something other than mere curiosity which leads me
      to ask.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>&#8220;Of
      course, I understand,&#8221; said the girl hastily. &#8220;Thank you very
      much. Perhaps, by and by, I can tell you everything. But we must see Mr.
      Graves first. I&mdash;oh, <i>don&#8217;t</i> ask me more now, Mrs. Dunn.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The widow of so astute a politician as Mike Dunn had been in his day could
      have scarcely failed to profit by his teachings. Moreover, she possessed
      talent of her own. With a final pat and a kiss, she prepared for
      departure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good-by, then,&#8221; she said, &#8220;or rather, <i>au revoir</i>.
      We shall look in to-morrow. Come, Malcolm.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I say, Mal!&#8221; cried Stephen, rising hurriedly. &#8220;You won&#8217;t
      tell anyone about&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Steve!&#8221; interrupted his sister.
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm, about to utter a languid sarcasm, caught his mother&#8217;s look,
      and remained silent. Another meaning glance, and his manner changed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right, Steve, old man,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Good-by and good
      luck. Caroline, awfully glad we had the spin this afternoon. We must have
      more. Just what you and Steve need. At your service any time. If there is
      anything I can do in any way to&mdash;er&mdash;you understand&mdash;call
      on me, won&#8217;t you? Ready, Mater?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The pair were shown out by Edwards. On the way home in the car Mrs.
      Corcoran Dunn lectured her son severely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Have you no common sense?&#8221; she demanded. &#8220;Couldn&#8217;t
      you see that the girl would have told me everything if you hadn&#8217;t
      laughed, like an idiot?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man laughed again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;By Jove!&#8221; he exclaimed, &#8220;it was enough to make a wooden
      Indian laugh. The old jay with the barnacles telling us about the
      advantages of a sailor&#8217;s life. And Steve&#8217;s face! Ho! ho!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His mother snorted disgust. &#8220;If you had brains,&#8221; she<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>
      declared, &#8220;you would have understood what he meant by saying that
      the sea was the place to learn what to unlearn. He was hitting at you. Was
      it necessary to insult him the first time you and he exchanged a word?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Insult him? <i>Him</i>? Ha, ha! Why, Mater, what&#8217;s the matter
      with you? Do you imagine that a hayseed like that would recognize an
      insult without an introduction? And, besides, what difference does it
      make? You don&#8217;t intend putting him on your calling list, do you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I intend cultivating him for the present.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>Cultivating</i> him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes&mdash;for the present. He is Rodgers Warren&#8217;s brother.
      That lawyer, Graves, traveled miles to see him. What does that mean? That,
      in some important way, he is connected with the estate and those two
      children. If the estate is worth anything, and we have reason to believe
      it is, you and I must know it. If it isn&#8217;t, it is even more
      important that we should know, before we waste more time. If Caroline is
      an heiress, if she inherits even a moderate fortune&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She shrugged her shoulders by way of finish to the sentence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm whistled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But to think of that old Down-Easter being related to the Warren
      family!&#8221; he mused. &#8220;It seems impossible.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Nothing is impossible,&#8221; observed his mother. Then, with a
      shudder, &#8220;You never met your father&#8217;s relatives. I have.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="medium" />
    <p>
      When Captain Elisha emerged from his room, after a wash and a change of
      linen, he found the library untenanted. He strolled about, his hands
      behind him, inspecting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg
      56]</a></span> the pictures with critical interest. Caroline, dressed for
      dinner, found him thus engaged. He turned at the sound of her step.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, hello!&#8221; he cried, with hearty enthusiasm. &#8220;All
      rigged up for inspection, ain&#8217;t you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Inspection?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, that&#8217;s just sailor&#8217;s lingo. Means you&#8217;ve got
      your Sunday uniform on, that&#8217;s all. My! my! how nice you look! But
      ain&#8217;t black pretty old for such a young girl?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I am in mourning,&#8221; replied his niece, coldly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There! there! of course you are. Tut! tut! How could I forget it.
      You see, I&#8217;ve been so many years feelin&#8217; as if I didn&#8217;t
      have a brother that I&#8217;ve sort of got used to his bein&#8217; gone.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I have not.&#8221; Her eyes filled as she said it. The captain was
      greatly moved.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m a blunderin&#8217; old fool, my dear,&#8221; he said.
      &#8220;I beg your pardon. Do try to forgive me, won&#8217;t you? And,
      perhaps&mdash;perhaps I can make up your loss to you, just a little mite.
      I&#8217;d like to. I&#8217;ll try to, if&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He laid a hand on her shoulder. She avoided him and, moving away, seated
      herself in a chair at the opposite side of the desk. The avoidance was so
      obvious as to be almost brutal. Captain Elisha looked very grave for an
      instant. Then he changed the subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I was lookin&#8217; at your oil paintin&#8217;s,&#8221; he said.
      &#8220;They&#8217;re pretty fine, ain&#8217;t they? Any of them your work,
      Caroline?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>My</i> work?&#8221; The girl&#8217;s astonishment was so great
      that she turned to stare at her questioner. &#8220;<i>My</i> work?&#8221;
      she repeated. &#8220;Are you joking? You can&#8217;t think that I painted
      them.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I didn&#8217;t know but you might. That one over there,<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> with the
      trees and folks dancin&#8217;&mdash;sort of picnic scene, I judge&mdash;that
      looks as if you might have done it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That is a Corot.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8217;Tis, hey? I want to know! A&mdash;a&mdash;what did you call
      it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;A Corot. He was a famous French artist. That was father&#8217;s
      favorite picture.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sho! Well, I like it fust-rate myself. Did &#8217;Bije&mdash;did
      your father know this Mr. Corot well?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Know him? Certainly not. Why should you think such a thing as that?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, he bought the picture of him, and so I s&#8217;pose likely he
      knew him. There was a young feller come to South Denboro three or four
      year ago and offered to paint a picture of our place for fifteen dollars.
      Abbie&mdash;that&#8217;s Abbie Baker, she&#8217;s one of our folks, you
      know, your third cousin, Caroline; keepin&#8217; house for me, she is&mdash;Abbie
      wanted me to have him do the job, but I wa&#8217;n&#8217;t very particular
      about it, so it never come to nothin&#8217;. He done two or three places,
      though, and I swan &#8217;twas nice work! He painted Sam Cahoon&#8217;s
      old ramshackle house and barn, and you&#8217;d hardly know it, &#8217;twas
      so fixed up and fine, in the picture. White paint and green grass and
      everything just like real. He left out the places where the pickets was
      off the fence and the blinds hangin&#8217; on one hinge. I told Abbie, I
      says, &#8216;Abbie, that painter&#8217;s made Sam&#8217;s place look
      almost respectable, and if that ain&#8217;t a miracle, I don&#8217;t know
      what is. I would think Sam would blush every time he sees that picture.&#8217;
      Ho, ho! Abbie seemed to cal&#8217;late that Sam Cahoon&#8217;s blushin&#8217;
      would be the biggest miracle of the two. Ho! ho! You&#8217;d like Abbie;
      she&#8217;s got lots of common sense.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He chuckled at the reminiscence and rubbed his knee.<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> His niece made no reply.
      Captain Elisha glanced at the Corot once more and asked another question.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I presume likely,&#8221; he said, &#8220;that that picture cost
      consider&#8217;ble more than fifteen, hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Father paid twenty-two thousand dollars for it,&#8221; was the
      crushing answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain looked at her, opened his mouth to speak, shut it again, and,
      rising, walked across the room. Adjusting his glasses, he inspected the
      Corot in silence for a few minutes. Then he drew a long breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well!&#8221; he sighed. &#8220;<i>Well</i>.&#8221; Then, after an
      interval, &#8220;Was this the only one he ever painted?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The only one? The only picture Corot painted? Of course not! There
      are many more.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Did&mdash;did this Corot feller get as much for every job as he did
      for this?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I presume so. I know father considered this one a bargain.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Did, hey? Humph! I ought to know enough by this time not to believe
      all I hear, but I kind of had an idea that picture paintin&#8217; was
      starvation work. I&#8217;ve read about artists committin&#8217; suicide,
      and livin&#8217; in attics, and such. Whew! About two such bargain sale
      jobs as this, and I&#8217;d guarantee not to starve&mdash;and to live as
      nigh the ground as a second-floor bedroom anyhow. How about this next one?
      This feller in a dory&mdash;coddin&#8217;, I guess he is. Did&mdash;did
      Mr. Corot do him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. That is by a well-known American artist. It is a good piece of
      work, but not like the other. It is worth much less. Perhaps five
      thousand.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So? Well, even for that I&#8217;d undertake to buy consider&#8217;ble
      many dories, and hire fellers to fish from &#8217;em, too. Humph! I guess
      I&#8217;m out of soundin&#8217;s. When I thought fifteen dollars was a
      high price for paintin&#8217; a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59"
      id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> view of a house I was slightly mistaken.
      Next time I&#8217;ll offer the paintin&#8217; feller the house and ask him
      what he considers a fair boot, besides. Sam Cahoon&#8217;s a better
      speculator than I thought he was. Hello, Commodore! what&#8217;s worryin&#8217;
      you now?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Edwards appeared to announce that dinner was served. Caroline rose and led
      the way to the dining room. Captain Elisha followed, looking curiously
      about him as he did so. Stephen, who had been sulkily dressing in his own
      room, entered immediately after.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain surveyed the dining room with interest. Like the others of the
      suite, it was sumptuously and tastefully furnished. He took the chair
      indicated by the solemn Edwards, and the meal began.
    </p>
    <p>
      The butler&#8217;s sense of humor was not acute, but it was with
      considerable difficulty that he restrained his smiles during the next half
      hour. A more appreciative observer would have noticed and enjoyed the
      subtler points. Stephen&#8217;s glare of disgust at his uncle when the
      latter tucked his napkin in the opening of his waistcoat; Caroline&#8217;s
      embarrassment when the captain complimented the soup, declaring that it
      was almost as good as one of Abbie&#8217;s chowders; the visitor&#8217;s
      obvious uneasiness at being waited upon attentively, and the like. These
      Edwards missed, but he could not help appreciating Captain Elisha&#8217;s
      conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline said little during dinner. Her brother glowered at his plate and
      was silent. But the captain talked and talked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Maybe you think I didn&#8217;t have a time findin&#8217; your new
      lodgin&#8217;s,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I come over on the cars, somethin&#8217;
      I don&#8217;t usually do when there&#8217;s anything afloat to carry me.
      But I had an errand or two to do in Boston, so I stopped over night at the
      hotel there and got the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg
      60]</a></span> nine o&#8217;clock train. I landed here in New York all
      shipshape and on time, and started in to hunt you up.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;How did you get our address?&#8221; asked his niece. &#8220;Mr.
      Graves couldn&#8217;t have given it to you, for we only decided on this
      apartment a few days ago.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ho! ho!&#8221; chuckled Captain Elisha, rolling in his chair, like
      a ship in a cross sea. &#8220;Ho! ho! You remind me of Abbie, Caroline.
      That&#8217;s what she said. &#8216;I never heard of such a crazy cruise,&#8217;
      she says. &#8216;Startin&#8217; off to visit folks when you haven&#8217;t
      the least idea where they live!&#8217; &#8216;Oh, yes, I have,&#8217; I
      says, &#8216;I know where they live; they live in New York.&#8217; Well,
      you ought to have seen her face. Abbie&#8217;s a good woman&mdash;none
      better&mdash;but she generally don&#8217;t notice a joke until she trips
      over it. I get consider&#8217;ble fun out of Abbie, take her by the large.
      &#8216;New York!&#8217; she says. &#8216;Did anybody ever hear the beat of
      that? Do you cal&#8217;late New York&#8217;s like South Denboro, where
      everybody knows everybody else? What are you plannin&#8217; to do? run up
      the fust man, woman or child you meet and ask &#8217;em to tell you where
      &#8217;Bijah Warren lives? Or are you goin&#8217; to trot from Dan to
      Beersheby, trustin&#8217; to meet your nephew and niece on the way? I
      never in my born days!&#8217;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; went on the captain, &#8220;I told her that the last
      suggestion weren&#8217;t such a bad one, but there was one little
      objection to it. Considerin&#8217; that I hadn&#8217;t ever laid eyes on
      Steve and that I hadn&#8217;t seen you since you was a baby, the chances
      was against my recognizin&#8217; you if we did meet. Ho, ho, ho! Finally I
      hinted that I might look in the directory, and she got more reconciled to
      my startin&#8217;. Honest, I do believe she&#8217;d have insisted on takin&#8217;
      me by the hand and leadin&#8217; me to you, if I hadn&#8217;t told her
      that.
    </p>
    <div class="figcenter" style="width: 310px;">
      <img src="images/i60.jpg" class="smallgap" width="310" height="500"
      alt="&#8220;The captain talked and talked.&#8221;" title="" /> <span
      class="caption">&#8220;The captain talked and talked.&#8221;</span>
    </div>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>&#8220;So
      I did look in the directory and got the number on Fifth Avenue where you
      used to be. I asked a policeman the nighest way to get there, and he said
      take a bus. Last time I was in New York I rode in one of those Fifth
      Avenue omnibuses, and I never got such a jouncin&#8217; in my life. The
      pavement then was round cobble stones, like some of the roads in
      Nantucket. I remember I tried to ask a feller that set next to me somethin&#8217;
      or other, and I swan to man I couldn&#8217;t get nothin&#8217; out of my
      mouth but rattles. &#8216;Metropolitan Museum,&#8217; sounded like puttin&#8217;
      in a ton of coal. I thought I was comin&#8217; apart, or my works was out
      of order, or somethin&#8217;, but when the feller tried to answer he
      rattled just as bad, so I realized &#8217;twas the reg&#8217;lar disease
      and felt some better. I never shall forget a fleshy woman&mdash;somethin&#8217;
      like that Mrs. Dunn friend of yours, Caroline&mdash;that set opposite me.
      It give me the crawls to look at her, her chins shook around so. Ho! ho!
      she had no less&#8217;n three of &#8217;em, and they all shook different
      ways. Ho! ho! ho! If I&#8217;d been in the habit of wearin&#8217; false
      hair or teeth or anything that wa&#8217;n&#8217;t growed to or buttoned on
      me I&#8217;d never have risked a trip in one of those omnibuses.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So when the police officer prescribed one for me this v&#8217;yage,
      I was some dubious. I&#8217;m older&#8217;n I was ten year ago, and I wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      sure that I&#8217;d hold together. I cal&#8217;lated walkin&#8217; was
      better for my health. So I found Fifth Avenue and started to walk. And the
      farther I walked the heavier that blessed satchel of mine got. It weighed
      maybe ten or twelve pounds at the corner of 42nd Street, but when I got as
      far as the open square where the gilt woman is hurryin&#8217; to keep from
      bein&#8217; run over by Gen&#8217;ral Sherman on horseback&mdash;that
      statue, you know&mdash;I wouldn&#8217;t have let that blessed bag go for
      less&#8217;n<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
      two ton, if I was sellin&#8217; it by weight. So I leaned up against an
      electric light pole to rest and sort of get my bearin&#8217;s. Then I
      noticed what I&#8217;d ought to have seen afore, that the street wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      paved with cobbles, as it used to be, but was smooth as a stretch of state
      road down home. So I figgered that a bus was a safe risk, after all. I
      waited ten minutes or more for one to come, and finally I asked a woman
      who was in tow of an astrakhan-trimmed dog at the end of a chain, if the
      omnibuses had stopped runnin&#8217;. When I fust see the dog leadin&#8217;
      her I thought she was blind, but I guess she was deef and dumb instead.
      Anyhow, all she said was &#8216;Ugh!&#8217; not very enthusiastic, at
      that, and went along. Ho! ho! So then I asked a man, and he pointed to a
      bus right in front of me. You see, I was lookin&#8217; for the horses,
      same as they used to be, and this was an automobile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I blushed, I guess, just to show that there was some red underneath
      the green, and climbed aboard the omnibus. I rode along for a spell,
      admirin&#8217; as much of the scenery as I could see between the women&#8217;s
      hats, then I told the skipper of the thing that I wanted to make port at
      82nd Street. He said &#8216;Ugh,&#8217; apparently suff&#8217;rin&#8217;
      from the same complaint the dog woman had, and we went on and on. At last
      I got kind of anxious and asked him again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;Eighty-second!&#8217; says he, ugly. &#8216;This is
      Ninety-first.&#8217;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;Good land!&#8217; says I. &#8216;I wanted Eighty-second.&#8217;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;Why didn&#8217;t you say so?&#8217; says he, lookin&#8217;
      as if I&#8217;d stole his mother&#8217;s spoons.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;I did,&#8217; says I.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;You <i>did</i>?&#8217; he snarls. &#8216;You did not! If you
      did, wouldn&#8217;t I have heard you?&#8217;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>&#8220;Well,
      any answer I&#8217;d be likely to make to that would have meant more
      argument, and the bus was sailin&#8217; right along at the time, so I
      piled out and did some more walkin&#8217;, the other way. At last I
      reached your old number, Stevie, and&mdash;Hey? Did you speak?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t call me &#8216;Stevie,&#8217;&#8221; growled his
      nephew, rebelliously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Beg your pardon. I keep forgettin&#8217; that you&#8217;re almost
      grown up. Well, as I was sayin&#8217;, I got to the house where you used
      to live, and &#8217;twas shut tight. Nobody there. Ho! ho! I felt a good
      deal like old Beriah Doane must have on his last &#8216;vacation.&#8217;
      You see, Beriah is one of our South Denboro notorieties; he&#8217;s famous
      in his way. He works and loafs by spells until cranberry pickin&#8217;
      time in the fall; then he picks steady and earns thirty or forty dollars
      all at once. Soon&#8217;s he&#8217;s paid off, he starts for Boston on a
      &#8216;vacation,&#8217; an alcoholic one. Well, last fall his married
      sister was visitin&#8217; him, and she, bein&#8217; strong for good
      Templarism, was determined he shouldn&#8217;t vacate in his regular way.
      So she telegraphed her husband&#8217;s brother in Brockton to meet Beriah
      there, go with him to Boston, and see that he behaved himself and stayed
      sober. Beriah heard of it, and when his train gets as far as Tremont what
      does he do but get off quiet and change cars for New Bedford. He hadn&#8217;t
      been there for nine years, but he had pleasant memories of his last visit.
      And when he does get to New Bedford, chucklin&#8217; over the way he&#8217;s
      befooled his sister and her folks, I&#8217;m blessed if he didn&#8217;t
      find that the town had gone no-license, and every saloon was shut up! Ho!
      ho! ho! Well, I felt about the way he did, I guess, when I stood on the
      steps of your Fifth Avenue house and realized you&#8217;d gone away. I
      wouldn&#8217;t have had Abbie see me there for somethin&#8217;. Ho! ho!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>He
      leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud. Caroline smiled faintly.
      Stephen threw down his napkin and sprang to his feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sis,&#8221; he cried, &#8220;I&#8217;m going to my room. By gad! I
      can&#8217;t&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Catching a warning glance from his sister, he did not finish his sentence,
      but stood sulkily beside his chair. Captain Elisha looked at him, then at
      the girl, and stopped laughing. He folded his napkin with care, and rose.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s about all of it,&#8221; he said, shortly. &#8220;I
      asked around at two or three of the neighbors&#8217; houses, and the last
      one I asked knew where you&#8217;d moved and told me how to get here.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      When the trio were again in the library, the captain spoke once more.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m &#8217;fraid I&#8217;ve talked too much,&#8221; he said,
      gravely. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t realize how I was runnin&#8217; on. Thought
      I was home, I guess, with the fellers of my own age down at the
      postoffice, instead of bein&#8217; an old countryman, tirin&#8217; out you
      two young city folks with my yarns. I beg your pardon. Now you mustn&#8217;t
      mind me. I see you&#8217;re expectin&#8217; company or goin&#8217; callin&#8217;
      somewheres, so I&#8217;ll just go to my bedroom and write Abbie a line.
      She&#8217;ll be kind of anxious to know if I got here safe and sound and
      found you. Don&#8217;t worry about me, I&#8217;ll be comf&#8217;table and
      busy.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned to go. Caroline looked at him in surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;We are not expecting callers,&#8221; she said. &#8220;And certainly
      we are not going out to-night. Why should you think such a thing?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      It was her uncle&#8217;s turn to show surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why,&#8221; he said, with a glance at Stephen, &#8220;I see that
      you&#8217;re all dressed up, and so I thought, naturally&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>He
      paused.
    </p>
    <p>
      Young Warren grunted contemptuously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;We dressed for dinner, that is all,&#8221; said Caroline.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You&mdash;you mean you put these clothes on every night?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Certainly.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha was plainly very much astonished.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; he observed, slowly. &#8220;I&mdash;guess I&#8217;ve
      made another mistake. Hum! Good night.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good night,&#8221; said Stephen, quickly. Caroline, however, seemed
      embarrassed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain Warren,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I thought possibly you
      might wish to talk business with my brother and me. We&mdash;we understand
      that you have come on business connected with father&#8217;s will. It
      seems to me that the sooner we&mdash;we&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Get it over the better, hey? Well, maybe you&#8217;re right. It&#8217;s
      an odd business for an old salt like me to be mixed up in, that&#8217;s a
      fact. If it hadn&#8217;t been so odd, if I hadn&#8217;t thought there must
      be some reason, some partic&#8217;lar reason, I&mdash;well, I guess I&#8217;d
      have stayed to home where I belong. You mustn&#8217;t think,&#8221; he
      added, seriously, &#8220;that I don&#8217;t realize I&#8217;m as out of
      place amongst you and your rich friends as a live fish in a barrel of
      sawdust. That&#8217;s all right; you needn&#8217;t trouble to say no. But
      you must understand that, realizin&#8217; it, I&#8217;m not exactly
      imposin&#8217; myself on you for pleasure or&mdash;well, from choice. I&#8217;m
      so built that I can&#8217;t shirk when my conscience tells me I shouldn&#8217;t,
      that&#8217;s all. I&#8217;m kind of tired to-night, and I guess you are.
      To-morrow mornin&#8217;, if it&#8217;s agreeable to all hands, we will
      have a little business talk. I&#8217;ll have to see Lawyer Graves pretty
      soon, and have a gen&#8217;ral look at your pa&#8217;s affairs. Then, if
      everything is all right and I feel my duty&#8217;s done, I&#8217;ll<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> probably
      go back to the Cape and leave you to him, or somebody else able to look
      out for you. Until then I&#8217;m afraid,&#8221; with a smile which had a
      trace of bitterness in it; &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid you&#8217;ll have to do
      the best you can with me. I&#8217;ll try to be no more of a nuisance than
      I can help. Good night.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      When the two young people were left alone, Caroline turned to her brother.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Steve,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid you were a little
      rude. I&#8217;m afraid you hurt his feelings.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The boy stared at her in wonder. &#8220;Hurt his feelings!&#8221; he
      exclaimed. &#8220;<i>His</i> feelings! Well, by Jove! Caro, you&#8217;re a
      wonder! Did you expect me to throw my arms around his neck? If he had had
      any feelings at all, if he was the slightest part of a gentleman, do you
      suppose he would come here and disgrace us as he is doing? Who invited
      him? Did we? I guess not!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But he is father&#8217;s brother, and father asked him to come.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, he didn&#8217;t. He asked him&mdash;heaven knows why&mdash;to
      look out for our money affairs. That&#8217;s bad enough; but he didn&#8217;t
      ask him to <i>live</i> with us. He sha&#8217;n&#8217;t! by gad, he sha&#8217;n&#8217;t!
      <i>You</i> may be as sweet to him as you like, but I&#8217;ll make it my
      business to give him the cold shoulder every chance I get. I&#8217;ll
      freeze him out, that&#8217;s what I&#8217;ll do&mdash;freeze him out. Why,
      Caro! be sensible. Think what his staying here means. Can we take him
      about with us? Can our friends meet <i>him</i> as&mdash;as our uncle? He&#8217;s
      got to be made to go. Hasn&#8217;t he now? Hasn&#8217;t he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl was silent for a moment. Then she covered her face with her
      hands. &#8220;Oh, yes!&#8221; she sobbed. &#8220;Oh, yes, he must! he <i>must</i>!
      <i>Why</i> did father do it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER V
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he
      Warren breakfast hour was nine o&#8217;clock. At a quarter to nine
      Caroline, entering the library, found Stephen seated by the fire reading
      the morning paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good morning,&#8221; she said. Then, looking about the room, asked,
      &#8220;Has&mdash;has <i>he</i> been here?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Her brother shook his head. &#8220;You mean Uncle &#8217;Lish?&#8221; he
      asked, cheerfully. &#8220;No, he hasn&#8217;t. At least, I haven&#8217;t
      seen him and I haven&#8217;t made any inquiries. I shall manage to survive
      if he never appears. Let sleeping relatives lie, that&#8217;s my motto.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He laughed at his own joke and turned the page of the paper. The butler
      entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Breakfast is served, Miss Caroline,&#8221; he announced.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Has Captain Warren come from his room?&#8221; asked the young lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, Miss Caroline. That is, I haven&#8217;t seen him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen tossed the paper on the floor and rose.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I wonder&mdash;&#8221; he began. Then, with a broad grin, &#8220;A
      sudden thought strikes me, Sis. He has undoubtedly blown out the gas.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Steve! How can you!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Perfectly simple. Absolutely reasonable. Just what might have been
      expected. &#8216;He has gone, but we shall miss him.&#8217; Come on, Caro;
      I&#8217;m hungry. Let the old hayseed sleep. You and I can have a meal in
      peace. Heavens! you don&#8217;t care for another experience like last
      night&#8217;s, do you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>&#8220;Edwards,&#8221;
      said Caroline, &#8220;you may knock at Captain Warren&#8217;s door and
      tell him breakfast is served.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; commanded Stephen, &#8220;and tell him not to hurry on
      our account. Come, Caro, come! You&#8217;re not pining for his society.
      Well, wait then! <i>I</i> won&#8217;t!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He marched angrily out of the room. His sister hesitated, her wish to
      follow complicated by a feeling of duty to a guest, no matter how
      unwelcome. The butler reappeared, looking puzzled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He&#8217;s not there, miss?&#8221; he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not there? Not in his room?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, Miss Caroline. I knocked, and he didn&#8217;t answer, so I
      looked in and he wasn&#8217;t there. His bed&#8217;s been slept in, but he&#8217;s
      gone.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Gone? And you haven&#8217;t seen him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, miss. I&#8217;ve been up and about since half past seven, and I
      can&#8217;t understand where he could have got to.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The door of the hall opened and shut. Edwards darted from the library. A
      moment afterwards Captain Elisha strolled in. He was wearing his overcoat,
      and his hat was in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good mornin&#8217;, Caroline,&#8221; he hailed, in his big voice.
      &#8220;Surprised to see me, are you? Ho! ho! So was the Commodore. He
      couldn&#8217;t understand how I got in without ringin&#8217;. Well, you
      see, I&#8217;m used to turnin&#8217; out pretty early, and when it got to
      be most seven o&#8217;clock, I couldn&#8217;t lay to bed any longer, so I
      got up, dressed, and went for a walk. I fixed the door latch so&#8217;s I
      could come in quiet. You haven&#8217;t waited breakfast for me, I hope.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No; it is ready now, however.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ready now,&#8221; the captain looked at his watch.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> &#8220;Yes,
      I should think so. It&#8217;s way into the forenoon. You <i>have</i>
      waited for me, haven&#8217;t you? I&#8217;m awfully sorry.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, we have not waited. Our breakfast hour is nine. Pardon me for
      neglecting to tell you that last evening.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, that&#8217;s all right. Now you trot right out and eat. I&#8217;ve
      had mine.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Had your breakfast?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, indeed. When I&#8217;m home, Abbie and I usually eat about
      seven, so I get sort of sharp-set if I wait after that. I cal&#8217;lated
      you city folks was late sleepers, and I wouldn&#8217;t want to make any
      trouble, so I found a little eatin&#8217; house down below here a ways and
      had a cup of coffee and some bread and butter and mush. Then I went
      cruisin&#8217; round in Central Park a spell. This <i>is</i> Central Park
      over across here, ain&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221; The girl was too astonished to say more.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I thought &#8217;twas. I&#8217;d been through part of it afore, but
      &#8217;twas years ago, and it&#8217;s such a big place and the paths run
      so criss-cross I got sort of mixed up, and it took me longer to get out
      than it did to get in. I had the gen&#8217;ral points of the compass, and
      I guess I could have made a pretty average straight run for home, but
      every time I wanted to cut across lots there was a policeman lookin&#8217;
      at me, so I had to stick to the channel. That&#8217;s what made me so
      late. Now do go and eat your breakfast. I won&#8217;t feel easy till I see
      you start.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline departed, and the captain, after a visit to his own room, where
      he left his coat and hat, returned to the library, picked up the paper
      which his nephew had dropped, and began reading.
    </p>
    <p>
      After breakfast came the &#8220;business talk.&#8221; It was a brief one.
      Captain Elisha soon discovered that his<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> brother&#8217;s children
      knew very little concerning their father&#8217;s affairs. They had always
      plenty of money, had been indulged in practically every wish, and had
      never had to think or plan for themselves. As to the size of the estate,
      they knew nothing more than Mr. Graves had told them, which was that,
      instead of the several millions which rumor had credited A. Rodgers Warren
      with possessing, five hundred thousand dollars would probably be the
      extent of their inheritance, and that, therefore, they must live
      economically. As a first step in that direction, they had given up their
      former home and moved to the apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, yes,&#8221; mused the captain, &#8220;I see. Mr. Graves didn&#8217;t
      know about your movin&#8217;, then? You did it on your own hook, so to
      speak?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen answered promptly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Of course we did,&#8221; he declared. &#8220;Why not?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No reason in the world. A good sensible thing to do, I should say.
      Didn&#8217;t anybody advise you where to go?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why should we need advice?&#8221; Again it was Stephen who replied.
      &#8220;We aren&#8217;t kids. We&#8217;re old enough to decide some things
      for ourselves, I should think.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Sartin. That&#8217;s right. But I didn&#8217;t know but p&#8217;raps
      some of your friends might have helped along. This Mrs. Dunn now, she kind
      of hinted to me that she&#8217;d&mdash;well, done what she could to make
      you comf&#8217;table.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;She has,&#8221; avowed Caroline, warmly. &#8220;Mrs. Dunn and
      Malcolm have proved their friendship in a thousand ways. We never can
      repay them, Stephen and I, never!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. There&#8217;s some things you can&#8217;t ever pay, I<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> know
      that. Mrs. Dunn found this nice place for you, did she?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, yes. She and I found it together.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So? That was lucky, wa&#8217;n&#8217;t it? Advertised in the
      newspaper, was it; or was there a &#8216;To Let&#8217; placard up in the
      window?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, certainly not. Mrs. Dunn knew that we had decided to move, and
      she has a cousin who is interested in New York property. She asked him,
      and he mentioned this apartment.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;One of his own, was it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I believe so. Why are you so particular? Don&#8217;t you like it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Her tone was sharp. Stephen, who resented his uncle&#8217;s questions as
      impertinent intrusions upon the family affairs, added one of his own.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Isn&#8217;t it as good as those in&mdash;what do you call it&mdash;South
      Denboro?&#8221; he asked, maliciously.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha laughed heartily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Pretty nigh as good,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t notice
      any better on the way to the depot as I drove up. And I doubt if there&#8217;s
      many new ones built since I left. It&#8217;s a mighty fine lot of rooms, I
      think. What&#8217;s the rent? You&#8217;ll excuse my askin&#8217;, things
      bein&#8217; as they are.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Twenty-two hundred a year,&#8221; answered his niece, coldly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain looked at her, whistled, broke off the whistle in the middle,
      and did a little mental arithmetic.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Twenty-two hundred a year!&#8221; he repeated. &#8220;That&#8217;s
      one hundred and eighty odd a month. Say, that cousin of Mrs. Dunn&#8217;s
      must want to get his investment back. You mean for just these ten rooms?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen laughed scornfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Our guardian has been counting, Caro,&#8221; he remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>&#8220;Yes.
      Yes, I counted this mornin&#8217; when I got up. I was interested,
      naturally.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sure! Naturally, of course,&#8221; sneered the boy. &#8220;Did you
      think the twenty-two hundred was the rent of the entire building?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I didn&#8217;t know. I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The rent,&#8221; interrupted Caroline, with dignity, &#8220;was
      twenty-four hundred, but, thanks to Mrs. Dunn, who explained to her cousin
      that we were friends of hers, it was reduced.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;We being in reduced circumstances,&#8221; observed her brother in
      supreme disgust. &#8220;Pity the poor orphans! By gad!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That was real nice of Mrs. Dunn,&#8221; declared Captain Elisha,
      heartily. &#8220;She&#8217;s pretty well-off herself, I s&#8217;pose&mdash;hey,
      Caroline?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I presume so.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, yes. About how much is she wuth, think?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know. I never inquired.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. Well, down our way,&#8221; with a chuckle, &#8220;we don&#8217;t
      have to inquire. Ask anybody you meet what his next door neighbor&#8217;s
      wuth, and he&#8217;ll tell you within a hundred, and how he got it, and
      how much he owes, and how he gets along with his wife. Ho! ho! Speakin&#8217;
      of wives, is this Mr. Dunn married?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked at his niece as he asked the question. There was no reason why
      Caroline should blush; she knew it, and hated herself for doing it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; she answered, resentfully, &#8220;he is not.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. What&#8217;s his business?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He is connected with a produce exchange house, I believe.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;One of the firm?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know. In New York we are not as well<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> posted,
      or as curious, concerning our friends&#8217; private affairs as your
      townspeople seem to be.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I guess that&#8217;s so. I imagine New Yorkers are too busy gettin&#8217;
      it themselves to bother whether their neighbors have got it or not. Well,&#8221;
      he went on, rising, &#8220;I guess I&#8217;ve kept you young folks from
      your work or&mdash;or play, or whatever you was going to do, long enough
      for this once. I think I&#8217;ll go out for a spell. I&#8217;ve got an
      errand or two I want to do. What time do you have dinner?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;We lunch at half past one,&#8221; answered Caroline.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;We dine at seven.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, yes, yes! I keep forgettin&#8217; that supper&#8217;s dinner.
      Well, I presume likely I&#8217;ll be back for luncheon. If I ain&#8217;t,
      don&#8217;t wait for me. I&#8217;ll be home afore supper&mdash;there I go
      again!&mdash;afore dinner, anyhow. Good-by.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Five minutes later he was at the street corner, inquiring of a policeman
      &#8220;the handiest way to get to Pine Street.&#8221; Following the
      directions given, he boarded a train at the nearest subway station,
      emerged at Wall Street, inquired once more, located the street he was
      looking for, and, consulting a card which he took from a big stained
      leather pocket-book, walked on, peering at the numbers of the buildings he
      passed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The offices of Sylvester, Kuhn, and Graves, were on the sixteenth floor of
      a new and gorgeously appointed sky-scraper. When Captain Elisha entered
      the firm&#8217;s reception room, he was accosted by a wide-awake and
      extremely self-possessed office boy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Who&#8217;d you want to see?&#8221; asked the boy, briskly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain removed his hat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hold on a jiffy, Sonny,&#8221; he panted. &#8220;Just give me<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> a minute
      to sort of get myself together, as you might say. I rode up in one of
      those express elevators of yours, and I kind of feel as if my boots had
      got tangled up with my necktie. When that elevator feller cast off from
      the cellar, I begun to shut up like a spyglass. Whew! Say, Son, is Mr.
      Graves in?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; replied the boy, grinning.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hum! Still in the sick bay, is he&mdash;hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He&#8217;s to home. Got a cold.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. It&#8217;s too bad. Mr.&mdash;er&mdash;Sylvester, is he in?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Naw, he ain&#8217;t. And Mr. Kuhn&#8217;s busy. Won&#8217;t one of
      the clerks do? What do you want to see the firm about?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, Son, I had reasons of my own. However, I guess I won&#8217;t
      disturb Mr. Kuhn, if he&#8217;s busy&#8217;s you say. Here! you tell him,
      or Mr. Sylvester when he comes, that Cap&#8217;n Warren, Cap&#8217;n
      Elisha Warren of South Denboro&mdash;better write it down&mdash;called and
      will be back about half past twelve or thereabouts. Got it, have you? Hum!
      is that Elisha? You don&#8217;t tell me! I&#8217;ve been spellin&#8217; it
      for sixty years, more or less, and never realized it had such
      possibilities. Lend me your pencil. There! you give Mr. Sylvester that and
      tell him I&#8217;ll see him later. So long, Son.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He departed, smiling. The indignant office boy threw the card on the
      table.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha strolled down Pine Street, looking about him with interest.
      It had been years since he visited this locality, and the changes were
      many. Soon, however, he began to recognize familiar landmarks. He was
      approaching the water front, and there were fewer new buildings. When he
      reached South Street he was thoroughly at home.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>The
      docks were crowded. The river was alive with small craft of all kinds.
      Steamers and schooners were plenty, but the captain missed the old
      square-riggers, the clipper ships and barks, such as he had sailed in as
      cabin boy, as foremast hand, and, later, commanded on many seas.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length, however, he saw four masts towering above the roof of a freight
      house. They were not schooner rigged, those masts. The yards were set
      square across, and along them were furled royals and upper topsails. Here,
      at last, was a craft worth looking at. Captain Elisha crossed the street,
      hurried past the covered freight house, and saw a magnificent great ship
      lying beside a broad open wharf. Down the wharf he walked, joyfully, as
      one who greets an old friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      The wharf was practically deserted. An ancient watchman was dozing in a
      sort of sentry box, but he did not wake. There was a pile of
      foreign-looking crates and boxes at the further end of the pier, evidently
      the last bit of cargo waiting to be carted away. The captain inspected the
      pile, recognized the goods as Chinese and Japanese, then read the name on
      the big ship&#8217;s stern. She was the <i>Empress of the Ocean</i>, and
      her home port was Liverpool.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha, as a free-born Yankee skipper, had an inherited and
      cherished contempt for British &#8220;lime-juicers,&#8221; but he could
      not help admiring this one. To begin with, her size and tonnage were
      enormous. Also, she was four-masted, instead of the usual three, and her
      hull and lower spars were of steel instead of wood. A steel sailing vessel
      was something of a novelty to the captain, and he was seized with a desire
      to go aboard and inspect.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ladder from ship to wharf was down, of course,<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> and getting on board was an
      easy matter. When he reached the deck and looked about him, the great size
      of the ship was still more apparent. The bulwarks were as high as a short
      man&#8217;s head. She was decked over aft, and, as the captain said
      afterwards, &#8220;her cabins had nigh as many stories as a house.&#8221;
      From the roof of the &#8220;first story,&#8221; level with the bulwarks,
      extended a series of bridges, which could be hoisted or lowered, and by
      means of which her officers could walk from stern to bow without
      descending to the deck. There was a good-sized engine house forward,
      beyond the galley and forecastle. Evidently the work of hoisting anchors
      and canvas was done by steam.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain strolled about, looking her over. The number of improvements
      since his seagoing days was astonishing. He was standing by the wheel,
      near the companion way, wishing that he might inspect the officers&#8217;
      quarters, but not liking to do so without an invitation, when two men
      emerged from the cabin.
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the pair was evidently the Japanese steward of the ship. The other
      was a tall, clean-cut young fellow, whose general appearance and lack of
      sunburn showed quite plainly that he was not a seafaring man by
      profession. The steward caught sight of Captain Elisha, and, walking over,
      accosted him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Want to see skipper, sir?&#8221; he asked, in broken English.
      &#8220;He ashore.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, Doctor,&#8221; replied the captain, cheerfully. &#8220;I don&#8217;t
      want to see him. I&#8217;ve got no business aboard. It&#8217;s been some
      time since I trod the quarter-deck of a square-rigger, and I couldn&#8217;t
      resist the temptation of tryin&#8217; how the planks felt under my feet.
      This is consider&#8217;ble of a clipper you&#8217;ve got here,&#8221; he
      added.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, sir,&#8221; replied the steward grinning.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>&#8220;Where
      you from?&#8221; asked Captain Elisha.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Singapore, sir.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Cargo all out?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Waitin&#8217; for another one?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, sir. We load for Manila bimeby.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Manila, hey? Have a good passage across?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, sir. She good ship.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Shouldn&#8217;t wonder. How d&#8217;ye do, sir,&#8221; to the young
      man, who was standing near. &#8220;Hope you won&#8217;t think I&#8217;m
      crowdin&#8217; in where I don&#8217;t belong. I was just tellin&#8217; the
      doctor here that it had been some time since I trod a quarter-deck, and I
      thought I&#8217;d see if I&#8217;d forgot the feel.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Have you?&#8221; asked the young man, smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Guess not. Seems kind of nat&#8217;ral. I never handled such a
      whale of a craft as this, though. Didn&#8217;t have many of &#8217;em in
      my day. Come over in her, did you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; with a shake of the head. &#8220;No such luck. I&#8217;m
      a land lubber, just scouting round, that&#8217;s all. She&#8217;s a bully
      vessel, isn&#8217;t she?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Looks so. Tell you better after I&#8217;ve seen what she could do
      in a full-sail breeze. All hands ashore, Doctor?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, sir,&#8221; replied the steward.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Crew paid off and spendin&#8217; their money, I s&#8217;pose. Well,
      if it ain&#8217;t against orders, I&#8217;d kind of like to look around a
      little mite. May I?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The steward merely grinned. His companion answered for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Certainly you may,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I&#8217;m a friend of one
      of the consignees, and I&#8217;d be glad to show you the ship, if you
      like. Shall we begin with the cabins?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha, delighted with the opportunity, expressed his thanks, and
      the tour of inspection began.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78"
      id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> The steward remained on deck, but the
      captain and his new acquaintance strolled through the officers&#8217;
      quarters together.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Jerushy!&#8221; exclaimed the former, as he viewed the main cabin.
      &#8220;Say, you could pretty nigh have a dance here, couldn&#8217;t you? A
      small one. This reminds me of the cabin aboard the <i>Sea Gull</i>, first
      vessel I went mate of&mdash;it&#8217;s so diff&#8217;rent. Aboard her we
      had to walk sittin&#8217; down. There wa&#8217;n&#8217;t room in the cabin
      for more&#8217;n one to stand up at a time. But she could sail, just the
      same&mdash;and carry it, too. I&#8217;ve seen her off the Horn with
      studdin&#8217; sails set, when craft twice her length and tonnage had
      everything furled above the tops&#8217;l yard. Hi hum! you mustn&#8217;t
      mind an old salt runnin&#8217; on this way. I&#8217;ve been out of the
      pickle tub a good while, but I cal&#8217;late the brine ain&#8217;t all
      out of my system.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His guide&#8217;s eyes snapped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I understand,&#8221; he said, laughing. &#8220;I&#8217;ve never
      been at sea, on a long voyage, in my life, but I can understand just how
      you feel. It&#8217;s in my blood, I guess. I come of a salt water line. My
      people were from Belfast, Maine, and every man of them went to sea.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Belfast, hey? They turned out some A No.1 sailors in Belfast. I
      sailed under a Cap&#8217;n Pearson from there once&mdash;James Pearson,
      his name was.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He was my great uncle. I was named for him. My name is James
      Pearson, also.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>What</i>?&#8221; Captain Elisha was hugely delighted. &#8220;Mr.
      Pearson, shake hands. I want to tell you that your Uncle Jim was a seaman
      of the kind you dream about, but seldom meet. I was his second mate three
      v&#8217;yages. My name&#8217;s Elisha Warren.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Pearson shook hands and laughed, good-humoredly.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>&#8220;Glad
      to meet you, Captain Warren,&#8221; he said. &#8220;And I&#8217;m glad you
      knew Uncle Jim. As a youngster, he was my idol. He could spin yarns that
      were worth listening to.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I bet you! He&#8217;d seen things wuth yarnin&#8217; about. So you
      ain&#8217;t a sailor, hey? Livin&#8217; in New York?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man nodded. &#8220;Yes,&#8221; he said. Then, with a dry smile,
      &#8220;If you call occupying a hall bedroom and eating at a third-rate
      boarding-house table living. However, it&#8217;s my own fault. I&#8217;ve
      been a newspaper man since I left college. But I threw up my job six
      months ago. Since then I&#8217;ve been free-lancing.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Have, hey?&#8221; The captain was too polite to ask further
      questions, but he had not the slightest idea what &#8220;free-lancing&#8221;
      might be. Pearson divined his perplexity and explained.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;ve had a feeling,&#8221; he said, &#8220;that I might write
      magazine articles and stories&mdash;yes, possibly a novel or two. It&#8217;s
      a serious disease, but the only way to find out whether it&#8217;s chronic
      or not is to experiment. That&#8217;s what I&#8217;m doing now. The thing
      I&#8217;m at work on may turn out to be a sea story. So I spend some time
      around the wharves and aboard the few sailing ships in port, picking up
      material.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha patted him on the back.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Now don&#8217;t you get discouraged,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I used
      to have an idea that novel writin&#8217; and picture paintin&#8217; was
      poverty jobs for men with healthy appetites, but I&#8217;ve changed my
      mind. I don&#8217;t know&#8217;s you&#8217;ll believe it, but I&#8217;ve
      just found out, for a fact, that some painters get twenty-two thousand
      dollars for one picture. For <i>one</i>, mind you. And a little mite of a
      thing, too, that couldn&#8217;t have cost scarcely anything to paint.
      Maybe novels sell for just as much. <i>I</i> don&#8217;t know.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>His
      companion laughed heartily. &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid not, Captain,&#8221;
      he said. &#8220;Few, at any rate. I should be satisfied with considerably
      less, to begin with. Are you living here in town?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well&mdash;we-ll, I don&#8217;t know. I ain&#8217;t exactly livin&#8217;,
      and I ain&#8217;t exactly boardin&#8217;, but&mdash;Say! ain&#8217;t that
      the doctor callin&#8217; you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the steward, and there was an anxious ring in his voice. Pearson
      excused himself and hurried out of the cabin. Captain Elisha lingered for
      a final look about. Then he followed leisurely, becoming aware, as he
      reached the open air, of loud voices in angry dialogue.
    </p>
    <p>
      Entrances to the <i>Empress of the Ocean&#8217;s</i> cabins were on the
      main deck, and also on the raised half-deck at the stern, near the wheel,
      the binnacle and the officers&#8217; corned-beef tubs, swinging in their
      frames. From this upper deck two flights of steps led down to the main
      deck below. At the top of one of these flights stood young Pearson, cool
      and alert. Behind him half crouched the Japanese steward, evidently very
      much frightened. At the foot of the steps were grouped three rough looking
      men, foreigners and sailors without doubt, and partially intoxicated. The
      three men were an ugly lot, and they were all yelling and jabbering
      together in a foreign lingo. As the captain emerged from the passage to
      the open deck, he heard Pearson reply in the same language.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What&#8217;s the matter?&#8221; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson answered without turning his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Drunken sailors,&#8221; he explained. &#8220;Part of the crew here.
      They&#8217;ve been uptown, got full, and come back to square a grudge they
      seem to have against the steward. I&#8217;m telling them they&#8217;d
      better give up and go ashore, if they know when they&#8217;re well off.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The three fellows by the ladder&#8217;s foot were consulting<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
      together. On the wharf were half a dozen loungers, collected by the
      prospect of a row.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;If I can hold them off for a few minutes,&#8221; went on Pearson,
      &#8220;we&#8217;ll be all right. The wharf watchman has gone for the
      police. Here! drop it! What are you up to?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the sailors had drawn a knife. The other two reached for their
      belts behind, evidently intending to follow suit. From the loafers on the
      wharf came shouts of encouragement.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Do the dude up, Pedro! Give him what&#8217;s comin&#8217; to him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The trio formed for a rush. The steward, with a shrill scream, fled to the
      cabin. Pearson did not move; he even smiled. The next moment he was pushed
      to one side, and Captain Elisha stood at the top of the steps.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Here!&#8221; he said, sternly. &#8220;What&#8217;s all this?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The three sailors, astonished at this unexpected addition to their enemies
      forces, hesitated. Pearson laid his hand on the captain&#8217;s arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Be careful,&#8221; he said. &#8220;They&#8217;re dangerous.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Dangerous? Them? I&#8217;ve seen their kind afore. Here, you!&#8221;
      turning to the three below. &#8220;What do you mean by this? Put down that
      knife, you lubber! Do you want to be put in irons? Over the side with you,
      you swabs! Git!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He began descending the ladder. Whether the sailors were merely too
      surprised to resist, or because they recognized the authority of the deep
      sea in Captain Elisha&#8217;s voice and face is a question. At any rate,
      as he descended they backed away.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mutiny on board a ship of mine?&#8221; roared the captain. &#8220;What
      do you mean by it? Why, I&#8217;ll have you tied up and put on bread and
      water. Over the side with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82"
      id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> you! Mutiny on board of <i>me</i>! Lively!
      Tumble up there!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      With every order came a stride forward and a correspondingly backward
      movement on the part of the three. The performance would have been
      ridiculous if Pearson had not feared that it might become tragic. He was
      descending the steps to his new acquaintance&#8217;s aid, when there rose
      a chorus of shouts from the wharf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The cops! the cops! Look out!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      That was the finishing touch. The next moment the three &#8220;mutineers&#8221;
      were over the side and running as fast as their alcoholic condition would
      permit down the wharf.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, by George!&#8221; exclaimed Pearson.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha seemed to be coming out of a dream. He stood still, drew
      his hand across his forehead, and then began to laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well!&#8221; he stammered. &#8220;Well, I snum! I&mdash;I&mdash;Mr.
      Pearson, I wonder what on earth you must think of me. I declare the sight
      of that gang set me back about twenty years. They&mdash;they must have
      thought I was the new skipper! Did you hear me tell &#8217;em they couldn&#8217;t
      mutiny aboard of me? Ho! ho! Well, I am an old idiot!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson stuck his fist into the palm of his other hand. &#8220;I&#8217;ve
      got it!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;I knew your name was familiar. Why, you&#8217;re
      the mate that handled the mutinous crew aboard Uncle Jim&#8217;s bark, the
      <i>Pacer</i>, off Mauritius, in the typhoon, when he was hurt and in the
      cabin. I&#8217;ve heard him tell it a dozen times. Well, this <i>is</i> a
      lucky day for me!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha was evidently pleased. &#8220;So he told you that, did he?&#8221;
      he began. &#8220;That <i>was</i> a time and a half, I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was interrupted. Over the rail appeared a blue<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> helmet, and an instant
      later a big and very pompous police officer leaped to the deck. He was
      followed by the wharf watchman, who looked frightened.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Where&#8217;s the other one of them?&#8221; demanded the policeman.
      &#8220;Oh, it&#8217;s you, is it? Well, you&#8217;re too old to be gettin&#8217;
      drunk and fightin&#8217;. Come along now, peaceable, and let&#8217;s have
      no words about it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He advanced and laid a hand on the captain&#8217;s arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You&#8217;re under arrest,&#8221; he announced. &#8220;Will you
      come along quiet?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m under arrest?&#8221; repeated Captain Elisha. &#8220;Under&mdash;My
      soul and body! Why, I ain&#8217;t done anything.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, I know. Nobody&#8217;s done nothin&#8217;. Come on, or shall I&mdash;Hello,
      Mr. Pearson, sir! How d&#8217;you do?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson had stepped forward.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Slattery,&#8221; he said, &#8220;you&#8217;ve made a mistake. Let
      me tell you about it.&#8221; He drew the officer aside and whispered in
      his ear. After a rather lengthy conversation, the guardian of the peace
      turned to the watchman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What d&#8217;you mean by tellin&#8217; all them lies?&#8221; he
      demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Lies?&#8221; repeated the astonished watchman. &#8220;I never told
      no lies.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You did. You said this gentleman,&#8221; indicating the nervous and
      apprehensive Captain Elisha, &#8220;was fightin&#8217; and murderin&#8217;.
      I ask your pardon, sir. &#8217;Twas this bloke&#8217;s foolishness. G&#8217;wan
      ashore! You make me sick. Good day, Mr. Pearson.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He departed, driving his new victim before him and tongue-lashing him all
      the way. The captain drew a long breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Say, Mr. Pearson,&#8221; he declared, &#8220;a minute or so ago you
      said this was a lucky day for you. I cal&#8217;late it&#8217;s a luckier
      one for me. If it hadn&#8217;t been for you I&#8217;d been<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> took up.
      Yes, sir, took up and carted off to the lockup. Whew! that would have
      looked well in the papers, wouldn&#8217;t it? And my niece and nephew....
      Jerushy! I&#8217;m mightily obliged to you. How did you handle that
      policeman so easily?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson laughed. &#8220;Oh,&#8221; he replied, &#8220;a newspaper training
      and acquaintance has its advantages. Slattery knows me, and I know him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I thank you, I do so.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You needn&#8217;t. I wouldn&#8217;t have missed meeting you and
      seeing you handle those fellows for a good deal. And besides, you&#8217;re
      not going to escape so easy. You must lunch with me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain started, hastily pulled out his watch, and looked at it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Quarter to one!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;And I said I&#8217;d be
      back at that lawyer&#8217;s office at half-past twelve. No, no, Mr.
      Pearson, I can&#8217;t go to lunch with you, but I do wish you&#8217;d
      come and see me some time. My address for&mdash;for a spell, anyhow&mdash;is
      Central Park West,&#8221; giving the number, &#8220;and the name is
      Warren, same as mine. Will you come some evenin&#8217;? I&#8217;d be
      tickled to death to see you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man was evidently delighted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Will I?&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;Indeed I will. I warn you,
      Captain Warren, that I shall probably keep you busy spinning sea yarns.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Nothin&#8217; I like better, though I&#8217;m afraid my yarns&#8217;ll
      be pretty dull alongside of your Uncle Jim&#8217;s.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;ll risk it. Good-by and good luck. I shall see you very
      soon.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s right; do. So long.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER VI
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he
      boy, Captain Elisha&#8217;s acquaintance of the morning, was out, regaling
      himself with crullers and milk at a pushcart on Broad Street, when the
      captain returned to the officers of Sylvester, Kuhn and Graves. The clerk
      who had taken his place was very respectful.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain Warren,&#8221; he said, &#8220;Mr. Sylvester was sorry to
      miss you. He waited until half past twelve and left word for us to
      telephone if you came. Our Mr. Graves is still ill, and the matter of your
      brother&#8217;s estate must be discussed without further delay. Please sit
      down and I will telephone.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain seated himself on the leather-covered bench, and the clerk
      entered the inner office. He returned, a few moments later, to say:
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Sylvester is at the Central Club. He wished me to ask if you
      could conveniently join him there.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha pondered. &#8220;Why, yes,&#8221; he replied, slowly,
      &#8220;I s&#8217;pose I could. I don&#8217;t know why I couldn&#8217;t.
      Where is this&mdash;er&mdash;club of his?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;On Fifth Avenue, near Fifty-second Street. I&#8217;ll send one of
      our boys with you if you like.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, no! I can pilot myself, I guess. I ain&#8217;t so old I can&#8217;t
      ask my way. Though&mdash;&#8221; with a reminiscent chuckle&mdash;&#8220;if
      the folks I ask are all sufferin&#8217; from that &#8216;Ugh&#8217;
      disease, I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t make much headway.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What disease?&#8221; asked the puzzled clerk.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>&#8220;Oh,
      nothin&#8217;. I was just thinkin&#8217; out loud, that&#8217;s all. Mr.
      Sylvester wants to see me right off, does he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, he said he would wait if I &#8217;phoned him you were coming.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. Well, you can tell him I&#8217;ve left the dock, bound in
      his direction. Say, that young chap that was here when I called the fust
      time&mdash;studyin&#8217; to be a lawyer, is he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Who? Tim? No, indeed. He&#8217;s only the office boy. Why did you
      ask?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, I was just wonderin&#8217;. I had a notion he might be in
      trainin&#8217; for a judgeship, he was so high and mighty. Ho! ho! He&#8217;s
      got talent, that boy has. Nobody but a born genius could have made as many
      mistakes in one name as he did when he undertook to spell Elisha. Well,
      sir, I&#8217;m much obliged to you. Good day.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The Central Club is a ponderous institution occupying a becomingly
      gorgeous building on the Avenue. The captain found his way to its door
      without much trouble. A brass-buttoned attendant answered his ring and
      superciliously inquired his business. Captain Elisha, not being greatly in
      awe of either buttons or brief authority, calmly hailed the attendant as
      &#8220;Gen&#8217;ral&#8221; and informed him that he was there to see Mr.
      Sylvester, if the latter was &#8220;on deck anywheres.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Tell him it&#8217;s Cap&#8217;n Warren, Major,&#8221; he added
      cheerfully; &#8220;he&#8217;s expectin&#8217; me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The attendant brusquely ushered the visitor into a leather-upholstered
      reception room and left him. The captain amused himself by looking at the
      prints and framed letters and autographs on the walls. Then a round, red,
      pleasant-faced man entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Pardon me,&#8221; he said, &#8220;is this Captain Warren?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>&#8220;Yes,
      sir,&#8221; was the reply. &#8220;That&#8217;s my name. This is Mr.
      Sylvester, ain&#8217;t it? Glad to know you, sir.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thanks. Sorry to have made you travel way up here, Captain. I
      waited until twelve-thirty, but as you didn&#8217;t come then, I gave you
      up. Hope I haven&#8217;t inconvenienced you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, no. Not a mite. Might just as well be here as anywhere. Don&#8217;t
      think another thing about it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Have you lunched, Captain Warren?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, come to think of it, I ain&#8217;t. I&#8217;ve been kind of
      busy this forenoon, and a little thing like dinner&mdash;luncheon, I mean&mdash;slipped
      my mind. Though &#8217;tain&#8217;t often I have those slips, I&#8217;m
      free to say. Ho! ho! Abbie&mdash;she&#8217;s my second cousin, my
      housekeeper&mdash;says I&#8217;m an unsartin critter, but there&#8217;s
      two things about me she can always count on, one&#8217;s that my clothes
      have always got a button loose somewheres, and t&#8217;other&#8217;s my
      appetite.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He laughed, and Sylvester laughed with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; observed the lawyer, &#8220;I&#8217;m not sure that I
      couldn&#8217;t qualify on both of those counts. At any rate I&#8217;m sure
      of my appetite. I had a lunch engagement with an acquaintance of mine, but
      he hasn&#8217;t appeared, so you must take his place. We&#8217;ll lunch
      together.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, now, I&#8217;d like to fust-rate, and it&#8217;s real kind of
      you, Mr. Sylvester; but I don&#8217;t know&#8217;s I&#8217;d better. Your
      friend may heave in sight, after all, and I&#8217;d be in the way.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not a bit of it. And I said &#8216;acquaintance,&#8217; not &#8216;friend.&#8217;
      Of course you will! You must. We can talk business while we&#8217;re
      eating, if you like.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right. And I&#8217;m ever so much obliged to you. Is there an
      eatin&#8217; house near here?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, we&#8217;ll eat right here at the club. Come.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>He
      led the way, and Captain Elisha followed. The Central Club has a large,
      exclusive, and wealthy membership, and its quarters correspond. The
      captain gazed about him at the marble floors and pillars, the paintings
      and busts, with interest. After checking his hat and coat, as they entered
      the elevator he asked a question.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Which floor is your club on, Mr. Sylvester?&#8221; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Floor? Why, the dining room is on the fourth, if that&#8217;s what
      you mean.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, I meant how many rooms do you rent?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;We occupy the entire building. It is our own, and a comparatively
      new one. We built it three years ago.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You mean this whole shebang is just one <i>club</i>?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Certainly.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hum! I see. Well, I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What were you going to say?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Nothin&#8217;. I was wonderin&#8217; what fool thing I&#8217;d ask
      next. I&#8217;m more used to lodge rooms than I am to clubs, I guess. I&#8217;d
      like to take home a picture of this place to Theophilus Kenney. Theoph&#8217;s
      been raisin&#8217; hob because the Odd Fellows built on to their buildin&#8217;.
      He said one room was enough for any society. &#8217;Twould be, if we was
      all his kind of society. Theoph&#8217;s so small he could keep house in a
      closet. He&#8217;s always hollerin&#8217; in meetin&#8217; about his soul.
      I asked the minister if it didn&#8217;t seem ridic&#8217;lous for Kenney
      to make such a big noise over such a little thing. This where we get off?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The dining room was a large and ornate apartment. Captain Elisha, when he
      first entered it, seemed about to ask another question, but choked it off
      and remained silent. Sylvester chose a table in a retired corner, and they
      sat down.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>&#8220;Now,
      Captain Warren,&#8221; said the host, &#8220;what will you eat?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha shook his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You do the orderin&#8217;,&#8221; he replied dryly; &#8220;I&#8217;ll
      just set and be thankful, like the hen that found the china doorknob.
      Anything that suits you will do me, I guess.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his companion, gave his
      orders, and the waiter brought first a bit of caviar on toast. If
      Sylvester expected this delicacy to produce astonished comments, he was
      disappointed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, well!&#8221; exclaimed Captain Elisha. &#8220;I declare, you
      take me back a long ways, Mr. Sylvester. Caviar! Well, well! Why, I haven&#8217;t
      ate this since I used to go to Cronstadt. At the American consul&#8217;s
      house there we had it often enough. Has a kind of homey taste even yet.
      That consul was a good feller. He and I were great friends.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I met him a long spell after that, when I was down in Mexico,&#8221;
      he went on. &#8220;He&#8217;d made money and was down on a vacation. My
      ship was at Acapulco, and he and I used to go gunnin&#8217; together,
      after wild geese and such. Ho! ho! I remember there was a big, pompous
      critter of an Englishman there. Mind you, I&#8217;m not talkin&#8217;
      against the English. Some of the best men I ever met were English, and I&#8217;ve
      stood back to back with a British mate on a Genoa wharf when half of Italy
      was hoppin&#8217; around makin&#8217; proclamations that they was goin&#8217;
      to swallow us alive. And, somehow or &#8217;nother, they didn&#8217;t.
      Took with prophetic indigestion, maybe.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;However, this Englishman at Acapulco was diff&#8217;rent. He was so
      swelled with importance that his back hollered in like Cape Cod Bay on the
      map. His front bent out to correspond, though, so I cal&#8217;late he
      averaged up all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
      right. Well, he heard about what a good&mdash;that I was pretty lucky when
      it come to shootin&#8217; wild geese, and I&#8217;m blessed if he didn&#8217;t
      send me orders to get him one for a dinner he was goin&#8217; to give.
      Didn&#8217;t ask&mdash;<i>ordered</i> me to do it, you understand. And him
      nothin&#8217; but a consignee, with no more control over me than the
      average female Sunday-school teacher has over a class of boys. Not so
      much, because she&#8217;s supposed to have official authority, and he wa&#8217;n&#8217;t.
      <i>And</i> he didn&#8217;t invite me to the dinner.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, the next time my friend, the ex-consul, and I went out gunnin&#8217;,
      I told him of the Englishman&#8217;s &#8216;orders.&#8217; He was mad.
      &#8216;What are you goin&#8217; to do about it?&#8217; he asks. &#8216;Don&#8217;t
      know yet,&#8217; says I, &#8216;we&#8217;ll see.&#8217; By and by we come
      in sight of one of them long-legged cranes, big birds you know, standin&#8217;
      fishin&#8217; at the edge of some reeds. I up with my gun and shot it. The
      consul chap looked at me as if I was crazy. &#8216;What in the world did
      you kill that fish-basket on stilts for?&#8217; he says. &#8216;Son,&#8217;
      says I, &#8216;your eyesight is bad. That&#8217;s a British-American
      goose. Chop off about three feet of neck and a couple of fathom of hind
      legs and pick and clean what&#8217;s left, and I shouldn&#8217;t wonder if
      &#8217;twould make a good dinner for a mutual friend of ours&mdash;good <i>enough</i>,
      anyhow.&#8217; Well, sir! that ex-consul set plump down in the mud and
      laughed and laughed. Ho, ho! Oh, dear me!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Did you send it to the Englishman?&#8221; asked Sylvester.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, yes, I sent it. And, after a good while and in a roundabout
      way, I heard that the whole dinner party vowed &#8217;twas the best wild
      goose they ever ate. So I ain&#8217;t sure just who the joke was on.
      However, I&#8217;m satisfied with my end. Well, there! I guess you must
      think I&#8217;m pretty talky on short acquaintance, Mr. Sylvester.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> You&#8217;ll
      have to excuse me; that caviar set me to thinkin&#8217; about old times.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His host was shaking all over. &#8220;Go ahead, Captain,&#8221; he cried.
      &#8220;Got any more as good as that?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      But Captain Elisha merely smiled and shook his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t get me started on Mexico,&#8221; he observed. &#8220;I&#8217;m
      liable to yarn all the rest of the afternoon. Let&#8217;s see, we was goin&#8217;
      to talk over my brother&#8217;s business a little mite, wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      we?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, yes, we should. Now, Captain Warren, just how much do you know
      about your late brother&#8217;s affairs?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Except what Mr. Graves told me, nothin&#8217; of importance. And,
      afore we go any further, let me ask a question. Do <i>you</i> know why
      &#8217;Bije made me his executor and guardian and all the rest of it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I do not. Graves drew his will, and so, of course, we knew of your
      existence and your appointment. Your brother forbade our mentioning it,
      but we did not know, until after his death, that his own children were
      unaware they had an uncle. It seems strange, doesn&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It does to me; <i>so</i> strange that I can&#8217;t see two lengths
      ahead. I cal&#8217;late Mr. Graves told you how I felt about it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. That is, he said you were very much surprised.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s puttin&#8217; it mild enough. And did he tell you that
      &#8217;Bije and I hadn&#8217;t seen each other, or even written, in
      eighteen years?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. Well, when you consider <i>that</i>, can you wonder I was
      set all aback? And the more I think of it, the foggier it gets. Why, Mr.
      Sylvester, it&#8217;s one of them situations that are impossible, that you
      can prove<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
      fifty ways <i>can&#8217;t</i> happen. And yet, it has&mdash;it sartinly
      has. Now tell me: Are you, or your firm, well acquainted with my brother&#8217;s
      affairs?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not well, no. The late Mr. Warren was a close-mouthed man, rather
      secretive, in fact.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! that bein&#8217; one of the p&#8217;ints where he was
      different from his nighest relation, hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m not so sure. Have you questioned the children?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline and Steve? Yes, I&#8217;ve questioned &#8217;em more than
      they think I have, maybe. And they know&mdash;well, leavin&#8217; out
      about the price of oil paintin&#8217;s and the way to dress and that it&#8217;s
      more or less of a disgrace to economize on twenty thousand a year, their
      worldly knowledge ain&#8217;t too extensive.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Do you like them?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I guess so. Just now ain&#8217;t the fairest time to judge &#8217;em.
      You see they&#8217;re sufferin&#8217; from the joyful shock of their
      country relation droppin&#8217; in, and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused and rubbed his chin. His lips were smiling, but his eyes were
      not. Sylvester noted their expression, and guessed many things.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;They haven&#8217;t been disagreeable, I hope?&#8221; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No-o. No, I wouldn&#8217;t want to say that. They&#8217;re young
      and&mdash;and, well, I ain&#8217;t the kind they&#8217;ve been used to.
      Caroline&#8217;s a nice girl. She is, sure. All she needs is to grow a
      little older and have the right kind of advice and&mdash;and friends.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;How about the boy?&#8221; Mr. Sylvester had met young Warren, and
      his eyes twinkled as he spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Steve? Well,&#8221; there was an answering twinkle in Captain
      Elisha&#8217;s eye; &#8220;well, Steve needs to grow, too; though I wouldn&#8217;t
      presume to tell him so. When a feller&#8217;s undertakin&#8217; to give
      advice to one of the seven wise men, he has to be diplomatic, as you might
      say.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>The
      lawyer put back his head and laughed uproariously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ha! ha!&#8221; he crowed. &#8220;That&#8217;s good! Then, from your
      questioning of the children, you&#8217;ve learned&mdash;?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not such an awful lot. I think I&#8217;ve learned that&mdash;hum!
      that a good guardian might be a handy thing to have in the house. A reg&#8217;lar
      legal guardian, I mean. Otherwise&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Otherwise?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Otherwise there might be too many disinterested volunteer
      substitutes for the job. Maybe I&#8217;m wrong, but I doubt it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Have you made up your mind to be that guardian?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not yet. I haven&#8217;t made up my mind to anything yet. Now, Mr.
      Sylvester, while we&#8217;re waitin&#8217; for what comes next&mdash;you&#8217;ve
      ordered enough grub to victual a ship&mdash;s&#8217;pose you just run over
      what your firm knows about &#8217;Bije. That is, if I ain&#8217;t askin&#8217;
      too much.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not at all. That&#8217;s what I&#8217;m here for. You have a right
      to know. But I warn you my information isn&#8217;t worth much.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He went on, briefly and with the conciseness of the legal mind, to tell of
      A. Rodgers Warren, his business and his estate. He had been a broker with
      a seat on the Stock Exchange.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That seat is worth consider&#8217;ble, ain&#8217;t it?&#8221;
      interrupted the captain.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Between eighty and one hundred thousand dollars.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. Well, it reminds me of a picture I saw once in one of the
      comic papers. An old feller from the backwoods somewheres&mdash;good deal
      like me, he was, and just about as green&mdash;was pictured standin&#8217;
      along with his city nephew in the gallery of the Exchange. And the nephew
      says, &#8216;Uncle,&#8217; says he, &#8216;do you realize that a seat<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> down
      there&#8217;s wuth seventy-five thousand dollars?&#8217; &#8216;Gosh!&#8217;
      says the old man, &#8216;no wonder most of &#8217;em are standin&#8217;
      up.&#8217; Ho! ho! Is that seat of &#8217;Bije&#8217;s part of the five
      hundred thousand you figger he&#8217;s left?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, in a way it is. To be truthful, Captain Warren, we&#8217;re
      not sure as to the amount of your brother&#8217;s tangible assets. Graves
      made a hurried examination of the stocks, bonds, and memoranda, and
      estimated the total, that&#8217;s all.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I see. Well, heave ahead.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer went on. The dead broker&#8217;s office had been on Broad
      Street. A small office, with but two clerks. One of the clerks was
      retained, and the office, having been leased for a year by its former
      tenant, was still open pending the settlement of the estate. A. Rodgers
      Warren personally was a man who looked older than he really was, a good
      liver, and popular among his companions.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What sort of fellers were his companions?&#8221; asked Captain
      Elisha.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You mean his friends in society, or his companions downtown in Wall
      Street?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The Wall Street ones. I guess I can find out something about the
      society ones. Anyhow, I can try. These Wall Streeters that &#8217;Bije
      chummed with&mdash;a quiet lot, was they?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester hesitated. &#8220;Why&mdash;why&mdash;not particularly so,&#8221;
      he admitted. &#8220;Nothing crooked about them, of course. You see, a
      stock-broker&#8217;s life is a nerve-racking, rather exciting one, and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And &#8217;Bije and his chums were excited, too, hey? All right,
      you needn&#8217;t go any further. He was a good husband while his wife
      lived, wa&#8217;n&#8217;t he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Frankly, Captain Warren, so far as I know,<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> your brother&#8217;s
      personal habits were good. There was nothing against his character.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m mighty glad to hear it. Mighty glad. Is there anything
      else you can tell me?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. Our next move, provided you decide to accept the trust, the
      executorship, and the rest, is to get together&mdash;you and Graves, if he
      is well enough; you and I if he is not&mdash;and begin a careful
      examination of the stocks, bonds, assets, and debts of the estate. This
      must be done first of all.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Graves hinted there wa&#8217;n&#8217;t any debts, to amount to
      anything.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So far as we can see, there are none, except a few trifling bills.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, yes. Hum!&#8221; Captain Elisha put down his coffee spoon and
      seemed to be thinking. He shook his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You appear to be puzzled about something,&#8221; observed the
      lawyer, who was watching him intently.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I am. I was puzzled afore I left home, and I&#8217;m just as
      puzzled now.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What puzzles you? if I may ask.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Everything. And, if you&#8217;ll excuse my sayin&#8217; so, Mr.
      Sylvester, I guess it puzzles you, too.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He returned his host&#8217;s look. The latter pushed back his chair,
      preparatory to rising.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It is all so perfectly simple, on the face of it, Captain Warren,&#8221;
      he said. &#8220;Your brother realized that he must die, that his children
      and their money must be taken care of; you were his nearest relative; his
      trust in your honesty and judgment caused him to overlook the estrangement
      between you. That&#8217;s the case, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. That&#8217;s the case, on the face of it, as you say. But you&#8217;ve
      forgot to mention one item.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>&#8220;What&#8217;s
      that?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8217;Bije himself. You knew him pretty well, I can see that. So
      did I. And I guess that&#8217;s why we&#8217;re both puzzled.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha folded his napkin with care and stood up. Sylvester rose,
      also.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Come downstairs,&#8221; he said. &#8220;We can enjoy our cigars
      more comfortably there, and go on with our talk. That is, unless you&#8217;re
      in a great hurry.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, I ain&#8217;t in any special hurry. So I get up to Caroline&#8217;s
      in season for supper&mdash;er, dinner, I mean&mdash;I don&#8217;t care.
      But I don&#8217;t want to keep you. You&#8217;re a busy man.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;This is business. This way, Captain.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The big lounging room of the club, on the first floor, Fifth Avenue side,
      was almost empty when they entered it. The lawyer drew two big chairs near
      the open fire, rang the bell, and ordered cigars. After the cigars were
      lighted and the fragrant clouds of tobacco smoke were rising, he reopened
      the conversation. And now, in an easy, diplomatic way, he took his turn at
      questioning.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was pretty thorough pumping, managed with the skill of an experienced
      cross-examiner. Captain Elisha, without realizing that he was doing so,
      told of his boyhood, his life at sea, his home at South Denboro, his
      position in the village, his work as selectman, as member of the school
      committee, and as director in the bank. The tone of the questioner
      expressed nothing&mdash;he was too well trained for that&mdash;but every
      item of information was tabulated and appraised.
    </p>
    <p>
      The tall mahogany-cased clock struck three, then four. The lawyer finished
      his cigar and lit another. He offered a fresh one to his guest, but the
      offer was declined.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, thank you,&#8221; observed the captain. &#8220;I&#8217;ve been<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> yarnin&#8217;
      away so fast that my breath&#8217;s been too busy to keep this one goin&#8217;.
      There&#8217;s consider&#8217;ble left yet. This is a better smoke than I&#8217;m
      used to gettin&#8217; at the store down home. I tell Ryder&mdash;he&#8217;s
      our storekeeper and postmaster&mdash;that he must buy his cigars on the
      reel and cut &#8217;em off with the scissors. When the gang of us all got
      a-goin&#8217; mail times, it smells like a rope-walk burnin&#8217; down.
      Ho! ho! It does, for a fact. Yet I kind of enjoy one of his five-centers,
      after all. You can get used to most anything. Maybe it&#8217;s the home
      flavor or the society. P&#8217;raps they&#8217;d taste better still if
      they was made of seaweed. I&#8217;ll trouble you for a match, Mr.
      Sylvester. Two of &#8217;em, if you don&#8217;t mind.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He whittled one match to a point with his pocket knife, impaled the cigar
      stump upon it, and relit with the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile the room had been filling up. Around each of the big windows
      overlooking the Avenue were gathered groups of men, young and old,
      smoking, chatting, and gazing idly out. Captain Elisha regarded them
      curiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;This ain&#8217;t a holiday, is it?&#8221; he asked, after a while.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. Why?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I was just wonderin&#8217; if all those fellers hadn&#8217;t any
      work to do, that&#8217;s all.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Who? That crowd?&#8221; The lawyer laughed. &#8220;Oh, they&#8217;re
      doing their regular stunt. You&#8217;ll find most of them here every
      afternoon about this time.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You don&#8217;t say. Pay &#8217;em wages for it, do you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not that I know of. Some of them are brokers, who come up after the
      Exchange closes. Others are business men, active or retired. Some don&#8217;t
      have any business&mdash;except what they&#8217;re doing now.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I want to know! Humph! They remind me of the gang in the
      billiard-room back home. The billiard-roomers&mdash;the<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> chronic
      ones&mdash;don&#8217;t have any business, either, except to keep the dust
      from collectin&#8217; on the chairs. That and talkin&#8217; about hard
      times. These chaps don&#8217;t seem to be sufferin&#8217; from hard times,
      much.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. Most of the younger set have rich fathers or have inherited
      money.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I see. They let the old man do the worryin&#8217;. That&#8217;s
      philosophy, anyhow. What are they so interested in outside? Parade goin&#8217;
      by?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. I imagine an unusually pretty girl passed just then.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Is that so? Well, well! Say, Mr. Sylvester, the longer I stay in
      New York the more I see that the main difference between it and South
      Denboro is size. The billiard-room gang acts just the same way when the
      downstairs school teacher goes past. Hello!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What is it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That young chap by the mizzen window looks sort of familiar to me.
      The one that stood up to shake a day-day to whoever was passin&#8217;.
      Hum! He&#8217;s made a hit, ain&#8217;t he? I expect some unprotected
      female&#8217;s heart broke at that signal. I cal&#8217;late I know him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Who? Which one? Oh, that&#8217;s young Corcoran Dunn. He is a
      lady-killer, in his own estimation. How d&#8217;ye do, Dunn.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man turning grinning from the window, caught a glimpse of the
      lawyer as the latter rose to identify him. He strolled over to the fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hello, Sylvester,&#8221; he hailed, carelessly. &#8220;That was a
      peach. You should have seen her. What? Why, it&#8217;s the Admiral!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;How d&#8217;ye do, Mr. Dunn,&#8221; said Captain Elisha.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Have you two met before?&#8221; asked Sylvester in astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>&#8220;Yes.
      I had the pleasure of assisting in the welcoming salute when our seafarin&#8217;
      friend come aboard. How was that, Captain? Some nautical class to that
      remark?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. You done fust rate, considerin&#8217; how recent you shipped.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thanks. Overwhelmed, I&#8217;m sure.&#8221; Then, with a look of
      languid amusement at the pair, &#8220;What is this&mdash;a meeting of the
      Board of Naval Affairs? Have you bought a yacht, Sylvester?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No.&#8221; The lawyer&#8217;s tone was sharp.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! Well, take my advice and don&#8217;t. Yachts are all right,
      to have a good time on, but they cost like the devil to keep up. An auto
      is bad enough. By the way, Sylvester, did you hear about my running over
      the Irishman this morning?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Running over?&#8221; repeated the captain, aghast. &#8220;You didn&#8217;t
      run over nobody, I hope.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I came devilish near it. Ha! ha! You see, the old tarrier was
      crossing Saint Nicholas Avenue, with a big market basket full of
      provisions&mdash;the family dinner, I suppose. By Jove, the household
      appetites must be good ones. It was slippery as the mischief, I was
      running the car, and I tried to go between the fellow and the curb. It
      would have been a decent bit of steering if I&#8217;d made it. But&mdash;ha!
      ha!&mdash;by Jove, you know, I didn&#8217;t. I skidded. The man himself
      managed to hop out of the way, but his foot slipped, and down he went.
      Most ridiculous thing you ever saw. And the street! &#8217;Pon my word it
      was paved with eatables.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester, plainly annoyed, did not reply. But Captain Elisha&#8217;s
      concern was evident.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The poor critter!&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;What did you do?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>&#8220;The
      last I saw of him he was sitting in the mud, looking at the upset. I didn&#8217;t
      linger. Peters took the wheel, and we beat it. Lucky the cop didn&#8217;t
      spot the license number. Might have cost me fifty. They&#8217;ve had me up
      for speeding twice before. What are you and the Admiral discussing,
      Sylvester?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;We were discussing a business matter,&#8221; answered the lawyer,
      with significant emphasis.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Business? Why, sure! I forgot that you were Graves&#8217;s partner.
      Settling the family affairs, hey? Well, I won&#8217;t butt in. Ta, ta! See
      you later, Captain. You must go for a spin in that car of mine. I&#8217;ll
      call for you some day. I&#8217;ll show you something they don&#8217;t do
      on Cape Cod. Regards to Caro and Steve.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He moved off, feeling that his invitation would have met with his mother&#8217;s
      approval. She had announced that the country uncle was to be &#8220;cultivated.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha&#8217;s cigar had gone out. He did not attempt to relight
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Whew!&#8221; he whistled. &#8220;Well, when I go for a &#8216;spin,&#8217;
      as he calls it, with <i>him</i>, I cal&#8217;late my head&#8217;ll be
      spinnin&#8217; so I won&#8217;t be responsible for my actions. Whew!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester looked curiously at him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So you met him before?&#8221; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. He was at the rooms when I fust landed. Or his mother was
      there then. He came a little later with Caroline and Stephen.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I see.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Know him and his ma pretty well, do you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Slightly. I&#8217;ve met them, at mutual acquaintances&#8217; homes
      and about town.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Pretty well fixed, I s&#8217;pose, ain&#8217;t they?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I presume so. I don&#8217;t know.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>&#8220;Um.
      He&#8217;s a sociable young feller, ain&#8217;t he? Don&#8217;t stand on
      any ceremony, hey? Caro and Steve think a lot of him and his mother.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Graves has told me the Dunns were very intimate with the
      Warrens. In fact, just before your brother&#8217;s death, I remember
      hearing a rumor that the two families might be even closer connected.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You mean&mdash;er&mdash;Caroline and&mdash;er&mdash;him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There was such a rumor. Probably nothing in it. There is no
      engagement, I am very sure.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, yes, I see. Well, Mr. Sylvester, I must be trottin&#8217; on.
      I&#8217;ll think the whole business over for another day or so and then
      give you my decision, one way or the other.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You can&#8217;t give it now?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No-o. I guess I&#8217;d better not. However, I think&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I think I may take the job. Take it on trial, anyhow.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good! I&#8217;m glad of it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You <i>are</i>?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I certainly am. And I&#8217;m very glad indeed to have made your
      acquaintance, Captain Warren. Good afternoon. I shall hope to see you
      again soon.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha left the Central Club in a surprised frame of mind. What
      surprised him was that a man of such thorough city training and habits as
      the senior partner of the law firm should express pleasure at the idea of
      his accepting the charge of A. Rodgers Warren&#8217;s heirs and estate.
      Mr. Graves had shown no such feeling.
    </p>
    <p>
      If he had heard Sylvester&#8217;s report to Kuhn, at the office next day,
      he might have been even more surprised and pleased.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He&#8217;s a brick, Kuhn,&#8221; declared the senior partner.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
      &#8220;A countryman, of course, but a keen, able, honest man, and, I
      think, a mighty good judge of character. If I was as sure of his ability
      to judge investments and financial affairs, I should be certain the Warren
      children couldn&#8217;t be in better hands. And no doubt we can help him
      when it comes to that. He&#8217;ll probably handle the girl and boy in his
      own way, and his outside greenness may jar them a little. But it&#8217;ll
      do them good to be jarred at their age. He&#8217;s all right, and I hope
      he accepts the whole trust.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; exclaimed Mr. Kuhn; &#8220;you surprise me. Graves
      seemed to be&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Graves suffers from the absolute lack of a sense of humor. His path
      through life is about three feet wide and bordered with rock-ribbed
      conventionality. If a man has a joke in his system, Graves doesn&#8217;t
      understand it and is suspicious. I tell, you, Kuhn, there&#8217;s more
      honest common sense and ability in the right hand of this Down-East salt
      than there ever was in Rodgers Warren&#8217;s whole body.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER VII
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">D</span>uring
      the next day Caroline Warren and her brother saw little of their uncle.
      Not that they complained of this or sought his society. The policy of
      avoidance and what Stephen called &#8220;freezing out&#8221; had begun,
      and the young people kept to themselves as much as possible. At breakfast
      Caroline was coldly polite, and her brother cold, although his politeness
      was not overdone. However, Captain Elisha did not seem to notice. He was
      preoccupied, said but little, and spent the forenoon in writing a second
      letter to Miss Abigail. In it he told of his experience on board the <i>Empress
      of the Ocean</i> and of the luncheon at the Central Club. But he said
      nothing concerning his nephew and niece further than the statement that he
      was still getting acquainted, and that Caroline was a real nice looking
      girl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I suppose you wonder what I&#8217;ve decided about taking the
      guardianship,&#8221; he added, just at the close. &#8220;Well, Abbie, I&#8217;m
      about in the position of Luther Sylvester when he fell off the dock at
      Orham. The tide was out, and he went into the soft mud, all under. When
      the folks who saw him tumble got to the edge and looked over, they saw a
      round, black thing sticking out of the mire, and, judging &#8217;twas Lute&#8217;s
      head, they asked him how he felt. &#8216;I don&#8217;t know yet,&#8217;
      sputters Lute, &#8216;whether I&#8217;m drowned or smothered, but I&#8217;m
      somewheres betwixt and between.&#8217; That&#8217;s me, Abbie, on that
      guardian business. I&#8217;m still betwixt and between. But<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
      before this day&#8217;s over I&#8217;ll be drowned or smothered, and I&#8217;ll
      let you know which next time I write.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      After lunch he took a stroll in the Park and passed up and down the paths,
      thinking, thinking. Returning, he found that Caroline and Stephen had gone
      for an auto ride with the Dunns and would not be home for dinner. So he
      ate that meal in solitary state, waited upon by Edwards.
    </p>
    <p>
      That evening, as he sat smoking in the library, the butler appeared to
      announce a caller.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Someone to see you, sir,&#8221; said Edwards. &#8220;Here&#8217;s
      his card, sir.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Eh? Someone to see <i>me</i>? Guess you&#8217;ve made a mistake,
      haven&#8217;t you, Commodore? I don&#8217;t know anybody who&#8217;d be
      likely to come visitin&#8217; me here in New York. Why, yes! Well, I
      declare! Tell him to walk right in. Mr. Pearson, I&#8217;m glad to see
      you. This is real neighborly.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The caller was young Pearson, the captain&#8217;s acquaintance of the
      previous forenoon. They shook hands heartily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Perhaps you didn&#8217;t think I should accept that invitation of
      yours, Captain Warren,&#8221; observed Pearson. &#8220;I told you I meant
      it when I said yes. And calling within thirty-six hours is pretty good
      proof, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Suits me fust-rate. I&#8217;m mighty glad you came. Set right down.
      Lonesome at the boardin&#8217; house, was it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson made a grimace. &#8220;Lonesome!&#8221; he repeated. &#8220;Ugh!
      Let&#8217;s talk of something else. Were you in time for your appointment
      yesterday noon?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, yes; I was and I wasn&#8217;t. Say, won&#8217;t you have a
      cigar? That&#8217;s right. And I s&#8217;pose, bein&#8217; as this is New
      York, I&#8217;d ought to ask you to take somethin&#8217; to lay the dust,
      hey? I ain&#8217;t made any inquiries myself, but I<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> shouldn&#8217;t wonder
      if the Commodore&mdash;the feller that let you in&mdash;could find
      somethin&#8217; in the spare room closet or somewheres, if I ask him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man laughed. &#8220;If you mean a drink,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I
      don&#8217;t care for it, thank you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What? You ain&#8217;t a teetotaler, are you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, not exactly. But&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But you can get along without it, hey? So can I; generally do, fur&#8217;s
      that goes. But <i>I&#8217;m</i> from South Denboro. I thought here in New
      York&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, there are many people, even here in New York, who are not
      convinced that alcohol is a food.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You don&#8217;t tell me! Well, I&#8217;m livin&#8217; and learnin&#8217;
      every day. Judgin&#8217; from stories and the yarns in the Boston
      newspapers, folks up our way have the idea that this town is a sort of
      annex to the bad place. All right, then we won&#8217;t trouble the
      Commodore. I notice you&#8217;re lookin&#8217; over my quarters. What do
      you think of &#8217;em?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson had, in spite of himself, been glancing about the room. Its luxury
      and the evident signs of taste and wealth surprised him greatly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Astonish you to find me livin&#8217; in a place like this, hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, why, yes, it does, somewhat. I didn&#8217;t realize you were
      such an aristocrat, Captain Warren. If I had, I might have been a little
      more careful of my dress in making my first call.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Dress? Oh, you mean you&#8217;d have put on your Sunday clothes.
      Well, I&#8217;m glad you didn&#8217;t. You see, <i>I</i> haven&#8217;t got
      on my regimentals, and if you&#8217;d been on dress parade I might have
      felt bashful. Ho, ho! I don&#8217;t wonder you are surprised. This is a
      pretty swell neighborhood, ain&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, it is.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>&#8220;These&mdash;er&mdash;apartments,
      now. &#8217;Bout as good as any in town, are they?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Pretty nearly. There are few better&mdash;much better.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I thought so. You wouldn&#8217;t call livin&#8217; in &#8217;em
      economizin&#8217; to any consider&#8217;ble extent, would you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; with a laugh; &#8220;no, <i>I</i> shouldn&#8217;t, but
      my ideas of economy are&mdash;well, different. They have to be. Are you
      ecomomizing, Captain?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha laughed and rubbed his knee.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; he chuckled, &#8220;<i>I</i> ain&#8217;t, but my nephew
      and niece are. These are their rooms.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, you&#8217;re visiting?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, I don&#8217;t know&#8217;s you&#8217;d call it visitin&#8217;.
      I don&#8217;t know what you would call it. I&#8217;m here, that&#8217;s
      about all you can say.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused and remained silent. His friend was silent, also, not knowing
      exactly what remark to make.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;How&#8217;s the novel comin&#8217; on?&#8221; asked the captain, a
      minute later.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, slowly. I&#8217;m not at all sure it will ever be finished. I
      get discouraged sometimes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No use in doin&#8217; that. What sort of a yarn is it goin&#8217;
      to be? Give me a gen&#8217;ral idea of the course you&#8217;re tryin&#8217;
      to steer. That is, if it ain&#8217;t a secret.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It isn&#8217;t. But there&#8217;s mighty little worth telling. When
      I began I thought I had a good scheme, but it seems pretty weak and
      dish-watery now.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Most things do while their bein&#8217; done, if you really care
      about doin&#8217; &#8217;em well. Heave ahead! You said &#8217;twas a sea
      yarn, and I&#8217;m a sort of specialist when it comes to salt water.
      Maybe I might prescribe just the right tonic, though &#8217;tain&#8217;t
      very likely.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson began to outline the plot of his novel, speaking<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>
      slowly at first, but becoming more interested as he continued. Captain
      Elisha listened meditatively, puffing solemnly at his cigar, and
      interrupting but seldom.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I think that&#8217;s a pretty good idea,&#8221; he observed, at
      length. &#8220;Yes, sir, that sounds promisin&#8217;, to me. This cap&#8217;n
      of yours now, he&#8217;s a good feller. Don&#8217;t get him too good,
      though; that wouldn&#8217;t be natural. And don&#8217;t get him too bad,
      neither. I know it&#8217;s the fashion, judgin&#8217; by the sea yarns I&#8217;ve
      read lately, to have a Yankee skipper sort of a cross between a prize
      fighter and a murderer. Fust day out of port he begins by pickin&#8217;
      out the most sickly fo&#8217;mast hand aboard, mashes him up, and then
      takes the next invalid. I got a book about that kind of a skipper out of
      our library down home a spell ago, and the librarian said &#8217;twas
      awful popular. A strong story, she said, and true to life. Well, &#8217;twas
      strong&mdash;you could pretty nigh smell it&mdash;but as for bein&#8217;
      true to life, I had my doubts. I&#8217;ve been to sea, command of a
      vessel, for a good many years, and sometimes I&#8217;d go weeks, whole
      weeks, without jumpin&#8217; up and down on a single sailor. Fact! Got my
      exercise other ways, I presume likely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I tell you,&#8221; he went on, &#8220;the main trouble with that
      tale of yours, as I see it, is that you&#8217;re talkin&#8217; about
      things you ain&#8217;t ever seen. Now there&#8217;s plenty you have seen,
      I wouldn&#8217;t wonder. Let&#8217;s see, you was born in Belfast, you
      said. Live there long, did you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, until I went away to school.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Your father, he went to sea, did he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. But his ship was lost, with all hands, when I was a baby.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But your Uncle Jim wa&#8217;n&#8217;t lost. You remember him well;
      you said so. Tell me something you remember.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>Before
      the young man was aware of it, he was telling of his Uncle Jim, of the
      latter&#8217;s return from voyages, of his own home life, of his mother,
      and of the village where he spent his boyhood. Then, led on by the captain&#8217;s
      questioning, he continued with his years at college, his experiences as
      reporter and city editor. Without being conscious that he was doing so, he
      gave his host a pretty full sketch of himself, his story, and his
      ambitions.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Pearson,&#8221; said Captain Elisha, earnestly, &#8220;don&#8217;t
      you worry about that yarn of yours. If you&#8217;ll take the advice of an
      old feller who knows absolutely nothin&#8217; about such things, keep on
      rememberin&#8217; about your Uncle Jim. He was a man, every inch of him,
      and a seaman, too. Put lots of him into this hero of yours, and you won&#8217;t
      go fur wrong. And when it comes to handlin&#8217; a ship, why&mdash;well,
      if you <i>want</i> to come to me, I&#8217;ll try and help you out best I
      can.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson was delighted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You <i>will</i>?&#8221; he cried. &#8220;Splendid! It&#8217;s
      mighty good of you. May I spring some of my stuff on you as I write it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sartin you may. Any time, I&#8217;ll be tickled to death. I&#8217;ll
      be tickled to have you call, too; that is, if callin&#8217; on an old salt
      like me won&#8217;t be too tirin&#8217;.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The answer was emphatic and reassuring.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you,&#8221; said Captain Elisha. &#8220;I&#8217;m much
      obliged. Come often, do. I&mdash;well, the fact is, I&#8217;m likely to
      get sort of lonesome myself, I&#8217;m afraid. Yes, I shouldn&#8217;t
      wonder if I did.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He sighed, tossed away the stump of his cigar, and added,
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Now, I want to ask you somethin&#8217;. You newspaper fellers are
      supposed to know about all there is to know<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> of everything under the
      sun. Do you know much about the Stock Exchange?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson smiled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All I can afford to know,&#8221; he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! That&#8217;s a pretty good answer. Knowledge is power, they
      say, but&mdash;but I cal&#8217;late knowledge of the Stock Exchange is
      poverty, with a good many folks.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I think you&#8217;re right, Captain. It&#8217;s none of my
      business, but&mdash;were you planning to tackle Wall Street?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha glanced, under his brows, at his new friend, and his eyes
      twinkled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Didn&#8217;t know but I might,&#8221; he replied, solemnly. &#8220;Ain&#8217;t
      got any&mdash;er&mdash;tips, any sure things you want to put me on to,
      have you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I have not. My experience of Wall Street &#8216;sure things&#8217;
      leads me to believe that they&#8217;re sure&mdash;but only for the other
      fellow.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hum! I know a chap down home that made money in stocks. He made it
      so easy that, as the boys say, &#8217;twas almost a shame to take the
      money. And &#8217;twas the makin&#8217; of him, too.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson was embarrassed and troubled. If this big-hearted, simple-minded
      countryman had come to New York to buck the stock market, it was time to
      sound a warning. But had he, on such short acquaintance, the right to
      warn? The captain was shrewd in his own way. Might not the warning seem
      presumptuous?
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So&mdash;this&mdash;this friend of yours was a successful
      speculator, was he?&#8221; he asked. &#8220;He was lucky.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Think so? Well, maybe. His name was Elkanah Chase, and his dad was
      old man &#8217;Rastus Chase, who made consider&#8217;ble in cranberries
      and one thing or &#8217;nother. The old man brought Elkanah up to be what
      he called a gentleman. Ho! ho! Hi hum! I ain&#8217;t sure what<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
      &#8217;Rastus&#8217;s idea of a gentleman was, but if he cal&#8217;lated
      to have his son a tramp in go-to-meetin&#8217; clothes, he got his wish.
      When the old man died, he willed the boy fifteen thousand dollars. Well,
      fifteen thousand dollars is a fortune to some folks&mdash;if they ain&#8217;t
      economizin&#8217; in New York&mdash;but to Elkanah &#8217;twas just about
      enough to make him realize his poverty. So, to make it bigger, he got one
      of them &#8216;tips&#8217; from a college friend down here in Wall Street,
      and put the heft of ten thousand into it. <i>And</i>, I swan, if it didn&#8217;t
      double his money!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha&#8217;s visitor shook his head. He did not even smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He was extremely fortunate,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I give you my
      word, Captain Warren, that the majority of first speculators don&#8217;t
      turn out that way. I hope he was wise enough to keep his profits.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain rubbed his chin.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Jim&mdash;&#8221; he began. &#8220;Excuse me, I should have said
      Mr. Pearson, but I&#8217;ve got sort of in the habit of callin&#8217;
      folks by their first names. Livin&#8217; where you know everybody so well
      gets you into those habits.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Jim suits me. I hope you&#8217;ll cultivate the habit.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Do you? Well, I will. Now, Jim, referrin&#8217; to what I was goin&#8217;
      to say, you, bein&#8217; a newspaper man, ought to know everything, but it&#8217;s
      pretty plain you don&#8217;t know Elkanah Chase. Keep his profits! Why,
      when a feller is all but convinced that he knows it all, one little bit of
      evidence like that speculation settles it for him conclusive. Elkanah,
      realizin&#8217; that Wall Street was his apple pie, opened his mouth to
      swaller it at one gulp. He put his profits and every other cent he had
      into another sure thing tip.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And won again?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>&#8220;No.
      He lost all that and some more that he borrowed.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But I thought you said it was the making of him!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It was. He had to take a job over at the overalls factory in
      Ostable. As a fifteen thousand dollar gentleman, he was pretty average of
      a mess, but they tell me he makes middlin&#8217; good overalls. Elkanah
      convinced me that Wall Street has its good points.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He chuckled. Pearson, relieved, laughed in sympathy. &#8220;Has he paid
      back the money he borrowed?&#8221; he inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No-o! I guess the creditors&#8217;ll have to take it out in
      overalls. However, it&#8217;s a satisfaction to some of &#8217;em to watch
      Chase really work. I know that gives me <i>my</i> money&#8217;s worth.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, ho! You are one of the creditors! Captain Warren, I&#8217;m
      surprised. I sized you up as a shrewder judge of investments.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha colored. &#8220;I judged that one correct,&#8221; he
      answered. &#8220;If I hadn&#8217;t thought &#8217;twould have turned out
      that way I never would have plunged. You see, old man Chase was a friend
      of mine, and&mdash;However,&#8221; he added, hastily changing the subject,
      &#8220;we&#8217;ve strayed some off the course. When I mentioned the Stock
      Exchange I did it because my brother was a member of it, and I cal&#8217;late
      you might have known him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson was astonished. &#8220;Your brother was a member of the Exchange?&#8221;
      he repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. Never would have guessed it, would you? I s&#8217;pose you
      cal&#8217;late all the stock I knew about was on the hoof. Well, I have
      been acquainted with other breeds in my time. My brother&#8217;s name was
      Abijah Warren&mdash;A. Rodgers Warren, he called himself.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>The
      effect of this announcement was instantaneous and electric. The young man
      sat back in his chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;A. Rodgers Warren was your brother?&#8221; he cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. Seems to stagger you some. Contrast between us as big as all
      that comes to?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But&mdash;but, Captain Warren&mdash;Your brother&mdash;Tell me, is
      Miss Caroline Warren your niece?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;She is. And Steve is my nephew. &#8217;Tain&#8217;t possible you&#8217;re
      acquainted with them?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson rose to his feet. &#8220;Is&mdash;They used to live on the Avenue,&#8221;
      he said. &#8220;But you said you were visiting. Captain Warren, is this
      your niece&#8217;s apartment?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, hers and Steve&#8217;s. Why, what&#8217;s the matter? Ain&#8217;t
      goin&#8217;, are you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I think perhaps I had better. It is getting late.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Late! It&#8217;s only the shank of the evenin&#8217;. Jim, I ain&#8217;t
      so blind that I can&#8217;t see through an open window. It ain&#8217;t the
      lateness that makes you want to leave so sudden. Is there some trouble
      between you and Caroline? Course, it&#8217;s none of my business, and you
      needn&#8217;t tell me unless you want to.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The answer was prompt enough.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; replied Pearson. &#8220;No. I assure you there is
      nothing of that kind. I&mdash;I met Miss Warren. In fact, at one time we
      were well acquainted. I have the very highest opinion of her. But I think
      it is best to&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Just a minute now. No trouble with Steve? He&#8217;s a boy and at
      an age when he&#8217;s pretty well satisfied with himself and you have to
      make allowance.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. Steve and I were quite friendly. I&#8217;m sorry to cut my
      visit short, but it is late and I <i>must</i> go.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was moving toward the door. Captain Elisha looked at him intently.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>&#8220;Well,
      if you must,&#8221; he said. &#8220;But I hope you&#8217;ll come again
      soon. Will you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I hope I may. I give you my word, Captain, that I appreciate your
      invitation, and I do want to know you better.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Same here. I don&#8217;t often take sudden fancies, Jim, but I knew
      your uncle, and I&#8217;d bet consider&#8217;ble on any member of his
      family. And I <i>was</i> kind of interested in that novel of yours. You
      haven&#8217;t said you&#8217;d come again. Will you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson was much embarrassed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I should like to come, immensely,&#8221; he said, with an
      earnestness unmistakable; &#8220;but&mdash;but, to be honest, Captain
      Warren, there is a reason, one which I may tell you sometime, but can&#8217;t
      now&mdash;neither Miss Warren nor her brother have any part in it&mdash;which
      makes me reluctant to visit you here. Won&#8217;t you come and see me at
      the boarding house? Here&#8217;s the address. <i>Will</i> you come?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sartin! I figured on doin&#8217; it, if you gave me the chance.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you, you&#8217;ll be welcome. Of course it is <i>only</i> a
      boarding house, and not a very good one. My own room is&mdash;well,
      different from this.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. Maybe that&#8217;s why I expect to feel at home in it. Good
      night, Jim. Thank you for callin&#8217;. Shall I ring for the Commodore to
      pilot you out?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, I can find my way. I&mdash;Someone is coming.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      From the hall came the clang of the elevator door and the sound of voices.
      Before the captain or his friend could move, Caroline, Stephen, Mrs.
      Corcoran Dunn, and Malcolm entered. Caroline was the first to reach the
      library. Her entrance brought her face to face with Pearson.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>&#8220;I
      beg your pardon,&#8221; she began. &#8220;I did not know there was anyone
      here.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;s only a friend of mine, Caroline,&#8221; explained her
      uncle, quickly. &#8220;Just callin&#8217; on me, he was.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good evening, Miss Warren,&#8221; said Pearson, quietly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl looked at him for an instant. Then her expression changed, and,
      with a smile, she extended her hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, Mr. Pearson!&#8221; she exclaimed. &#8220;I&#8217;m very glad
      to see you. You must excuse me for not recognizing you at once. Steve, you
      remember Mr. Pearson.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen also extended a hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sure!&#8221; he said. &#8220;Glad to see you again, Pearson. Haven&#8217;t
      met you for an age. How are you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson shook both the hands. He was embarrassed and hesitated in his
      reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It <i>has</i> been some time since we met,&#8221; he said. &#8220;This
      is an unexpected pleasure. Ah, Mr. Dunn, good evening.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It is Mr. Pearson, the financial writer of the <i>Planet</i>,
      Malcolm,&#8221; said Caroline. &#8220;You used to know him, I think.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t remember, I&#8217;m sure. Yes, I do. Met you at the
      University Club, didn&#8217;t I?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. I was formerly a member.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And let me present you to Mrs. Corcoran Dunn,&#8221; went on the
      girl. &#8220;Mr. Pearson used to know father well.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn inspected the visitor through her lorgnette, and condescended to
      admit that she was &#8220;delighted.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m very glad you called,&#8221; continued Caroline. &#8220;We
      were just in time, weren&#8217;t we? Do sit down. And if you will wait a
      minute until we remove our wraps&mdash;Steve ring for Edwards, please.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>&#8220;I&#8217;m
      afraid I can&#8217;t wait, Miss Warren. I dropped in to see your uncle, at
      his invitation, and, as a matter of fact, I didn&#8217;t know&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;To see our <i>uncle</i>!&#8221; interrupted Stephen, in amazement.
      &#8220;Who?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Your uncle, Captain Warren here,&#8221; explained Pearson,
      surprised in his turn. &#8220;He and I made each other&#8217;s
      acquaintance yesterday, and he asked me to call.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You&mdash;you called to see <i>him</i>?&#8221; repeated Stephen.
      &#8220;Why, what in the world&mdash;?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I took the liberty of askin&#8217; him, Caroline,&#8221; observed
      Captain Elisha quietly, and ignoring the last speaker. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t
      know you knew him, and I used to sail along with <i>his</i> uncle, so he
      seemed almost like own folks.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh!&#8221; Caroline&#8217;s manner changed. &#8220;I presume it was
      a business call,&#8221; she said slowly. &#8220;I beg pardon for
      interrupting. We had not seen you since father&#8217;s death, Mr. Pearson,
      and I assumed that you had called upon my brother and me. Excuse me. Mrs.
      Dunn, we will go into the drawing-room.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She led the way toward the apartment. Captain Elisha was about to speak.
      Pearson, however, explained for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Miss Warren,&#8221; he said, &#8220;if by a business call you mean
      one in the interest of the <i>Planet</i>, I assure you that you are
      mistaken. I am no longer connected with any paper. I met Captain Warren,
      under rather unusual circumstances. We discovered that we had mutual
      friends and mutual interests. He asked me to call on him, and I did so. I
      did not know, until five minutes ago, that he was your uncle or that you
      and your brother lived here. I beg you won&#8217;t leave the room on my
      account. I was about to go when you came. Good evening.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
      He bowed and stepped toward the hall. Captain Elisha laid a hand on his
      arm and detained him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Just a minute,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Caroline, I want you and
      Steve to know that what Mr. Pearson says is exactly true. I ain&#8217;t
      the kind to talk to the newspapers about the private affairs of my
      relations, and, if I&#8217;m any judge of character, Mr. Pearson, knowin&#8217;
      you as it seems he does, wouldn&#8217;t be the kind to listen. That&#8217;s
      all. Now, Jim, if you must go.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He and his guest were at the door. Caroline and Mrs. Dunn were at the
      opposite side of the room. Suddenly the girl halted, turned, and, moving
      across to where her uncle and the young man were standing, once more
      extended her hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Pearson,&#8221; she said, impulsively, &#8220;again I ask your
      pardon. I should have known. I am very sorry I spoke as I did. Will you
      forgive me?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson colored. His embarrassment was more evident than before.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There is no occasion for apology, Miss Warren,&#8221; he said.
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t wonder you thought I had come in my former capacity
      as reporter.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, you do. You <i>must</i> have wondered. I am very glad you
      called to see my&mdash;my guardian, and I hope you will continue to do so.
      Father used to speak so highly of you, and I&#8217;m sure he valued your
      friendship. Stephen and I wish to consider his friends ours. Please
      believe that you are welcome here at any time.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson&#8217;s reply was brief.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you, Miss Warren,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You are very kind.
      Good evening.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      In the hall, as they waited for the elevator, Captain Elisha, happier than
      at any time since his arrival in New York, clapped his friend on the
      shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>&#8220;Jim,&#8221;
      he said, &#8220;I was beginnin&#8217; to doubt my judgment of things and
      folks. Now I feel better. That niece of mine has got the right stuff in
      her. After <i>that</i> invitation, you will come and see us once in a
      while. That makes it easier, hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson shook his head. &#8220;I&#8217;m not sure, Captain,&#8221; he
      observed, slowly, &#8220;that it doesn&#8217;t make it harder. I shall
      look for you at the boarding house very soon. Don&#8217;t disappoint me.
      Good night.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain&#8217;s last remark that evening was made to Edwards, whom he
      met just outside the door of his bedroom.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Commodore,&#8221; he said, &#8220;a barn full of rats is a
      nuisance, ain&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sir?&#8221; stammered the astonished butler.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I say a barn full of rats is a nuisance.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why&mdash;why, yes, sir. I should think it might be, sir.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. Well, I know a worse one. It&#8217;s a house full of
      mysteries. By, by, Son. Pleasant dreams.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He sat up until late, meditating profoundly. Then, taking from its
      envelope the letter yet unsealed, which he had written to Miss Abigail
      Baker, he added this postscript:
    </p>
    <div class="blockquot">
      <p>
        &#8220;Eleven o&#8217;clock. I have decided, Abbie, to accept the
        guardianship and the rest of it, for a spell, anyhow. Shall notify the
        lawyers in the morning. Necessity is one thing, and pleasure is another.
        I doubt if I find the job pleasant, but I guess it is necessary. Anyhow,
        it looks that way to me.&#8221;
      </p>
    </div>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER VIII
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span>nnouncement
      of Captain Elisha&#8217;s decision followed quickly. Sylvester, Kuhn, and
      Graves received the telephone message stating it, and the senior partner
      was unqualifiedly delighted. Kuhn accepted his associate&#8217;s opinion
      with some reservation. &#8220;It is an odd piece of business, the whole of
      it,&#8221; he declared. &#8220;I shall be curious to see how it works out.&#8221;
      As for Mr. Graves, when the information was conveyed to him by messenger,
      he expressed disgust and dismay. &#8220;Ridiculous!&#8221; he said.
      &#8220;Doctor, I simply must be up and about within the next few days. It
      is necessary that a sane, conservative man be at the office. Far be it
      from me to say a word against Sylvester, as a lawyer, but he is subject to
      impressions. I imagine this Cape Codder made him laugh, and, therefore, in
      his opinion, is all right. I&#8217;m glad I&#8217;m not a joker.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain said that he would be down later on to talk things over.
      Meanwhile, if the &#8220;papers and such&#8221; could be gotten together,
      it would &#8220;sort of help along.&#8221; Sylvester explained that there
      were certain legal and formal ceremonies pertaining to the acceptance of
      the trust to be gone through with, and these must have precedence. &#8220;All
      right,&#8221; answered the captain. &#8220;Let&#8217;s have &#8217;em all
      out at once and get the ache and agony over. I&#8217;ll see you by and by.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      When Mrs. Corcoran Dunn made her daily visit to the Warren apartment that
      afternoon, she found Caroline<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119"
      id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> alone and almost in tears. Captain
      Elisha had broken the news at the table during luncheon, after which he
      went downtown. Stephen, having raved, protested, and made himself
      generally disagreeable and his sister correspondingly miserable, had
      departed for the club. It was a time for confidences, and the wily Mrs.
      Dunn realized that fact. She soothed, comforted, and within half an hour,
      had learned the whole story. Caroline told her all, the strange will, the
      disclosure concerning the country uncle, and the inexplicable clauses
      begging the latter to accept the executorship, the trust, and the charge
      of her brother and herself. Incidentally she mentioned that a possible
      five hundred thousand was the extreme limit of the family&#8217;s
      pecuniary resources.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Now you know everything,&#8221; sobbed Caroline. &#8220;Oh, Mrs.
      Dunn, <i>you</i> won&#8217;t desert us, will you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The widow&#8217;s reply was a triumph, of its kind. In it were expressed
      sorrow, indignation, pity, and unswerving loyalty. Desert them? Desert the
      young people, toward whom she had come to feel almost like a mother?
      Never!
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You may depend on Malcolm and me, my dear,&#8221; she declared.
      &#8220;We are not fair-weather friends. And, after all, it is not so very
      bad. Affairs might be very much worse.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Worse! Oh, Mrs. Dunn, how could they be? Think of it! Stephen and I
      are dependent upon him for everything. We must ask him for every penny.
      And whatever he says to do we <i>must</i> do. We&#8217;re obliged to. Just
      think! if he decides to take us back with him to&mdash;South Denboro, or
      whatever dreadful place he comes from, we shall have to go&mdash;and live
      there.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>
      &#8220;But he won&#8217;t, my dear. He won&#8217;t. It will take some time
      to settle your father&#8217;s affairs, and the business will have to be
      transacted here in New York.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I know. I suppose that&#8217;s true. But that doesn&#8217;t make it
      any easier. If he stops here he will stay with us. And what shall we do?
      We can&#8217;t introduce him to our friends, or, at least, to any except
      our best, our understanding friends, like you and Malcolm.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, I&#8217;m not sure. He is rather&mdash;well&mdash;er&mdash;countryfied,
      but I believe he has a good heart. He is not rude or unkind or anything of
      that sort, is he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. No-o. He&#8217;s not that, at all. In fact, he means to be kind
      in his way. But it&#8217;s such a different way from ours. He is not used
      to society; he wouldn&#8217;t understand that certain things and ways were
      absolutely essential. I suppose it isn&#8217;t his fault exactly, but that
      doesn&#8217;t help. And how can we tell him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know that you can tell him, but you might hint.
      Diplomacy, my dear, is one of the necessary elements of life. Whatever
      else you do remember to be diplomatic. My poor husband used to have a pet
      proverb&mdash;he was interested in politics, my dear, and some of his
      sayings were a trifle grotesque but very much to the point. He used to say
      that one could get rid of more flies with molasses than with a club. And I
      think he was right. Now let me consider. Let&#8217;s look the situation
      right in the face. Of course your guardian, as a companion, as an
      associate for us, for our kind of people, is, to be quite frank,
      impossible.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Yes, I&#8217;m sure he is.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. But he <i>is</i> your guardian. Therefore, we can&#8217;t get
      rid of him with&mdash;well, with a club. He must be endured and made as
      endurable as possible. And it certainly will not do to offend him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>&#8220;Steve
      says we must do what he calls freezing him out&mdash;make him feel that we
      do not want him here.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hum! Well, Stephen is a nice boy&mdash;Malcolm adores him&mdash;but
      he isn&#8217;t a diplomat. If we should&mdash;what is it?&mdash;freeze out
      your uncle&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Please call him something else.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, we&#8217;ll call him the encumbrance on the estate; that&#8217;s
      legal, I believe, and expresses it nicely. If we should freeze out the
      encumbrance, we <i>might</i> freeze him to his village, and he <i>might</i>
      insist on your going with him, which wouldn&#8217;t do at <i>all</i>, my
      dear. For one thing, Malcolm would probably insist on going, also, and I,
      for one, don&#8217;t yearn for rural simplicity. Ha! ha! Oh, you mustn&#8217;t
      mind me. I&#8217;m only a doting mamma, dearie, and I have my air castles
      like everyone else. So, freezing out won&#8217;t do. No, you and Steve
      must be polite to our encumbrance.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I shall not get on my knees to him and beg. That I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t
      do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No one expects you to. If anyone begs it should be he. Condescend
      to just a little. Make him feel his place. Correct him when he goes too
      far wrong, and ignore him when he gets assertive. As for getting rid of
      him at times when it may be necessary&mdash;well, I think you may safely
      leave that to me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;To you? Oh, Mrs. Dunn, we couldn&#8217;t think of dragging you into
      it. It is bad enough that we should be disgraced; but you must not be.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;My dear child, I <i>think</i> my position in society is
      sufficiently established to warrant a risk or two. If <i>I</i> am seen in
      company with&mdash;with the encumbrance, people will merely say, &#8216;Oh,
      it&#8217;s another of her eccentricities!&#8217; that&#8217;s all. Now,
      don&#8217;t worry, and don&#8217;t fret all that pretty color from your
      cheeks. Always remember<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122"
      id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> this: it is but for a year or a trifle
      over. Then you will be of age and can send your encumbrance to the
      right-about in a hurry.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline, under the spell of this convincing eloquence, began to cheer up.
      She even smiled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I will try to be diplomatic. I really
      will. But Stephen&mdash;I&#8217;m not sure what dreadful thing <i>he</i>
      will do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He will return to college soon. I will take upon myself the
      convincing of the encumbrance to that effect. And while he is at home,
      Malcolm will take charge of him. He will be delighted to do it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mrs. Dunn, how can we ever thank you sufficiently? What should we
      do without you and Malcolm?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I <i>hope</i>, my dear, that you will never have to do without me;
      not for many years, at any rate. Of course, there is always my poor heart,
      but&mdash;we won&#8217;t worry, will we?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      So, with a kiss and an embrace, this affecting interview ended.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was another that evening between Mrs. Dunn and her son, which was
      not devoid of interest. Malcolm listened to the information which his
      mother gave him, and commented upon it in characteristic fashion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph!&#8221; he observed, &#8220;two hundred and fifty thousand,
      instead of the two million you figured on, Mater! Two hundred and fifty
      thousand isn&#8217;t so much, in these days.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; replied his parent, sharply, &#8220;it isn&#8217;t so
      much, but it isn&#8217;t so little, either.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I suppose one can get along on it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, one can. In fact, I know of two who are managing with a good
      deal less. Don&#8217;t be any more of a fool than you can help, Malcolm.
      The sum itself isn&#8217;t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123"
      id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> small, and, besides, the Warrens are a
      family of standing. To be connected with them is worth a good deal. There
      are infinite possibilities in it. Oh, if only I might live to see the day
      when tradespeople meant something other than nuisances to be dodged, I <i>think</i>
      I could die contented.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caro&#8217;s a decent sort of a girl,&#8221; commented Malcolm,
      reflectively.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;She&#8217;s a bright girl and an attractive one. Just now she is in
      a mood to turn to us, to you. But, for Heaven&#8217;s sake, be careful!
      She is delicate and sensitive and requires managing. She likes you. If
      only you weren&#8217;t such a blunderer!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Much obliged, Mater. You&#8217;re free with your compliments this
      evening. What&#8217;s the trouble? Another &#8216;heart&#8217;?&#8221;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. My heart I can trust, up to certain limits. But I&#8217;m
      afraid of your head, just as I always was of your father&#8217;s. And here&#8217;s
      one more bit of advice: Be careful how you treat that country uncle.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The Admiral! Ho! ho! He&#8217;s a card.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He may be the trump that will lose us the trick. Treat him civilly;
      yes, even cordially, if you can. And <i>don&#8217;t</i> insult him as you
      did the first time you and he met.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man crossed his legs, and grunted in resignation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; he said, &#8220;it&#8217;s going to be a confounded
      bore, but, at the very longest, it&#8217;ll last but a year. Then Caro
      will be her own mistress.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. But there are three hundred and sixty-five days in a year;
      remember that.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right, Mater. You can bet on me. The old hayseed and I will be
      bosom pals. Wait and see.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>The
      formalities at the lawyers&#8217; took some time. Captain Elisha was
      absent from the apartment the better part of the following two days. The
      evenings, however, he spent with his niece and nephew, and, if at all
      sensitive to sudden changes of the temperature, he must have noticed that
      the atmosphere of the library was less frigid. Caroline was not
      communicative, did not make conversation, nor was she in the least
      familiar; but she answered his questions, did not leave the room when he
      entered, and seemed inclined to accept his society with resignation, if
      not with enthusiasm. Even Stephen was less sarcastic and bitter. At times,
      when his new guardian did or said something which offended his highly
      cultivated sense of the proprieties, he seemed inclined to burst out with
      a sneer; but a quick &#8220;ahem!&#8221; or a warning glance from his
      sister caused him to remain silent and vent his indignation by kicking a
      footstool or barking a violent order at the unresisting Edwards. Caroline
      and her brother had had a heart to heart talk, and, as a result, the
      all-wise young gentleman promised to make no more trouble than he could
      help.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Though, by gad, Caro,&#8221; he declared, &#8220;it&#8217;s only
      for you I do it! If I had my way the old butt-in should understand exactly
      what I think of him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      On Thursday, after luncheon, as Captain Elisha sat in his own room,
      reading a book he had taken from the library, there came a knock at the
      door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Come ahead in!&#8221; ordered the captain. Caroline entered. Her
      uncle rose and put down the book.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh!&#8221; he exclaimed, &#8220;is it you? Excuse me. I thought
      &#8217;twas the Commodore&mdash;Edwards, I mean. If I&#8217;d known you
      was comin&#8217; callin&#8217;, Caroline, I shouldn&#8217;t have been
      quite so bossy. Guess I&#8217;d have opened the door for you, instead of
      lettin&#8217; you do it yourself.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>&#8220;Thank
      you,&#8221; answered his niece. &#8220;I came to see you on&mdash;I
      suppose you might call it business. At any rate, it is a financial matter.
      I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t detain you long.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha was a trifle disappointed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh,&#8221; he said, &#8220;on business, was it? I hoped&mdash;I
      didn&#8217;t know but you&#8217;d come just out of sociability. However, I&#8217;m
      mighty glad to see you, Caroline, no matter what it&#8217;s for. That&#8217;s
      a real becomin&#8217; dress you&#8217;ve got on,&#8221; he added,
      inspecting her admiringly. &#8220;I declare, you look prettier every time
      I see you. You favor your pa consider&#8217;ble; I can see it more and
      more. &#8217;Bije had about all the good looks there was in our family,&#8221;
      with a chuckle. &#8220;Set down, do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl seated herself in a rocker, and looked at him for a moment
      without speaking. She seemed to have something on her mind, and not to
      know exactly how to express it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain Warren,&#8221; she began, &#8220;I&mdash;I came to ask a
      favor. I am obliged to ask it, because you are our&mdash;&#8221; she
      almost choked over the hated word&mdash;&#8220;our guardian, and I can no
      longer act on my own responsibility. I wish to ask you for some money.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha nodded gravely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I see,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Well, Caroline, I don&#8217;t believe
      you&#8217;ll find me very close-fisted. I think I told you and Steve that
      you was to do just as you&#8217;d been in the habit of doin&#8217;. Of
      course I <i>am</i> your guardian now, and I shall be held responsible for
      whatever expense comes to the estate. It is quite a responsibility, and I
      so understand it. As I said to you when I told you I&#8217;d decided to
      take the job on trial, <i>while</i> I have it it&#8217;ll be my pride to
      see that you or your brother don&#8217;t lose anything. I intend, if the
      Almighty spares me so long and I keep on with the trust, to turn over,
      when my term&#8217;s out, at least<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126"
      id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> as much to you and Steve as your father
      left. That&#8217;s all. Excuse me for mentioning it again. Now, how much
      do you want? Is your reg&#8217;lar allowance too small? Remember, I don&#8217;t
      know much about such things here in New York, and you must be frank and
      aboveboard and tell me if you have any complaints.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I have no complaints. My allowance is sufficient. It is the same
      that father used to give me, and it is all I need. But this is a matter
      outside my personal needs.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. Somethin&#8217; to do with the household expenses, hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. It is&mdash;is a matter of&mdash;well, of charity. It may
      amount to several hundred dollars.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, yes. I see. Charity, hey? Church?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. One of the maids, Annie, has trouble at home, and I wanted to
      help her.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain nodded once more.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Annie,&#8221; he repeated, &#8220;that&#8217;s the rosy-faced one?
      The Irish one?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Her father was seriously injured the other day and cannot
      work. His hip is broken, and the doctor&#8217;s bill will be large. They
      are very poor, and I thought perhaps&mdash;&#8221; She hesitated,
      faltered, and then said haughtily: &#8220;Father was very sympathetic and
      liked to have me do such things.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sho! sho! Sartin! Course he did. I like it, too. I&#8217;m glad you
      came to me just as you did, Caroline. How much do you want to start with?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know, exactly. I thought I might ask our own doctor
      to attend to the case, and might send them some delicacies and food.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good idea! Go right ahead, Caroline.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you. I have been over to see them, and they need help&mdash;they
      really do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>
      &#8220;I presume likely. How&#8217;d the accident happen? Anybody&#8217;s
      fault, was it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline&#8217;s eyes snapped. &#8220;Indeed it was!&#8221; she said,
      indignantly. &#8220;It was a wet morning, after a rain, and the pavement
      was slippery. Mr. Moriarty, Annie&#8217;s father, was not working that day&mdash;they
      were making some repairs at the factory where he is employed, I believe&mdash;and
      he had gone out to do the family marketing. He was crossing the street
      when an automobile, recklessly driven, so everyone says, drove directly
      down on him. He tried to jump out of the way and succeeded&mdash;otherwise
      he might have been killed; but he fell and broke his hip. He is an old
      man, and the case is serious.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Dear! dear! you don&#8217;t tell me! Poor old chap! The auto feller&mdash;did
      he help? Seems to me he ought to be the one to be spendin&#8217; the
      money. &#8217;Twas his fault.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Help! Indeed he didn&#8217;t! He and the man with him merely
      laughed, as if it was a good joke, put on speed, and disappeared as
      quickly as possible.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, the mean swab! Did this Mr. Moriarty or the folks around get
      the license number of the auto?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. All they know is that it was a big yellow car with two men in
      it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey? A yellow car?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Somewhat similar to the one Malcolm&mdash;Mr. Dunn drives.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So, so! Hum! Where did it happen?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;On Saint Nicholas Avenue, near One Hundred and Twenty-Eighth
      Street.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Eh? Saint Nicholas Avenue, you say?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221; Caroline rose and turned to go. &#8220;Thank you,
      Captain Warren,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I will tell Doctor Henry to take
      the case at once.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
      The captain did not answer immediately. With his chin in his hand he was
      gazing at the floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good afternoon,&#8221; said Caroline.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her uncle looked up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Er&mdash;Wait just a minute, Caroline,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I
      guess maybe, if you don&#8217;t mind, I&#8217;d like to think this over a
      little afore you go too far. You have your doctor go right ahead and see
      to the old man, and you order the things to eat and whatever&#8217;s
      necessary. But afore you give Annie or her father any money, I&#8217;d
      kind of like to figger a little mite.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His niece stopped short, turned and stared at him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh!&#8221; she said, slowly and icily, &#8220;I see. Please don&#8217;t
      trouble yourself. I should have known. However, my allowance is my own,
      and I presume I am permitted to do what I please with that.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline, don&#8217;t be hasty. I ain&#8217;t sayin&#8217; no about
      the money. Far from it. I only&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I understand&mdash;thoroughly. Don&#8217;t trouble to &#8216;figure,&#8217;
      as you call it. Oh! <i>why</i> did I humiliate myself? I should have
      known!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline, please&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      But the girl had gone, closing the door after her. Captain Elisha shook
      his head, heaved a deep sigh, and then, sinking back into his chair,
      relapsed into meditation. Soon afterward he put on his hat and coat and
      went out.
    </p>
    <p>
      Half an hour later he entered the office of a firm of commission brokers
      on lower Broad Street, and inquired if a gentleman by the name of Mr.
      Malcolm Dunn was connected with that establishment. On being answered in
      the affirmative, he asked if Mr. Dunn were in. Yes, he was.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; said Captain Elisha, &#8220;I&#8217;d like to speak to<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> him a
      minute or so. Just tell him my name&#8217;s Warren, if you don&#8217;t
      mind, young feller.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The clerk objected to being addressed as &#8220;young feller,&#8221; and
      showed his disapproval by the haughty and indifferent manner in which he
      departed on the errand. However, he did so depart, and returned followed
      by Malcolm himself. The latter, who had been misled by the name into
      supposing his caller to be Stephen Warren, was much astonished when he saw
      the captain seated outside the railing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good afternoon,&#8221; said Captain Elisha, rising and extending
      his hand: &#8220;How are you to-day, sir? Pretty smart?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man answered briefly that he was all right. He added he was glad
      to see his visitor, a statement more polite than truthful.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, what&#8217;s up?&#8221; he inquired, condescendingly. &#8220;Nothing
      wrong with Caro or Steve, I hope.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, they&#8217;re fust-rate, thank you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What&#8217;s doing, then? Is it pleasure or business?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, a little of both, maybe. It&#8217;s always a pleasure to see
      you, of course; and I have got a little mite of business on hand.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm smiled, in his languid fashion. If he suspected sarcasm in the
      first part of the captain&#8217;s reply, it did not trouble him. His
      self-sufficiency was proof against anything of that sort.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Business,&#8221; he repeated. &#8220;Well, that&#8217;s what I&#8217;m
      here for. Thinking of cornering the&mdash;er&mdash;potato market, were
      you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No-o. Cranberries would be more in my line, and I cal&#8217;late
      you fellers don&#8217;t deal in that kind of sass. I had a private matter
      I wanted to talk over with you, Mr. Dunn; that is, if you ain&#8217;t too
      busy.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>Malcolm
      looked at him with an amused curiosity. As he had expressed it in the
      conversation with his mother, this old fellow certainly was a &#8220;card.&#8221;
      He seated himself on the arm of the oak settle from which the captain had
      risen and, lazily swinging a polished shoe, admitted that he was always
      busy but never too busy to oblige.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What&#8217;s on your mind, Captain?&#8221; he drawled.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha glanced about him somewhat uneasily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&mdash;I don&#8217;t know as I made it quite clear,&#8221; he
      said, &#8220;that it was sort of private; somethin&#8217; just between us,
      you understand.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm hesitated. Sliding from the settle, and impatiently commanding the
      clerk to open the gate in the railing, he led his caller through the main
      office and into a small room beyond. On the glass pane of the door was
      lettered, &#8220;Mr. Dunn&mdash;Private.&#8221; A roll-top desk in the
      corner and three chairs were the furniture. Malcolm, after closing the
      door, sprawled in the swing chair before the desk, threw one leg over a
      drawer, which he pulled out for that purpose, and motioned his companion
      to occupy one of the other chairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha took the offered chair and dropped his hat on the floor
      beside it. Then he inspected the room and its furnishings with interest.
      Dunn drew out a pocket case, extracted a cigarette, lit it, and waited for
      him to speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; observed the young man, after a moment, &#8220;what&#8217;s
      the trouble, Admiral? Better get it off your chest, hadn&#8217;t you? We&#8217;re
      private enough here.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain answered the last question. &#8220;Yes,&#8221; he said,
      &#8220;this is nice and private. Got a stateroom all to yourself; name on
      the door, and everything complete. You must be one of the officers of the
      craft.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>&#8220;Um-hm.
      I sort of expected to find your name on the door outside, but there
      &#8217;twas, &#8216;Smith, Haynes &amp; Co.&#8217; I presume likely you&#8217;re
      the &#8216;Co.&#8217;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>I</i> &#8216;presume likely,&#8217;&#8221; with mocking
      impatience. &#8220;What about that private matter?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha did not appear to hear him. His eyes were fixed on several
      photographs stuck in the rail of Mr. Dunn&#8217;s desk. The photos were
      those of young ladies.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Friends of yours?&#8221; inquired the captain, nodding toward the
      photographs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No.&#8221; Dunn took the photos from the rack and threw them into a
      pigeon hole. &#8220;Look here,&#8221; he said, pointedly, &#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t
      hurry you for the world, but&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused. Captain Elisha did not take the hint. His mind was evidently
      still busy with the vanished photographs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Just fancy pictures, I s&#8217;pose, hey?&#8221; he commented.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Doubtless. Any other little points I can give you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I guess not. I thought they was fancy; looked so to me. Well, about
      that private matter. Mr. Dunn, I come to see you about an automobile.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;An automobile!&#8221; The young man was so astonished that he
      actually removed his feet from the desk. Then he burst into a laugh.
      &#8220;An automobile?&#8221; he repeated. &#8220;Captain, has the
      influence of the metropolis made you a sport already? Do you want to buy a
      car?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Buy one?&#8221; It was Captain Elisha&#8217;s turn to show
      irritation. &#8220;Buy one of them things? Me? I wouldn&#8217;t buy one of
      &#8217;em, or run one of &#8217;em, for somethin&#8217;, <i>I</i> tell
      you! No, I don&#8217;t want to buy one.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why not? Sell you mine for a price.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not if I see you fust, thank you. No, Mr. Dunn, &#8217;tain&#8217;t
      that. But one of the hired help up to our place&mdash;Caroline&#8217;s<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>
      place, I mean&mdash;is in trouble on account of one of the dratted
      machines. They&#8217;re poor folks, of course, and they need money to help
      &#8217;em through the doctorin&#8217; and nursin&#8217; and while the old
      man&#8217;s out of work. Caroline was for givin&#8217; it to &#8217;em
      right off, she&#8217;s a good-hearted girl; but I said&mdash;that is, I
      kind of coaxed her out of it. I thought I&#8217;d ask some questions
      first.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So you came to me to ask them?&#8221; Malcolm smiled contentedly.
      Evidently the cares and complications of guardianship were already proving
      too intricate for the unsophisticated countryman. He wished advice, and
      had come to him for it, possibly at Caroline&#8217;s suggestion. Affairs
      were shaping themselves well. Here was an opportunity to act the
      disinterested friend, as per maternal instructions.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So you wanted to ask questions, did you, Captain?&#8221; he
      repeated. &#8220;Well, fire away. Anything I can do to help you or
      Caroline will be a pleasure, of course. Smoke?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He offered the cigarette case. The captain eyed it dubiously and shook his
      head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; he said; &#8220;no, thank you, I commenced smokin&#8217;
      at the butt end, I guess. Begun with a pipe, and them things would seem
      sort of kindergarten, I&#8217;m afraid. No offense meant, you understand.
      It&#8217;s all accordin&#8217; to what you&#8217;ve been used to. Well,
      about the questions. Here&#8217;s the first one: Don&#8217;t it seem to
      you that the right one to pay for the doctorin&#8217; and nursin&#8217;
      and such of Mr. Moriarty&mdash;that&#8217;s Annie&#8217;s pa&mdash;ought
      to be the feller who hurt him? That feller, instead of Caroline?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sure thing! If you know who did it, he&#8217;s your mark.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>&#8220;He
      could be held responsible, couldn&#8217;t he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Certainly.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. So I thought. And if he was a right-minded chap, he&#8217;d
      be glad to help the poor critter, providin&#8217; he knew what damage he&#8217;d
      done; wouldn&#8217;t you think so?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm nodded sagely, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it
      again. A sudden recollection came to him, an alarming recollection. He
      turned in his chair and looked at his visitor. Captain Elisha met his gaze
      frankly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Where did this accident happen?&#8221; asked Mr. Dunn, his
      condescending smile absent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;At the corner of Saint Nicholas Avenue and One Hundred and
      Twenty-Eighth Street. It happened last Friday mornin&#8217;, a week ago.
      And the car that hit him was a yellow one.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm did not answer. His pale face grew paler, and then flushed a
      brilliant red. The captain seemed to feel sorry for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Naturally,&#8221; he went on, &#8220;when I heard about it, I
      remembered what you told Mr. Sylvester and me at the club that afternoon.
      I understand how &#8217;twas, of course. You never thought you&#8217;d
      done any real harm and just went on, thinkin&#8217; &#8217;twas a good
      joke, much as anything. If you&#8217;d known you&#8217;d really hurt the
      poor old man, you&#8217;d have stopped to see him. I understand that. But&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Look here!&#8221; interrupted Dunn, sharply, &#8220;did Caroline
      send you to me?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline? No, no! She don&#8217;t know &#8217;twas your automobile
      at all. I never said a word to her, &#8217;tain&#8217;t likely. But afore
      she spent any of her money, I thought you&#8217;d ought to know, because I
      was sure you wouldn&#8217;t <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134"
      id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>let her. That&#8217;s the way I&#8217;d
      feel, and I felt &#8217;twas no more&#8217;n honest to give you the
      chance. I come on my own hook; she didn&#8217;t know anything about it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm drummed on the desk with nervous fingers. The flush remained on
      his face, his cigarette had gone out, and he threw the stump savagely into
      the wastepaper basket. Captain Elisha remained silent. At length the young
      man spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; he growled, pettishly, &#8220;how much will it take to
      square things with the gang? How much damages do they want?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Damages? Oh, there won&#8217;t be any claim for damages, I guess.
      That is, no lawsuit, or anything of that kind. The Moriartys don&#8217;t
      know you did it, and there&#8217;s no reason why they should. I thought
      maybe I&#8217;d see to &#8217;em and do whatever was necessary; then you
      could settle with me, and the whole business would be just between us two.
      Outside the doctor&#8217;s bills and food and nursin&#8217; and such, all
      the extry will be just the old man&#8217;s wages for the time he&#8217;s
      away from the factory. &#8217;Twon&#8217;t be very heavy.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      More reflection and finger tattoo by his companion. Then:
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right! I&#8217;m in it, I can see that; and it&#8217;s up to me
      to get out as easy as I can. I don&#8217;t want any newspaper publicity.
      Go ahead! I&#8217;ll pay the freight.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha arose and picked up his hat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s fust-rate,&#8221; he said, with emphasis. &#8220;I
      felt sure you&#8217;d see it just as I did. There&#8217;s one thing I
      would like to say,&#8221; he added: &#8220;that is, that you mustn&#8217;t
      think I was stingy about helpin&#8217; &#8217;em myself. But it wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      really my affair; and when Caroline spoke of spendin&#8217; her money and
      Steve&#8217;s, I didn&#8217;t feel I&#8217;d ought to let her. You see, I
      don&#8217;t know as you know it yet,<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> Mr. Dunn, but my brother
      &#8217;Bije left me in charge of his whole estate, and, now that I&#8217;ve
      decided to take the responsibility, I&#8217;ve got a sort of pride in not
      wastin&#8217; any of his children&#8217;s inheritance. Good day, Mr. Dunn.
      I&#8217;m much obliged to you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He opened the office door. Malcolm, frowning heavily, suddenly asked a
      final question.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Say!&#8221; he demanded, &#8220;you&#8217;ll not tell Caroline or
      Steve a word of this, mind!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain seemed surprised.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I guess you didn&#8217;t catch what I said, Mr. Dunn,&#8221; he
      observed, mildly. &#8220;I told you this whole business would be just
      between you and me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER IX
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">C</span>aptain
      Elisha was very far from considering himself a Solomon. As he would have
      said he had lived long enough with himself to know what a lot he didn&#8217;t
      know. Nevertheless, deep down in his inner consciousness, he cherished a
      belief in his judgment of human nature. This judgment was not of the snap
      variety; he took his time in forming it. People and their habits, their
      opinions and characters, were to him interesting problems. He liked to
      study them and to reach conclusions founded upon reason, observation, and
      common sense. Having reached such a conclusion, it disturbed him when the
      subjects of the problem suddenly upset the whole process of reasoning and
      apparently proved him wrong by behavior exactly contrary to that which he
      had expected.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had been pretty well satisfied with the result of his visit to young
      Dunn at the latter&#8217;s office. Malcolm had surrendered, perhaps not
      gracefully or unconditionally, but he had surrendered, and the condition&mdash;secrecy&mdash;was
      one which the captain himself had suggested. Captain Elisha&#8217;s mental
      attitude toward the son of the late Tammany leader had been a sort of
      good-natured but alert tolerance. He judged the young man to be a product
      of rearing and environment. He had known spoiled youths at the Cape and,
      in their surroundings, they behaved much as Malcolm did in his. The same
      disrespect to their elders, the same cock-sureness, and the same careless
      indifference concerning the effect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137"
      id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> which their actions might have upon
      other people&mdash;these were natural and nothing but years and the hard
      knocks of experience could bring about a change. Elkanah Chase, country
      swell and pampered heir to the cranberry grower&#8217;s few thousands, and
      Malcolm Dunn, idol of his set at the Metropolitan Club, were not so very
      different, except in externals. The similarity confirmed his opinion that
      New York was merely South Denboro many thousand times magnified.
    </p>
    <p>
      He knew how young Chase had behaved after an interview not unlike that
      just described. In Elkanah&#8217;s case several broken windows and
      property destroyed on a revel the night before the Fourth had caused the
      trouble. In Malcolm&#8217;s it was an automobile. Both had listened to
      reason and had knuckled under rather than face possible lawsuits and
      certain publicity. Chase, however, had sulkily refused to speak to him for
      a month, and regained affability merely because he wished to borrow money.
      According to the captain&#8217;s deduction, Dunn should have acted in
      similar fashion. But he didn&#8217;t; that was the odd part of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      For Malcolm, when he next called, in company with his mother, at the
      Warren apartment, was not in the least sulky. Neither was he over
      effusive, which would have argued fear and a desire to conciliate.
      Possibly there was a bit more respect in his greeting of the new guardian
      and a trifle less condescension, but not much. He still hailed Captain
      Elisha as &#8220;Admiral,&#8221; and was as mockingly careless as ever in
      his remarks concerning the latter&#8217;s newness in the big city. In
      fact, he was so little changed that the captain was perplexed. A chap who
      could take a licking when he deserved it, and not hold malice, must have
      good in him, unless, of course, he was hiding the malice for a purpose.
      And if that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
      purpose was the wish to appear friendly, then the manner of hiding it
      proved Malcolm Dunn to possess more brains than Captain Elisha had given
      him credit for.
    </p>
    <p>
      One thing seemed sure, the Dunns were not openly hostile. And Caroline
      was. Since the interview in the library, when the girl had, as she
      considered it, humiliated herself by asking her guardian for money to help
      the Moriartys, she had scarcely spoken to him. Stephen, taking his cue
      from his sister, was morose and silent, also. Captain Elisha found it hard
      to forgive his dead brother for bringing all this trouble upon him.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lawyers, so Sylvester informed him, were setting about getting Rodgers
      Warren&#8217;s tangible assets together. The task was likely to be a long
      one. The late broker&#8217;s affairs were in a muddled state, the books
      were anything but clear, some of the investments were foreign, and, at the
      very earliest, months must elapse before the executor and trustee could
      know, for certain, just how large a property he was in charge of.
    </p>
    <p>
      He found some solace and forgetfulness of the unpleasant life he was
      leading in helping the stricken Moriarty family. Annie, the maid at the
      apartment, he swore to secrecy. She must not tell Miss Caroline of his
      visits to her parents&#8217; home. Doctor Henry, also, though he could not
      understand why, promised silence. Caroline herself had engaged his
      services in the case, and he was faithful. But the patient was more
      seriously hurt than at first appeared, and consultations with a specialist
      were necessary.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Goin&#8217; to be a pretty expensive job, ain&#8217;t it, Doctor?&#8221;
      asked the captain of the physician.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Rather, I&#8217;m afraid.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right. If expense is necessary, don&#8217;t be afraid<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> of
      it. You do just what you&#8217;d ought to, and send the bill to me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But Miss Warren insisted upon my sending it to her. She said it was
      a private matter, and one with which you, as her guardian, had nothing to
      do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I know. Caroline intends to use her own allowance, I s&#8217;pose.
      Well, let her think she will, if &#8217;twill please her. But when it
      comes to the settlement, call on me. Give her any reason you want to; say
      a&mdash;er&mdash;wealthy friend of the family come to life all at once and
      couldn&#8217;t sleep nights unless he paid the costs.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But there isn&#8217;t any such friend, is there, Captain Warren?
      Other than yourself, I mean?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha grinned in appreciation of a private joke. &#8220;There is
      somebody else,&#8221; he admitted, &#8220;who&#8217;ll pay a share,
      anyhow. I don&#8217;t know&#8217;s he&#8217;s what you call a bosom
      friend, and, as for his sleepin&#8217; nights&mdash;well, I never heard he
      couldn&#8217;t do that, after he went to bed. But, anyhow, you saw wood,
      or bones, or whatever you have to do, and leave the rest to me. And don&#8217;t
      tell Caroline or anybody else a word.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The Moriartys lived in a four-room flat on the East Side, uptown, and his
      visits there gave the captain a glimpse of another sort of New York life,
      as different from that of Central Park West as could well be imagined. The
      old man, Patrick, his wife, Margaret, the unmarried son, Dennis, who
      worked in the gas house, and five other children of various ages were
      hived somehow in those four small rooms and Captain Elisha marveled
      greatly thereat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;For the land sakes, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he asked of the nurse,
      &#8220;how do they do it? Where do they put &#8217;em nights? That&mdash;that
      closet in there&#8217;s the pantry and woodshed and kitchen and dinin&#8217;
      room; and that one&#8217;s the settin&#8217; <span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>room and parlor; and them
      two dry-goods boxes with doors to &#8217;em are bedrooms. There&#8217;s
      eight livin&#8217; critters to stow away when it&#8217;s time to turn in,
      and one whole bed&#8217;s took up by the patient. <i>Where</i> do they put
      the rest? Hang &#8217;em up on nails?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The nurse laughed. &#8220;Goodness knows!&#8221; she said. &#8220;He
      should have been taken to the hospital. In fact, the doctor and I at first
      insisted upon his removal there. He would have been much better off. But
      neither he nor his wife would hear of it. She said he would die sure
      without his home comforts.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! I should think more likely he&#8217;d die with &#8217;em, or
      under &#8217;em. I watch that fleshy wife of his with fear and tremblin&#8217;.
      Every time she goes nigh the bed I expect her to trip over a young one and
      fall. And if she fell on that poor rack-o&#8217;-bones,&#8221; with a wave
      of the hand toward the invalid, &#8220;&#8217;twould be the final smash&mdash;like
      a brick chimney fallin&#8217; on a lath hencoop.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      At that moment the &#8220;brick chimney&#8221; herself entered the rooms
      and the nurse accosted her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain Warren here,&#8221; she said, &#8220;was asking where you
      all found sleeping quarters.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Moriarty smiled broadly. &#8220;Sure, &#8217;tis aisy,&#8221; she
      explained. &#8220;When the ould man is laid up we&#8217;re all happy to be
      a bit uncomfortable. Not that we are, neither. You see, sor, me and Nora
      and Rosy sleep in the other bed; and Dinnie has a bit of a shakedown in
      the parlor; and Honora is in the kitchen; and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There! there!&#8221; Captain Elisha interrupted hastily, &#8220;don&#8217;t
      tell me any more. I&#8217;d rather <i>guess</i> that the baby bunks in the
      cookstove oven than know it for sartin. How did the grapes I sent you go?&#8221;
      turning to the sick man.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Aw, sor! they were foine. God bless you, sor!<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> Mary be kind to you,
      sor! Sure the angels&#8217;ll watch over you every day you live and
      breathe!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha bolted for the parlor, the sufferer firing a gatling
      fusillade of blessings after him. Mrs. Moriarty continued the bombardment,
      as she escorted him to the door of the flat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There! there!&#8221; protested the captain. &#8220;Just belay! cut
      it short, there&#8217;s a good woman! I&#8217;ll admit I&#8217;m a saint
      and would wear a halo instead of a hat if &#8217;twa&#8217;n&#8217;t so
      unfashionable. Good day. If you need anything you ain&#8217;t got, tell
      the nurse.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The grateful Irish woman did not intend to let him escape so easily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Aw, sor,&#8221; she went on, &#8220;it&#8217;s all right for you to
      make fun. I&#8217;m the jokin&#8217; kind, sor, meself. Whin the flats
      where we used to be got afire and Pat had to lug me down the fire escape
      in his arms, they tell me I was laughin&#8217; fit to kill; that is, when
      I wasn&#8217;t screechin&#8217; for fear he&#8217;d drop me. And him, poor
      soul, never seein&#8217; the joke, but puffin&#8217; and groanin&#8217;
      that his back was in two pieces. Ha, ha! Oh, dear! And him in two pieces
      now for sure and all! Aw, sor, it&#8217;s all right for you to laugh it
      off, but what would we do without you? You and Miss Caroline, God bless
      her!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline? She doesn&#8217;t come here, does she?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Indade she does. Sure, she&#8217;s the perfect little lady! Hardly
      a day passes&mdash;or a week, anyhow&mdash;that she doesn&#8217;t drop in
      to see how the ould man&#8217;s gettin&#8217; on.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! Well, see that you don&#8217;t tell her about me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Moriarty held up both hands in righteous protestation. <i>She</i>
      tell? Might the tongue of her wither between her teeth before it let slip
      a word, and so on. Captain Elisha waved her to silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>
      &#8220;All right! all right!&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;So long! Take
      good care of your husband, and, and&mdash;for Heaven&#8217;s sake, walk
      careful and don&#8217;t step on any of the children.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Moriarty&#8217;s tongue did not wither; at all events, it was lively
      enough when he next met her. The captain&#8217;s secret was not divulged,
      and he continued his visits to the flat, taking care, however, to
      ascertain his niece&#8217;s whereabouts beforehand. It was not altogether
      a desire to avoid making his charitable deeds public which influenced him.
      He had a habit of not letting his right hand know what his left was about
      in such cases, and he detested a Pharisaical philanthropist. But there was
      another reason why Caroline must not learn of his interest in the
      Moriartys. If she did learn it, she would believe him to be helping them
      on his own responsibility; or, if not, that he was using money belonging
      to the estate. Of course he would, and honestly must, deny the latter
      charge, and, therefore, the first would, to her mind, be proven. He
      intended that Malcolm Dunn should pay the larger share of the bills, as
      was right and proper. But he could not tell Caroline that, because she
      must not know of the young man&#8217;s responsibility for the accident. He
      could not give Malcolm the credit, and he felt that he ought not to take
      it himself. It was a delicate situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was lonely, and the days seemed long. Reading the paper, walking in the
      park, occasionally dropping in at the lawyers&#8217; offices, or visiting
      the shops and other places of interest about town made up the monotonous
      routine. He breakfasted early, waited upon by Edwards, got lunch at the
      restaurant nearest to wherever he happened to be at noon, and returned to
      the apartment for dinner. His niece and nephew dined with him, but<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> when
      he attempted conversation they answered in monosyllables or not at all.
      Every evening he wrote a letter to Abbie, and the mail each morning
      brought him one from her. The Dunns came frequently and seemed disposed to
      be friendly, but he kept out of their way as much as possible.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson he had not seen since the latter&#8217;s call. This was a
      disappointment, for he fancied the young fellow and believed he should
      like him even better on closer acquaintance. He would have returned the
      visit, but somehow or other the card with the boarding-house street and
      number had been lost or mislaid, and the long list of &#8220;James
      Pearsons&#8221; in the directory discouraged him. He speculated much
      concerning the mystery at which the would-be novelist hinted as preventing
      his accepting Caroline&#8217;s invitation. Evidently Pearson had once
      known Rodgers Warren well, and had been esteemed and respected by the
      latter. Caroline, too, had known him, and was frankly pleased to meet him
      again. Whatever the trouble might be, she, evidently, was ignorant of it.
      The captain wondered and pondered, but reached no satisfactory conclusion.
      It seemed the irony of fate that the one congenial person&mdash;Sylvester
      excepted&mdash;whom he had met during his stay in the big city should be
      scratched from his small list of acquaintances.
    </p>
    <p>
      With Sylvester he held many familiar and enjoyable chats. The
      good-natured, democratic senior member of the law firm liked to have
      Captain Elisha drop in for advice or to spin yarns. Graves, who was well
      again, regarded the new guardian with respect of a kind, but with distinct
      disapproval. The captain was, in his opinion, altogether too flippant and
      jolly. There was nothing humorous in the situation, as Graves saw it, and
      to laugh when one&#8217;s brother&#8217;s estate is in a tangle, indicated
      unfitness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>
      if nothing worse. Kuhn was a sharp, quick-moving man, who had no time for
      frivolity if it delayed business.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was after a long interview with Sylvester that Captain Elisha decided
      to send Stephen back to college. When he broke the news there was
      rebellion, brief but lively. Stephen had no desire to continue his
      studies; he wished to become a stock broker at once, and, as soon as he
      was of age, take his father&#8217;s seat on the Exchange.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Stevie,&#8221; said Captain Elisha, &#8220;one of these days, when
      you get to be as old as I am or before, you&#8217;ll realize that an
      education is worth somethin&#8217;.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ugh!&#8221; grunted the boy, in supreme disgust. &#8220;What do you
      know about that?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, not much, maybe, but enough.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes?&#8221; sarcastically. &#8220;What college did you attend?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Me? Why, none, more&#8217;s the pity. What learnin&#8217; there was
      in our family your dad had. Maybe that&#8217;s why he was what he was, so
      fur as money and position and society and so on went, and I&#8217;m what
      <i>I</i> am.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, rubbish! What difference does it make to Malcolm Dunn&mdash;now&mdash;his
      going through college?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, he went, didn&#8217;t he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen grinned. Malcolm had told him some particulars concerning his
      university career and its termination.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He went&mdash;part way,&#8221; he answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ya-as. Well, you&#8217;ve gone part way, so fur. And now you&#8217;ll
      go the rest.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;d like to know why.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;For one reason, because I&#8217;m your guardian and I say so.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
      Stephen was furiously angry. His father&#8217;s indulgence and his sister&#8217;s
      tolerance had, in most cases, made his will law in the household. To be
      ordered about in this way by an ignorant interloper, as he considered his
      uncle, was too much.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;By gad,&#8221; he shouted, &#8220;we&#8217;ll see!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, we&#8217;ve seen. You run along now and pack your trunk. And
      take my advice and study hard. You&#8217;ll be behindhand in your work, so
      Mr. Sylvester tells me, but you&#8217;re smart, and you can catch up. Make
      us proud of you; that&#8217;s what you can do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His nephew glanced at him. Captain Elisha was smiling kindly, but there
      was no sign of change of purpose in his look.
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen ground his teeth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh,&#8221; he snarled, &#8220;if it wasn&#8217;t for the disgrace!
      If things weren&#8217;t as they are, I&#8217;d&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;S-s-s-h! I know; but they are. Maybe I wish they wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      &#8217;most as much as you do, but they are. I don&#8217;t blame you for
      feelin&#8217; mad now; but I&#8217;m right and I know it. And some day you&#8217;ll
      know it, and thank me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;When I do, I&#8217;ll be insane.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, you&#8217;ll be older, that&#8217;s all. Now pack your trunk&mdash;or
      get the Commodore to pack it for you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="medium" />
    <p>
      News from the Moriarty sick room continued favorable for a time. Then,
      with alarming suddenness, a change came. The broken hip was mending
      slowly, but poor Pat&#8217;s age was against him, and the shock and long
      illness were too much for his system to fight. Dr. Henry shook his head
      dubiously when the captain asked questions. And, one morning at breakfast,
      Edwards informed him that the old man was dead. Annie had <span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>been
      summoned by telephone at midnight and had gone home.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha, though not greatly surprised, was shocked and grieved. It
      seemed such a needless tragedy, almost like murder, although there was no
      malice in it. And the thought of the fatherless children and the poverty
      of the stricken family made him shudder. Death at any time, amid any
      surroundings, is terrible; when the dead hands have earned the bread for
      many mouths it is appalling.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain dreaded visiting the flat, but because he felt it to be a duty
      he went immediately. And the misery and wailing and dismay he found there
      were worse than his anticipations. He did his best to comfort and cheer.
      Mrs. Moriarty alternately called upon the saints to bless him and begged
      to know what she would do now that they were all sure to starve. Luckily,
      the family priest, a kind-hearted, quiet man who faced similar scenes
      almost every day of his life, was there, and Captain Elisha had a long
      talk with him. With Dennis, the oldest son, and Annie, the maid at the
      Warrens&#8217;, he also consulted. Money for their immediate needs, he
      told them, he would provide. And the funeral expenses must not worry them.
      Afterward&mdash;well, plans for the future could be discussed at another
      time. But upon Dennis and Annie he tried to impress a sense of their
      responsibility.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;s up to you, Boy,&#8221; he said to the former. &#8220;Annie&#8217;s
      job&#8217;s sure, I guess, as long as she wants it, and she can give her
      mother somethin&#8217; every month. But you&#8217;re the man of the house
      now, and you&#8217;ve got to steer the ship and keep it afloat. That means
      work, and hard work, lots of it, too. You can do it, if you&#8217;ve got
      the grit. If I can find a better place and more pay for you,<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> I
      will, but you mustn&#8217;t depend on that. It&#8217;s up to you, I tell
      you, and you&#8217;ve got to show what&#8217;s in you. If you get stuck
      and need advice, come to me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He handed the priest a sum of money to cover immediate contingencies, and
      departed. His letter to Abbie that afternoon was so blue that the
      housekeeper felt sure he was &#8220;coming down&#8221; with some disease
      or other. He had been riding in that awful subway, where the air&mdash;so
      the papers said&mdash;was not fit to breathe, and just as like as not he&#8217;d
      caught consumption. His great-uncle on his mother&#8217;s side died of it,
      so it &#8220;run in the family.&#8221; Either he must come home or she
      should come to him, one or the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      But before evening his blueness had disappeared. He had just returned to
      his room, after stepping into the hall to drop his letter in the mail
      chute, when his niece knocked at the door. He was surprised to see her,
      for she had not spoken to him, except in brief reply to questions, since
      their misunderstanding in that very room. He looked at her wonderingly,
      not knowing what to say or what to expect; but she spoke first.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain Warren,&#8221; she began, hurriedly, &#8220;the last time I
      came to you&mdash;the last time I came here, I came to ask a favor, and
      you&mdash;I thought you&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She was evidently embarrassed and confused. Her guardian was embarrassed,
      also, but he tried to be hospitable.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, Caroline,&#8221; he said, gravely, &#8220;I know what you
      mean. Won&#8217;t you&mdash;won&#8217;t you sit down?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      To his surprise, she accepted the invitation, taking the same chair she
      had taken on the occasion of their former interview. But there was a look
      in her eyes he had never seen there before; at least, not when she was
      addressing him.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>
      She went on, speaking hastily, as though determined to head off any
      questioning on his part.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain Warren,&#8221; she began once more, &#8220;the time I came
      to you in this room you were, so I thought, unreasonable and unkind. I
      asked you for money to help a poor family in trouble, and you refused to
      give it to me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, Caroline,&#8221; he interrupted, &#8220;I didn&#8217;t refuse,
      you only thought I did.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She held up her hand. &#8220;Please let me go on,&#8221; she begged.
      &#8220;I thought you refused, and I couldn&#8217;t understand why. I was
      hurt and angry. I knew that father never would have refused me under such
      circumstances, and you were his brother. But since then, only to-day, I
      have learned that I was wrong. I have learned&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She paused. The captain was silent. He was beginning to hope, to believe
      once more in his judgment of character; and yet, with his hope and growing
      joy, there was a trifle of anxiety.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I have learned,&#8221; went on his niece, &#8220;that I was
      mistaken. I can&#8217;t understand yet why you wished to wait before
      saying yes, but I do know that it must have been neither because you were
      unkind nor ungenerous. I have just come from those poor people, and they
      have told me everything.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha started. &#8220;What did they tell you?&#8221; he asked,
      quickly. &#8220;Who told you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Annie and her mother. They told me what you had done and were doing
      for them. How kind you had been all through the illness and to-day. Oh, I
      know you made them promise not to tell me; and you made the doctor and
      nurse promise, too. But I knew <i>someone</i> had helped, and Annie
      dropped a hint. Then I suspected, and now I know. Those poor people!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>The
      captain, who had been looking at the floor, and frowning a bit, suddenly
      glanced up to find his niece&#8217;s eyes fixed upon him, and they were
      filled with tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Will you forgive me?&#8221; she asked, rising from her chair, and
      coming impulsively toward him. &#8220;I&#8217;m sorry I misjudged you and
      treated you so. You must be a very good man. Please forgive me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He took her hand, which was swallowed up in his big one. His eyes were
      moist, also.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Lord love you, dearie,&#8221; he said, &#8220;there&#8217;s nothin&#8217;
      to forgive. I realized that I must have seemed like a mean, stingy old
      scamp. Yet I didn&#8217;t mean to be. I only wanted to look into this
      thing just a little. Just as a matter of business, you know. And I....
      Caroline, did that doctor tell you anything more?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Any more?&#8221; she repeated in bewilderment. &#8220;He told me
      that you were the kindest man he had ever seen.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, yes. Well, maybe his eyesight&#8217;s poor. What I mean is did
      he tell you anything about anybody else bein&#8217; in this with me?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Anybody else? What do you mean?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, nothin&#8217;, nothin&#8217;. I joked with him a spell ago
      about a wealthy relation of the Moriarty tribe turnin&#8217; up. &#8217;Twas
      only a joke, of course. And yet, Caroline, I&mdash;I think I&#8217;d ought
      to say&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He hesitated. What could he say? Even a hint might lead to embarrassing
      questions and he had promised Dunn.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What ought you to say?&#8221; asked his niece.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, nothin&#8217;, I guess. I&#8217;m glad you understand matters
      a little better and I don&#8217;t intend for the estate nor you to pay
      these Moriarty bills. Just get &#8217;em off your mind. Forget &#8217;em.
      I&#8217;ll see that everything&#8217;s attended<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> to. And, later on, if
      you and me can, by puttin&#8217; our heads together, help those folks to
      earnin&#8217; a better livin&#8217;, why, we will, hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl smiled up at him. &#8220;I think,&#8221; she said, &#8220;that
      you must be one who likes to hide his light under a bushel.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I guess likely a two-quart measure&#8217;d be plenty big enough to
      hide mine. There! there! We won&#8217;t have any more misunderstandin&#8217;s,
      will we? I&#8217;m a pretty green vegetable and about as out of place here
      as a lobster in a balloon, but, as I said to you and Steve once before, if
      you&#8217;ll just remember I <i>am</i> green and sort of rough, and maybe
      make allowances accordin&#8217;, this cruise of ours may not be so
      unpleasant. Now you run along and get ready for dinner, or the Commodore&#8217;ll
      petrify from standin&#8217; so long behind your chair.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She laughed, as she turned to go. &#8220;I should hate to have him do
      that,&#8221; she said. &#8220;He would make a depressing statue. I shall
      see you again in a few minutes, at dinner. Thank you&mdash;Uncle.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She left Captain Elisha in a curious state of mind. Against his will he
      had been forced to accept thanks and credit which, he believed, did not
      rightfully belong to him. It was the only thing to do, and yet it seemed
      almost like disloyalty to Malcolm Dunn. This troubled him, but the trouble
      was, just then, a mere pinhead of blackness against the radiance of his
      spirit.
    </p>
    <p>
      His brother&#8217;s daughter had, for the first time, called him uncle.
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER X
    </h3>
    <p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">
      &#8220;
    </p>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">C</span>aptain
      Warren,&#8221; asked Caroline, as they were seated at the breakfast table
      next morning, &#8220;what are your plans for to-day?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha put down his coffee cup and pulled his beard reflectively.
      Contrary to his usual desire since he came to the apartment to live, he
      was in no hurry to finish the meal. This breakfast and the dinner of the
      previous evening had been really pleasant. He had enjoyed them. His niece
      had not called him uncle again, it is true, and perhaps that was too much
      to be expected as yet, but she was cheerful and even familiar. They talked
      as they ate, and he had not been made to feel that he was the death&#8217;s
      head at the feast. The change was marked and very welcome. The bright
      winter sunshine streaming through the window indicated that the conditions
      outside were also just what they should be.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; he replied, with a smile, &#8220;I don&#8217;t know,
      Caroline, as I&#8217;ve made any definite plans. Let&#8217;s see, to-day&#8217;s
      Sunday, ain&#8217;t it? Last letter I got from Abbie she sailed into me
      because, as she said, I seemed to have been &#8217;most everywheres except
      to meetin&#8217;. She figgers New York&#8217;s a heathen place, anyhow,
      and she cal&#8217;lates I&#8217;m gettin&#8217; to be a backslider like
      the rest. I didn&#8217;t know but I might go to church.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline nodded. &#8220;I wondered if you wouldn&#8217;t like to go,&#8221;
      she said. &#8220;I am going, and I thought perhaps you would go with me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Her uncle had again raised his cup to his lips. Now<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> he set it down with a
      suddenness which caused the statuesque Edwards to bend forward in
      anticipation of a smash. The captain started to speak, thought better of
      it, and stared at his niece so intently that she colored and dropped her
      eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I know,&#8221; she faltered, &#8220;that I haven&#8217;t asked you
      before, but&mdash;but&mdash;&#8221; then, with the impulsiveness which was
      one of her characteristics, and to her guardian her great charm, she
      looked him full in the face and added, &#8220;but I hoped you would
      understand that&mdash;that <i>I</i> understood a little better. I should
      like to have your company very much.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha drew a long breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you, Caroline,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;I appreciate your
      askin&#8217; me, I sartinly do. And I&#8217;d rather go with you than
      anybody else on earth. But I was cal&#8217;latin&#8217; to hunt up some
      little round-the-corner chapel, or Bethel, where I&#8217;d feel a little
      bit at home. I guess likely your church is a pretty big one, ain&#8217;t
      it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;We attend Saint Denis. It <i>is</i> a large church, but we have
      always been connected with it. Stephen and I were christened there. But,
      of course, if you had rather go somewhere else&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, no! I hadn&#8217;t anywhere in particular to go. I&#8217;m a
      Congregationalist to home, but Abbie says I&#8217;ve spread my creed so
      wide that it ain&#8217;t more&#8217;n an inch deep anywhere, and she
      shouldn&#8217;t think &#8217;twould keep me afloat. I tell her I&#8217;d
      rather navigate a broad and shallow channel, where everybody stands by to
      keep his neighbor off the shoals, than I would a narrow and crooked one
      with self-righteousness off both beams and perdition underneath.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You see,&#8221; he added, reflectively, &#8220;the way I look at
      it, it&#8217;s a pretty uncertain cruise at the best. Course<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> there&#8217;s
      all sorts of charts, and every fleet is sartin it&#8217;s got the only
      right one. But I don&#8217;t know. We&#8217;re afloat&mdash;that much we
      are sure of&mdash;but the port we left and the harbor we&#8217;re bound
      for, they&#8217;re always out of sight in the fog astern and ahead. I know
      lots of folks who claim to see the harbor, and see it plain; but they don&#8217;t
      exactly agree as to what they see. As for me, I&#8217;ve come to the
      conclusion that we must steer as straight a course as we can, and when we
      meet a craft in distress, why, do our best to help her. The rest of it I
      guess we must leave to the Owner, to the One that launched us. I.... Good
      land!&#8221; he exclaimed, coming out of his meditation with a start,
      &#8220;I&#8217;m preachin&#8217; a sermon ahead of time. And the Commodore&#8217;s
      goin&#8217; to sleep over it, I do believe.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The butler, who had been staring vacantly out of the window during the
      captain&#8217;s soliloquy, straightened at the sound of his nickname, and
      asked hastily, &#8220;Yes, sir? What will you have, sir?&#8221; Captain
      Elisha laughed in huge enjoyment, and his niece joined him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; she said, &#8220;will you go with me?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;d like to fust-rate&mdash;if you won&#8217;t be too much
      ashamed of me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Then it&#8217;s settled, isn&#8217;t it? The service begins at a
      quarter to eleven. We will leave here at half-past ten.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain shaved with extra care that morning, donned spotless linen,
      including a &#8220;stand-up&#8221; collar&mdash;which he detested&mdash;brushed
      his frock-coat and his hair with great particularity, and gave Edwards his
      shoes to clean. He would have shined them himself, as he always did at
      home, but on a former occasion when he asked for the &#8220;blackin&#8217;
      kit,&#8221; the butler&#8217;s shocked and pained expression led to
      questions and consequent enlightenment.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>He
      was ready by a quarter after ten, but when his niece knocked at his door
      she bore a message which surprised and troubled him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mrs. Dunn called,&#8221; she said, &#8220;to ask me to go to church
      with her. I told her I had invited you to accompany me. Would you mind if
      she joined us?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Her guardian hesitated. &#8220;I guess,&#8221; he answered, slowly,
      &#8220;it ain&#8217;t so much a question of my mindin&#8217; her as she
      mindin&#8217; me. Does <i>she</i> want me to go along?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;She said she should be delighted.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I want to know! Now, Caroline, don&#8217;t you think I&#8217;d be
      sort of in the way? Don&#8217;t you believe she&#8217;d manage to live
      down her disappointment if I didn&#8217;t tag on? You mustn&#8217;t feel
      that you&#8217;ve got to be bothered with me because you suggested my goin&#8217;,
      you know.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;If I had considered it a bother I should not have invited you. If
      you don&#8217;t wish Mrs. Dunn&#8217;s company, then you and I will go
      alone.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, land sakes! I wouldn&#8217;t have you do that for the world!
      All right, I&#8217;ll be out in a jiffy.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He gave his hair a final brush, straightened his tie, turned around once
      more before the mirror, and walked fearfully forth to meet the visitor.
      For him, the anticipated pleasure of the forenoon had been replaced by
      uneasy foreboding.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Mrs. Corcoran Dunn, as she rose creakingly to greet him, was extremely
      gracious. She was gowned and furred and hatted in a manner which caused
      the captain to make hasty mental estimate as to cost, but she extended a
      plump hand, buttoned in a very tight glove, and murmured her
      gratification.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m so glad you are to accompany us, Captain Warren,&#8221;
      she gushed. &#8220;It is a charming winter morning, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>Captain
      Elisha touched the plump glove with his own big finger tips, and admitted
      that the morning was &#8220;fust-rate.&#8221; He was relieved from the
      embarrassment of further conversation just then by Caroline&#8217;s
      appearance in the library. She, too, was richly dressed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Are we all ready?&#8221; she asked, brightly. &#8220;Then we may as
      well start.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid we&#8217;re a trifle early, my dear,&#8221; said
      Mrs. Dunn, &#8220;but we can stroll about a bit before we go in.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain looked at the library clock. The time was a quarter to eleven.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Early?&#8221; he exclaimed, involuntarily. &#8220;Why, I thought
      Caroline said&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He stopped, suddenly, realizing that he had spoken aloud. His niece
      divined his thought and laughed merrily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The service does begin now,&#8221; she said, &#8220;but no one is
      ever on time.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh!&#8221; ejaculated her uncle, and did not speak again until they
      were at the door of the church. Then Caroline asked him what he was
      thinking.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Nothin&#8217; much,&#8221; he answered, gazing at the fashionably
      garbed throng pouring under the carved stone arch of the entrance; &#8220;I
      was just reorganizin&#8217; my ideas, that&#8217;s all. I&#8217;ve always
      sort of thought a plug hat looked lonesome. Now I&#8217;ve decided that I&#8217;m
      wearin&#8217; the lonesome kind.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He marched behind his niece and Mrs. Dunn up the center aisle to the
      Warren pew. He wrote his housekeeper afterwards that he estimated that
      aisle to be &#8220;upwards of two mile long. And my Sunday shoes had a
      separate squeak for every inch,&#8221; he added.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once seated, however, and no longer so conspicuous, his common sense and
      Yankee independence came to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156"
      id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> rescue. He had been in much bigger
      churches than this one, while abroad during his seagoing years. He knew
      that his clothes were not fashionably cut, and that, to the people about
      him, he must appear odd and, perhaps, even ridiculous. But he remembered
      how odd certain city people appeared while summering at South Denboro.
      Recollections of pointed comments made by boatmen who had taken these
      summer sojourners on fishing excursions came to his mind. Well, he had one
      advantage over such people, at any rate, he knew when he was ridiculous,
      and they apparently did not.
    </p>
    <p>
      So, saved from humiliation by his sense of humor, he looked about him with
      interest. When the procession of choir boys came up the aisle, and Mrs.
      Dunn explained in a condescending whisper what they were, his answer
      surprised her a trifle. &#8220;Yes,&#8221; whispered the captain in reply,
      &#8220;I know. I&#8217;ve seen the choir in Saint Peter&#8217;s at Rome.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Only once did he appear greatly astonished. That was when the offering was
      taken and a certain dignified magnate, whose fame as a king of finance is
      world-wide, officiated as one of the collectors.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Heavens and earth!&#8221; murmured Captain Elisha, staring
      wide-eyed at the unmistakable features so often pictured and cartooned in
      the daily papers; &#8220;Caroline&mdash;Caroline, am I seein&#8217; things
      or is that&mdash;is that&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That is Mr. &mdash;&mdash;,&#8221; whispered his niece. &#8220;He
      is one of the vestrymen here.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;My soul!&#8221; still gazing after the Emperor of Wall Street;
      &#8220;<i>him</i> passin&#8217; the plate! Well,&#8221; with a grim smile,
      &#8220;whoever picked him out for the job has got judgment. If <i>he</i>
      can&#8217;t make a body shell out, nobody can.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He listened to the sermon, the text of which was from<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> the Beatitudes, with
      outward solemnity, but with a twinkle in his eye. After the benediction,
      when Caroline asked how he enjoyed it, the cause of the twinkle became
      apparent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Fine!&#8221; he declared, with enthusiasm. &#8220;He&#8217;s a
      smart preacher, ain&#8217;t he! And he knew his congregation. You might
      not guess they was meek perhaps, but they certainly did look as if they&#8217;d
      inherited the earth.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He drew a breath of relief as the trio emerged into the open air. He had
      enjoyed the novel experience, in a way, but now he felt rather like one
      let out of jail. The quiet luncheon at home with Caroline was a pleasant
      anticipation.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Mrs. Corcoran Dunn smashed his anticipation at a blow. She insisted
      that he and his niece lunch with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You really must, you know,&#8221; she declared. &#8220;It will be
      delightful. Just a little family party.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha looked distressed. &#8220;Thank you, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he
      stammered; &#8220;it&#8217;s awful kind of you, but I wouldn&#8217;t feel
      right to go puttin&#8217; you to all that trouble. Just as much obliged,
      but I&mdash;I&#8217;ve got a letter to write, you see.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn bore his refusal bravely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Very well,&#8221; she said, &#8220;but Caroline <i>must</i> come
      with me. I told Malcolm I should bring her.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sure! Sartin! Caroline can go, of course.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      But Caroline also declined. Having misjudged her guardian in the matter of
      the Moriarty family, she was in a repentant mood, and had marked that day
      on her calendar as one of self-sacrifice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, Captain Warren,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I shall not go unless
      you do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>&#8220;Then
      the captain will come, of course,&#8221; declared Mrs. Dunn, with
      decision. &#8220;I&#8217;m sure he will not be so selfish as to deprive me&mdash;and
      Malcolm&mdash;of your company.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      So, because he did not wish to appear selfish, Captain Elisha admitted
      that his letter might be written later in the afternoon, accepted the
      invitation, and braced his spirit for further martyrdom.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not as bad as he expected. The Dunns occupied a small, brown-stone
      house on Fifth Avenue, somewhat old-fashioned, but eminently respectable.
      The paintings and bronzes were as numerous as those in the Warren
      apartment, and if the taste shown in their selection was not that of
      Rodgers Warren, the connoisseur, they made quite as much show, and the
      effect upon Captain Elisha was the same. The various mortgages on the
      property were not visible, and the tradesmen&#8217;s bills were securely
      locked in Mrs. Dunn&#8217;s desk.
    </p>
    <p>
      The luncheon itself was elaborate, and there was a butler whose majestic
      dignity and importance made even Edwards seem plebeian by comparison.
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm was at home when they arrived, irreproachably dressed and
      languidly non-effusive, as usual. Captain Elisha, as he often said, did
      not &#8220;set much store&#8221; by clothes; but there was something about
      this young man which always made him conscious that his own trousers were
      a little too short, or his boots too heavy, or something. &#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t
      <i>wear</i> a necktie like his,&#8221; he wrote Abbie, after his first
      meeting with Malcolm, &#8220;but blessed if I don&#8217;t wish I could <i>if</i>
      I would!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline, in the course of conversation during the luncheon, mentioned the
      Moriartys and their sorrow. The captain tried to head her off and to
      change the subject, but with little success. He was uncomfortable and<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> kept
      glancing under his brows at Malcolm, with whom, under the circumstances,
      he could not help sympathizing to an extent. But his sympathy was wasted.
      The young man did not appear in the slightest degree nervous. The memory
      of his recent interview with Captain Elisha did not embarrass him,
      outwardly at least, half as much as it did the captain. He declared that
      old Pat&#8217;s death was beastly hard luck, but accidents were bound to
      happen. It was a shame, and all that. &#8220;If there&#8217;s anything the
      mater and I can do, Caroline, call on us, of course.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, do, Caroline,&#8221; concurred his mother. &#8220;However, one
      must be philosophic in such cases. It is a mercy that people in their
      station do not feel grief and loss as we do. Providence, in its wisdom,
      has limited their susceptibilities as it has their intelligence. Don&#8217;t
      you agree with me, Captain Warren?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sartin!&#8221; was the prompt reply. &#8220;It&#8217;s always a
      comfort to me, when I go fishin&#8217;, to know that the fish ain&#8217;t
      got so much brains as I have. The hook hurts, I presume likely, but they
      ain&#8217;t got the sense to realize what a mean trick&#8217;s been played
      on &#8217;em. The one that&#8217;s caught&#8217;s dead, and them that are
      left are too busy hustlin&#8217; for the next meal to waste much time
      grievin&#8217;. That eases my conscience consider&#8217;ble.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline seemed to be the only one who appreciated the sarcasm in this
      observation. She frowned slightly. Mrs. Corcoran Dunn tolerantly smiled,
      and her son laughed aloud.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Say, Admiral,&#8221; he commented, &#8220;when it comes to
      philosophy you go some yourself, don&#8217;t you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. I can be as philosophical about other folk&#8217;s troubles
      as anybody I ever see.&#8221; Then, with an involuntary chuckle of
      admiration at the young gentleman&#8217;s<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> coolness, he added,
      &#8220;That is, anybody I ever see afore I come to New York.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again. The captain,
      noticing his change of purpose and following the direction of his look,
      saw Mrs. Dunn shake her head in sharp disapproval. He ate the remainder of
      his salad in silence, but he thought a good deal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And now,&#8221; said Mrs. Dunn, rising and leading the way to the
      drawing-room, &#8220;we must all go for a motor ride. Everyone rides on
      Sunday afternoon,&#8221; she explained, turning to her male guest.
    </p>
    <p>
      The distressed look returned to Captain Elisha&#8217;s face. His niece saw
      it, understood, and came to his rescue.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I think Captain Warren prefers to be excused,&#8221; she said,
      smiling. &#8220;He has a prejudice against automobiles.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No!&#8221; drawled Malcolm, the irrepressible. &#8220;Not really?
      Admiral, I&#8217;m surprised! In these days, you know!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It ain&#8217;t so much the automobiles,&#8221; snapped Captain
      Elisha, irritation getting the better of his discretion, &#8220;as &#8217;tis
      the devilish fools that&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes? Oh, all right, Mater.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That are careless enough to get in the way of them,&#8221; finished
      the captain, with surprising presence of mind. &#8220;Still, if Caroline
      wants to go&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I have it!&#8221; exclaimed Mrs. Dunn. &#8220;The young people
      shall go, and the others remain at home. Malcolm shall take you for a
      spin, Caroline, and Captain Warren and I will stay here and wait until you
      return. We&#8217;ll have a family chat, Captain, won&#8217;t we? Because,&#8221;
      with a gay laugh, &#8220;in a way we <i>are</i> like one family, you see.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      And, somewhat to Miss Warren&#8217;s surprise, her uncle<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>
      agreed to this proposition. He did not answer immediately, but, when he
      did, it was with heartiness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, yes,&#8221; he said, &#8220;that&#8217;s a good idea. That&#8217;s
      fust-rate. You young folks go, and Mrs. Dunn and I&#8217;ll wait here till
      you come back. That&#8217;s the way of the world&mdash;young folks on the
      go, and the old folks at home by the fire, hey, Mrs. Dunn?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady addressed did not relish being numbered with &#8220;old folks,&#8221;
      but she smiled sweetly, and said she supposed it was. Malcolm telephoned
      to the garage and to Edwards at the Warren apartment, ordering the butler
      to deliver his mistress&#8217;s auto cap and cloak to the chauffeur, who
      would call for them. A few minutes later the yellow car rolled up to the
      door.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the hall Mrs. Dunn whispered a reassuring word to her departing guest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Now enjoy yourself, dear,&#8221; she whispered. &#8220;Have a nice
      ride and don&#8217;t worry about me. If he&mdash;if our encumbrance bores
      me too much I shall&mdash;well, I shall plead a headache and leave him to
      his own devices. Besides, he isn&#8217;t so <i>very</i> dreadful, is he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline shook her head. &#8220;No,&#8221; she answered, &#8220;he is a
      good man. I understand him better than I did and&mdash;yes, I like him
      better, too.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh!... Indeed! Well, good-by, dear. Good-by.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The yellow car roared as the chauffeur cranked it, then moved off up the
      crowded avenue. Mrs. Dunn watched it until it was out of sight. Her brows
      were drawn together, and she seemed puzzled and just a bit disconcerted.
      However, when she returned to the drawing-room, her gracious smile had
      returned, and her bland condescension was again in evidence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha had been standing by the window.<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> She begged him to be
      seated. He thanked her, but looked dubiously at the Louis XVI chair
      indicated. She noticed the look.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Suppose we go into the library,&#8221; she said. &#8220;It is much
      less formal. And there is a fire&mdash;for us <i>old</i> folks,&#8221;
      with a slight accent on the word.
    </p>
    <p>
      The library was more homelike. Not as many books as at the Warrens&#8217;,
      but a great deal of gilt in the bindings and much carving on the cases.
      The fire was cheery, and the pair sat down before it in big easy chairs.
      Mrs. Dunn looked intently at the glowing coals.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha cleared his throat. Mrs. Dunn leaned forward expectantly.
      The captain coughed and sank back in his chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes?&#8221; purred the lady. &#8220;You were about to say?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Me? Oh, no, I didn&#8217;t say anything.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Another period of silence. Mrs. Dunn&#8217;s foot tapped the rug
      impatiently. She wished him to begin the conversation, and he would not.
      At length, in desperation, she began it herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I suppose you find New York rather different from&mdash;er&mdash;North&mdash;er&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;From South Denboro? Yes, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Do you like the city life?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I don&#8217;t know, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not as well as you do that of the country, doubtless.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, you see, I ain&#8217;t had so much of it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, of course not. It does so depend upon what one is accustomed
      to. Now I fancy I should be perfectly desperate in your village.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      One corner of Captain Elisha&#8217;s mouth curled upward.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I shouldn&#8217;t be surprised,&#8221; he admitted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Desperately lonely, I mean.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>&#8220;Yes&#8217;m.
      I judged that was what you meant. Still, folks can be lonesome in New
      York.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Perhaps. But really I don&#8217;t see how. With all the whirl and
      the crowds and the glorious excitement. The feeling that one is at the
      very heart, the center of everything!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. If you belong to the machinery, I s&#8217;pose it&#8217;s all
      right. But if you&#8217;ve been leanin&#8217; over the rail, lookin&#8217;
      on, and get pushed in unexpected, maybe you don&#8217;t care so much about
      bein&#8217; nigh the center.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Then why stay there? Why not get out?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;If you&#8217;re caught in the wheels, gettin&#8217; out&#8217;s
      somethin&#8217; of a job.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But, as I understand it, Captain Warren&mdash;I may be misinformed,
      for, of course, I haven&#8217;t been unduly curious concerning your family
      affairs&mdash;as <i>I</i> understand it, you were not obliged to remain
      among the&mdash;among the wheels, as you call them. You could have gotten
      out quite easily, couldn&#8217;t you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I presume likely I could. But, you see, ma&#8217;am, I had a feelin&#8217;
      that I&#8217;d ought to stay.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn laughed lightly. &#8220;Ah me!&#8221; she exclaimed; &#8220;you
      felt it your duty, I suppose. Oh, you New England Puritans!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She shook her head in playful mockery. Then she added, &#8220;But, at all
      events, it cannot be so very disagreeable&mdash;now. I have no doubt it
      was&mdash;well, not comfortable for you at first. Steve and Caroline were
      quite impossible&mdash;really quite furious. Your sudden appearance in the
      capacity of guardian was too much for them. They were sure you must be a
      perfect ogre, Captain. I had to use all my eloquence to convince them they
      would not be devoured alive. But now&mdash;what a change! Why, already
      Caroline accepts you as&mdash;well,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164"
      id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> almost like an old friend, like myself.
      In the last few days this change in her attitude is quite marked. What <i>have</i>
      you done? Are you a wizard? Do tell me!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      This appeal, delivered with eloquence and most engaging play of brow and
      eye, should have been irresistible. Unfortunately the captain did not
      appear to have heard it. Leaning forward, his hands clasped between his
      knees, he was gazing into the fire. And when he spoke, it was as if he
      were thinking aloud.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I s&#8217;pose &#8217;tis a sort of disease, this duty business,&#8221;
      he mused. &#8220;And most diseases ain&#8217;t cheerful visitations. Still
      a feller ought not to growl about it in public. I always did hate for a
      man to be goin&#8217; about forever complainin&#8217; of his sufferin&#8217;s&mdash;whether
      they was from duty or rheumatiz.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn&#8217;s lips snapped shut. She pressed them together
      impatiently. Evidently her questions, and their diplomatic prelude, had
      been unheard and wasted. However, she did not intend to be sidetracked or
      discouraged.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;One should not prate of one&#8217;s duty, of course,&#8221; she
      agreed. &#8220;Not that you do&mdash;far from it. But, as I was saying,
      our dear Caroline has&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you, ma&#8217;am. I hope I don&#8217;t groan too loud. Do you
      know, I believe climate has a bearin&#8217; on duty, same as it has on
      rheumatics. I s&#8217;pose you city folks&#8221;&mdash;and there was
      almost contempt in the words&mdash;&#8220;are sort of Christian Science,
      and figger it&#8217;s an &#8216;error&#8217;&mdash;hey? Somethin&#8217; to
      be forgot.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady resented the interruption, and the contempt nettled her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not at all!&#8221; she retorted. &#8220;We city dwellers have our
      duties, also.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Is that a fact? I want to know!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>&#8220;Certainly
      it is a fact,&#8221; tartly. &#8220;I have my duties and many of them.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um! So? Well, I s&#8217;pose you do feel you must dress just so,
      and live just so, and do just such and such things. If you call those
      duties, why&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I do. What else are they, pray?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn was finding it difficult to keep her temper. To be catechised in
      this contemptuously lofty manner by one to whom she considered herself so
      immensely superior, was too much. She forgot the careful plan of campaign
      which she had intended to follow in this interview, and now interrupted in
      her turn. And Captain Elisha, who also was something of a strategist,
      smiled at the fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;We do have our social duties, our duties to society,&#8221; snapped
      the widow, hotly. &#8220;They are necessary ones. Having been born&mdash;or
      risen to&mdash;a certain circle, we recognize the responsibilities
      attached to it. We <i>are</i> careful with whom we associate; we have to
      be. As for dress, we dress as others of our friends do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And maybe a little better, if you can, hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;If we can&mdash;yes. I presume&mdash;&#8221; with crushing irony&mdash;&#8220;dress
      in South Denboro counts but little.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You wouldn&#8217;t say that if you ever went to sewin&#8217;
      circle,&#8221; with a chuckle. &#8220;Still, compared to the folks at your
      meetin&#8217;-house this morning, our congregation would look like a flock
      of blackbirds alongside of a cage full of Birds of Paradise. But most of
      us&mdash;the women folks especial&mdash;dress as well as we can.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;As well as you can!&#8221; triumphantly. &#8220;There! you see? And
      you live as well as you can, don&#8217;t you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;If you mean style, why, we don&#8217;t set as much store by it as
      you do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Nonsense! We are obliged to be,&#8221; with a slight<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>
      shudder at the vulgarism, &#8220;<i>stylish</i>. If we should lapse, if we
      should become shabby and behind the fashion or live in that way, people
      would wonder and believe it was because we could not afford to do
      otherwise.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, s&#8217;pose they did, you&#8217;d know better yourselves.
      Can&#8217;t you be independent?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. Not unless you are very, very rich; then it might be considered
      an eccentricity. Independence is a costly luxury, and few can afford it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But suppose you can&#8217;t afford the other thing?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Then we must pretend we can. Oh, you <i>don&#8217;t</i> understand!
      So <i>much</i> depends upon a proper appearance. Everything depends upon
      it&mdash;one&#8217;s future, one&#8217;s children&#8217;s future&mdash;everything.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph!&#8221; with the same irritating smile, &#8220;I should think
      that might mean some plannin&#8217;. And plans, the best of &#8217;em, are
      likely to go wrong. You talk about the children in your&mdash;in what you
      call your &#8216;circle.&#8217; How can you plan what they&#8217;ll do?
      You might when they was little, perhaps; but when they grow up it&#8217;s
      different.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It is not. It <i>can&#8217;t</i> be! And, if they have been
      properly reared and understand their responsibilities, they plan with you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Land sakes! You mean&mdash;why, s&#8217;pose they take a notion to
      get married? I&#8217;m an old bach, of course, but the average young girl
      or feller is subject to that sort of ailment, &#8217;cordin&#8217; to the
      records. S&#8217;pose one of your circle&#8217;s daughters gets to keepin&#8217;
      company with a chap who&#8217;s outside the ring? A promisin&#8217;, nice
      boy enough, but poor, and a rank outsider? Mean to say she sha&#8217;n&#8217;t
      marry him if she wants to.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Certainly! That sort of marriage is never a happy one, unless, of
      course, the girl is wealthy enough not to care. And even then it is not
      advisable. All their customs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167"
      id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> and habits of thought are different. No!
      Emphatically, no! And the girl, if she is sensible and well reared, as I
      have said, will understand it is impossible.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;My soul and body! Then you mean to tell me that she <i>must</i>
      look out for some chap in her crowd? If she ain&#8217;t got but just
      enough to keep inside the circle&mdash;this grand whirlamagig you&#8217;re
      tellin&#8217; me about&mdash;if she&#8217;s pretendin&#8217; up to the
      limit of her income or over, then it&#8217;s her duty, and her ma and pa&#8217;s
      duty, to set her cap for a man who&#8217;s nigher the center pole in the
      tent and go right after him? Do you tell me that? That&#8217;s a note, I
      must say!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn&#8217;s foot beat a lively tattoo on the rug. &#8220;I don&#8217;t
      know what you mean by a &#8216;note,&#8217;&#8221; she commented, with
      majestic indignation. &#8220;I have not lived in South Denboro, and
      perhaps my understanding of English is defective. But marriages among
      cultivated people, <i>society</i> people, intelligent, ambitious people
      are, or should be, the result of thought and planning. Others are
      impossible!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;How about this thing we read so much about in novels?&mdash;Love, I
      believe they call it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Love! Love is well enough, but it does not, of itself, pay for
      proper clothes, or a proper establishment, or seats at the opera, or any
      of the practical, necessary things of modern life. You can&#8217;t keep up
      a presentable appearance on <i>love</i>! If I had a daughter who lacked
      the brains to understand what I had taught her, that is, her duty as a
      member of good society, and talked of making a love match, I would.... But
      there! You can&#8217;t understand, I suppose.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She rose and shook the wrinkles from her gown. Captain Elisha straightened
      in his chair. &#8220;Why, yes, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he drawled, quietly;
      &#8220;yes, ma&#8217;am, I guess I understand fust-rate.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>And
      suddenly Mrs. Dunn also understood. Her face, which had grown almost too
      red for one attached to a member of polite society, grew redder still. She
      turned away and walked to the window.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What nonsense we&#8217;ve been talking!&#8221; she said, after a
      moment&#8217;s silence. &#8220;I don&#8217;t see what led us into this
      silly discussion. Malcolm and your niece must be having a delightful ride.
      I almost wish I had gone with them.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She did wish it, devoutly. Captain Elisha still remained by the fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Automobiles are great things for hustlin&#8217; around in,&#8221;
      he observed. &#8220;Pity they&#8217;re such dangerous playthings. Yet I s&#8217;pose
      they&#8217;re one of the necessities of up-to-date folks, same as you
      said, Mrs. Dunn.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Surely,&#8221; she asked coldly, &#8220;you don&#8217;t condemn
      automobiles, Captain Warren? What would you&mdash;return to stage coaches?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not a mite! But I was thinkin&#8217; of that poor Moriarty man.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;His death was due to an accident. And accidents,&#8221; she turned
      and looked directly at him, &#8220;when they involve financial damages,
      may be paid for.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain nodded. &#8220;Yes,&#8221; he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And when arrangements for such payment is made, <i>honorable</i>
      people&mdash;at least, in the circle of which you and I have been speaking&mdash;consider
      the matter settled and do not refer to it again, either among themselves&mdash;or
      elsewhere.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am.&#8221; He nodded again. She did know; Malcolm,
      evidently, had told her. &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am. That&#8217;s the way any
      decent person would feel&mdash;and act&mdash;if such a thing happened&mdash;even
      if they hailed from South Denboro.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He pushed back his chair and stood up. She continued<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> to look him over, much
      as if she were taking a mental inventory of his character, or revising an
      old one.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I hope,&#8221; she said, lightly, but with deliberation, &#8220;our
      little argument and&mdash;er&mdash;slight disagreement concerning&mdash;er&mdash;duty
      will not make us enemies, Captain Warren.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Enemies! Land sakes, no! I respect anybody&#8217;s havin&#8217;
      opinions and not bein&#8217; afraid to give &#8217;em. And I think I can
      understand some of how you feel. Maybe if I was anchored here on Fifth
      Avenue, same as you are, instead of bein&#8217; blown in by an unexpected
      no&#8217;theaster, I&#8217;d be feelin&#8217; the same way. It&#8217;s all
      accordin&#8217;, as I&#8217;ve said so often. Enemies? No, indeed!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She laughed again. &#8220;I&#8217;m so glad!&#8221; she said. &#8220;Malcolm
      declares he&#8217;d be quite afraid of me&mdash;as an enemy. He seems to
      think I possess some mysterious and quite diabolical talent for making my
      un-friends uncomfortable, and declares he would compromise rather than
      fight me at any time. Of course it&#8217;s ridiculous&mdash;just one of
      his jokes&mdash;and I&#8217;m really harmless and very much afraid. That&#8217;s
      why I want you and me to be friends, Captain Warren.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sure!&#8221; Captain Elisha nodded emphatically. &#8220;That&#8217;s
      what I want, too.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      But that evening, immediately after his return to the apartment, when&mdash;Caroline
      having gone to her own room to remove her wraps&mdash;he and the butler
      were alone, he characteristically unburdened his mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Warren, sir,&#8221; said Edwards, &#8220;a young gentleman left
      a note here for you this afternoon. The elevator man gave it to me, sir.
      It&#8217;s on your dressing table, sir.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain&#8217;s answer had nothing whatever to do with the note. He
      had been thinking of other things.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>&#8220;Commodore,&#8221;
      he said, &#8220;I&#8217;ve got the answer.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;To the note? Already, sir? I didn&#8217;t know you&#8217;d seen it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I ain&#8217;t. I&#8217;ve got the answer to the conundrum. It&#8217;s
      Mother!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mother, sir? I&mdash;I don&#8217;t know what you mean.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I do. The answer&#8217;s Mother. Sonny don&#8217;t count, though he
      may think he does. But Mother&#8217;s the whole team and the dog under the
      wagon. And, Commodore, we&#8217;ve got to trot some if we want to keep
      ahead of that team! Don&#8217;t you forget it!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He went to his room, leaving the bewildered butler to retire to the
      kitchen, where he informed the cook that the old man was off his head
      worse than common to-night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Blessed if he don&#8217;t think he&#8217;s a trotting horse!&#8221;
      said Edwards.
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER XI
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he
      note on the dining room table proved, to the captain&#8217;s delight, to
      be from James Pearson. It was brief and to the point.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why don&#8217;t you come and see me?&#8221; wrote the young man.
      &#8220;I&#8217;ve been expecting you, and you promised to come. Have you
      forgotten my address? If so, here it is. I expect to be in all day
      to-morrow.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The consequence of this was that eleven o&#8217;clock the next day found
      Captain Elisha pulling the bell at a brick house in a long brick block on
      a West Side street. The block had evidently been, in its time, the homes
      of well-to-do people, but now it was rather dingy and gone to seed. Across
      the street the first floors were, for the most part, small shops, and in
      the windows above them doctors&#8217; signs alternated with those of
      modistes, manicure artists, and milliners.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain had come a roundabout way, stopping in at the Moriarty flat,
      where he found Mrs. Moriarty in a curious state of woe and tearful pride.
      &#8220;Oh, what will I do, sir?&#8221; she moaned. &#8220;When I think he&#8217;s
      gone, it seems as if I&#8217;d die, too. But, thanks to you and Miss
      Warren&mdash;Mary make it up to her!&mdash;my Pat&#8217;ll have the finest
      funeral since the Guinny saloon man was buried. Ah, if he could have lived
      to see it, he&#8217;d have died content!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The pull at the boarding-house bell was answered by a rather slatternly
      maid, who informed the visitor that she guessed Mr. Pearson was in; he
      &#8217;most always was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172"
      id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> around lunch time. So Captain Elisha
      waited in a typical boarding-house parlor, before a grate with no fire in
      it and surrounded by walnut and plush furniture, until Pearson himself
      came hurrying downstairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Say, you&#8217;re a brick, Captain Warren!&#8221; he declared, as
      they shook hands. &#8220;I hoped you&#8217;d come to-day. Why haven&#8217;t
      you before?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain explained his having mislaid the address.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, was that it? Then I&#8217;m glad I reminded you. Rather a
      cheeky thing to do, but I&#8217;ve been a reporter, and nerve is necessary
      in that profession. I began to be afraid living among the blue-bloods had
      had its effect, and you were getting finicky as to your acquaintances.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You didn&#8217;t believe any such thing.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Didn&#8217;t I? Well, perhaps I didn&#8217;t. Come up to my room. I
      think we can just about squeeze in, if you don&#8217;t mind sitting close.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson&#8217;s room was on the third flight, at the front of the house.
      Through the window one saw the upper half of the buildings opposite, and
      above them a stretch of sky. The bed was a small brass and iron affair,
      but the rest of the furniture was of good quality, the chairs were easy
      and comfortable, and the walls were thickly hung with photographs, framed
      drawings, and prints.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I put those up to cover the wall paper,&#8221; explained the host.
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t offer them as an art collection, but as a screen. Sit
      down. Put your coat on the bed. Shall I close the window? I usually keep
      the upper half open to let out the pipe smoke. Otherwise I might not be
      able to navigate without fog signals.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His visitor chuckled, followed directions with his coat and hat, and sat
      down. Pearson took the chair by the small flat-topped desk.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>&#8220;How
      about that window?&#8221; he asked. &#8220;Shall I shut it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, no! We&#8217;ll be warm enough, I guess. You&#8217;ve got steam
      heat, I see.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You mean you hear. Those pipes make noise enough to wake the dead.
      At first I thought I couldn&#8217;t sleep because of the racket they made.
      Now I doubt if I could without it. Would you consider a cigar, Captain?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hum! I don&#8217;t usually stop to consider. But I tell you, Jim&mdash;just
      now you said something about a pipe. I&#8217;ve got mine aboard, but I ain&#8217;t
      dared to smoke it since I left South Denboro. If you wouldn&#8217;t mind&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not a bit. Tobacco in this jar on the desk. I keep a temporary
      supply in my jacket pocket. Matches? Here you are! What do you think of my&mdash;er&mdash;stateroom?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Think it makes nice, snug quarters,&#8221; was the prompt answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! Snug is a good word. Much like living in an omnibus, but it
      answers the purpose. I furnished it myself, except for the bed. The
      original bureau had pictures of cauliflowers painted on each drawer front.
      Mrs. Hepton&mdash;my landlady&mdash;was convinced that they were roses. I
      told her she might be right, but, at all events, looking at them made me
      hungry. Perhaps she noticed the effect on my appetite and was willing for
      me to substitute.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain laughed. Then, pointing, he asked: &#8220;What&#8217;s that
      handbill?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The &#8220;handbill&#8221; was a fair-sized poster announcing the
      production at the &#8220;Eureka Opera House&#8221; of the &#8220;Thrilling
      Comedy-Drama, The Golden Gods.&#8221; Pearson looked at it, made a face,
      and shook his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>&#8220;That,&#8221;
      he said, &#8220;is my combined crusher and comforter. It is the
      announcement of the first, and next to the last, performance of a play I
      wrote in my calf days. The &#8216;Eureka Opera House&#8217; is&mdash;or
      was, if the &#8216;gods&#8217; weren&#8217;t too much for it&mdash;located
      at Daybury, Illinois. I keep that bill to prevent my conceit getting away
      with me. Also, when I get discouraged over my novel, it reminds me that,
      however bad the yarn may turn out to be, I have committed worse crimes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      This led to the captain&#8217;s asking about the novel and how it was
      progressing. His companion admitted having made some progress, more in the
      line of revision than anything else. He had remodeled his hero somewhat,
      in accordance with his new friend&#8217;s suggestions during their
      interview at the Warren apartment, and had introduced other characters,
      portrait sketches from memory of persons whom he had known in his boyhood
      days in the Maine town. He read a few chapters aloud, and Captain Elisha
      waxed almost enthusiastic over them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then followed a long discussion over a point of seamanship, the handling
      of a bark in a gale. It developed that the young author&#8217;s knowledge
      of saltwater strategy was extensive and correct in the main, though
      somewhat theoretical. That of his critic was based upon practice and hard
      experience. He cited this skipper and that as examples, and carried them
      through no&#8217;theasters off Hatteras and typhoons in the Indian Ocean.
      The room, in spite of the open window, grew thick with pipe smoke, and the
      argument was punctuated by thumps on the desk and chair arms, and
      illustrated by diagrams drawn by the captain&#8217;s forefinger on the
      side of the dresser. The effects of oil on breaking rollers, the use of a
      &#8220;sea-anchor&#8221; over the side to &#8220;hold<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> her to it,&#8221;
      whether or not a man was justified in abandoning his ship under certain
      given circumstances, these were debated pro and con. Always Pearson&#8217;s
      &#8220;Uncle Jim&#8221; was held up as the final authority, the paragon of
      sea captains, by the visitor, and, while his host pretended to agree, with
      modest reservations, in this estimate of his relative, he was more and
      more certain that his hero was bound to become a youthful edition of
      Elisha Warren himself&mdash;and he thanked the fates which had brought
      this fine, able, old-school mariner to his door.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length, Captain Elisha, having worked &#8220;Uncle Jim&#8221; into a
      safe harbor after a hundred mile cruise under jury jig, with all hands
      watch and watch at the pumps, leaned forward in triumph to refill his
      pipe. Having done so, his eyes remained fixed upon a photograph standing,
      partially hidden by a leather collar box, upon the dresser. He looked at
      it intently, then rose and took it in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I swan!&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;Either what my head&#8217;s
      been the fullest of lately has struck to my eyesight, or else&mdash;why,
      say, Jim, that&#8217;s Caroline, ain&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson colored and seemed embarrassed. &#8220;Yes,&#8221; he answered,
      &#8220;that is Miss Warren.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! Good likeness, too! But what kind of rig has she got on? I&#8217;ve
      seen her wear a good many dresses&mdash;seems to have a different one for
      every day, pretty nigh&mdash;but I never saw her in anything like that.
      Looks sort of outlandish; like one of them foreign girls at Geneva&mdash;or
      Leghorn, say.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. That is an Italian peasant costume. Miss Warren wore it at a
      fancy dress ball a year ago.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Want to know! I-talian peasant, hey! Fifth Avenue<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>
      peasant with diamonds in her hair. Becomin&#8217; to her, ain&#8217;t it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I thought so.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. She looks pretty <i>enough</i>! But she don&#8217;t need
      diamonds nor hand-organ clothes to make her pretty.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, looking up from the photograph, he asked, &#8220;Give you this
      picture, did she?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His friend&#8217;s embarrassment increased. &#8220;No,&#8221; he answered
      shortly. Then, after an instant&#8217;s hesitation. &#8220;That ball was
      given by the Astorbilts and was one of the most swagger affairs of the
      season. The <i>Planet</i>&mdash;the paper with which I was connected&mdash;issues
      a Sunday supplement of half-tone reproductions of photographs. One page
      was given up to pictures of the ball and the costumes worn there.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I see. Astonishin&#8217; how folks do like to get their faces into
      print. I used to know an old woman&mdash;Aunt Hepsibah Tucker, her name
      was&mdash;she&#8217;s dead now. The pride of Aunt Hepsy&#8217;s heart was
      that she took nineteen bottles of &#8216;Balm of Burdock Tea&#8217; and
      the tea folks printed her picture as a testimonial that she lived through
      it. Ho, ho! And society big-bugs appear to have the same cravin&#8217;.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Some of them do. But that of your niece was obtained by our society
      reporter from the photographer who took it. Bribery and corruption, of
      course. Miss Warren would have been at least surprised to see it in our
      supplement. I fancied she might not care for so much publicity and
      suppressed it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. Well, I guess you did right. I&#8217;ll thank you for her.
      By the way, I told Caroline where I was cal&#8217;latin&#8217; to go this
      mornin&#8217;, and she wished to be remembered to you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>Pearson
      seemed pleased, but he made no comment. Captain Elisha blew a smoke ring
      from his pipe.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And say, Jim,&#8221; he added, embarrassed in his turn, &#8220;I
      hope you won&#8217;t think I&#8217;m interferin&#8217; in your affairs,
      but are you still set against comin&#8217; up to where I live? I know you
      said you had a reason, but are you sure it&#8217;s a good one?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He waited for an answer but none came. Pearson was gazing out of the
      window. The captain looked at his watch and rose.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I guess I&#8217;ll have to be goin&#8217;,&#8221; he said. &#8220;It&#8217;s
      after twelve now.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His host swung around in his chair. &#8220;Sit down, Captain,&#8221; he
      said. &#8220;I&#8217;ve been doing a lot of thinking since I saw you, and
      I&#8217;m not sure about that reason. I believe I&#8217;ll ask your
      advice. It is a delicate matter, and it involves your brother. You may see
      it as he did, and, if so, our friendship ends, I suppose. But I&#8217;m
      going to risk it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Rodgers Warren and I,&#8221; he went on, &#8220;were well
      acquainted during the latter part of my newspaper work. I was financial
      man on the <i>Planet</i>, and some articles I wrote took your brother&#8217;s
      fancy. At all events, he wrote me concerning them in highly complimentary
      terms and asked me to call and see him at his office. I did so and&mdash;well,
      we became very friendly, so much so that he invited me to his house. I
      dined there several times, was invited to call often, and&mdash;I enjoyed
      it. You see, I had few friends in the city, outside my journalistic
      acquaintances, and I suppose I was flattered by Mr. Warren&#8217;s
      kindness and the fancy he seemed to have taken to me. And I liked Miss
      Warren&mdash;no one could help that&mdash;and I believed she liked me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>&#8220;She
      does like you,&#8221; interrupted his companion, with surprise. &#8220;Caroline&#8217;s
      a good girl.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, she is. However, she isn&#8217;t in this story, except as a
      side-issue. At this time my ambitions were for a newspaper career, and I
      thought I was succeeding. And her father&#8217;s marked interest and the
      things he said to me promised more than an ordinary success. He was a well
      known man on the street, and influential. So my head began to swell, and I
      dreamed&mdash;a lot of foolishness. And then&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused, put down his empty pipe, and sighed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, then,&#8221; he continued, &#8220;came the upset. I judged
      from what you said at our previous conversation, Captain, that you were
      well enough acquainted with Wall Street to know that queer operations take
      place there. Did you read about the South Shore Trolley business?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha considered. &#8220;Why, yes,&#8221; he said, slowly,
      &#8220;seem&#8217;s if I did. One of those consolidations with &#8216;holdin&#8217;
      companies&#8217; and franchises and extensions and water by the hogshead.
      Wa&#8217;n&#8217;t that it? I remember now; the Boston papers had
      considerable about it, and I presume likely the New York ones had more.
      One of those all-accordin&#8217;-to-law swindles that sprout same as
      toadstools in a dark place, but die out if the light&#8217;s turned on too
      sudden. This one didn&#8217;t come to nothin&#8217; but a bad smell, if I
      remember right.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You do. And I suppose I&#8217;m responsible for the smell. I got
      wind of the thing, investigated, found out something of what was going on,
      and printed a preliminary story in the <i>Planet</i>. It caused a
      sensation.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused once more. Captain Elisha, for the sake of saying something,
      observed, &#8220;I shouldn&#8217;t wonder.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It certainly did. And the morning on which it appeared,<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> Mr.
      Rodgers Warren &#8217;phoned me. He wished to see me at once. I went down
      to his office. Captain, I dislike to tell you this. Mr. Warren was your
      brother.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I know he was. And I&#8217;m his executor. Both those reasons make
      me &#8217;specially anxious to have you tell me the truth. Heave ahead
      now, to oblige me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I found him very polite and cordial, at first. He said that a
      ridiculous and sensational story concerning the Trolley Combine had
      appeared in the <i>Planet</i>, and he would like to have me contradict it
      and suppress further falsehoods of the kind. I told him I couldn&#8217;t
      do that, because the story was true. I had written it myself. He was
      angry, and I could see that he was holding himself in by main strength. I
      went on to explain that it was the duty of an honest paper, as I saw it,
      to expose such trespass upon the people&#8217;s rights. He asked me if I
      knew who was behind the scheme. I said I knew some of the backers. They
      were pretty big men, too. Then he informed me that he himself was deeply
      interested.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I was knocked off my feet by that, you can imagine. And, to be
      frank, Captain, if I had known it at first I&#8217;m not sure that I,
      personally, would have taken the matter up. Yet I might; I can&#8217;t
      tell. But now that I had done it and discovered what I had, I couldn&#8217;t
      give it up. I must go on and learn more. And I knew enough already to be
      certain that the more I learned the more I should write and have
      published. It was one of those things which had to be made public&mdash;if
      a fellow had a conscience about him and a pride in the decency of his
      profession.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All this was going through my head as I sat there in his private
      office. And he took my surprise and hesitation<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> as symptoms of wavering
      and went at me, hard. Of course I knew, he said, that the operation was
      absolutely within the law. I did, but that didn&#8217;t make it more
      honest or moral or just. He went on to say that in large financial deals
      of this nature petty scruples must be lost sight of. Good of the business,
      rights of stockholders, all that sort of stuff; he rang the changes. All
      the papers cared for was sensation; to imperil the fortune of widows and
      orphans whose savings were invested in the South Shore Stock, for the sake
      of sensation, was a crime. He should have known better than to say that to
      me; it is such an ancient, worn-out platitude.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I know. I&#8217;ve been to political meetin&#8217;s. The widows and
      orphans are always hangin&#8217; on the success of the Republican party&mdash;or
      the Democratic, whichever way you vote. The amount of tears shed over
      their investments by fellers you wouldn&#8217;t trust with a brass
      five-cent piece, is somethin&#8217; amazin&#8217;. Go on; I didn&#8217;t
      mean to interrupt.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Then he switched to a more personal appeal. He said he had taken a
      fancy to me; had liked me from the very beginning. He recognized my
      unusual genius at first sight and had gone as far as to make plans bearing
      directly on my future. He was associated with men of wealth and business
      sagacity. Large deals, of which the Trolley Combine was but one, were on
      foot. He and his friends needed a representative on the press&mdash;a
      publicity agent, so to speak. Some of the greatest corporations employed
      men of that kind, and the salaries paid were large and the opportunities
      afforded greater still. Well, that&#8217;s true enough. I know writers who
      are doing just that thing and getting rich at it. I suppose they&#8217;ve
      squared their consciences somehow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181"
      id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> and are willing to write lies and
      misleading articles for what there is in it. I can&#8217;t, that&#8217;s
      all; I&#8217;m not built that way, and I told him so.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It ended in an open break. He reminded me of the favors he had done
      me. He had treated me almost like a son, had introduced me to his family,
      entertaining me at his table. Where was my gratitude? That was another bad
      break on his part, for it made me mad. I told him I had not asked to be
      adopted or fed by him; if I had supposed his kindness had an ulterior
      motive, I would have seen him at the devil before I accepted a favor. My
      career as a financial visitor was ended. Get out of his office! I got. But
      the Trolley Combine did not go through. The <i>Planet</i> and the other
      papers kept up the fight and&mdash;and the widows and orphans are
      bankrupt, I presume.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha&#8217;s pipe had gone out long since. He absently rubbed
      the warm bowl between his palms.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph!&#8221; he muttered. &#8220;So &#8217;Bije was deep in that
      business, was he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He was. Very deep indeed, I found out afterwards. And, I declare, I
      almost pitied him at the time. He acted as if his whole fortune was staked
      on the gamble. His hands shook, and the perspiration stood on his forehead
      as he talked. I felt as if I had been the means of ruining him. But of
      course, I hadn&#8217;t. He lived for some time after that, and, I
      understand, died a rich man.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. He left what I&#8217;d call a heap of money. My nephew and
      niece don&#8217;t seem to think so, but I do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So you see, Captain, why I stopped calling on the Warrens, and why
      I did not accept Miss Warren&#8217;s invitation.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I see.... I see.... And yet I don&#8217;t<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> know. &#8217;Bije may
      have took to you for business reasons, but the children didn&#8217;t. They
      liked you for yourself. Caroline as much as said so. And their father
      never told &#8217;em a word about the row, neither. Of course you couldn&#8217;t
      have called when he was alive, but he&#8217;s gone, and I&#8217;m&mdash;well,
      I&#8217;m sort of temporary skipper there now. And <i>I</i> want you to
      come.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But if Miss Warren did know? She should know, I think.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I ain&#8217;t sure that she should. I guess there&#8217;s consider&#8217;ble
      in her pa&#8217;s life she ain&#8217;t acquainted with. And she&#8217;s as
      straight and honest and upright as a schooner&#8217;s fo&#8217;mast. You
      did nothin&#8217; to be &#8217;shamed of. It&#8217;s the other way &#8217;round,
      &#8217;cordin&#8217; to my notion. But leave her out of it now. I&#8217;ve
      sacrificed some few things to take the job I&#8217;ve got at present, but
      I can&#8217;t afford to sacrifice my friends. I count on you as a friend,
      and I want you to come and see <i>me</i>. Will you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know, Captain Warren. I must think it over a while, I
      guess.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right&mdash;think. But the invitation stands&mdash;<i>my</i>
      invitation. And, if you want to shift responsibility, shift it on to me.
      Some day, if it&#8217;ll make you feel better, I&#8217;ll tell Caroline
      and Stevie the whole story. But I want them to know you and the world&mdash;and
      me&mdash;a little better first. &#8217;Cordin&#8217; to my notion, they
      need education just along that line. They&#8217;ve got teachers in other
      branches, but.... There! I&#8217;ve <i>got</i> to be goin&#8217;. There&#8217;s
      the dinner bell now.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The string of Japanese gongs, hung in the lower hall, sounded sonorously.
      Captain Elisha reached for his coat and hat, but Pearson caught his arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, you don&#8217;t!&#8221; he declared. &#8220;You&#8217;re going
      to stay and have lunch with me&mdash;here. If you say no, I<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> shall
      believe it is because you are afraid of a boarding-house meal.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His guest protested, but the protests were overruled, and he and his host
      went down to the dining room. The captain whispered as they entered,
      &#8220;Land sakes, Jim, this takes me back home. It&#8217;s pretty nigh a
      twin to the dinin&#8217; room at the Centre House in South Denboro.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="medium" />
    <p>
      All boarding-house dining rooms bear a family likeness, so the comment was
      not far wrong. A long table, rows of chairs on each side, ancient and
      honorable pictures on the walls, the landlady presiding majestically over
      the teapot, the boarders&#8217; napkins in rings&mdash;all the familiar
      landmarks were present.
    </p>
    <p>
      Most of the male &#8220;regulars&#8221; were in business about the city
      and therefore lunched elsewhere, but the females were in evidence. Pearson
      introduced his guest. The captain met Mrs. Hepton, the landlady, plump,
      gray-haired, and graciously hospitable. She did not look at all like a
      business woman, but appearances are not always to be trusted; Mrs. Hepton
      had learned not to trust them&mdash;also delinquent boarders, too far. He
      met Miss Sherborne, whose coiffure did not match in spots, but whose
      voice, so he learned afterward, had been &#8220;cultivated abroad.&#8221;
      Miss Sherborne gave music lessons. Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles also claimed
      his attention and held it, principally because of the faded richness of
      her apparel. Mrs. Ruggles was a widow, suffering from financial reverses;
      the contrast between her present mode of living and the grandeur of the
      past formed her principal topic of conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      There were half a dozen others, including an artist whose aversion to
      barbers was proclaimed by the luxuriant<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> length of his locks, a
      quiet old gentleman who kept the second-hand book store two doors below;
      his wife, a neat, trim little body; and Mr. and Mrs. C. Dickens, no less.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Dickens was bald, an affliction which he tried to conceal by brushing
      the hair at the sides of his head across the desert at the top. He shaved
      his cheeks and wore a beard and mustache. Mrs. Dickens addressed him as
      &#8220;C.,&#8221; and handed him the sauce bottle, the bread, or whatever
      she imagined he desired, as if she were offering sacrifice to an idol.
    </p>
    <p>
      She sat next to Captain Elisha and imparted information concerning her
      lord and master in whispers, during the intervals between offerings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;My husband will be pleased to meet you, Captain Warren,&#8221; she
      murmured. &#8220;Any friend of Mr. Pearson is certain to be an
      acquisition. Mr. Pearson and my husband are congenial spirits; they are
      members of the same profession.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I want to know, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. What is it, &#8216;C.&#8217; dear? Oh, the butter! Margaret&mdash;&#8221;
      to the waitress&mdash;&#8220;Mr. Dickens wishes another butter-ball. Yes,
      Captain Warren, Mr. Dickens is an author. Haven&#8217;t you noticed the&mdash;er&mdash;resemblance?
      It is considered quite remarkable.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha looked puzzled. &#8220;Why,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I hadn&#8217;t
      noticed it &#8217;special. Jim&#8217;s&mdash;Mr. Pearson&#8217;s&mdash;eyes
      and his are some the same color, but&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, no! not the resemblance to Mr. Pearson. I didn&#8217;t mean <i>that</i>.
      The resemblance to his more famous namesake. Surely you notice it <i>now</i>.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain shook his head. &#8220;I&mdash;I&#8217;m afraid I&#8217;m
      thick-headed, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he admitted. &#8220;I&#8217;m out of
      soundin&#8217;s.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>&#8220;But
      the nose, and his beard, and his manner. Don&#8217;t they remind you of
      the English Dickens?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;O-oh!&#8221; Captain Elisha inspected the great man with interest.
      He had a vague memory of a portrait in a volume of &#8220;Pickwick&#8221;
      at home. &#8220;Oh, I see! Yes, yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Of course you see! Everyone does. Mr. Dickens often says&mdash;it
      is one of his favorite jokes&mdash;that while other men must choose a
      profession, his was chosen for him by fate. How, with such a name, could
      he do anything except write?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know, ma&#8217;am. But names are risky pilots, ain&#8217;t
      they? I&#8217;ve run against a consider&#8217;ble number of Solomons, but
      there wa&#8217;n&#8217;t one of &#8217;em that carried more&#8217;n a
      deckload of wisdom. They christened me Elisha, but I can&#8217;t even
      prophesy the weather with sartinty enough to bet. However, I daresay in
      your husband&#8217;s case it&#8217;s all right.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady had turned away, and he was afraid he might have offended her.
      The fear was groundless; she was merely offering another sacrifice, the
      sugar this time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes?&#8221; she asked, turning, &#8220;you were saying&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why&mdash;er&mdash;nothin&#8217; of account. I cal&#8217;late the
      C. stands for Charles, then.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No-o. Mr. Dickens&#8217;s Christian name is Cornelius; but don&#8217;t
      mention it before him, he is very sensitive on that point.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The Dickenses &#8220;tickled&#8221; the captain exceedingly, and, after
      the meal was over, he spoke of them to Pearson.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Say,&#8221; he said, &#8220;you&#8217;re in notorious company, ain&#8217;t
      you, Jim? What has Cornelius Charles turned out so far, in the way of
      masterpieces?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson laughed. &#8220;I believe he is employed by a<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> subscription house,&#8221;
      he replied. &#8220;Doing hack work on an encyclopedia. A great collection
      of freaks, aren&#8217;t they, Captain Warren?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Kind of. But that old book-shop man and his wife seem nice folks.
      And, as for freaks, the average boardin&#8217; house, city or country,
      seems to draw &#8217;em like flies. I guess most anybody would get queer
      if they boarded all the time.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Perhaps so. Or, if they weren&#8217;t queer, they wouldn&#8217;t
      board permanently from choice. There are two or three good fellows who
      dine and breakfast here. The food isn&#8217;t bad, considering the price.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, it ain&#8217;t. Tasted more like home than any meal I&#8217;ve
      had for a good while. I&#8217;m afraid I never was cut out for swell livin&#8217;.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Hepton approached them as they stood in the hall. She wished to know
      if Mr. Pearson&#8217;s friend was thinking of finding lodgings. Because
      Mr. Saks&mdash;the artist&#8217;s name&mdash;was giving up the second
      floor back in a fortnight, and it was a very pleasant room. &#8220;We
      should be delighted to add you to our little circle, Captain Warren.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson told her that his companion was already lodged, and she said
      good-by and left them. The captain smiled broadly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Everything in New York seems to be circles,&#8221; he declared.
      &#8220;Well, Jim, you come up and circulate with me, first chance you get.
      I&#8217;m dependin&#8217; on you to call, remember.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man was still doubtful.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;ll see,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I can&#8217;t promise yet&mdash;perhaps
      I will.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You will&mdash;after you&#8217;ve thought it out to a finish. And
      come soon. I&#8217;m gettin&#8217; interested in that second<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>
      edition of your Uncle Jim, and I want to keep along with him as fast as
      you write. Good-by. Much obliged for the dinner&mdash;there I go again!&mdash;luncheon,
      I mean.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER XII
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">P</span>earson
      called. He appeared at the apartment a week after the luncheon at the
      boarding house and was welcomed by the Captain Elisha, who, hearing his
      voice, strode into the hall, sent the shocked Edwards to the right-about
      in a hurry, seized his friend&#8217;s hand, and ushered him into the
      library. Pearson said nothing concerning his change of mind, the course of
      reasoning which led him to make the visit, and the captain asked no
      questions. He took it for granted that the young fellow&#8217;s common
      sense had turned the trick, and, the result being what it was, that was
      sufficient.
    </p>
    <p>
      They spent a pleasant afternoon together. Caroline was out, and they had
      the library to themselves. The newest chapters of the novel were read and
      discussed, and the salty flavor of the talk was as pronounced as ever.
      Pearson left early, but promised to come again very soon.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Caroline returned her uncle told her of his visitor. She seemed
      unfeignedly pleased, but regretted that she had not been there. &#8220;He
      was such a friend of father&#8217;s,&#8221; she said, &#8220;that seeing
      him here would be almost like the old days. And so many of those whom we
      thought were his friends and ours have left us.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      This was true. Rodgers Warren and his children had had many acquaintances,
      had been active in church and charitable work, and their former home was a
      center of entertainment and gayety while he lived.<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> But his death and the
      rumors of shrinkage in the family fortune, the giving up of the Fifth
      Avenue residence, the period of mourning which forbade social functions,
      all these helped to bring about forgetfulness on the part of the many; and
      Caroline&#8217;s supersensitiveness and her firm resolve not to force her
      society where it might be unwelcome had been the causes of
      misunderstanding in others, whose liking and sympathy were genuine.
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t see what has come over Caroline Warren,&#8221;
      declared a former girl friend, &#8220;she isn&#8217;t a bit as she used to
      be. Well, I&#8217;ve done my part. If she doesn&#8217;t wish to return my
      call, she needn&#8217;t. <i>I</i> sha&#8217;n&#8217;t annoy her again. But
      I&#8217;m sorry, for she was the sweetest girl I knew.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen had never been very popular, and his absence at college still
      further reduced the number of young people who might be inclined to call.
      Their not calling confirmed Caroline&#8217;s belief that she and her
      brother were deliberately shunned because of their change in
      circumstances, and she grew more sensitive and proudly resentful in
      consequence. Naturally she turned for comfort to those who remained
      faithful, the Dunns in particular. They were loyal to her. Therefore, with
      the intensity of her nature, she became doubly loyal to them. The rector
      of St. Denis dropped in frequently, and others occasionally, but she was
      lonely. She craved the society of those nearer her own age.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson&#8217;s coming, then, was psychologically apt. When he made his
      next call upon Captain Elisha, to find the latter out but his niece at
      home, she welcomed him cordially and insisted upon his waiting until her
      guardian returned. The conversation was, at first, embarrassing for the
      ex-reporter; she spoke of her father, and Pearson&mdash;the memory of his
      last interview with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg
      190]</a></span> the latter fresh in his mind, and painfully aware that she
      knew nothing of it&mdash;felt guilty and like a hypocrite. But soon the
      subject changed, and when the captain entered the library he found the
      pair laughing and chatting like old acquaintances, as, of course, they
      were.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha, paying no attention to his friend&#8217;s shakes of the
      head, invited his niece to be present at the reading of the latest
      addition to what he called &#8220;mine and Jim&#8217;s record-breakin&#8217;
      sea yarn.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;s really mine, you understand, Caroline,&#8221; he
      observed, with a wink. &#8220;I&#8217;m silent partner in the firm&mdash;if
      you can call the one that does all the talkin&#8217; silent&mdash;and Jim
      don&#8217;t do nothin&#8217; but make it up and write it and get the
      profits. Course, you mustn&#8217;t mention this to him, &#8217;cause he
      thinks he&#8217;s the author, and &#8217;twould hurt his feelin&#8217;s.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He&#8217;s quite right,&#8221; declared Pearson, emphatically.
      &#8220;If the thing is ever finished and published he will deserve all the
      credit. His advice had already remade it. This uncle of yours, Miss
      Warren,&#8221; he added, turning to her, &#8220;is like the admiral
      Kipling wrote about&mdash;he has &#8216;lived more stories&#8217; than
      ever I could invent.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain, fearful that his niece might take the statement seriously,
      hastened to protest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He&#8217;s just foolin&#8217;, Caroline,&#8221; he said. &#8220;All
      I&#8217;ve done is set and talk and talk and talk. I&#8217;ve used up more
      of his time and the surroundin&#8217; air than you&#8217;d believe was
      possible. When I get next to salt water, even in print, it&#8217;s time to
      muzzle me, same as a dog in July. The yarn is Jim&#8217;s altogether, and
      it&#8217;s mighty interestin&#8217;&mdash;to me anyhow.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m sure it will be to me, also,&#8221; declared the young
      lady. &#8220;Captain Warren has told me all about it, Mr.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>
      Pearson, and I&#8217;m very eager to hear the new portion.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There!&#8221; Captain Elisha slapped his knee. &#8220;There, Jim!&#8221;
      he exclaimed, &#8220;you hear that? Now you&#8217;ve <i>got</i> to read
      it. Anchor&#8217;s apeak! Heave ahead and get under way.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      So, because he could not well refuse, the author reluctantly began to
      read. And, as usual, his nautical friend to interrupt and comment.
      Caroline listened, her eyes twinkling. When the reading and the arguments
      were at an end, she declared it was all splendid; &#8220;Just like being
      at sea one&#8217;s self,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I positively refuse to
      permit another installment to be submitted unless I am&mdash;on deck. That&#8217;s
      the proper phrase, isn&#8217;t it, Captain?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Aye, aye, ma&#8217;am! Jim, we&#8217;ve shipped a new second mate,
      and she&#8217;s goin&#8217; to be wuth her salt. You hear <i>me</i>!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She proved to be worth all of that, at least in Pearson&#8217;s opinion.
      His calls and the readings and discussions became more and more frequent.
      Each of the trio enjoyed them greatly, Caroline quite as much as the
      others. Here was something new and fresh, something to furnish a real
      interest. The story advanced rapidly, the character of the nautical hero
      shaped itself better and better, and the heroine, also, heretofore a
      somewhat shadowy and vague young woman, began to live and breathe. She
      changed surprisingly, not only in mental but in physical characteristics.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha was first to notice the latter peculiarity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Say, Jim!&#8221; he interrupted, one afternoon, &#8220;what was
      that you just read about Mary? Her hat blowin&#8217; off to leeward and
      her brown hair blowin&#8217; after it? Or somethin&#8217; of that sort?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>Caroline
      laughed merrily. The author turned to the passage mentioned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not exactly, Captain,&#8221; he replied, smiling. &#8220;I said her
      hat had blown away, and her brown curls tossed in the wind. What&#8217;s
      wrong with that? Hats do blow away in a sou&#8217;wester; I&#8217;ve seen
      them.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Perhaps he thinks she should have been more careful in pinning it
      on,&#8221; suggested the feminine member of the advisory board.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha shook his head. &#8220;No,&#8221; he observed calmly,
      &#8220;but why was she wearin&#8217; that kind of hair? She&#8217;s pretty
      young to use a switch, ain&#8217;t she?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Switch?&#8221; repeated &#8220;Mary&#8217;s&#8221; creator, with
      some indignation. &#8220;What are you talking about? When I first
      described her, I said that her hair was luxuriant and one of her chief
      beauties.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s a fact! So you did. What made her dye it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Dye it? What do you think she is&mdash;a chorus girl?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;If I remember right she&#8217;s a postmaster&#8217;s daughter. But
      why is she wearin&#8217; brown hair, if it ain&#8217;t neither false or
      dyed? Back in the third chapter &#8217;twas <i>black</i>, like her eyes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline burst into another laugh. Pearson blushed to his forehead.
      &#8220;Well, by George!&#8221; he admitted, &#8220;you&#8217;re right. I
      believe I did have it black, at first.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You sartin did! I ain&#8217;t got any objections to either color,
      only it ought to stay put, hadn&#8217;t it? In a town of the size she&#8217;s
      livin&#8217; in, a girl with changeable hair is likely to be kind of
      conspicuous. I tell you! maybe it bleached out in the sun. Ho, ho!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The writer made a note on the margin of his manuscript and declared that
      his heroine&#8217;s tresses and eyes<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> should be made to
      correspond at all stages. They did, but they remained brown. Captain
      Elisha chuckled inwardly, but offered no further comments. Caroline, whose
      own hair and eyes were brown, did not refer to the matter at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      She and the young man became better acquainted at each succeeding &#8220;literary
      clinic,&#8221; as the latter called them. When Rodgers Warren first
      introduced him at their former home he had impressed her favorably,
      largely because of her desire to like anyone whom her father fancied. She
      worshiped the dead broker, and his memory to her was sacred. She would
      have forgiven and did forgive any wrong he might have done her, even his
      brother&#8217;s appointment as guardian, though that she could not
      understand. Unlike Stephen, who fiercely resented the whole affair and
      said bitter things concerning his parent, she believed he had done what he
      considered right. Her feeling against Captain Elisha had been based upon
      the latter&#8217;s acceptance of that appointment when he should have
      realized his unfitness. And his living with them and disgracing them in
      the eyes of their friends by his uncouth, country ways, made her blind to
      his good qualities. The Moriarty matter touched her conscience, and she
      saw more clearly. But she was very far from considering him an equal, or
      other than what Mrs. Corcoran Dunn termed him, an &#8220;encumbrance,&#8221;
      even yet. She forced herself to be kind and tolerant and gave him more of
      her society, though the church-going experience was not repeated, nor did
      she accompany him on his walks or out-of-door excursions.
    </p>
    <p>
      If Pearson&#8217;s introductions had been wholly as a friend of her
      guardian, her feeling toward him might have been tinged with the same
      condescension or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg
      194]</a></span> aversion, even. But, hallowed as he was by association
      with her father, she welcomed him for the latter&#8217;s sake. And, as she
      became interested in the novel and found that her suggestions concerning
      it were considered valuable, she looked forward to his visits and was
      disappointed if, for any reason, they were deferred. Without being aware
      of it, she began to like the young author, not alone because he wrote
      entertainingly and flattered her by listening respectfully to her
      criticisms, or because her father had liked him, but for himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha was much pleased.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I told you, Jim!&#8221; he said. &#8220;She&#8217;s just as glad to
      see you as I am. Now don&#8217;t you see how foolish it was to stay away
      &#8217;cause you and &#8217;Bije had a spat? Think of all the good times
      we&#8217;d have missed! And we needed a female aboard your Uncle Jim&#8217;s
      craft, to help with &#8216;Mary&#8217; and the rest.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His friend nodded. &#8220;She has been a great help, certainly,&#8221; he
      answered. &#8220;But I can&#8217;t help feeling guilty every time I come
      here. It is too much like obtaining her friendship under false pretenses.
      She should know the whole thing, I believe.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;She shall know it, when I think it&#8217;s time for her to. But I
      want her to know you first. Then she&#8217;ll be able to judge without so
      much prejudice. I told you I&#8217;d take the responsibility. You leave
      the ship in my charge for a spell.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      In spite of this confident assertion, the captain also felt a trifle
      guilty. He realized that selfishness was involved in his keeping Pearson&#8217;s
      secret from his niece. He was thoroughly enjoying himself with these two,
      and he could not bear to risk the breaking up which might follow
      disclosure.
    </p>
    <p>
      One evening, while a &#8220;clinic&#8221; was in progress and<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> the
      three were deep in consultation, Edwards entered to announce Mrs. Corcoran
      Dunn and Mr. Malcolm. The butler&#8217;s giving the lady precedence in his
      announcing showed that he, too, realized who was ranking officer in that
      family, even though the captain&#8217;s &#8220;conundrum&#8221; had
      puzzled him. Mrs. Dunn and her son entered at his heels.
    </p>
    <div class="figcenter" style="width: 336px;">
      <img src="images/i194.jpg" class="smallgap" width="336" height="500"
      alt="&#8220;She and the young man became better aquainted at each succeeding &#8216;literary clinic.&#8217;&#8221;"
      title="" /> <span class="caption">&#8220;She and the young man became
      better aquainted at each succeeding &#8216;literary clinic.&#8217;&#8221;</span>
    </div>
    <p>
      The lady took in the group by the table at a glance: Pearson, with the
      manuscript in his hands; Captain Elisha leaning back in his chair,
      frowning at the interruption; Caroline rising to welcome the guests, and
      coloring slightly as she did so. All these details Mrs. Dunn noted, made
      an entry in her mental memorandum-book, and underscored it for future
      reference.
    </p>
    <p>
      If she discerned unpleasant possibilities in the situation, she did not
      allow them to disturb her outward serenity. She kissed Caroline and called
      her &#8220;dear child&#8221; as fondly as usual, shook hands graciously
      with Captain Elisha, and bowed condescending recognition of Pearson.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And how is the novel coming on? Do tell me!&#8221; she begged.
      &#8220;I&#8217;m sure we interrupted a reading. It&#8217;s too bad of us,
      really! But Malcolm insisted upon coming. He has been very busy of late&mdash;some
      dreadful &#8216;corner&#8217; or other on the exchange&mdash;and has
      neglected his friends&mdash;or thinks he has. I told him I had explained
      it all to you, Caroline, but he <i>would</i> come to-night. It is the
      first call he has made in weeks; so you <i>see</i>! But there! he doesn&#8217;t
      consider running in here a call.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Call or not, it spoiled the evening for at least two of the company.
      Pearson left early. Captain Elisha excused himself soon after and went to
      his room, leaving the Dunns to chat with Caroline for an hour or<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> more.
      Malcolm joked and was languid and cynical. His mother asked a few
      carefully guarded questions.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Quite a clever person, this young author friend of yours seems to
      be, Caroline,&#8221; she observed. &#8220;Almost brilliant, really.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He isn&#8217;t a friend of mine, exactly,&#8221; replied the girl.
      &#8220;He and Captain Warren are friendly, and father used to know and
      like him, as I have told you. The novel is great fun, though! The people
      in it are coming to seem almost real to me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I daresay! I was a great reader myself once, before my health&mdash;my
      heart, you know&mdash;began to trouble me. The doctors now forbid my
      reading anything the least bit exciting. Has this&mdash;er&mdash;Mr.
      Pearson means?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I know very little of him, personally, but I think not. He used to
      be connected with the <i>Planet</i>, and wrote things about Wall Street.
      That was how father came to know him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Live in an attic, does he?&#8221; inquired Malcolm. &#8220;That&#8217;s
      what all authors do, isn&#8217;t it? Put up in attics and sleep on pallets&mdash;whatever
      they are&mdash;and eat crusts, don&#8217;t they? Jolly life&mdash;if you
      like it! I prefer bucking wheat corners, myself.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn laughed, and Caroline joined her, though not as heartily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;How ridiculous you are, Malcolm!&#8221; exclaimed his mother.
      &#8220;Mr. Pearson isn&#8217;t that kind of an author, I&#8217;m sure. But
      where does he live, Caroline?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Somewhere on West 18th Street, I believe. He has rooms there, I
      think.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh! Really? And how is this wonderful novel of his progressing?
      When does he expect to favor us with it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>&#8220;I
      don&#8217;t know. But it is progressing very well at present. He has
      written three chapters since last Wednesday. He was reading them to us
      when you came.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Indeed! Since last Wednesday? How interesting!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm did not seem to find the topic interesting, for he smothered a
      yawn. His mother changed the subject. On their way home, however, she
      again referred to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You must make it a point to see her every day,&#8221; she declared.
      &#8220;No matter what happens, you must do it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, Lord!&#8221; groaned her son, &#8220;I can&#8217;t. There&#8217;s
      the deuce and all on &#8217;Change just now, and the billiard tournament&#8217;s
      begun at the Club. My days and nights are full up. Once a week is all she
      should expect, I think.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No matter what you think or what she expects, you must do as I say.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Because I don&#8217;t like the looks of things.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, rubbish! You&#8217;re always seeing bugaboos. Uncle Hayseed is
      pacified, isn&#8217;t he? I&#8217;ve paid the Moriarty crowd off. Beastly
      big bills they were, too!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! Uncle Hayseed, as you call him, is anything but a fool. But
      he isn&#8217;t the particular trouble at present. He and I understand each
      other, I believe, and he will be reasonable. But&mdash;there is this
      Pearson. I don&#8217;t like his calling so frequently.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm laughed in huge scorn. &#8220;Pearson!&#8221; he sneered. &#8220;Why,
      he&#8217;s nothing but a penny-a-liner, without the penny. Surely you&#8217;re
      not afraid Caroline will take a fancy to him. She isn&#8217;t an idiot.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>&#8220;She&#8217;s
      a young girl, and more romantic than I wish she was. At her age girls do
      silly things, sometimes. He called on Wednesday&mdash;you heard her say so&mdash;and
      was there again to-night. I don&#8217;t like it, I tell you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Her uncle is responsible for&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It is more than that. She knew him long before she knew her uncle
      existed. Her father introduced him&mdash;her <i>father</i>. And to her
      mind, whatever her father did was right.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Witness his brilliant selection of an executor. Oh, Mater, you
      weary me! I used to know this Pearson when he was a reporter downtown,
      and.... Humph!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What is it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, nothing, I guess. It seemed as if I remember Warren and
      Pearson in some sort of mix-up. Some.... Humph! I wonder.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was silent, thinking. His mother pressed his arm excitedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;If you remember anything that occurred between Rodgers Warren and
      this man, anything to this Pearson&#8217;s disadvantage, it may pay us to
      investigate. What was it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know. But it seemed as if I remembered Warren&#8217;s
      ... or a friend of his telling me ... saying something ... but it couldn&#8217;t
      be of importance, because Caroline doesn&#8217;t know it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m not so sure that it may not be important. And, if you
      recall, on that day when we first met him at Caroline&#8217;s, she seemed
      hurt because he had not visited them since her father died. Perhaps there
      <i>was</i> a reason. At any rate, I should look into the matter.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right, Mater, just as you say. Really you ought to join a Don&#8217;t
      Worry Club.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>&#8220;One
      member in the family is quite sufficient. And I expect you to devote
      yourself to Caroline from now on. That girl is lonely, and when you get
      the combination of a lonely romantic young girl and a good-looking and
      interesting young fellow, even though he is as poor as a church mouse, <i>anything</i>
      may happen. Add to that the influence of an unpractical but sharp old
      Yankee relative and guardian&mdash;then the situation is positively
      dangerous.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER XIII
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span>n
      important event was about to take place. At least, it seemed important to
      Captain Elisha, although the person most intimately concerned appeared to
      have forgotten it entirely. He ventured to remind her of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline,&#8221; he said, &#8220;Sunday is your birthday, ain&#8217;t
      it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His niece looked at him in surprise. &#8220;Yes,&#8221; she answered,
      &#8220;it is. How did you know?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, I remembered, that&#8217;s all. Graves, the lawyer man, told
      me how old you and Stevie were, fust time I met him. And his partner, Mr.
      Sylvester, gave me the date one day when he was goin&#8217; over your pa&#8217;s
      will. You&#8217;ll be twenty years old Sunday, won&#8217;t you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      It was late in the afternoon, and she had been out since ten o&#8217;clock
      shopping with Mrs. Dunn, lunching downtown with the latter and Malcolm,
      and motoring for an hour or two. The weather for the season was mild and
      sunny, and the crisp air had brightened her cheeks, her eyes sparkled, her
      fur coat and cap were very becoming, and Captain Elisha inspected her
      admiringly before making another remark.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;My! My!&#8221; he exclaimed, after an instant&#8217;s pause.
      &#8220;Twenty years old! Think of it! &#8217;Bije&#8217;s girl&#8217;s a
      young woman now, ain&#8217;t she? I cal&#8217;late he was proud of you,
      too. He ought to have been. I presume likely <i>he</i> didn&#8217;t forget
      your birthday.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>He
      rose to help her with the heavy coat. As he lifted it from her shoulders,
      he bent forward and caught a glimpse of her face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There! there!&#8221; he said, hastily. &#8220;Don&#8217;t feel bad,
      dearie. I didn&#8217;t mean to hurt your feelin&#8217;s. Excuse me; I was
      thinkin&#8217; out loud, sort of.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She did not answer at once, but turned away to remove her cap. Then she
      answered, without looking at him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He never forgot them,&#8221; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Course he didn&#8217;t. Well, you see I didn&#8217;t forget,
      either.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      It was an unfortunate remark, inasmuch as it drew, in her mind, a
      comparison between her handsome, dignified father and his rude, uncultured
      brother. The contrast was ever present in her thoughts, and she did not
      need to be reminded of it. She made no reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I was thinkin&#8217;,&#8221; continued the captain, conscious of
      having made a mistake, &#8220;that maybe we might celebrate somehow, in a
      quiet way.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. I am not in the mood for&mdash;celebrations.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, I didn&#8217;t mean fireworks and the town band. I just thought&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Please don&#8217;t. I remember other birthdays too well.&#8221;
      They had been great occasions, those birthdays of hers, ever since she was
      a little girl. On the eighteenth she made her d&eacute;but in society, and
      the gown she wore on that memorable evening was laid away upstairs, a
      cherished memento, to be kept as long as she lived. Each year Rodgers
      Warren took infinite pains to please and surprise his idolized daughter.
      She could not bear to think of another birthday, now that he had been
      taken from her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her guardian pulled his beard. &#8220;Well,&#8221; he observed<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
      ruefully, &#8220;then my weak head&#8217;s put my foot in it again, as the
      feller said. If I ain&#8217;t careful I&#8217;ll be like poor cracked
      Philander Baker, who lives with his sister over at Denboro Centre. The
      doctor told Philander he was threatened with softenin&#8217; of the brain,
      and the sister thanked him for the compliment. You see, Caroline, I wrote
      on my own hook and asked Stevie to come home Saturday and stay till
      Monday. I kind of thought you&#8217;d like to have him here.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, I should like <i>that</i>! But will he come? Has he written
      you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey? Yes, I cal&#8217;late he&#8217;ll be on deck. He&#8217;s&mdash;er&mdash;yes,
      he&#8217;s written me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He smiled as he answered. As a matter of fact, the correspondence between
      Stephen and himself had been lengthy and voluminous on the part of the
      former, and brief and business-like on his own. The boy, on his return to
      college, had found &#8220;conditions&#8221; awaiting him, and the amount
      of hard work involved in their clearance was not at all to his taste. He
      wrote his guardian before the first week was over, asserting that the
      whole business was foolishness and a waste of time. He should come home at
      once, he said, and he notified the captain that such was his intention.
      Captain Elisha replied with promptness and decision. If he came home he
      would be sent back, that was all. &#8220;I realize you&#8217;ve got a job
      ahead of you, Son,&#8221; wrote the captain, &#8220;but you can do it, if
      you will. Fact is, I guess you&#8217;ve got to. So sail in and show us
      what you&#8217;re made of.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen&#8217;s answer was a five page declaration of independence. He
      refused to be bullied by any living man. He had made arrangements to come
      to New York on the following Monday, and he was coming. As to being<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> sent
      back, he wished his uncle to understand that it was one thing to order and
      another to enforce obedience. To which he received the following note:
    </p>
    <div class="blockquot">
      <p>
        &#8220;I can&#8217;t stop you from coming, Steve, except by going to New
        Haven and holding you by main strength. That I don&#8217;t propose to
        do, for two reasons: first, that it is too much trouble, and second that
        it ain&#8217;t necessary. You can come home once in a while to see your
        sister, but you mustn&#8217;t do it till I say the word. If you do, I
        shall take the carfare out of your allowance, likewise board while you
        are here, and stop that allowance for a month as a sort of fine for
        mutiny. So you better think it over a spell. And, if I was you, I wouldn&#8217;t
        write Caroline that I was coming, or thinking of coming, till I had my
        mind made up. She believes you are working hard at your lessons. I
        shouldn&#8217;t disappoint her, especially as it wouldn&#8217;t be any
        use.
      </p>
    </div>
    <p>
      <span class="right">&#8220;Your affectionate uncle,</span><br /> <span
      class="right2">&#8220;<span class="smcap">ELISHA WARREN</span>.&#8221;</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      The result of all this was that Stephen, whose finances were already in a
      precarious condition, did think it over and decided not to take the risk.
      Also, conscious that his sister sided with their guardian to the extent of
      believing the university the best place for him at present, he tore up the
      long letter of grievance which he had written her, and, in that which took
      its place, mentioned merely that he was &#8220;grinding like blazes,&#8221;
      and the only satisfaction he got from it was his removal from the society
      of the &#8220;old tyrant from Cape Cod.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He accepted the tyrant&#8217;s invitation to return for the week-end and
      his sister&#8217;s birthday with no hesitation<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> whatever; and his letter
      of acceptance was so politic as to be almost humble.
    </p>
    <p>
      He arrived on an early train Saturday morning. Caroline met him at the
      station, and the Dunns&#8217; car conveyed them to the latter&#8217;s
      residence, where they were to spend the day. The Dunns and Caroline had
      been together almost constantly since the evening when Malcolm and his
      mother interrupted the reading of the novel. The former, while professing
      to be harassed by business cares, sacrificed them to the extent of
      devoting at least a part of each twenty-four hours to the young lady&#8217;s
      society. She was rarely allowed to be alone with her uncle, a circumstance
      which troubled her much less than it did him. He missed the evenings which
      he had enjoyed so much, and the next consultation over the adventures of
      Pearson&#8217;s &#8220;Uncle Jim&#8221; and his &#8220;Mary&#8221; seemed
      flat and uninteresting without criticism and advice.
    </p>
    <p>
      The author himself noticed the difference.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Rot!&#8221; he exclaimed, throwing the manuscript aside in disgust.
      &#8220;It&#8217;s rot, isn&#8217;t it! If I can&#8217;t turn out better
      stuff than that, I&#8217;d better quit. And I thought it was pretty
      decent, too, until to-night.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha shook his head. &#8220;It don&#8217;t seem quite so
      shipshape, somehow,&#8221; he admitted, &#8220;but I guess likely it&#8217;s
      &#8217;cause my head&#8217;s full of other things just now. I&#8217;m
      puzzled &#8217;most to death to know what to get for Caroline&#8217;s
      birthday. I want to get her somethin&#8217; she&#8217;ll like, and she&#8217;s
      got pretty nigh everything under the sun. Say, Jim, you&#8217;ve been
      workin&#8217; too hard, yourself. Why don&#8217;t you take to-morrow off
      and cruise around the stores helpin&#8217; me pick out a present. Come
      ahead&mdash;do!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      They spent the next afternoon in that &#8220;cruise,&#8221; visiting<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>
      department stores, jewelers, and art shops innumerable. Captain Elisha was
      hard to please, and his comments characteristic.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I guess you&#8217;re right, Jim,&#8221; he said, &#8220;there&#8217;s
      no use lookin&#8217; at pictures. Let alone that the walls are so covered
      with &#8217;em now a fly can&#8217;t scarcely light without steppin&#8217;
      on some kind of scenery&mdash;let alone that, my judgment on pictures ain&#8217;t
      any good. I cal&#8217;late that&#8217;s considered pretty fine, ain&#8217;t
      it?&#8221; pointing to a painting in the gallery where they then were.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; replied the dealer, much amused. &#8220;That is a good
      specimen of the modern impressionist school.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! Cookin&#8217; school, I shouldn&#8217;t wonder. I&#8217;d
      call it a portrait of a plate of scrambled eggs, if &#8217;twa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      for that green thing that&#8217;s either a cow or a church in the offin&#8217;.
      Out of soundin&#8217;s again, I am! But I knew she liked pictures, and
      so.... However, let&#8217;s set sail for a jewelry store.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The sixth shop of this variety which they visited happened to be one of
      the largest and most fashionable in the city. Here the captain&#8217;s
      fancy was taken by a gold chain for the neck, set with tiny emeralds.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s pretty&mdash;sort of&mdash;ain&#8217;t it, Jim?&#8221;
      he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; replied his companion, with emphasis, &#8220;it is. And
      I think you&#8217;ll find it is expensive, also.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That so? How much?&#8221; turning to the salesman.
    </p>
    <p>
      The latter gave the price of the chain. Captain Elisha whistled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Whew! Jerushy!&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;And it wouldn&#8217;t
      much more than go around my wrist, at that. All the same size, are they?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. Some are longer. The longer ones are higher priced, of course.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sartin! They&#8217;re for fleshy folks, I s&#8217;pose. Mrs.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> Thoph
      Kenney down home, she&#8217;d have to splice three of &#8217;em together
      to make the round trip. Thoph&#8217;s always scared he won&#8217;t get his
      money&#8217;s wuth in a trade, but he couldn&#8217;t kick when he got her.
      To give the minister a dollar and walk off with two hundred and eighty
      pounds of wife is showin&#8217; some business sagacity, hey? To do him
      justice, I will say that <i>he</i> seems to be satisfied; she&#8217;s the
      one that does the complainin&#8217;. I guess this is the most expensive
      counter in the store, ain&#8217;t it, Mister?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The clerk laughed. &#8220;No, indeed,&#8221; he said. &#8220;These are all
      moderate priced goods. I wonder,&#8221; turning to Pearson, &#8220;if your
      friend wouldn&#8217;t like to see some of our choice pieces. It is a quiet
      day here, and I shall be glad to show them.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He led the way to a set of show cases near the door on the Fifth Avenue
      side. There before Captain Elisha&#8217;s dazzled eyes were displayed
      diamond necklaces and aigrettes, tiaras and brooches, the figures on their
      price tags running high into the thousands. Pearson and the good-natured
      clerk enjoyed themselves hugely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Jim,&#8221; said the captain after a little of this, &#8220;is
      there a police officer lookin&#8217; this way?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson laughed. &#8220;I guess not,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;Why? The
      temptation isn&#8217;t getting too much for your honesty, is it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; with a sigh, &#8220;but I&#8217;m carryin&#8217; a forty
      dollar watch and wearin&#8217; a ring that cost fifteen. I thought they
      was some punkins till I begun to look at this stuff. Now they make me feel
      so mean and poverty-struck that I expect to be took up for a tramp any
      minute. Mister,&#8221; to the clerk, &#8220;you run right along and wrap
      up that chain I was lookin&#8217; at. Hurry! or I&#8217;ll be ashamed to
      carry anything so cheap.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>&#8220;Think
      she&#8217;ll like it, do you, Jim?&#8221; he asked, when they were once
      more out of doors with the purchase in his inside pocket.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;She ought, certainly,&#8221; replied Pearson. &#8220;It&#8217;s a
      beautiful thing.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Well, you see,&#8221; apologetically, &#8220;I wanted to give
      her somethin&#8217; pretty good. &#8217;Bije always did, and I didn&#8217;t
      want to fall too fur behind. But,&#8221; with a chuckle, &#8220;you needn&#8217;t
      mention the price to anybody. If Abbie&mdash;my second cousin keepin&#8217;
      house for me, she is&mdash;if Abbie heard of it she&#8217;d be for puttin&#8217;
      me in an asylum. Abbie&#8217;s got a hair breastpin and a tortoise shell
      comb, but she only wears &#8217;em to the Congregationalist meetin&#8217;-house,
      where she&#8217;s reasonably sure there ain&#8217;t likely to be any
      sneak-thieves. She went to a Unitarian sociable once, but she carried
      &#8217;em in a bag inside her dress.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha planned to surprise his niece with the gift at breakfast on
      the morning of her birthday, but, after reflection, decided to postpone
      the presentation until dinner time. The inevitable Dunns had taken upon
      themselves the duty of caring for the girl and her brother during the
      major part of the day. The yellow car appeared at the door at ten o&#8217;clock
      and bore the two away. Caroline assured her guardian, however, that they
      would return in season for the evening meal.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain spent lonely but busy hours until dinner time came. He had
      done some scheming on his own hook and, after a long argument with the
      cook, re&euml;nforced by a small sum in cash, had prevailed upon that
      haughty domestic to fashion a birthday cake of imposing exterior and
      indigestible make-up. Superintending the icing of this masterpiece
      occupied some time. He then worried Edwards into a respectful but stubborn<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> fury
      by suggesting novelties in the way of table arrangement. Another bestowal
      of small change quelled the disturbance. Then came, by messenger, a dozen
      American Beauty roses with Mr. Pearson&#8217;s card attached. These the
      captain decided should be placed in the center of the festive board. As a
      center piece had been previously provided, there was more argument. The
      cook took the butler&#8217;s side in the debate, and the pair yielded only
      when Captain Elisha again dived into his pocket.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But I warn you, all hands,&#8221; he observed, &#8220;that this is
      the last time. My right fist&#8217;s got a cramp in it this minute, and
      you couldn&#8217;t open it again with a cold chisel.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      At last, however, everything was as it should be, and he sat down in the
      library to await the coming of the young people. The gold chain in its
      handsome leather case, the latter enclosed in the jeweler&#8217;s box, was
      carefully laid beside Caroline&#8217;s place at the table. The dinner was
      ready, the cake, candles and all&mdash;the captain had insisted upon
      twenty candles&mdash;was ready, also. There was nothing to do but wait&mdash;and
      he waited.
    </p>
    <p>
      Six-thirty was the usual dinner hour. It passed. Seven o&#8217;clock
      struck, then eight, and still Captain Elisha sat alone in the library. The
      cook sent word that the dinner was ruined. Edwards respectfully asked,
      &#8220;What shall I do, sir?&#8221; twice, the second time being sent
      flying with an order to &#8220;Go for&#8217;ard and keep your hatches
      closed!&#8221; The nautical phraseology was lost upon the butler, but the
      tone and manner of delivery were quite understandable.
    </p>
    <p>
      Several times the captain rose from his chair to telephone the Dunn house
      and ask the reason for delay. Each time he decided not to do so. No doubt
      there were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>
      good reasons; Caroline and her brother had been detained; perhaps the
      automobile had broken down&mdash;the things were always breaking down just
      at the most inconvenient times; perhaps.... Well, at any rate, he would
      not &#8217;phone just yet; he would wait a little longer.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last the bell rang. Captain Elisha sprang up, smiling, his impatience
      and worry forgotten, and, pushing the butler aside, hurried to open the
      door himself. He did so and faced, not his niece and nephew, but Pearson.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good evening, Captain,&#8221; hailed the young man, cheerily.
      &#8220;Didn&#8217;t expect me, did you? I dropped in for a moment to shake
      hands with you and to offer congratulations to Miss Warren.&#8221; Then,
      noticing the expression on his friend&#8217;s face, he added, &#8220;What&#8217;s
      the matter? Anything wrong? Am I intruding?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, no! Course not. You&#8217;re as welcome as another egg in a
      poor man&#8217;s hen-house. Come right in and take off your things. I&#8217;m
      glad to see you. Only&mdash;well, the fact is I thought &#8217;twas
      Caroline comin&#8217; home. She and Stevie was to be here over two hours
      ago, and I can&#8217;t imagine what&#8217;s keepin&#8217; &#8217;em.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He insisted upon his visitor&#8217;s remaining, although the latter, when
      he understood the situation, was reluctant to do so.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline&#8217;ll be real glad to see you, Jim, I know,&#8221; the
      captain said. &#8220;And I want you to stay for my sake. Between pacifyin&#8217;
      the Commodore and frettin&#8217; over what couldn&#8217;t possibly happen,
      I was half dead of the fidgets. Stay and cheer me up, there&#8217;s a good
      feller. I&#8217;d just about reached the stage where I had the girl and
      boy stove to flinders under that pesky auto. I&#8217;d even begun to
      figger on notifyin&#8217; the undertaker. Tell me<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> I&#8217;m an old fool
      and then talk about somethin&#8217; else. They&#8217;ll be here any
      minute.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      But a good many minutes passed, and still they did not come. Pearson,
      aware of his companion&#8217;s growing anxiety, chatted of the novel, of
      the people at the boarding house, of anything and everything he could
      think of likely to divert attention from the one important topic. The
      answers he received were more and more brief and absent. At last, when
      Edwards again appeared, appealingly mute, at the entrance to the dining
      room, Captain Elisha, with a sigh which was almost a groan, surrendered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I guess,&#8221; he said, reluctantly, &#8220;I guess, Jim, there
      ain&#8217;t any use waitin&#8217; any longer. Somethin&#8217;s kept
      &#8217;em, and they won&#8217;t be here for dinner. You and I&#8217;ll set
      down and eat&mdash;though I ain&#8217;t got the appetite I cal&#8217;lated
      to have.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson had dined hours before, but he followed his friend, resolved to
      please the latter by going through the form of pretending to eat.
    </p>
    <p>
      They sat down together. Captain Elisha, with a rueful smile, pointed to
      the floral centerpiece.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There&#8217;s your posies, Jim,&#8221; he observed. &#8220;Look
      pretty, don&#8217;t they. She ain&#8217;t seen &#8217;em yet, but she&#8217;ll
      like &#8217;em when she does. And that over there, is her present from me.
      Stevie gave her a box of gloves, and I expect, from what Mrs. Dunn hinted,
      that she and that son of hers gave her somethin&#8217; fine. She&#8217;ll
      show us when she gets here. What&#8217;s this, Commodore? Oysters, hey?
      Well, they ought to taste like home. They&#8217;re &#8216;Cape Cods&#8217;;
      I wouldn&#8217;t have anything else.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;We won&#8217;t touch the birthday cake, Jim,&#8221; he added, a
      little later. &#8220;She&#8217;s got to cut that herself.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The soup was only lukewarm, but neither of them<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> commented on the fact.
      The captain had scarcely tasted of his, when he paused, his spoon in air.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey?&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;Listen! What&#8217;s that? By the
      everlastin&#8217;, it <i>is</i>. Here they are, at <i>last</i>!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He sprang up with such enthusiasm that his chair tipped backwards against
      the butler&#8217;s devoted shins. Pearson, almost as much pleased, also
      rose.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha paid scant attention to the chair incident.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What are you waitin&#8217; for?&#8221; he demanded, whirling on
      Edwards, who was righting the chair with one hand and rubbing his knee
      with the other. &#8220;Don&#8217;t you hear &#8217;em at the door? Let
      &#8217;em in!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He reached the library first, his friend following more leisurely.
      Caroline and Stephen had just entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well!&#8221; he cried, in his quarter-deck voice, his face beaming
      with relief and delight, &#8220;you <i>are</i> here, ain&#8217;t you! I
      begun to think.... Why, what&#8217;s the matter?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The question was addressed to Stephen, who stood nearest to him. The boy
      did not deign to reply. With a contemptuous grunt, he turned scornfully
      away from his guardian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What is it, Caroline?&#8221; demanded Captain Elisha. &#8220;<i>Has</i>
      anything happened?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl looked coldly at him. A new brooch&mdash;Mrs. Corcoran Dunn&#8217;s
      birthday gift&mdash;sparkled at her throat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No accident has happened, if that is what you mean,&#8221; she
      said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But&mdash;why, yes, that was what I meant. You was so awful late,
      and you know you said you&#8217;d be home for dinner, so&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I changed my mind. Come, Steve.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>She
      turned to leave the room. Pearson, at that moment, entered it. Stephen saw
      him first.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>What</i>?&#8221; he cried. &#8220;Well, of all the nerve! Look,
      Caro!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Jim&mdash;Mr. Pearson, I mean&mdash;ran in a few minutes ago,&#8221;
      explained Captain Elisha, bewildered and stammering. &#8220;He thought of
      course we&#8217;d had dinner and&mdash;and&mdash;he just wanted to wish
      you many happy returns, Caroline.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson had extended his hand and a &#8220;Good evening&#8221; was on his
      lips. Stephen&#8217;s strange behavior and language caused him to halt. He
      flushed, awkward, surprised, and indignant.
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline turned and saw him. She started, and her cheeks also grew
      crimson. Then, recovering, she looked him full in the face, and
      deliberately and disdainfully turned her back.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Come, Steve!&#8221; she said again, and walked from the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her brother hesitated, glared at Pearson, and then stalked haughtily after
      her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha&#8217;s bewilderment was supreme. He stared, open-mouthed,
      after his nephew and niece, and then turned slowly to his friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What on earth, Jim,&#8221; he stammered. &#8220;What&#8217;s it <i>mean</i>?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson shrugged his shoulders. &#8220;I think I know what it means,&#8221;
      he said. &#8220;I presume that Miss Warren and her brother have learned of
      my trouble with their father.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey? No! you don&#8217;t think <i>that&#8217;s</i> it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I think there&#8217;s no doubt of it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But how?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know how. What I do know is that I should<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> not
      have come here. I felt it and, if you will remember, I said so. I was a
      fool. Good night, Captain.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Hot and furiously angry at his own indecision which had placed him in this
      humiliating situation, he was striding towards the hall. Captain Elisha
      seized his arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Stay where you are, Jim!&#8221; he commanded. &#8220;If the trouble&#8217;s
      what you think it is, I&#8217;m more to blame than anybody else, and you
      sha&#8217;n&#8217;t leave this house till I&#8217;ve done my best to
      square you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you; but I don&#8217;t wish to be &#8216;squared.&#8217; I&#8217;ve
      done nothing to be ashamed of, and I have borne as many insults as I can
      stand. I&#8217;m going.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, you ain&#8217;t. Not yet. I want you to stay.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      At that moment Stephen&#8217;s voice reached them from the adjoining room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I tell you I shall, Caro!&#8221; it proclaimed, fiercely. &#8220;Do
      you suppose I&#8217;m going to permit that fellow to come here again&mdash;or
      to go until he is made to understand what we think of him and why? No, by
      gad! I&#8217;m the man of this family, and I&#8217;ll tell him a few
      things.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson&#8217;s jaw set grimly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You may let go of my wrist, Captain Warren,&#8221; he said; &#8220;I&#8217;ll
      stay.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Possibly Stephen&#8217;s intense desire to prove his manliness made him
      self-conscious. At any rate, he never appeared more ridiculously boyish
      than when, an instant later, he marched into the library and confronted
      his uncle and Pearson.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&mdash;I want to say&mdash;&#8221; he began, majestically; &#8220;I
      want to say&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused, choking, and brandished his fist.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I want to say&mdash;&#8221; he began again.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>&#8220;All
      right, Stevie,&#8221; interrupted the captain, dryly, &#8220;then I&#8217;d
      say it if I was you. I guess it&#8217;s time you did.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I want to&mdash;to tell that fellow <i>there</i>,&#8221; with a
      vicious stab of his forefinger in the direction of Pearson, &#8220;that I
      consider him an&mdash;an ingrate&mdash;and a scoundrel&mdash;and a
      miserable&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Steady!&#8221; Captain Elisha&#8217;s interruption was sharp this
      time. &#8220;Steady now! Leave out the pet names. What is it you&#8217;ve
      got to tell?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&mdash;my sister and I have found out what a scoundrel he is, that&#8217;s
      what! We&#8217;ve learned of the lies he wrote about father. We know that
      he was responsible for all that cowardly, lying stuff in the <i>Planet</i>&mdash;all
      that about the Trolley Combine. And we don&#8217;t intend that he shall
      sneak into this house again. If he was the least part of a man, he would
      never have come.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Warren&mdash;&#8221; began Pearson, stepping forward. The
      captain interrupted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hold on, Jim!&#8221; he said. &#8220;Just a minute now. You&#8217;ve
      learned somethin&#8217;, you say, Stevie. The Dunns told you, I s&#8217;pose.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Never mind who told me!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t&mdash;much. But I guess we&#8217;d better have a
      clear understandin&#8217;, all of us. Caroline, will you come in here,
      please?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He stepped toward the door. Stephen sprang in front of him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;My sister doesn&#8217;t intend to cheapen herself by entering that
      man&#8217;s presence,&#8221; he declared, hotly. &#8220;I&#8217;ll deal
      with him, myself!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right. But I guess she&#8217;d better be here, just the same.
      Caroline, I want you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;She sha&#8217;n&#8217;t come!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>&#8220;Yes,
      she shall. Caroline!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The boy would have detained him, but he pushed him firmly aside and walked
      toward the door. Before he reached it, however, his niece appeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well?&#8221; she said, coldly. &#8220;What is it you want of me?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I want you to hear Mr. Pearson&#8217;s side of this business&mdash;and
      mine&mdash;before you do anything you&#8217;ll be sorry for.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I think I&#8217;ve heard quite enough of Mr. Pearson already.
      Nothing he can say or do will make me more sorry than I am, or humiliate
      me more than the fact that I have treated him as a friend.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The icy contempt in her tone was cutting. Pearson&#8217;s face was white,
      but he spoke clearly and with deliberation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Miss Warren,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I must insist that you listen
      for another moment. I owe you an apology for&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Apology!&#8221; broke in Stephen, with a scornful laugh. &#8220;Apology!
      Well, by gad! Just hear that, Caro!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl&#8217;s lip curled. &#8220;I do not wish to hear your apology,&#8221;
      she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But I wish you to hear it. Not for my attitude in the Trolley
      matter, nor for what I published in the <i>Planet</i>. Nor for my part in
      the disagreement with your father. I wrote the truth and nothing more. I
      considered it right then&mdash;I told your father so&mdash;and I have not
      changed my mind. I should act exactly the same under similar
      circumstances.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You blackguard!&#8221; shouted Stephen. Pearson ignored him
      utterly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I do owe you an apology,&#8221; he continued, &#8220;for coming
      here, as I have done, knowing that you were ignorant of the affair. I
      believe now that you are misinformed<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> as to the facts, but
      that is immaterial. You should have been told of my trouble with Mr.
      Warren. I should have insisted upon it. That I did not do so is my fault
      and I apologize; but for that only. Good evening.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He shook himself free from the captain&#8217;s grasp, bowed to the trio,
      and left the room. An instant later the outer door closed behind him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline turned to her brother. &#8220;Come, Steve,&#8221; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Stay right where you are!&#8221; Captain Elisha did not request
      now, he commanded. &#8220;Stevie, stand still. Caroline, I want to talk to
      you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl hesitated. She had never been spoken to in that tone before. Her
      pride had been already deeply wounded by what she had learned that
      afternoon; she was fiercely resentful, angry, and rebellious. She was sure
      she never hated anyone as she did this man who ordered her to stay and
      listen to him. But&mdash;she stayed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline,&#8221; said Captain Elisha, after a moment of silence,
      &#8220;I presume likely&mdash;of course I don&#8217;t know for sartin, but
      I presume likely it&#8217;s Mrs. Dunn and that son of hers who&#8217;ve
      told you what you think you know.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It doesn&#8217;t concern you who told us!&#8221; blustered Stephen,
      pushing forward. He might have been a fly buzzing on the wall for all the
      attention his uncle paid him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I presume likely the Dunns told you, Caroline,&#8221; he repeated,
      calmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      His niece met his gaze stubbornly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; she answered, &#8220;and if they did? Wasn&#8217;t it
      necessary we should know it? Oh!&#8221; with a shudder of disgust, &#8220;I
      wish I could make you understand how ashamed I feel&mdash;how <i>wicked</i>
      and ashamed I feel that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217"
      id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> I&mdash;<i>I</i> should have disgraced
      father&#8217;s memory by.... Oh, but there! I can&#8217;t! Yes; Mrs. Dunn
      and Malcolm did tell us&mdash;many things. Thank God that we <i>have</i>
      friends to tell us the truth!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Amen!&#8221; quietly. &#8220;I&#8217;ll say amen to that, Caroline,
      any time. Only I want you to be sure those you call friends are real ones
      and that the truths they tell ain&#8217;t like the bait on a fishhook, put
      on <i>for</i> bait and just thick enough to cover the barb.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Do you mean to insinuate&mdash;&#8221; screamed the irrepressible
      nephew, wild at being so completely ignored. His uncle again paid not the
      slightest attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But that ain&#8217;t neither here nor there now,&#8221; he went on.
      &#8220;Caroline, Mr. Pearson just told you that his coming to this house
      without tellin&#8217; you fust of his quarrel with &#8217;Bije was his
      fault. That ain&#8217;t so. The fault was mine altogether. He told me the
      whole story; told me that he hadn&#8217;t called since it happened, on
      that very account. And I took the whole responsibility and <i>asked</i>
      him to come. I did! Do you know why?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      If he expected an answer none was given. Caroline&#8217;s lids drooped
      disdainfully. &#8220;Steve,&#8221; she said, &#8220;let us go.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Stop! You&#8217;ll stay here until I finish. I want to say that I
      didn&#8217;t tell you about the Trolley fuss because I wanted you to learn
      some things for yourself. I wanted you to know Mr. Pearson&mdash;to find
      out what sort of man he was afore you judged him. Then, when you had known
      him long enough to understand he wasn&#8217;t a liar and a blackguard, and
      all that Steve has called him, I was goin&#8217; to tell you the whole
      truth, not a part of it. And, after that, I was goin&#8217; to let you
      decide for yourself what to do. I&#8217;m a lot older than you are; I&#8217;ve
      mixed with all sorts of folks; I&#8217;m past the stage where<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> I can
      be fooled by&mdash;by false hair or soft soap. You can&#8217;t pour sweet
      oil over a herrin&#8217; and make me believe it&#8217;s a sardine. I know
      the Pearson stock. I&#8217;ve sailed over a heap of salt water with one of
      the family. And I&#8217;ve kept my eyes open since I&#8217;ve run acrost
      this particular member. And I knew your father, too, Caroline Warren. And
      I say to you now that, knowin&#8217; Jim Pearson and &#8217;Bije Warren&mdash;yes,
      and knowin&#8217; the rights and wrongs of that Trolley business quite as
      well as Malcolm Dunn or anybody else&mdash;I say to you that, although
      &#8217;Bije was my brother, I&#8217;d bet my life that Jim had all the
      right on his side. There! that&#8217;s the truth, and no hook underneath
      it. And some day you&#8217;ll realize it, too.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He had spoken with great vehemence. Now he took a handkerchief from his
      pocket and wiped his forehead. When he again looked at his niece, he found
      her staring intently at him; and her eyes blazed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Have you quite finished&mdash;now?&#8221; she demanded. &#8220;Steve,
      be quiet!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, yes, I guess so, pretty nigh. I s&#8217;pose there ain&#8217;t
      much use to say more. If I was to tell you that I&#8217;ve tried to do for
      you and Steve in this&mdash;same as in everything else since I took this
      job&mdash;as if you were my own children, you wouldn&#8217;t believe it.
      If I was to tell you, Caroline, that I&#8217;d come to think an awful lot
      of you, you wouldn&#8217;t believe that, either. I did hope that since our
      other misunderstandin&#8217; was cleared up, and you found I wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      what you thought I was, you&#8217;d come to me and ask questions afore
      passin&#8217; judgment; but perhaps&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      And now she interrupted, bursting out at him in a blast of scorn which
      took his breath away.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, stop! stop!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;Don&#8217;t say any more.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> You
      have insulted father&#8217;s memory, and defended the man who slandered
      him. Isn&#8217;t that enough? Why must you go on to prove yourself a
      greater hypocrite? We learned, my brother and I, to-day more than the
      truth concerning your <i>friend</i>. We learned that you have lied&mdash;yes,
      lied&mdash;and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Steady, Caroline! be careful. I wouldn&#8217;t say what I might be
      sorry for later.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sorry! Captain Warren, you spoke of my misjudging you. I thought I
      had, and I was sorry. To-day I learned that your attitude in that affair
      was a lie like the rest. <i>You</i> did not pay for Mr. Moriarty&#8217;s
      accident. Mr. Dunn&#8217;s money paid those bills. And you allowed the
      family&mdash;and me&mdash;to thank <i>you</i> for your generosity. Oh, I&#8217;m
      ashamed to be near you!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There! There! Caroline, be still. I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I shall not be still. I have been still altogether too long. You
      are our guardian. We can&#8217;t help that, I suppose. Father asked you to
      be that, for some reason; but did he ask you to <i>live</i> here where you
      are not wanted? To shame us before our friends, ladies and gentlemen so
      far above you in every way? And to try to poison our minds against them
      and sneer at them when they are kind to us and even try to be kind to you?
      No, he did not! Oh, I&#8217;m sick of it all! your deceit and your
      hypocritical speeches and your pretended love for us. <i>Love</i>! Oh, if
      I could say something that would make you understand how thoroughly we
      despise you, and how your presence, ever since you forced it upon Steve
      and me, has disgraced us! If I only could! I&mdash;I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She had been near to tears ever since Mrs. Corcoran Dunn, in the kindness
      of her heart, told her the &#8220;truth&#8221; that afternoon. But pride
      and indignation had prevented<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220"
      id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> her giving way. Now, however, she broke
      down.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh&mdash;oh, Steve!&#8221; she cried, and, turning to her brother,
      sobbed hysterically on his shoulder. &#8220;Oh, Steve, what shall we do?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen put his arm about her waist. &#8220;It&#8217;s all right, Sis,&#8221;
      he said soothingly. &#8220;Don&#8217;t cry before <i>him</i>! I guess,&#8221;
      with a glance at his uncle, &#8220;you&#8217;ve said enough to make even
      him understand&mdash;at last.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha looked gravely at the pair. &#8220;I guess you have,&#8221;
      he said slowly. &#8220;I guess you have, Caroline. Anyhow, I can&#8217;t
      think offhand of anything you&#8217;ve left out. I could explain some
      things, but what&#8217;s the use? And,&#8221; with a sigh, &#8220;you may
      be right in a way. Perhaps I shouldn&#8217;t have come here to live. If
      you&#8217;d only told me plain afore just how you felt, I&#8217;d&mdash;maybe
      I&#8217;d&mdash;but there! I didn&#8217;t know&mdash;I didn&#8217;t know.
      You see, I thought.... However, I guess that part of your troubles is
      over. But,&#8221; he added, firmly, &#8220;wherever I am, or wherever I
      go, you must understand that I&#8217;m your guardian, just the same. I
      considered a long spell afore I took the place, and I never abandoned a
      ship yet, once I took command of her. And I&#8217;ll stick to this one!
      Yes, sir! I&#8217;ll stick to it in spite of the devil&mdash;or the Dunns,
      either. Till you and your brother are of age I&#8217;m goin&#8217; to look
      out for you and your interests and your money; and nothin&#8217; nor
      nobody shall stop me. As for forcin&#8217; my company on you, though, that
      well, that&#8217;s different. I cal&#8217;late you won&#8217;t have to
      worry any more. Good night.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He thrust his hands into his pockets and walked slowly from the library.
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER XIV
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">S</span>tephen,
      the &#8220;man of the family,&#8221; was the only member of the household,
      servants excepted, who slept soundly that night. Conscious of having done
      his duty in the affair with Pearson and his guardian, and somewhat
      fatigued by the disagreeable task of soothing his hysterical sister, he
      was slumbering peacefully at nine the next morning when awakened by a
      series of raps on his bedroom door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ah! What? Well, what is it?&#8221; he demanded, testily opening his
      eyes. &#8220;Edwards, is that you? What the devil do you mean by making
      such a row?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The voice which answered was not the butler&#8217;s, but Caroline&#8217;s.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Steve! Oh, Steve!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;Do get up and come out!
      Come, quick!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What&#8217;s the matter?&#8221; inquired the young man, sitting up
      in bed. &#8220;Is the house afire?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, no! But do come! I want you. Something has happened.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Happened? What is it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I can&#8217;t tell you here. Please dress and come to me as quick
      as you can.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen, wondering and somewhat alarmed, dressed with unusual promptitude
      and obeyed. He found his sister standing by the library window, a letter
      in her hand. She looked troubled and anxious.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, Caro,&#8221; observed the boy, &#8220;here I am. What in the
      world&#8217;s up now?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>She
      turned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, Steve!&#8221; she exclaimed, &#8220;he&#8217;s gone!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Gone? Who?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain Warren. He&#8217;s gone.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Gone? Gone where? Caro, you don&#8217;t mean he&#8217;s&mdash;<i>dead</i>?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, he&#8217;s gone&mdash;gone and left us.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Her brother&#8217;s expression changed to incredulous joy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What?&#8221; he shouted. &#8220;You mean he&#8217;s quit? Cleared
      out? Left here for good?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hurrah! Excuse me while I gloat! Hurrah! We got it through his
      skull at last! Is it possible? But&mdash;but hold on! Perhaps it&#8217;s
      too good to be true. Are you sure? How do you know?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He says so. See.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She handed him the letter. It was addressed to &#8220;My dear Caroline&#8221;
      and in it Captain Elisha stated his intentions succinctly. After the plain
      speaking of the previous evening he should not, of course, burden them
      with his society any longer. He was leaving that morning, and, as soon as
      he &#8220;located permanent moorings somewhere else&#8221; would notify
      his niece and nephew of his whereabouts.
    </p>
    <div class="blockquot">
      <p>
        &#8220;For,&#8221; he added, &#8220;as I told you, although I shall not
        impose my company on you, I am your guardian same as ever. I will see
        that your allowance comes to you regular, including enough for all
        household bills and pay for the hired help and so on. If you need any
        extras at any time let me know and, if they seem to me right and proper,
        I will send money for them. You will stay where you are, Caroline, and
        Stevie must go back to college right away. Tell him I say so, and if he
        does not I shall begin reducing his allowance according as I wrote<span
        class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>
        him. He will understand what I mean. I guess that is all until I send
        you my address and any other sailing orders that seem necessary to me
        then. And, Caroline, I want you and Stevie to feel that I am your anchor
        to windward, and when you get in a tight place, if you ever do, you can
        depend on me. Last night&#8217;s talk has no bearing on that whatever.
        Good-by, then, until my next.
      </p>
    </div>
    <p class="right">
      &#8220;<span class="smcap">ELISHA WARREN</span>.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen read this screed to the end, then crumpled it in his fist and
      threw it angrily on the floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The nerve!&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;He seems to think I&#8217;m
      a sailor on one of his ships, to be ordered around as he sees fit. I&#8217;ll
      go back to college when I&#8217;m good and ready&mdash;not before.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline shook her head. &#8220;Oh, no!&#8221; she said. &#8220;You must
      go to-day. He&#8217;s right, Steve; it&#8217;s the thing for you to do. He
      and I were agreed as to that. And you wouldn&#8217;t stay and make it
      harder for me, would you, dear?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He growled a reluctant assent. &#8220;I suppose I shall have to go,&#8221;
      he said, sullenly. &#8220;My allowance is too beastly small to have him
      cutting it; and the old shark would do that very thing; he&#8217;d take
      delight in doing it, confound him! Well, he knows what we think of him,
      that&#8217;s some comfort.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She did not answer. He looked at her curiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, hang it all, Caro!&#8221; he exclaimed in disgust; &#8220;what
      ails you? Blessed if I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t begin to believe you&#8217;re
      sorry he&#8217;s gone. You act as if you were.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, I&#8217;m not. Of course I&#8217;m not. I&#8217;m&mdash;I&#8217;m
      glad. He couldn&#8217;t stay, of course. But I&#8217;m afraid&mdash;I can&#8217;t
      help feeling that you and I were too harsh last night. We said things&mdash;dreadful
      things&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>&#8220;Be
      hanged! We didn&#8217;t say half enough. Oh, don&#8217;t be a fool, Caro!
      I was just beginning to be proud of your grit. And now you want to take it
      all back. Honestly, girls are the limit! You don&#8217;t know your own
      minds for twelve consecutive hours. Answer me now! <i>Are</i> you sorry he&#8217;s
      gone?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. No, I&#8217;m not, really. But I&mdash;I feel somehow as if&mdash;as
      if everything was on my shoulders. You&#8217;re going away, and he&#8217;s
      gone, and&mdash;What is it, Edwards?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The butler entered, with a small parcel in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I beg your pardon, Miss Caroline,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I should
      have given you this last evening. It was by your place at the table. I
      think Captain Warren put it there, miss.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline took the parcel and looked at it wonderingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;For me?&#8221; she repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, Miss Caroline. It is marked with your name. And breakfast is
      served, when you and Mr. Stephen are ready.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He bowed and retired. The girl sat turning the little white box in her
      hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>He</i> left it for me,&#8221; she said. &#8220;What can it be?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Her brother snatched it impatiently.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why don&#8217;t you open it and find out?&#8221; he demanded.
      &#8220;Perhaps it&#8217;s his latch key. Here! I&#8217;ll do it myself.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He cut the cord and removed the cover of the little box. Inside was the
      jeweler&#8217;s leather case. He took it out and pressed the spring. The
      cover flew up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Whew!&#8221; he whistled. &#8220;It&#8217;s a present. And rather a
      decent one, too, by gad! Look, Caro!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He handed her the open case. She looked at the chain, spread carefully on
      the white satin lining. Inside the cover was fitted a card. She turned it
      over and read: &#8220;To my niece, Caroline. With wishes for many<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> happy
      returns, and much love, from her Uncle Elisha Warren.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She sat gazing at the card. Stephen bent down, read the inscription, and
      then looked up into her face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>What</i>?&#8221; he cried. &#8220;I believe&mdash;You&#8217;re
      not <i>crying</i> Well, I&#8217;ll be hanged! Sis, you <i>are</i> a fool!&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="medium" />
    <p>
      The weather that morning was fine and clear. James Pearson, standing by
      the window of his rooms at the boarding house, looking out at the
      snow-covered roofs sparkling in the sun, was miserable. When he retired
      the night before it was with a solemn oath to forget Caroline Warren
      altogether; to put her and her father and the young cad, her brother,
      utterly from his mind, never to be thought of again. As a preliminary step
      in this direction, he began, the moment his head touched the pillow, to
      review, for the fiftieth time, the humiliating scene in the library, to
      think of things he should have said, and&mdash;worse than all&mdash;to
      recall, word for word, the things she had said to him. In this cheerful
      occupation he passed hours before falling asleep. And, when he woke, it
      was to begin all over again.
    </p>
    <p>
      Why&mdash;<i>why</i> had he been so weak as to yield to Captain Elisha&#8217;s
      advice? Why had he not acted like a sensible, self-respecting man, done
      what he knew was right, and persisted in his refusal to visit the Warrens?
      Why? Because he was an idiot, of course&mdash;a hopeless idiot, who had
      got exactly what he deserved! Which bit of philosophy did not help make
      his reflections less bitter.
    </p>
    <p>
      He went down to breakfast when the bell rang, but his appetite was
      missing, and he replied only in monosyllables to the remarks addressed to
      him by his fellow boarders. Mrs. Hepton, the landlady, noticed the change.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>&#8220;You
      not ill, Mr. Pearson, I hope?&#8221; she queried. &#8220;I do hope you
      haven&#8217;t got cold, sleeping with your windows wide open, as you say
      you do. Fresh air is a good thing, in moderation, but one should be
      careful. Don&#8217;t you think so, Mr. Carson?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Carson was a thin little man, a bachelor, who occupied the smallest
      room on the third story. He was a clerk in a department store, and his
      board was generally in arrears. Therefore, when Mrs. Hepton expressed an
      opinion he made it a point to agree with her. In this instance, however,
      he merely grunted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I say fresh air in one&#8217;s sleeping room is a good thing in
      moderation. Don&#8217;t you think so, Mr. Carson?&#8221; repeated the
      landlady.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Carson rolled up his napkin and inserted it in the ring. His board, as
      it happened, was paid in full to date. Also, although he had not yet
      declared his intention, he intended changing lodgings at the end of the
      week.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph!&#8221; he sniffed, with sarcasm, &#8220;it may be. I couldn&#8217;t
      get none in <i>my</i> room if I wanted it, so I can&#8217;t say sure.
      Morning.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He departed hurriedly. Mrs. Hepton looked disconcerted. Mrs. Van Winkle
      Ruggles smiled meaningly across the table at Miss Sherborne, who smiled
      back.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Ludlow, the bookseller, quietly observed that he hoped Mr. Pearson had
      not gotten cold. Colds were prevalent at this time of the year. &#8220;&#8216;These
      are the days when the Genius of the weather sits in mournful meditation on
      the threshold,&#8217; as Mr. Dickens tells us,&#8221; he added. &#8220;I
      presume he sits on the sills of open windows, also.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The wife of the Mr. Dickens there present pricked up her ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>&#8220;When
      did you write that, &#8216;C.&#8217; dear?&#8221; she asked, turning to
      her husband. &#8220;I remember it perfectly, of course, but I have
      forgotten, for the moment, in which of your writings it appears.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The illustrious one&#8217;s mouth being occupied with a section of
      scorching hot waffle, he was spared the necessity of confession.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Pardon me,&#8221; said Mr. Ludlow. &#8220;I was not quoting our Mr.
      Dickens this time, but his famous namesake.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The great &#8220;C.&#8221; drowned the waffle with a swallow of water.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Maria,&#8221; he snapped, &#8220;don&#8217;t be so foolish. Ludlow
      quotes from&mdash;er&mdash;&#8216;Bleak House.&#8217; I have written some
      things&mdash;er&mdash;similar, but not that. Why don&#8217;t you pass the
      syrup?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The bookseller, who was under the impression that he had quoted from the
      &#8220;Christmas Carol,&#8221; merely smiled and remained silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;My father, the Senator,&#8221; began Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles,
      &#8220;was troubled with colds during his political career. I remember his
      saying that the Senate Chamber at the Capitol was extremely draughty.
      Possibly Mr. Pearson&#8217;s ailment does come from sleeping in a draught.
      Not that father was accustomed to <i>sleep</i> during the sessions&mdash;Oh,
      dear, no! not that, of course. How absurd!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She laughed gayly. Pearson, who seemed to think it time to say something,
      declared that, so far as he knew, he had no cold or any symptoms of one.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; said Mrs. Hepton, with conviction, &#8220;something
      ails you, I know. We can all see it; can&#8217;t we?&#8221; turning to the
      rest of the company. &#8220;Why, you&#8217;ve scarcely spoken since you
      sat down at the table. And you&#8217;ve eaten next to nothing. Perhaps
      there is some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg
      228]</a></span> trouble, something on your mind which is worrying you. Oh,
      I <i>hope</i> not!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No doubt it is the preoccupation of genius,&#8221; remarked Mrs.
      Dickens. &#8220;I&#8217;m sure it must be that. When &#8216;C.&#8217; is
      engaged with some particularly trying literary problem he frequently loses
      all his appetite and does not speak for hours together. Isn&#8217;t it so,
      dear?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;C.,&#8221; who was painfully conscious that he might have made a
      miscue in the matter of the quotation, answered sharply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Not at all. Don&#8217;t be silly, Maria.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Sherborne clasped her hands. &#8220;<i>I</i> know!&#8221; she
      exclaimed in mock rapture; &#8220;Mr. Pearson is in love!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      This suggestion was received with applause and hilarity. Pearson pushed
      back his chair and rose.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m much obliged for this outburst of sympathy,&#8221; he
      observed, dryly. &#8220;But, as I say, I&#8217;m perfectly well, and the
      other diagnoses are too flattering to be true. Good morning.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Back in his room he seated himself at his desk, took the manuscript of his
      novel from the drawer, and sat moodily staring at it. He was in no mood
      for work. The very sight of the typewritten page disgusted him. As he now
      felt, the months spent on the story were time wasted. It was ridiculous
      for him to attempt such a thing; or to believe that he could carry it
      through successfully; or to dream that he would ever be anything better
      than a literary hack, a cheap edition of &#8220;C.&#8221; Dickens, minus
      the latter&#8217;s colossal self-satisfaction.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was still sitting there, twirling an idle pencil between his fingers,
      when he heard steps outside his door. Someone knocked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, what is it?&#8221; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      His landlady answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>&#8220;Mr.
      Pearson,&#8221; she said, &#8220;may I see you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He threw down the pencil and, rising, walked to the door and opened it.
      Mrs. Hepton was waiting in the hall. She seemed excited.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Pearson,&#8221; she said, &#8220;will you step downstairs with
      me for a moment? I have a surprise for you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;A surprise? What sort of a surprise?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, a pleasant one. At least I think it is going to be pleasant for
      all of us. But I&#8217;m not going to tell you what it is. You must come
      down and see for yourself.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She led the way downstairs, the young man following her, wondering what
      the surprise might be, and fairly certain it, nor anything else, could be
      pleasant on that day.
    </p>
    <p>
      He supposed, of course, that he must descend to the parlor to reach the
      solution of the mystery, but he was mistaken. On the second floor Mrs.
      Hepton stopped and pointed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;s in there,&#8221; she said, pointing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There&#8221; was the room formerly occupied by Mr. Saks, the
      long-haired artist. Since his departure it had been vacant. Pearson looked
      at the closed door and then at the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;A surprise for me in <i>there</i>?&#8221; he repeated. &#8220;What&#8217;s
      the joke, Mrs. Hepton?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      By way of answer she took him by the arm, and, leading him to the door,
      threw the latter open.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Here he is!&#8221; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hello, Jim!&#8221; hailed Captain Elisha Warren, cheerfully.
      &#8220;Ship ahoy! Glad to see you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was standing in the middle of the room, his hat on the table and his
      hands in his pockets.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson was surprised; there was no doubt of that&mdash;not<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> so
      much at the sight of his friend&mdash;he had expected to see or hear from
      the captain before the day was over&mdash;as at seeing him in that room.
      He could not understand what he was doing there.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha noted his bewildered expression, and chuckled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Come aboard, Jim!&#8221; he commanded. &#8220;Come in and inspect.
      I&#8217;ll see you later, Mrs. Hepton,&#8221; he added, &#8220;and give
      you my final word. I want to hold officer&#8217;s council with Mr. Pearson
      here fust.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The landlady accepted the broad hint and turned to go.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Very well,&#8221; she said, &#8220;but I do hope for all our sakes
      that word will be <i>yes</i>, Mr. Warren&mdash;Excuse me, it is Captain
      Warren, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It used to be, yes, ma&#8217;am. And at home it is yet. &#8217;Round
      here I&#8217;ve learned to be like a barroom poll-parrot, ready to answer
      to most everything. There!&#8221; as the door closed after her; &#8220;now
      we can be more private. Set down, Jim! How are you, anyway?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson sat down mechanically. &#8220;I&#8217;m well enough&mdash;everything
      considered,&#8221; he replied, slowly. &#8220;But what&mdash;what are you
      in here for? I don&#8217;t understand.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You will in a minute. What do you think of this&mdash;er&mdash;saloon
      cabin?&#8221; with a comprehensive sweep of his arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      The room was of fair size, furnished in a nondescript, boarding-house
      fashion, and with two windows overlooking the little back yard of the
      house and those of the other adjoining it. Each yard contained an
      assortment of ash cans, and there was an astonishing number of clothes
      lines, each fluttering a variety of garments peculiarly personal to their
      respective owners.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Pretty snug, ain&#8217;t it?&#8221; continued the captain.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>
      &#8220;Not exactly up to that I&#8217;ve been luxuriatin&#8217; in lately,
      but more fittin&#8217; to my build and class than that was, I shouldn&#8217;t
      wonder. No Corot paintin&#8217;s nor five thousand dollar tintypes of dory
      codders; but I can manage to worry along without them, if I try hard. Neat
      but not gaudy, I call it&mdash;as the architect feller said about his
      plans for the addition to the county jail at Ostable. Hey? Ho! Ho!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson began to get a clue to the situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain Warren,&#8221; he demanded, &#8220;have you&mdash;Do you
      mean to say you&#8217;ve taken this room to <i>live</i> in?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, I ain&#8217;t said all that yet. I wanted to talk with you a
      little afore I said it. But that was my idea, if you and I agreed on
      sartin matters.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You&#8217;ve come here to live! You&#8217;ve left your&mdash;your
      niece&#8217;s house?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ya-as, I&#8217;ve left. That is, I left the way the Irishman left
      the stable where they kept the mule. He said there was all out doors in
      front of him and only two feet behind. That&#8217;s about the way &#8217;twas
      with me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Have your nephew and niece&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. They hinted that my room was better than my company, and,
      take it by and large, I guess they was right for the present, anyhow. I
      set up till three o&#8217;clock thinkin&#8217; it over, and then I decided
      to get out afore breakfast this mornin&#8217;. I didn&#8217;t wait for any
      good-bys. They&#8217;d been said, or all I cared to hear&#8221;&mdash;Captain
      Elisha&#8217;s smile disappeared for an instant&mdash;&#8220;last evenin&#8217;.
      The dose was sort of bitter, but it had the necessary effect. At any rate,
      I didn&#8217;t hanker for another one. I remembered what your landlady
      told me when I was here afore, about this stateroom bein&#8217; vacated,
      and I come down to look at it. It suits me well enough; seems like a
      decent moorin&#8217;s for an old salt<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> water derelict like me;
      the price is reasonable, and I guess likely I&#8217;ll take it. I <i>guess</i>
      I will.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why do you guess? By George, I hope you will!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Do you? I&#8217;m much obliged. I didn&#8217;t know but after last
      night, after the scrape I got you into, you might feel&mdash;well, sort of
      as if you&#8217;d seen enough of me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man smiled bitterly. &#8220;It wasn&#8217;t your fault,&#8221;
      he said. &#8220;It was mine entirely. I&#8217;m quite old enough to decide
      matters for myself, and I should have decided as my reason, and not my
      inclinations, told me. You weren&#8217;t to blame.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, I was. If you&#8217;re old enough, I&#8217;m <i>too</i> old, I
      cal&#8217;late. But I did think&mdash;However, there&#8217;s no use goin&#8217;
      over that. I ask your pardon, Jim. And you don&#8217;t hold any grudge?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Indeed I don&#8217;t. I may be a fool&mdash;I guess I am&mdash;but
      not that kind.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thanks. Well, there&#8217;s one objection out of the way, then,
      only I don&#8217;t want you to think that I&#8217;ve hove overboard that
      &#8216;responsibility&#8217; I was so easy and fresh about takin&#8217; on
      my shoulders. It&#8217;s there yet; and I&#8217;ll see you squared with
      Caroline afore this v&#8217;yage is over, if I live.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His friend frowned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You needn&#8217;t mind,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I prefer that you
      drop the whole miserable business.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, maybe, but&mdash;Jim, you&#8217;ve taken hold of these
      electric batteries that doctors have sometimes? It&#8217;s awful easy to
      grab the handles of one of those contraptions, but when you want to drop
      &#8217;em you can&#8217;t. They don&#8217;t drop easy. I took hold of the
      handles of &#8217;Bije&#8217;s affairs, and, though it might be pleasanter
      to drop &#8217;em, I can&#8217;t&mdash;or I won&#8217;t.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>&#8220;Then
      you&#8217;re leaving your nephew and niece doesn&#8217;t mean that you&#8217;ve
      given up the guardianship?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha&#8217;s jaw set squarely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t remember sayin&#8217; that it did,&#8221; he
      answered, with decision. Then, his good-nature returning, he added,
      &#8220;And now, Jim, I&#8217;d like your opinion of these new quarters
      that I may take. What do you think of &#8217;em? Come to the window and
      take a look at the scenery.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson joined him at the window. The captain waved toward the
      clothes-lines and grinned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Looks as if there was some kind of jubilee, don&#8217;t it,&#8221;
      he observed. &#8220;Every craft in sight has strung the colors.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson laughed. Then he said:
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain, I think the room will do. It isn&#8217;t palatial, but one
      can live in worse quarters, as I know from experience.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. Well, Jim, there&#8217;s just one thing more. Have I disgraced
      you a good deal, bein&#8217; around with you and chummin&#8217; in with
      you the way I have? That is, do you <i>think</i> I&#8217;ve disgraced you?
      Are you ashamed of me?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I? Ashamed of <i>you</i>? You&#8217;re joking!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, I&#8217;m serious. Understand now, I&#8217;m not apologizin&#8217;.
      My ways are my ways, and I think they&#8217;re just as good as the next
      feller&#8217;s, whether he&#8217;s from South Denboro or&mdash;well, Broad
      Street. I&#8217;ve got a habit of thinkin&#8217; for myself and actin&#8217;
      for myself, and when I take off my hat it&#8217;s to a bigger <i>man</i>
      than I am and not to a more stylish hat. But, since I&#8217;ve lived here
      in New York, I&#8217;ve learned that, with a whole lot of folks, hats
      themselves count more than what&#8217;s underneath &#8217;em. I haven&#8217;t
      changed mine, and I ain&#8217;t goin&#8217; to. Now, with that plain and
      understood, do you want me to live here,<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> in the same house with
      you? I ain&#8217;t fishin&#8217; for compliments. I want an honest answer.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He got it. Pearson looked him squarely in the eye.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I do,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I like you, and I don&#8217;t care a
      damn about your hat. Is that plain?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha&#8217;s reply was delivered over the balusters in the hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hi!&#8221; he called. &#8220;Hi, Mrs. Hepton.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The landlady had been anxiously waiting. She ran from the dining room to
      the foot of the stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes?&#8221; she cried. &#8220;What is it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;s a bargain,&#8221; said the captain. &#8220;I&#8217;m
      ready to engage passage.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER XV
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>hus
      Captain Elisha entered another of New York&#8217;s &#8220;circles,&#8221;
      that which centered at Mrs. Hepton&#8217;s boarding house. Within a week
      he was as much a part of it as if he had lived there for years. At lunch,
      on the day of his arrival, he made his appearance at the table in company
      with Pearson, and when the landlady exultantly announced that he was to be
      &#8220;one of our little party&#8221; thereafter, he received and replied
      to the welcoming salutations of his fellow boarders with unruffled
      serenity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;How could I help it?&#8221; he asked. &#8220;Human nature&#8217;s
      liable to temptation, they tell us. The flavor of that luncheon we had
      last time I was here has been hangin&#8217; &#8217;round the edges of my
      mouth and tantalizin&#8217; my memory ever since.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;We had a souffle that noon, if I remember correctly, Captain,&#8221;
      observed the flattered Mrs. Hepton.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Did you? Well, I declare! I&#8217;d have sworn &#8217;twas a
      biled-dinner hash. Knew &#8217;twas better than any I ever ate afore, but
      I&#8217;d have bet &#8217;twas hash, just the same. Tut! tut! tut! Now,
      honest, Mrs. Hepton, ain&#8217;t this&mdash;er&mdash;whatever-you-call-it
      a close relation&mdash;a sort of hash with its city clothes on, hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The landlady admitted that a souffle was something not unlike a hash.
      Captain Elisha nodded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I thought so,&#8221; he declared. &#8220;I was sartin sure I couldn&#8217;t
      be mistaken. What is it used to be in the song book? &#8216;You can smash&mdash;you
      can&mdash;&#8217; Well, I don&#8217;t remember.<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> Somethin&#8217; about
      your bein&#8217; able to smash the vase if you wanted to, but the smell of
      the posies was there yet.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Ludlow, the bookseller, supplied the quotation.
    </p>
    <div class="poem">
      <div class="stanza">
        <span class="i4">&#8220;&#8216;You may break, you may shatter</span><br />
        <span class="i6">The vase if you will,</span><br /> <span class="i4">But
        the scent of the roses</span><br /> <span class="i6">Will cling to it
        still,&#8217;&#8221;</span>
      </div>
    </div>
    <p>
      he said, smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s it. Much obliged. You can warm up and rechristen the
      hash if you will; but the corned beef and cabbage stay right on deck. Ain&#8217;t
      that so, Mr. Dickens?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The illustrious &#8220;C.&#8221; bowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Moore?&#8221; he observed, with dignity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. That&#8217;s what <i>I</i> said&mdash;&#8216;More!&#8217; Said
      it twice, I believe. Glad you agree with me. The hymn says that weakness
      is sin, but there&#8217;s no sin in havin&#8217; a weakness for
      corned-beef hash.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Sherborne and Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles were at first inclined to snub
      the new boarder, considering him a country boor whose presence in their
      select society was almost an insult. The captain did not seem to notice
      their hints or sneers, although Pearson grew red and wrathful.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Laura, my dear,&#8221; said Mrs. Ruggles, addressing the teacher of
      vocal culture, &#8220;don&#8217;t you feel quite rural to-day? Almost as
      if you were visiting the country?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I do, indeed,&#8221; replied Miss Sherborne. &#8220;Refreshing, isn&#8217;t
      it? Ha! ha!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It is if one cares for such things. I am afraid <i>I</i> don&#8217;t
      appreciate them. They may be well enough in their place, but&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>She
      finished with a shrug of her shoulders. Captain Elisha smiled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he said politely, joining in the
      conversation; &#8220;that&#8217;s what the boy said about the cooky crumbs
      in the bed. You don&#8217;t care for the country, I take it, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I do <i>not</i>!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So? Well, it&#8217;s a mercy we don&#8217;t think alike; even
      Heaven would be crowded if we did&mdash;hey? You didn&#8217;t come from
      the country, either?&#8221; turning to Miss Sherborne.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young lady would have liked to answer with an uncompromising negative.
      Truth and the fact that some of those present were acquainted with it
      compelled her to forego this pleasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I was born in a&mdash;a small town,&#8221; she answered coldly.
      &#8220;But I came to the city as soon as I possibly could.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. Well, I came when I couldn&#8217;t possibly stay away. We
      can agree on one thing&mdash;we&#8217;re all here. Yes, and on another&mdash;that
      that cake is fust-rate. I&#8217;ll take a second piece, if you&#8217;ve no
      objection, Mrs. Hepton.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      When they were alone once more, in the captain&#8217;s room, Pearson
      vented his indignation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why didn&#8217;t you give them as good as they sent?&#8221; he
      demanded. &#8220;Couldn&#8217;t you see they were doing their best to hurt
      your feelings?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ya-as. I could see it. Didn&#8217;t need any specs to see that.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Then why didn&#8217;t you answer them as they deserved?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, I don&#8217;t know. What&#8217;s the use? They&#8217;ve got
      troubles of their own. One of &#8217;em&#8217;s a used-to-be, and<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> the
      other&#8217;s a never-was. Either disease is bad enough without addin&#8217;
      complications.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson laughed. &#8220;I don&#8217;t get the whole of that, Captain,&#8221;
      he said. &#8220;Mrs. Van is the used-to-be, I suppose. But what is it that
      Miss Sherborne never was?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Married,&#8221; was the prompt reply. &#8220;Old maiditis is
      creepin&#8217; on her fast. You want to be careful, Jim; a certain kind of
      female gets desperate about her stage.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson laughed again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, get out!&#8221; he exclaimed, turning to go.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right! I will, when you and she are together and you give me
      the signal. But I tell you honest, I&#8217;d hate to do it. Judgin&#8217;
      by the way she smiles and looks up under her eye-winkers at you, you&#8217;re
      in danger of kidnappin&#8217;. So long. I&#8217;ll see you again after I
      get my dunnage unpacked.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The snubbing and sneering came to an abrupt end. Pearson, in conversation
      with Mrs. Ruggles, casually imparted the information that Captain Elisha
      was the brother of A. Rodgers Warren, late society leader and wealthy
      broker. Also, that he had entire charge of the latter&#8217;s estate.
      Thereafter Mrs. Ruggles treated the captain as one whose rank was equal to
      her own, and, consequently, higher than anyone&#8217;s else in the
      boarding-house. She made it a point to publicly ask his advice concerning
      &#8220;securities&#8221; and &#8220;investments,&#8221; and favored him
      with many reminiscences of her distinguished father, the Senator. Miss
      Sherborne, as usual, followed her lead. Captain Elisha, when Pearson joked
      him on the altered behavior of the two ladies, merely grinned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You may thank me for that, Captain,&#8221; said the young man.
      &#8220;When I told Mrs. Ruggles who and what you were she almost broke
      down and sobbed. The fact that she had risked offending one so closely
      connected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>
      with the real thing on Fifth Avenue and Wall Street was too dreadful. But
      she&#8217;s yours devotedly now. There&#8217;s an 18-karat crown on your
      head.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. I suppose so. Well, I ain&#8217;t so sot up with pride over
      wearin&#8217; that crown. It used to belong to &#8217;Bije, and I never
      did care much for second-hand things. Rather have a new sou&#8217;wester
      of my own, any day in the week. When I buy a sou&#8217;wester I know what
      it&#8217;s made of.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mrs. Ruggles knows what the crown is made of&mdash;gold, nicely
      padded with bonds and preferred stock.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! Sometimes I wonder if the paddin&#8217;s waterproof. As for
      the gold&mdash;well, you can make consider&#8217;ble shine with brass when
      you&#8217;re dealin&#8217; with nigh-sighted folks ... and children.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      To this indirect reference to Miss Warren and her brother Pearson made no
      reply. The pair conversed freely on other subjects, but each avoided this
      one. The novel, too, was laid on the shelf for the present. Its author had
      not yet mustered sufficient courage to return to it. Captain Elisha once
      or twice suggested a session with &#8220;Cap&#8217;n Jim,&#8221; but,
      finding his suggestions received with more or less indifference, did not
      press them. His mind was busy with other things. A hint dropped by
      Sylvester, the lawyer, was one of these. It suggested alarming
      possibilities, and his skepticism concerning the intrinsic worth of his
      inherited &#8220;crown&#8221; was increased by it.
    </p>
    <p>
      He paid frequent visits to the offices of Sylvester, Kuhn, and Graves in
      Pine Street. Upon the senior partner, whom he esteemed and trusted not
      only as a business adviser but a friend, he depended for information
      concerning happenings at the Warren apartment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline sent him regular statements of her weekly<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> expenditures, also bills
      for his approval, but she had written him but once, and then only a brief
      note. The note brought by a messenger, accompanied a package containing
      the chain which he and Pearson selected with such deliberation and care at
      the Fifth Avenue jeweler&#8217;s. Under the existing circumstances, the
      girl wrote, she felt that she did not wish to accept presents from him and
      therefore returned this one. He was alone when the note and package came
      and sat by the window of his room, looking out at the dismal prospect of
      back yards and clothes-lines, turning the leather case over and over in
      his hands. Perhaps this was the most miserable afternoon he had spent
      since his arrival in the city. He tried to comfort himself by the exercise
      of his usual philosophy, but it was cold comfort. He had no right to
      expect gratitude, so he told himself, and the girl undoubtedly felt that
      she was justified in her treatment of him; but it is hard to be
      misunderstood and misjudged, even by one whose youth is, perhaps, an
      excuse. He forgave Caroline, but he could not forgive those who were
      responsible for her action.
    </p>
    <p>
      After Pearson had departed, on the morning when the conversation dealing
      with Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles and her change of attitude took place,
      Captain Elisha put on his hat and coat and started for his lawyer&#8217;s
      office. Sylvester was glad to see him and invited him to lunch.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, thank you,&#8221; replied the captain. &#8220;I just run down
      to ask if there was anything new in the offin&#8217;. Last time I see you,
      you hinted you and your mates had sighted somethin&#8217; or other through
      the fog, and it might turn out to be a rock or a lighthouse, you couldn&#8217;t
      tell which. Made up your mind yet?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester shook his head. &#8220;No,&#8221; he said, slowly;<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>
      &#8220;it is still foggy. We&#8217;re busy investigating, but we&#8217;re
      not ready to report.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! Well, what&#8217;s the thing look like? You must be a little
      nigher to it by now.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer tapped his desk with a pencil. &#8220;I don&#8217;t know what
      it looks like,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;That is to say, I don&#8217;t&mdash;I
      can&#8217;t believe it is what it appears, at this distance, to be. If it
      is, it is the most&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused. Captain Elisha waited for him to go on and, when he did not do
      so, asked another question.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The most what?&#8221; he demanded. &#8220;Is it likely to be very
      bad?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why&mdash;why&mdash;well, I can&#8217;t say even that yet. But
      there! as I told you, I&#8217;m not going to permit it to worry me. And
      you mustn&#8217;t worry, either. That&#8217;s why I don&#8217;t give you
      any further particulars. There may be nothing in it, after all.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His visitor smiled. &#8220;Say, Mr. Sylvester,&#8221; he said, &#8220;you&#8217;re
      like the young-ones used to be when I was a boy. There&#8217;d be a gang
      of &#8217;em waitin&#8217; by the schoolhouse steps and when the
      particular victim hove in sight they&#8217;d hail him with, &#8216;Ah, ha!
      <i>you&#8217;re</i> goin&#8217; to get it!&#8217; &#8216;Wait till teacher
      sees you!&#8217; and so on. Course the victim would want to know what it
      meant. All the satisfaction he got from them was, &#8216;That&#8217;s all
      right! You&#8217;ll find out! You just wait!&#8217; And the poor feller
      put in the time afore the bell rung goin&#8217; over all the things he
      shouldn&#8217;t have done and had, and wonderin&#8217; which it was this
      time. You hinted to me a week ago that there was a surprisin&#8217;
      possibility loomin&#8217; up in &#8217;Bije&#8217;s financial affairs. And
      ever since then I&#8217;ve been puzzlin&#8217; my brains tryin&#8217; to
      guess what could happen. Ain&#8217;t discovered any more of those Cut
      Short bonds, have you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The bonds to which he referred were those of a defunct<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> Short Line railroad. A
      large number of these bonds had been discovered among A. Rodgers Warren&#8217;s
      effects; part of his &#8220;tangled assets,&#8221; the captain had termed
      them, differentiating from the &#8220;tangible&#8221; variety.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Abbie, my housekeeper, has been writin&#8217; me,&#8221; he went
      on, &#8220;about havin&#8217; the sewin&#8217; room papered. She wants my
      advice concernin&#8217; the style of paper; says it ought to be pretty and
      out of the common, but not too expensive. I judge what she wants is
      somethin&#8217; that looks like money but ain&#8217;t really wuth more
      than ten cents a mile. I&#8217;ve been thinkin&#8217; I&#8217;d send her a
      bale or so of those bonds; they&#8217;d fill the bill in those respects,
      wouldn&#8217;t they?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester laughed. &#8220;They certainly would, Captain,&#8221; he
      replied. &#8220;No, we haven&#8217;t unearthed any more of that sort. And,
      as for this mystery of ours, I&#8217;ll give you the answer&mdash;if it&#8217;s
      worth giving at all, in a very short time. Meanwhile, you go home and
      forget it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I&#8217;ll try. But I guess it sticks out on my face, like a
      four days&#8217; toothache. But I <i>won&#8217;t</i> worry about that. You
      know best whether to tell me now or not, and&mdash;well, I&#8217;m carryin&#8217;
      about all the worry my tonnage&#8217;ll stand, as &#8217;tis.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He drew a long breath. Sylvester regarded him sympathetically.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You mustn&#8217;t take your nephew&#8217;s and niece&#8217;s
      treatment too much to heart,&#8221; he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, I don&#8217;t. That is, I pretend I don&#8217;t. And I do try
      not to. But I keep thinkin&#8217;, thinkin&#8217;, and wonderin&#8217; if
      &#8217;twould have been better if I hadn&#8217;t gone there to live at
      all. Hi hum! a man of my age hadn&#8217;t ought to mind what a
      twenty-year-old girl says, or does; &#8217;specially when her kind,
      advisin&#8217; friends have shown her how<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> she&#8217;s been
      deceived and hypocrit-ted. By the way, speakin&#8217; of hypocrites, I
      suppose there&#8217;s just as much &#8216;Dunnin&#8217;&#8217; as ever
      goin&#8217; on up there?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. A little more, if anything, I&#8217;m afraid. Your niece and
      Mrs. Dunn and her precious son are together now so constantly that people
      are expecting&mdash;well, you know what they expect.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I can guess. I hope they&#8217;ll be disapp&#8217;inted.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So do I, but I must confess I&#8217;m fearful. Malcolm himself isn&#8217;t
      so wise, but his mother is&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;A whole Book of Proverbs, hey? I know. She&#8217;s an able old
      frigate. I did think I had her guns spiked, but she turned &#8217;em on me
      unexpected. I thought I had her and her boy in a clove hitch. I knew
      somethin&#8217; that I was sartin sure they wouldn&#8217;t want Caroline
      to know, and she and Malcolm knew I knew it. Her tellin&#8217; Caroline of
      it, <i>her</i> story of it, when I wasn&#8217;t there to contradict, was
      as smart a piece of maneuverin&#8217; as ever was. It took the wind out of
      my sails, because, though I&#8217;m just as right as I ever was, Caroline
      wouldn&#8217;t listen to me, nor believe me, now.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;She&#8217;ll learn by experience.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. But learnin&#8217; by experience is a good deal like shippin&#8217;
      green afore the mast; it&#8217;ll make an able seaman of you, if it don&#8217;t
      kill you fust. When I was a boy there was a man in our town name of
      Nickerson Cummin&#8217;s. He was mate of a ship and smart as a red pepper
      poultice on a skinned heel. He was a great churchgoer when he was ashore
      and always preachin&#8217; brotherly love and kindness and pattin&#8217;
      us little shavers on the head, and so on. Most of the grown folks thought
      he was a sort of saint, and I thought he was more than that. I&#8217;d
      have worshiped him, I cal&#8217;late, if my Methodist trainin&#8217; would
      have allowed me to worship<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244"
      id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> anybody who wa&#8217;n&#8217;t named in
      Scriptur&#8217;. If there&#8217;d been an apostle or a prophet christened
      Nickerson I&#8217;d have fell on my knees to this Cummin&#8217;s man,
      sure. So, when I went to sea as a cabin boy, a tow-headed snub-nosed
      little chap of fourteen, I was as happy as a clam at highwater &#8217;cause
      I was goin&#8217; in the ship he was mate of.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused. There was a frown on his face, and his lower jaw was thrust
      forward grimly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well?&#8221; inquired Sylvester. &#8220;What happened?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey? Oh, excuse me. When I get to thinkin&#8217; of that v&#8217;yage
      I simmer inside, like a teakettle on a hot stove. The second day out&mdash;seasick
      and homesick and so miserable I wished I could die all at once instead of
      by lingerin&#8217; spasms&mdash;I dropped a dish on the cabin floor and
      broke it. Cummin&#8217;s was alone with me, eatin&#8217; his dinner; and
      he jumped out of his chair when I stooped to pick up the pieces and kicked
      me under the table. When I crawled out, he kicked me again and kept it up.
      When his foot got tired he used his fist. &#8216;There!&#8217; says he
      between his teeth, &#8216;I cal&#8217;late that&#8217;ll learn you that
      crockery costs money.&#8217;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It did. I never broke anything else aboard that ship. Cummin&#8217;s
      was a bully and a sneak to everybody but the old man, and a toady to him.
      He never struck me or anybody else when the skipper was around, but there
      was nothin&#8217; too mean for him to do when he thought he had a safe
      chance. And he took pains to let me know that if I ever told a soul at
      home he&#8217;d kill me. I&#8217;d learned by experience, not only about
      the price of crockery, but other things, things that a youngster ought not
      to learn&mdash;how to hate a man so that you can wait years to get even
      with him, for one. I&#8217;m sorry I learned that, and,&#8221; dryly,
      &#8220;so was Cummin&#8217;s, later. But I did learn, once<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> and
      for all, not to take folks on trust, nor to size &#8217;em up by their
      outside, or the noise they make in prayer-meetin&#8217;, nor the way they
      can spread soft soap when they think it&#8217;s necessary. I&#8217;d
      learned that, and I&#8217;d learned it early enough to be of use to me,
      which was a mercy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It was a hard lesson for me,&#8221; he added, reflectively; &#8220;but
      I managed to come out of it without lettin&#8217; it bitter my whole life.
      I don&#8217;t mind so much Caroline&#8217;s bein&#8217; down on me. She&#8217;ll
      know better some day, I hope; and if she don&#8217;t&mdash;well, I&#8217;m
      only a side-issue in her life, anyhow, hove in by accident, like the
      section of dog collar in the sassage. But I do hope her learnin&#8217; by
      experience won&#8217;t come too late to save her from ... what she&#8217;ll
      be awful sorry for by and by.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It must,&#8221; declared the lawyer, with decision. &#8220;You must
      see to it, Captain Warren. You are her guardian. She is absolutely under
      your charge. She can do nothing of importance unless you consent.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. That&#8217;s so&mdash;for one more year; just one, remember!
      Then she&#8217;ll be of age, and I can&#8217;t say &#8216;Boo!&#8217; And
      her share of &#8217;Bije&#8217;s money&#8217;ll be hers, too. And don&#8217;t
      you believe that that fact has slipped Sister Dunn&#8217;s memory. I ain&#8217;t
      on deck to head her off now; if she puts Malcolm up to gettin&#8217;
      Caroline to give her word, and Caroline gives it&mdash;well, I know my
      niece. She&#8217;s honorable, and she&#8217;ll stick to her promise if it
      runs her on the rocks. And Her Majesty Dunn knows that, too. Therefore,
      the cat bein&#8217; away, she cal&#8217;lates now&#8217;s the time to make
      sure of the cheese.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But the cat can come back. The song says it did, you know.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. And got another kick, I shouldn&#8217;t wonder.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>
      However, my claws&#8217;ll stay sharp for a year or thereabouts, and, if
      it comes to a shindy, there&#8217;ll be some tall scratchin&#8217; afore I
      climb a tree. Keep a weather eye on what goes on, won&#8217;t you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I will. You can depend on me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I do. And say! for goodness&#8217; sakes put me out of my misery
      regardin&#8217; that rock or lighthouse on &#8217;Bije&#8217;s chart, soon&#8217;s
      ever you settle which it is.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Certainly! And, remember, don&#8217;t worry. It may be a
      lighthouse, or nothing at all. At all events, I&#8217;ll report very soon.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER XVI
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom: 1px;">B</span>ut,
      in spite of his promise, Sylvester did not report during the following
      week or the next. Meanwhile, his client tried his best to keep the new
      mystery from troubling his thoughts, and succeeded only partially. The
      captain&#8217;s days and evenings were quiet and monotonous. He borrowed a
      book or two from Mrs. Hepton&#8217;s meager library, read, walked a good
      deal, generally along the water front, and wrote daily letters to Miss
      Baker. He and Pearson were together for at least a portion of each day.
      The author, fighting down his dejection and discouragement, set himself
      resolutely to work once more on the novel, and his nautical adviser was
      called in for frequent consultation. The story, however, progressed but
      slowly. There was something lacking. Each knew what that something was,
      but neither named it.
    </p>
    <p>
      One evening Pearson entered the room tenanted by his friend to find the
      latter seated beside the table, his shoes partially unlaced, and a pair of
      big slippers ready for putting on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain,&#8221; said the visitor, &#8220;you look so comfortable I
      hate to disturb you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha, red-faced and panting, desisted from the unlacing and
      straightened in his chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Whew!&#8221; he puffed. &#8220;Jim, your remarks prove that your
      experience of the world ain&#8217;t as big as it ought to be. When you get
      to my age and waist measure you&#8217;ll realize that stoopin&#8217; over
      and comfort don&#8217;t go together.<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> I hope to be comfortable
      pretty soon; but I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t be till them boots are off. Set
      down. The agony&#8217;ll be over in a minute.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson declined to sit. &#8220;Not yet,&#8221; he said. &#8220;And you
      let those shoes alone, until you hear what I&#8217;ve got to say. A
      newspaper friend of mine has sent me two tickets for the opera to-night. I
      want you to go with me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha was surprised.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;To the opera?&#8221; he repeated. &#8220;Why, that&#8217;s a&mdash;a
      sort of singin&#8217; theater ain&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, you&#8217;re fond of music; you told me so. And A&iuml;da is
      beautiful. Come on! it will do us both good.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hum! Well, I don&#8217;t know.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I do. Get ready.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain looked at his caller&#8217;s evening clothes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What do you mean by gettin&#8217; ready?&#8221; he asked. &#8220;You&#8217;ve
      got on your regimentals, open front and all. My uniform is the huntin&#8217;
      case kind; fits in better with church sociables and South Denboro no&#8217;theasters.
      If I wore one of those vests like yours Abbie&#8217;d make me put on a red
      flannel lung-protector to keep from catchin&#8217; pneumonia. And she&#8217;d
      think &#8217;twas sinful waste besides, runnin&#8217; the risk of sp&#8217;ilin&#8217;
      a clean biled shirt so quick. Won&#8217;t I look like an undertaker,
      sittin&#8217; alongside of you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not a bit. If it will ease your mind I&#8217;ll change to a
      business suit.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t care. You know how I feel; we had a little talk about
      hats a spell ago, you remember. If you&#8217;re willin&#8217; to take me
      &#8216;just as I am, without a plea,&#8217; as the hymn-tune says, why, I
      cal&#8217;late I&#8217;ll say yes and go. Set down and wait while I get on
      my ceremonials.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He retired to the curtain alcove, and Pearson heard<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> him rustling about,
      evidently making a hurried change of raiment. During this process he
      talked continuously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Jim,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I ain&#8217;t been to the theater but
      once since I landed in New York. Then I went to see a play named &#8216;The
      Heart of a Sailor.&#8217; Ha! ha! that was a great show! Ever take it in,
      did you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. I never did.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, you&#8217;d ought to. It&#8217;s a wonder of it&#8217;s kind.
      I learned more things about life-savin&#8217; and &#8217;longshore life
      from that drayma than you&#8217;d believe was possible. You&#8217;d have
      got some p&#8217;ints for your Cap&#8217;n Jim yarn from that play; you
      sartin would! Yes, indeed! Way I happened to go to it was on account of
      seein&#8217; a poster on a fence over nigh where that Moriarty tribe
      lived. The poster pictured a bark ashore, on her beam ends, in a sea like
      those off the Horn. On the beach was a whole parcel of life-savers firin&#8217;
      off rockets and blue lights. Keepin&#8217; the Fourth of July, I judged
      they was, for I couldn&#8217;t see any other reason. The bark wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      more&#8217;n a hundred foot from &#8217;em, and if all hands on board didn&#8217;t
      know they was in trouble by that time, then they deserved to drown.
      Anyhow, they wa&#8217;n&#8217;t likely to appreciate the celebration. Ho!
      ho! Well, when I run afoul of that poster I felt I hadn&#8217;t ought to
      let anything like that get away; so I hunted up the theater&mdash;it wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      but a little ways off&mdash;and got a front seat for that very afternoon.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Was it up to the advertising?&#8221; asked Pearson.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>Was</i> it? Hi hum! I wish you&#8217;d been there. More &#8217;special
      I wished some of the folks from home had been there, for the whole
      business was supposed to happen on the Cape, and they&#8217;d have
      realized how ignorant we are about the place we live in. The hero was a<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>
      strappin&#8217; six-footer, sort of a combination fisherman and parson,
      seemed so. He wore ileskins in fair weather and went around preachin&#8217;
      or defyin&#8217; folks that provoked him and makin&#8217; love to the
      daughter of a long-haired old relic that called himself an inventor....
      Oh, consarn it!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What&#8217;s the matter?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Dropped my collar button, as usual. Collar buttons are one of the
      Old Harry&#8217;s pet traps. I&#8217;ll bet their responsible for &#8217;most
      as many lapses from grace as tangled fishlines. Where.... Ow!... All
      right; I found it with my bare foot, and edge up, of course.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      A series of grunts and short-breathed exclamations followed, indicating
      that the sufferer was struggling with a tight collar.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Go on,&#8221; commanded Pearson. &#8220;Tell me some more about the
      play.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey? Oh, the play. Where was I?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You were saying that the heroine&#8217;s father was an inventor.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s what <i>he</i> said he was, though he never furnished
      any proof. His daughter helped him with his inventions, but if she&#8217;d
      cut his hair once in a while &#8217;twould have been a better way of
      puttin&#8217; in the time, &#8217;cordin&#8217; to my notion. And there
      was a rich squire, who made his money by speculatin&#8217; in wickedness,
      and a mortgage, and&mdash;I don&#8217;t know what all. And those Cape Cod
      folks! and the houses they lived in! and the way they talked! Oh, dear!
      oh, dear! I got my money&#8217;s wuth that afternoon.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What about the wreck? How did that happen?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t know. It happened &#8217;cause it had to be in the
      play, I cal&#8217;late. The mortgage, or an &#8216;invention&#8217;<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> or
      somethin&#8217;, was on board the bark and just naturally took a short cut
      for home, way I figgered it out. But, Jim, you ought to have seen that
      hero! He peeled off his ileskin-slicker&mdash;he&#8217;d kept it on all
      through the sunshine, but now, when &#8217;twas rainin&#8217; and rainin&#8217;
      and wreckin&#8217; and thunderin&#8217;, he shed it&mdash;and jumped in
      and saved all hands and the ship&#8217;s cat. &#8217;Twas great business!
      No wonder the life-savers set off fireworks! And thunder! Why, say, it
      never stopped thunderin&#8217; in that storm except when somebody had to
      make a heroic speech; then it let up and give &#8217;em a chance. Most
      considerate thunder ever I heard. And the lightnin&#8217;! and the way the
      dust flew from the breakers! I was glad I went.... There!&#8221; appearing
      fully dressed from behind the curtains. &#8220;I&#8217;m ready if you are.
      Did I talk your head off? I ask your pardon; but that &#8216;Heart of a
      Sailor&#8217; touched mine, I guess. I know I was afraid I&#8217;d laugh
      until it stopped beatin&#8217;. And all around the people were cryin&#8217;.
      It was enough sight damper amongst the seats than in those cloth waves.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The pair walked over to Broadway, boarded a street car, and alighted
      before the Metropolitan Opera House. Pearson&#8217;s seats were good ones,
      well down in the orchestra. Captain Elisha turned and surveyed the great
      interior and the brilliantly garbed audience.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Whew!&#8221; he muttered. &#8220;This is considerable of a show in
      itself, Jim. They could put our town hall inside here and the folks on the
      roof wouldn&#8217;t be so high as those in that main skys&#8217;l gallery
      up aloft there. Can they see or hear, do you think?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, yes. The accepted idea is that they are the real music lovers.
      <i>they</i> come for the opera itself. Some of the others come because&mdash;well,
      because it is the proper thing.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>&#8220;Yes,
      yes; I see. That&#8217;s the real article right over our heads, I suppose.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. That&#8217;s the &#8216;Diamond Horseshoe.&#8217;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All proper things there, hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why&mdash;er&mdash;yes, I suppose so. What makes you ask?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Nothing much. I was thinking &#8217;twas better Abbie wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      along on this cruise. She&#8217;d probably want to put an &#8216;im&#8217;
      in front of that &#8216;proper.&#8217; I envy those women, Jim; <i>they</i>
      didn&#8217;t have to stop to hunt up collar buttons, did they.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was silent during the first act of the opera. When the curtain fell his
      companion asked how he liked it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good singin&#8217;,&#8221; he replied; &#8220;best I ever heard. Do
      you understand what they say?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. But I&#8217;m familiar with the story of A&iuml;da, of course.
      It&#8217;s a favorite of mine. And the words don&#8217;t really matter.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I suppose not. It&#8217;s the way they say it. I had an Irishman
      workin&#8217; round my barn once, and Tim Bailey drove down from Bayport
      to see me. I was out and Tim and the Irishman run afoul of each other. Tim
      stuttered so that he made a noise when he talked like one of these
      gasoline bicycles goin&#8217; by. He watched Mike sweepin&#8217; out the
      horse stall and he says, &#8216;You&#8217;re a pup&mdash;pup ... I say you&#8217;re
      a pup&mdash;.&#8217; He didn&#8217;t get any further &#8217;cause Mike
      went for him with the broom. Turned out later that he was tryin&#8217; to
      compliment that Irishman by sayin&#8217; he was a particular sort of
      feller. These folks on the stage might be sayin&#8217; most anythin&#8217;,
      and I wouldn&#8217;t know it. But I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t knock &#8217;em
      down, for I like the way it&#8217;s said. When the Almighty give us music
      he more than made up for makin&#8217; us subject to toothache, didn&#8217;t
      he.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>Pearson
      bought a copy of the libretto, and the captain followed the performance of
      the next two acts with interest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Say, Jim,&#8221; he whispered, with a broad grin, &#8220;it&#8217;s
      a good thing this opera idea ain&#8217;t carried into real life. If you
      had to sing every word you said &#8217;twould be sort of distressin&#8217;,
      &#8217;specially if you was in a hurry. A fust-rate solo when you was
      orderin&#8217; the crew to shorten sail would be a high old brimstone
      anthem, I&#8217;ll bet you. And think of the dinner table at our boardin&#8217;
      house! Mrs. Van and C. Dickens both goin&#8217; at once, and Marm Hepton
      serenadin&#8217; the waiter girl! Ho! ho! A cat fight wouldn&#8217;t be a
      circumstance.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Between the third and the fourth acts the pair went out into the foyer,
      where, ascending to the next floor, they made the round of the long curve
      behind the boxes, Pearson pointing out to his friend the names of the box
      lessees on the brass plates.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There!&#8221; he observed, as, the half circle completed, they
      turned and strolled back again, &#8220;isn&#8217;t that an imposing list,
      Captain? Don&#8217;t you feel as if you were close to the real thing?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Godfreys mighty!&#8221; was the solemn reply; &#8220;I was just
      thinkin&#8217; I felt as if I&#8217;d been readin&#8217; one of those
      muck-rakin&#8217; yarns in the magazines!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The foyer had its usual animated crowd, and among them Pearson recognized
      a critic of his acquaintance. He offered to introduce the captain, but the
      latter declined the honor, saying that he cal&#8217;lated he wouldn&#8217;t
      shove his bows in this time. &#8220;You heave ahead and see your friend,
      Jim,&#8221; he added. &#8220;I&#8217;ll come to anchor by this pillar and
      watch the fleet go by. I&#8217;ll have to write Abbie about all this; she&#8217;ll
      want to know how the female craft was rigged.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>Left
      alone, he leaned against the pillar and watched the people pass and repass
      just behind him. Two young men paused just behind him. He could not help
      overhearing their conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I presume you&#8217;ve heard the news?&#8221; asked one, casually.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; replied the other, &#8220;I have. That is, if you mean
      the news concerning Mal Dunn. The mater learned it this afternoon and
      sprung it at dinner. No one was greatly surprised. Formal announcement
      made, and all that sort of thing, I believe. Mal&#8217;s to be
      congratulated.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;His mother is, you mean. She managed the campaign. The old lady is
      some strategist, and I&#8217;d back her to win under ordinary
      circumstances. But I understand these were not ordinary; wise owl of a
      guardian to be circumvented, or something of that sort.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;From what I hear the Dunns haven&#8217;t won so much after all.
      There was a big shrinkage when papa died, so they say. Instead of three or
      four millions it panned out to be a good deal less than one. I don&#8217;t
      know much about it, because our family and theirs have drifted apart since
      they moved.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! I imagine whatever the pan-out it will be welcome. The Dunns
      are dangerously close to the ragged edge; everybody has been on to that
      for some time. And it takes a few ducats to keep Mal going. He&#8217;s no
      Uncle Russell when it comes to putting by for the rainy day.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, on the whole, I&#8217;m rather sorry for&mdash;the other
      party. Mal is a good enough fellow, and he certainly is a game sport; but&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      They moved on, and Captain Elisha heard no more. But what he had heard was
      quite sufficient. He sat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255"
      id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> through the remainder of the opera in
      silence and answered all his friend&#8217;s questions and remarks curtly
      and absently.
    </p>
    <p>
      As they stepped into the trolley Pearson bought an evening paper, not the
      <i>Planet</i>, but a dignified sheet which shunned sensationalism and
      devoted much space to the doings of the safe, sane, and ultra-respectable
      element. Perceiving that his companion, for some reason, did not care to
      talk, he read as the car moved downtown. Suddenly Captain Elisha was
      awakened from his reverie by hearing his friend utter an exclamation.
      Looking up, the captain saw that he was leaning back in the seat, the
      paper lying unheeded in his lap.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What&#8217;s the matter?&#8221; asked the older man, anxiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson started, glanced quickly at his friend, hesitated, and looked down
      again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Nothing&mdash;now,&#8221; he answered, brusquely. &#8220;We get out
      here. Come.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He rose, picked up the paper with a hand that shook a little, and led the
      way to the door of the car. Captain Elisha followed, and they strode up
      the deserted side street. Pearson walked so rapidly that his companion was
      hard pushed to keep pace with him. When they stood together in the dimly
      lit hall of the boarding house, the captain spoke again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, Jim,&#8221; he asked in a low tone, &#8220;what is it? You
      may as well tell me. Maybe I can guess, anyhow.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man reached up and turned the gas full on. In spite of the cold
      from which they had just come, his face was white. He folded the paper in
      his hand, and with his forefinger pointed to its uppermost page.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There it is,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Read it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha took the paper, drew his spectacle case<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> from his pocket,
      adjusted his glasses and read. The item was among those under the head of
      &#8220;Personal and Social.&#8221; It was what he expected. &#8220;The
      engagement is to-day announced of Miss Caroline Warren, daughter of the
      late A. Rodgers Warren, the well-known broker, to Mr. Malcolm Corcoran
      Dunn, of Fifth Avenue. Miss Warren, it will be remembered, was one of the
      most charming of our season-before-last&#8217;s d&eacute;butantes and&mdash;&#8221;
      etc.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain read the brief item through.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; he said, slowly, &#8220;I see.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson looked at him in amazement.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You <i>see</i>!&#8221; he repeated. &#8220;You&mdash;Why! <i>Did
      you know it</i>?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;ve been afraid of it for some time. To-night, when you left
      me alone there in the quarter-deck of that opera house, I happened to hear
      two young chaps talkin&#8217; about it. So you might say I knew&mdash;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good heavens! and you can stand there and&mdash;What are you going
      to do about it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know&mdash;yet.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Are you going to permit her to marry that&mdash;<i>that</i> fellow?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I ain&#8217;t sartin that I can stop her.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;My God, man! Do you realize&mdash;and <i>she</i>&mdash;your niece&mdash;why&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There! there! Jim. I realize it all, I cal&#8217;late. It&#8217;s
      my business to realize it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And it isn&#8217;t mine. No, of course it isn&#8217;t; you&#8217;re
      right there.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned and strode toward the foot of the stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hold on!&#8221; commanded the captain. &#8220;Hold on, Jim! Don&#8217;t
      you go off ha&#8217;f cocked. When I said &#8217;twas my business to
      realize this thing, I meant just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257"
      id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> that and nothin&#8217; more. I wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      hintin&#8217;, and you ought to know it. You do know it, don&#8217;t you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man paused. &#8220;Yes,&#8221; he answered, after an instant&#8217;s
      struggle with his feelings; &#8220;yes, I do. I beg your pardon, Captain.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right. And here&#8217;s somethin&#8217; else; I just told you I
      wasn&#8217;t sartin I could stop the marriage. That&#8217;s the truth. But
      I don&#8217;t recollect sayin&#8217; I&#8217;d actually hauled down the
      colors, not yet. Good night.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good night, Captain. I shouldn&#8217;t have misunderstood you, of
      course. But, as you know, I respected and admired your niece. And this
      thing has&mdash;has&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sort of knocked you on your beam ends, I understand. Well, Jim,&#8221;
      with a sigh, &#8220;I ain&#8217;t exactly on an even keel myself.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      They separated, Pearson going to his room. As Captain Elisha was passing
      through the hall on the second floor, he heard someone calling him by
      name. Turning, he saw his landlady&#8217;s head, bristling with curl
      papers, protruding from behind the door at the other end of the passage.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain Warren,&#8221; she asked, &#8220;is that you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; replied the captain, turning back.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I&#8217;ve got a message for you. A Mr. Sylvester has &#8217;phoned
      you twice this evening. He wishes to see you at his office at the earliest
      possible moment. He says it is <i>very</i> important.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER XVII
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">N</span>ine
      o&#8217;clock is an early hour for a New York lawyer of prominence to be
      at his place of business. Yet, when Captain Elisha asked the office boy of
      Sylvester, Kuhn and Graves if the senior partner was in, he received an
      affirmative answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, sir,&#8221; said Tim, respectfully. His manner toward the
      captain had changed surprisingly since the latter&#8217;s first call.
      &#8220;Yes, sir; Mr. Sylvester&#8217;s in. He expects you. I&#8217;ll tell
      him you&#8217;re here. Sit down and wait, please.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha sat down, but he did not have to wait long. The boy
      returned at once and ushered him into the private office. Sylvester
      welcomed him gravely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You got my message, then,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I spent hours last
      evening chasing you by &#8217;phone. And I was prepared to begin again
      this morning.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So? That&#8217;s why you&#8217;re on deck so early? Didn&#8217;t
      sleep here, did you? Well, I cal&#8217;late I know what you want to talk
      about. You ain&#8217;t the only one that reads the newspapers.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The newspapers? Great heavens! it isn&#8217;t in the newspapers, is
      it? It can&#8217;t be!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He seemed much perturbed. Captain Elisha looked puzzled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Course it is,&#8221; he said. &#8220;But I heard it afore I saw it.
      Perhaps you think I take it pretty easy. Maybe I act as if I did. But you
      expected it, and so did I, so we ain&#8217;t exactly surprised. And,&#8221;
      seriously, &#8220;I realize<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259"
      id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> that it&#8217;s no joke as well as you
      do. But we&#8217;ve got a year to fight in, and now we must plan the
      campaign. I did cal&#8217;late to see Caroline this mornin&#8217;. Then,
      if I heard from her own lips that &#8217;twas actually so, I didn&#8217;t
      know&#8217;s I wouldn&#8217;t drop in and give Sister
      Corcoran-Queen-Victoria-Dunn a few plain facts about it not bein&#8217; a
      healthy investment to hurry matters. You&#8217;re wantin&#8217; to see me
      headed me off, and I come here instead.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer looked at him in astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;See here, Captain Warren,&#8221; he demanded, &#8220;what do you
      imagine I asked you to come here for?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, to talk about that miserable engagement, sartin. Poor girl! I&#8217;ve
      been awake ha&#8217;f the night thinkin&#8217; of the mess she&#8217;s
      been led into. And she believes she&#8217;s happy, I suppose.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester shook his head. &#8220;I see,&#8221; he said, slowly. &#8220;You
      would think it that, naturally. No, Captain, it isn&#8217;t the
      engagement. It&#8217;s more serious than that.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;More serious than&mdash;<i>more</i> serious! Why, what on earth?
      Hey? Mr. Sylvester, has that rock-lighthouse business come to somethin&#8217;
      after all?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer nodded. &#8220;It has,&#8221; he replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I want to know! And I&#8217;d almost forgot it, not hearin&#8217;
      from you. It&#8217;s a rock, too, I judge, by the looks of your face.
      Humph!... Is it very bad?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid so.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain pulled his beard. &#8220;Well,&#8221; he said, wearily, after
      a moment, &#8220;I guess likely I can bear it. I&#8217;ve had to bear some
      things in my time. Anyhow, I&#8217;ll try. Heave ahead and get it over
      with. I&#8217;m ready.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Instead of answering, Sylvester pushed an electric button on his desk. The
      office boy answered the ring.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Have Mr. Kuhn and Mr. Graves arrived?&#8221; asked the lawyer.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>&#8220;Yes,
      sir. Both of them, sir.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Tell them Captain Warren is here, and ask them to join us in the
      inner room. Remind Mr. Graves to bring the papers. And, Tim, remember that
      none of us is to be disturbed. Do you understand?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, sir,&#8221; said Tim and departed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha regarded his friend with some dismay.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Say!&#8221; he exclaimed, &#8220;this <i>must</i> be serious, if it
      takes the skipper and both mates to handle it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester did not smile. &#8220;It is,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;Come.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He led the way into the room opening from the rear of his own. It was a
      large apartment with a long table in the center. Mr. Kuhn, brisk and
      business-like, was already there. He shook hands with his client. As he
      did so, Graves, dignified and precise as ever, entered, carrying a small
      portfolio filled with papers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mornin&#8217;, Mr. Graves,&#8221; said the captain; &#8220;glad to
      see you, even under such distressin&#8217; circumstances, as the
      undertaker said to the sick man. Feelin&#8217; all right again, I hope. No
      more colds or nothin&#8217; like that?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. Thank you. I am quite well, at present.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s hearty. If you and me don&#8217;t do any more buggy
      ridin&#8217; in Cape Cod typhoons, we&#8217;ll last a spell yet, hey? What
      you got there, the death warrant?&#8221; referring to the portfolio and
      its contents.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Graves evidently did not consider this flippancy worth a reply, for he
      made none.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Sit down, gentlemen,&#8221; said Sylvester.
    </p>
    <p>
      The four took chairs at the table. Graves untied and opened the portfolio.
      Captain Elisha looked at his solemn companions, and his lips twitched.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You&#8217;ll excuse me,&#8221; he observed, &#8220;but I feel as if
      I was goin&#8217; to be tried for piracy on the high seas. Has<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> the
      court any objection to tobacco smoke? I&#8217;m puttin&#8217; the emphasis
      strong on the &#8216;tobacco,&#8217;&#8221; he added, &#8220;because this
      is a cigar you give me yourself, Mr. Sylvester, last time I was down here.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, indeed,&#8221; replied the senior partner. &#8220;Smoke, if you
      wish. No one here has any objection, unless it may be Graves.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, Mr. Graves ain&#8217;t. He and I fired up together that night
      we fust met. Hot smoke tasted grateful after all the cold water we&#8217;d
      had poured onto us in that storm. Graves is all right. He&#8217;s a
      sportin&#8217; character, like myself. Maybe he&#8217;ll jine us. Got
      another cigar in my pocket.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      But the invitation was declined. The &#8220;sporting character&#8221;
      might deign to relax amid proper and fitting surroundings, but not in the
      sacred precincts of his office. So the captain smoked alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; he observed, after a few preliminary puffs, &#8220;go
      on! Don&#8217;t keep me in suspenders, as the feller said. Where did the
      lightnin&#8217; strike, and what&#8217;s the damage?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester took a card from his pocket and referred to a penciled
      memorandum on its back.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain Warren,&#8221; he began, slowly, &#8220;as you know, and as
      directed by you, my partners here and I have been engaged for months in
      carefully going over your brother&#8217;s effects, estimating values,
      tabulating and sorting his various properties and securities, separating
      the good from the worthless&mdash;and there was, as we saw at a glance, a
      surprising amount of the latter&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm,&#8221; interrupted the captain, &#8220;Cut Short bonds and
      the like of that. I know. Excuse me. Go on.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Precisely. And there were many just as valueless. But we have
      been gradually getting those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262"
      id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> out of the way and listing and
      appraising the remainder. It was a tangle. Your brother&#8217;s business
      methods, especially of late years, were decidedly unsystematic and
      slipshod. It may have been the condition of his health which prevented his
      attending to them as he should. Or,&#8221; he hesitated slightly, &#8220;it
      may have been that he was secretly in great trouble and mental distress.
      At all events, the task has been a hard one for us. But, largely owing to
      Graves and his patient work, our report was practically ready a month ago.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused. Captain Elisha, who had been listening attentively, nodded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; he said; &#8220;you told me &#8217;twas. What does the
      whole thing tot up to? What&#8217;s the final figger, Mr. Graves?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The junior partner adjusted his eyeglasses to his thin nose.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I have them here,&#8221; he said. &#8220;The list of securities, et
      cetera, is rather long, but&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Never mind them now, Graves,&#8221; interrupted Kuhn. &#8220;The
      amount, roughly speaking, is close to over our original estimate, half a
      million.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain drew a breath of relief. &#8220;Well,&#8221; he exclaimed,
      &#8220;that&#8217;s all right then, ain&#8217;t it? That&#8217;s no
      poorhouse pension.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester answered. &#8220;Yes,&#8221; he said, &#8220;that&#8217;s all
      right, as far as it goes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! Well, I cal&#8217;late <i>I</i> could make it go to the end
      of the route; and then have enough left for a return ticket. Say!&#8221;
      with another look at the solemn faces of the three, &#8220;what <i>is</i>
      the row? If the estate is wuth ha&#8217;f a million, what&#8217;s the
      matter with it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That is what we are here this morning to discuss, Captain. A month
      ago, as I said, we considered our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263"
      id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> report practically ready. Then we
      suddenly happened on the trail of something which, upon investigation,
      upset all our calculations. If true, it threatened, not to mention its
      effect upon the estate, to prove so distressing and painful to us, Rodgers
      Warren&#8217;s friends and legal advisers, that we decided not to alarm
      you, his brother, by disclosing our suspicions until we were sure there
      was no mistake. I did drop you a hint, you will remember&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I remember. <i>Now</i> we&#8217;re comin&#8217; to the rock!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Captain Warren, I think perhaps I ought to warn you that what
      my partners and I are about to say will shock and hurt you. I, personally,
      knew your brother well and respected him as an honorable business man. A
      lawyer learns not to put too much trust in human nature, but, I confess,
      this&mdash;this&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was evidently greatly disturbed. Captain Elisha, regarding him
      intently, nodded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I judge it&#8217;s sort of hard for you to go on, Mr. Sylvester,&#8221;
      he said. &#8220;I&#8217;ll help you all I can. You and Mr. Kuhn and Mr.
      Graves here have found out somethin&#8217; that ain&#8217;t exactly
      straight in &#8217;Bije&#8217;s doin&#8217;s? Am I right?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, Captain Warren, you are.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Somethin&#8217; that don&#8217;t help his character, hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Somethin&#8217;s he&#8217;s, done that&#8217;s&mdash;well, to speak
      plain, that&#8217;s crooked?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid there&#8217;s no doubt of it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph!&#8221; The captain frowned. His cigar had gone out, and he
      idly twisted the stump between his fingers. &#8220;Well,&#8221; he said,
      with a sigh, &#8220;our family, gen&#8217;rally speakin&#8217;, has always
      held its head pretty high. Dad was poor, but he prided himself on bein&#8217;
      straight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>
      as a plumb line. And, as for mother, she....&#8221; Then, looking up
      quickly, he asked, &#8220;Does anybody outside know about this?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No one but ourselves&mdash;yet.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yet? Is it goin&#8217; to be necessary for anybody else to know it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;We hope not. But there is a possibility.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I was thinkin&#8217; about the children.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Of course. So are we all.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. Poor Caroline! she put her father on a sort of altar and
      bowed down afore him, as you might say. Any sort of disgrace to his name
      would about kill her. As for me,&#8221; with another sigh, &#8220;I ain&#8217;t
      so much surprised as you might think. I know that sounds tough to say
      about your own brother, but I&#8217;ve been afraid all along. You see,
      &#8217;Bije always steered pretty close to the edge of the channel. He had
      ideas about honesty and fair dealin&#8217; in business that didn&#8217;t
      jibe with mine. We split on just that, as I told you, Mr. Graves, when you
      and I fust met. He got some South Denboro folks to invest money along with
      him; sort of savin&#8217;s account, they figgered it; but I found out he
      was usin&#8217; it to speculate with. So that&#8217;s why we had our row.
      I took pains to see that the money was paid back, but he and I never spoke
      afterwards. Fur as my own money was concerned, I hadn&#8217;t any kick,
      but.... However, I&#8217;m talkin&#8217; too much. Go on, Mr. Sylvester, I&#8217;m
      ready to hear whatever you&#8217;ve got to say.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you, Captain. You make it easier for me. It seems that your
      brother&#8217;s first step toward wealth and success was taken about
      nineteen years ago. Then, somehow or other, probably through a combination
      of luck and shrewdness, he obtained a grant, a concession from the
      Brazilian Government, the long term lease of<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> a good-sized tract of
      land on the upper Amazon. It was very valuable because of its rubber
      trees.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey?&#8221; Captain Elisha leaned forward. &#8220;Say that again!&#8221;
      he commanded sharply.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester repeated his statement. &#8220;He got the concession by paying
      twenty thousand dollars to the government of Brazil,&#8221; he continued.
      &#8220;To raise the twenty thousand he formed a stock company of two
      hundred and fifty shares at one hundred dollars each. One hundred of these
      shares were in his own name. Fifty were in the name of one &#8216;Thomas
      A. Craven,&#8217; a clerk at that time in his office. Craven was only a
      dummy, however. Do you understand what I mean by a dummy?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I can guess. Sort of a wooden image that moved when &#8217;Bije
      pulled the strings. Like one of these straw directors that clutter up the
      insurance companies, &#8217;cordin&#8217; to the papers. Yes, yes; I
      understand well enough. Go ahead! go ahead!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s it. The fifty shares were in Craven&#8217;s name, but
      they were transferred in blank and in Mr. Warren&#8217;s safe. Together
      with his own hundred, they gave him control and a voting majority. That
      much we know by the records.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I see. But this rubber con&mdash;contraption wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      really wuth anything, was it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Worth anything! Captain Warren, I give you my word that it was
      worth more than all the rest of the investments that your brother made
      during his lifetime.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>No!</i>&#8221; The exclamation was almost a shout.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, yes, decidedly more. Does that surprise you, Captain?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha did not answer. He was regarding<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> the lawyer with a dazed
      expression. He breathed heavily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What&#8217;s the matter?&#8221; demanded the watchful Kuhn, his
      gaze fixed upon his client&#8217;s face. &#8220;Do you know anything&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain interrupted him. &#8220;Go on!&#8221; he commanded. &#8220;But
      tell me this fust: What was the name of this rubber concern of &#8217;Bije&#8217;s?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The Akrae Rubber Company.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I see.... Yes, yes.... Akry, hey!... Well, what about it? Tell me
      the rest.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;For the first year or two this company did nothing. Then, in March,
      of the third year, the property was released by Mr. Warren to persons in
      Para, who were to develop and operate. The terms of his new lease were
      very advantageous. Royalties were to be paid on a sliding scale, and, from
      the very first, they were large. The Akrae Company paid enormous
      dividends.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Did, hey? I want to know!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. In fact, for twelve years the company&#8217;s royalties
      averaged $50,000 yearly.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Whe-e-w!&#8221; Captain Elisha whistled. &#8220;Fifty thousand a
      year!&#8221; he repeated slowly. &#8220;&#8217;Bije! &#8217;Bije!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. And three years ago the Akrae Company sold its lease, sold out
      completely to the Para people, for seven hundred and fifty thousand
      dollars.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Godfreys mighty! Well,&#8221; after a moment, &#8220;that&#8217;s
      what I&#8217;d call a middlin&#8217; fair profit on a twenty thousand
      dollar investment&mdash;not to mention the dividends.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain,&#8221; Sylvester leaned forward now; &#8220;Captain,&#8221;
      he repeated, &#8220;it is that sale and the dividends which are troubling
      us. I told you that the Akrae Company was organized with two hundred and
      fifty shares of stock. Your brother held one hundred in his own name and
      fifty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>
      transferred to him by his dummy, Craven. What I did not tell you was that
      there were another hundred shares, held by someone, someone who paid ten
      thousand dollars for them&mdash;we know that&mdash;and was, therefore,
      entitled to two-fifths of every dollar earned by the company during its
      existence, and two-fifths of the amount received for the sale of the
      lease. So far as we can find out, this stockholder has never received one
      cent.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The effect of this amazing announcement upon the uniniated member of the
      council was not as great as the lawyers expected it to be. &#8220;You don&#8217;t
      tell me!&#8221; was his sole comment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Graves broke in impatiently: &#8220;I think, Captain Warren,&#8221; he
      declared, &#8220;that you probably do not realize what this means. Besides
      proving your brother dishonest, it means that this stockholder, whoever he
      may have been&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey? What&#8217;s that? Don&#8217;t you know who he was?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, we do not. The name upon the stub of the transfer book has been
      scratched out.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha looked the speaker in the face, then slowly turned his look
      upon the other two faces.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Scratched out?&#8221; he repeated. &#8220;Who scratched it out?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Graves shrugged his shoulders.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, yes,&#8221; said the captain. &#8220;You don&#8217;t know, but
      we&#8217;re all entitled to guess, hey?... Humph!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;If this person is living,&#8221; began Sylvester, &#8220;it follows
      that&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hold on a minute! I don&#8217;t know much about corporations, of
      course&mdash;that&#8217;s more in your line than &#8217;tis in mine&mdash;but
      I want to ask one question. You say this what-d&#8217;ye-call-it&mdash;this
      Akrae thingamajig&mdash;was sold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268"
      id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> out, hull, canvas and riggin&#8217;, to
      a crowd in Brazil? It&#8217;s gone out of business then? It&#8217;s dead?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. But&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Wait! Ain&#8217;t it customary, when a sale like this is made, to
      turn over all the stock, certificates and all? Sometimes you get stock in
      the new company in exchange; I know that. But to complete the trade,
      wouldn&#8217;t this extry hundred shares be turned in? Or some sharp
      questionin&#8217; done if &#8217;twa&#8217;n&#8217;t?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He addressed the query to Sylvester. The latter seemed more troubled than
      before.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That,&#8221; he said with some hesitation, &#8220;is one of the
      delicate points in this talk of ours, Captain Warren. A certificate for
      the missing hundred shares <i>was</i> turned in. It was dated at the time
      of the original issue, made out in the name of one Edward Bradley, and
      transferred on the back by him to your brother. That is, it was presumably
      so transferred.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Presumably. Pre-sumably? You mean&mdash;?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I mean that this certificate is&mdash;well, let us say, rather
      queer. To begin with, no one knows who this Bradley is, or was. His name
      appears nowhere except on that certificate, unless, of course, it did
      appear on the stub where the scratching has been done; we doubt that, for
      reasons. Nobody ever heard of the man; and his transfer to your brother
      was made, and the certificate signed by him, only three years ago, when
      the Akrae Company sold out. It will take too long to go into details; but
      thanks to the kindness of the Para concern, which has offices in this city&mdash;we
      have been able to examine this Bradley certificate. Experts have examined
      it, also. And they tell us&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, what do they tell?&#8221; demanded the captain.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>&#8220;They
      tell us that&mdash;that, in their opinion, the certificate was never
      issued at the time when, by this date, it presumes to have been. It was
      made out no longer ago than five years, probably less. The signature of
      Bradley on the back is&mdash;is&mdash;well, I hate to say it, Captain
      Warren, but the handwriting on that signature resembles very closely that
      of your brother.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha was silent for some moments. The others did not speak, but
      waited. Even Graves, between whom and his client there was little in
      common, felt the general sympathy.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length the captain raised his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; he said slowly, &#8220;we ain&#8217;t children. We
      might as well call things by their right names. &#8217;Bije forged that
      certificate.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid there is no doubt of it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Dear! dear! dear! Why, they put folks in state&#8217;s prison for
      that!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. But a dead man is beyond prisons.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s so. Then I don&#8217;t see&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You will. You don&#8217;t grasp the full meaning of this affair
      even yet. If the Bradley certificate is a forgery, a fraud from beginning
      to end, then the presumption is that there was never any such person as
      Bradley. But <i>someone</i> paid ten thousand dollars for one hundred
      Akrae shares when the company was formed. <i>That</i> certificate has
      never been turned in. Some person or persons, somewhere, hold one hundred
      shares of Akrae Rubber Company stock. Think, now! Suppose that someone
      turns up and demands all that he has been cheated out of for the past
      seventeen years! Think of that!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well ... I am thinkin&#8217; of it. I got the scent of what you was
      drivin&#8217; at five minutes ago. And I don&#8217;t see that we need to
      be afraid. He could have put &#8217;Bije<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> in jail; but &#8217;Bije
      is already servin&#8217; a longer sentence than he could give him. So that
      disgrace ain&#8217;t bearin&#8217; down on us. And, if I understand about
      such things, his claim is against the Akrae Company, and that&#8217;s dead&mdash;dead
      as the man that started it. Maybe he could put in a keeper, or a receiver,
      or some such critter, but there&#8217;s nothin&#8217; left to keep or
      receive. Ain&#8217;t I right?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You are. Or you would be, but for one thing, the really
      inexplicable thing in this whole miserable affair. Your brother, Captain
      Warren, was dishonest. He took money that didn&#8217;t belong to him, and
      he forged that certificate. But he must have intended to make restitution.
      He must have been conscience-stricken and more to be pitied, perhaps, than
      condemned. No doubt, when he first began to withhold the dividends and use
      the money which was not his, he intended merely to borrow. He was always
      optimistic and always plunging in desperate and sometimes rather shady
      speculations which, he was sure, would turn out favorably. If they had&mdash;if,
      for instance, the South Shore Trolley Combine had been put through&mdash;You
      knew of that, did you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;ve been told somethin&#8217; about it. Go on!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, it was not put through, so his hopes there were frustrated.
      And that was but one of his schemes. However, when the sale of the Company
      was consummated, he did an extraordinary thing. He made out and signed his
      personal note, payable to the Akrae Company, for every cent he had
      misappropriated. And we found that note in his safe after his death. That
      was what first aroused our suspicions. <i>Now</i>, Captain Warren, do you
      understand?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha did not understand, that was evident. His look of wondering
      amazement traveled from one face to the others about the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>&#8220;A
      <i>note</i>!&#8221; he repeated. &#8220;&#8217;Bije put his <i>note</i> in
      the safe? A note promisin&#8217; to pay all he&#8217;d stole! And left it
      there where it could be found? Why, that&#8217;s pretty nigh unbelievable,
      Mr. Sylvester! He might just as well have confessed his crookedness and be
      done with it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. It is unbelievable, but it is true. Graves can show you the
      note.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The junior partner produced a slip of paper from the portfolio and
      regarded it frowningly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Of all the pieces of sheer lunacy,&#8221; he observed, &#8220;that
      ever came under my observation, this is the worst. Here it is, Captain
      Warren.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He extended the paper. Captain Elisha waved it aside.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t want to see it&mdash;not yet,&#8221; he protested.
      &#8220;I want to think. I want to get at the reason if I can. Why did he
      do it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That is what we&#8217;ve been tryin&#8217; to find&mdash;the
      reason,&#8221; remarked Kuhn, &#8220;and we can only guess. Sylvester has
      told you the guess. Rodgers Warren intended, or hoped, to make restitution
      before he died.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Knowin&#8217; &#8217;Bije, I can see that. He was weak, that
      was his main trouble. He didn&#8217;t mean to be crooked, but his knees wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      strong enough to keep him straight when it come to a hard push. But he
      made his note payable to a Company that was already sold out, so it ain&#8217;t
      good for nothin&#8217;. Now, why&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Graves struck the table with his open hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He doesn&#8217;t understand at all,&#8221; he exclaimed,
      impatiently. &#8220;Captain Warren, listen! That note is made payable to
      the Akrae Company. Against that company some unknown stockholder has an
      apparent claim for two-fifths of all dividends ever paid and two-fifths of
      the seven hundred and fifty thousand received for the sale.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> With
      accrued interest, that claim amounts to over five hundred thousand
      dollars.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, but&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That note binds Rodgers Warren&#8217;s estate to pay that claim.
      His own personal estate! And that estate is not worth over four hundred
      and sixty thousand dollars! If this stockholder should appear and press
      his claim, <i>your brother&#8217;s children would be, not only penniless,
      but thirty thousand dollars in debt</i>! There! I think that is plain
      enough!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He leaned back, grimly satisfied with the effect of his statement. Captain
      Elisha stared straight before him, unseeingly, the color fading from his
      cheeks. Then he put both elbows on the table and covered his face with his
      hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You see, Captain,&#8221; said Sylvester, gently, &#8220;how very
      serious the situation is. Graves has put it bluntly, but what he says is
      literally true. If your brother had deliberately planned to hand his
      children over to the mercy of that missing stockholder, he couldn&#8217;t
      have done it more completely.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Slowly the captain raised his head. His expression was a strange one;
      agitated and shocked, but with a curious look of relief, almost of
      triumph.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;At last!&#8221; he said, solemnly. &#8220;At last! Now it&#8217;s
      <i>all</i> plain!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All?&#8221; repeated Sylvester. &#8220;You mean&mdash;?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I mean everything, all that&#8217;s been puzzlin&#8217; me and
      troublin&#8217; my head since the very beginnin&#8217;. All of it! <i>Now</i>
      I know why! Oh, &#8217;Bije! &#8217;Bije! &#8217;Bije!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Kuhn spoke quickly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I believe you know who the owner of
      that one hundred shares is. Do you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha gravely nodded.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>&#8220;Yes,&#8221;
      he answered. &#8220;I know him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You do?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Who is it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The questions were blurted out together. The captain looked at the three
      excited faces. He hesitated and then, taking the stub of a pencil from his
      pocket, drew toward him a memorandum pad lying on the table and wrote a
      line upon the uppermost sheet. Tearing off the page, he tossed it to
      Sylvester.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s the name,&#8221; he said.
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER XVIII
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>wo
      more hours passed before the lawyers and their client rose from their
      seats about the long table. Even then the consultation was not at an end.
      Sylvester and the Captain lunched together at the Central Club and sat in
      the smoking room until after four, talking earnestly. When they parted,
      the attorney was grave and troubled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right, Captain Warren,&#8221; he said; &#8220;I&#8217;ll do it.
      And you may be right. I certainly hope you are. But I must confess I don&#8217;t
      look forward to my task with pleasure. I think I&#8217;ve got the roughest
      end.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;ll be rough, there&#8217;s no doubt about that. Rough for
      all hands, I guess. And I hope you understand, Mr. Sylvester, that there
      ain&#8217;t many men I&#8217;d trust to do what I ask you to. I appreciate
      your doin&#8217; it more&#8217;n I can tell you. Be as&mdash;as gentle as
      you can, won&#8217;t you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I will. You can depend upon that.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I do. And I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t forget it. Good-by, till the next
      time.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      They shook hands. Captain Elisha returned to the boarding house, where he
      found a letter awaiting him. It was from Caroline, telling him of her
      engagement to Malcolm Dunn. She wrote that, while not recognizing his
      right to interfere in any way, she felt that perhaps he should know of her
      action. He did not go down to supper, and, when Pearson came to inquire
      the reason, excused himself, pleading a late luncheon and no appetite.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> He
      guessed he would turn in early, so he said. It was a poor guess.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next morning he went uptown. Edwards, opening the door of the Warren
      apartment, was surprised to find who had rung the bell.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mornin&#8217;, Commodore!&#8221; hailed the captain, as casually as
      if he were merely returning from a stroll. &#8220;Is Miss Caroline aboard
      ship?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why&mdash;why, I don&#8217;t know, sir. I&#8217;ll see.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s all right. She&#8217;s aboard or you wouldn&#8217;t
      have to see. You and me sailed together quite a spell, so I know your
      little habits. I&#8217;ll wait in the library, Commodore. Tell her there&#8217;s
      no particular hurry.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His niece was expecting him. She had anticipated his visit and was
      prepared for it. From the emotion caused by his departure after the
      eventful birthday, she had entirely recovered, or thought she had. The
      surprise and shock of his leaving and the consequent sense of loneliness
      and responsibility overcame her at the time, but Stephen&#8217;s ridicule
      and Mrs. Corcoran Dunn&#8217;s congratulations on riddance from the
      &#8220;encumbrance&#8221; shamed her and stilled the reproaches of her
      conscience. Mrs. Dunn, as always, played the diplomat and mingled just the
      proper quantity of comprehending sympathy with the congratulations.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I understand exactly how you feel, my dear,&#8221; she said.
      &#8220;You have a tender heart, and it pains you to hurt anyone&#8217;s
      feelings, no matter how much they deserve to be hurt. Every time I dismiss
      an incompetent or dishonest servant I feel that I have done wrong;
      sometimes I cry, actually shed tears, you know, and yet my reason tells me
      I am right. You feel that you may have been too harsh with that guardian
      of yours. You remember what you said to him and forget how hypocritically<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> he
      behaved toward you. I can&#8217;t forgive him that. I may forget how he
      misrepresented Malcolm and me to you&mdash;that I may even pardon, in time&mdash;but
      to deceive his own brother&#8217;s children and introduce into their
      society a creature who had slandered and maligned their father&mdash;<i>that</i>
      I never shall forget or forgive. And&mdash;you&#8217;ll excuse my
      frankness, dear&mdash;you should never forget or forgive it, either. You
      have nothing with which to reproach yourself. You were a brave girl, and
      if you are not proud of yourself, <i>I</i> am proud of you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      So, when her uncle was announced, Caroline was ready. She entered the
      library and acknowledged his greeting with a distant bow. He regarded her
      kindly, but his manner was grave.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, Caroline,&#8221; he began, &#8220;I got your letter.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, I presumed you did.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. I got it. It didn&#8217;t surprise me, what you wrote,
      because I&#8217;d seen the news in the papers; but I was hopin&#8217; you&#8217;d
      tell me yourself, and I&#8217;m real glad you did. I&#8217;m much obliged
      to you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She had not expected him to take this tone, and it embarrassed her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&mdash;I gave you my reasons for writing,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Although
      I do not consider that I am, in any sense, duty bound to refer matters,
      other than financial, to you; and, although my feelings toward you have
      not changed&mdash;still, you are my guardian, and&mdash;and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I understand. So you&#8217;re really engaged?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Engaged to Mr. Dunn?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And you&#8217;re cal&#8217;latin&#8217; to marry him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;One might almost take that for granted,&#8221; impatiently.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>&#8220;Almost&mdash;yes.
      Not always, but generally, I will give in. You&#8217;re goin&#8217; to
      marry Malcolm Dunn. Why?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why?&#8221; she repeated the question as if she doubted his sanity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Be as patient with me as you can, Caroline. I ain&#8217;t
      askin&#8217; these things without what seems to me a good reason. Why are
      you goin&#8217; to marry him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why because I choose, I suppose.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. Are you sure of that?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Am I sure?&#8221; indignantly. &#8220;What do you mean?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I mean are you sure that it&#8217;s because you choose, or because
      <i>he</i> does, or maybe, because his mother does?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She turned angrily away. &#8220;If you came here to insult me&mdash;&#8221;
      she began. He interrupted her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, no,&#8221; he protested gently. &#8220;Insultin&#8217; you is
      the last thing I want to do. But, as your father did put you in my charge,
      I want you to bear with me while we talk this over together. Remember,
      Caroline, I ain&#8217;t bothered you a great deal lately. I shouldn&#8217;t
      now if I hadn&#8217;t thought &#8217;twas necessary. So please don&#8217;t
      get mad, but answer me this: Do you care for this man you&#8217;ve
      promised to marry?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      This was a plain question. It should have been answered without the
      slightest hesitation. Moreover, the girl had expected him to ask it. Yet,
      for a moment, she did hesitate.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I mean,&#8221; continued Captain Elisha, &#8220;do you care for him
      <i>enough</i>? Enough to live with him all your life, and see him every
      day, and be to him what a true wife ought to be? See him, not with his
      company manners on or in his automobile, but at the breakfast table, and
      when he comes home tired and cross, maybe. When you&#8217;ve got to be
      forbearin&#8217; and forgivin&#8217; and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He is one of my oldest and best friends&mdash;&#8221; she
      interrupted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>
      Her uncle went on without waiting for her to end the sentence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I know,&#8221; he said. &#8220;One of the oldest, that&#8217;s
      sure. But friendship, &#8217;cordin&#8217; to my notion, is somethin&#8217;
      so small in comparison that it hardly counts in the manifest. Married
      folks ought to be friends, sartin sure; but they ought to be a whole lot
      more&#8217;n that. I&#8217;m an old bach, you say, and ain&#8217;t had no
      experience. That&#8217;s true; but I&#8217;ve been young, and there was a
      time when <i>I</i> made plans.... However, she died, and it never come to
      nothin&#8217;. But I <i>know</i> what it means to be engaged, the right
      kind of engagement. It means that you don&#8217;t count yourself at all,
      not a bit. You&#8217;re ready, each of you, to give up all you&#8217;ve
      got&mdash;your wishes, comfort, money and what it&#8217;ll buy, and your
      life, if it should come to that, for that other one. Do you care for
      Malcolm Dunn like that, Caroline?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She answered defiantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, I do,&#8221; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You do. Well, do you think he feels the same way about you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; with not quite the same promptness, but still
      defiantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You feel sartin of it, do you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She stamped her foot. &#8220;Yes! yes! <i>yes</i>!&#8221; she cried.
      &#8220;Oh, <i>do</i> say what you came to say, and end it!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Her uncle rose to his feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, I guess likely I&#8217;ve said it,&#8221; he observed. &#8220;When
      two people care for each other like that, they <i>ought</i> to be married,
      and the sooner the better. I knew that you&#8217;d been lonesome and
      troubled, maybe; and some of the friends you used to have had kind of
      dropped away&mdash;busy with other affairs, which is natural enough&mdash;and,
      you needin&#8217; sympathy and companionship, I was<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> sort of worried for fear
      all this had influenced you more&#8217;n it ought to, and you&#8217;d been
      led into sayin&#8217; yes without realizin&#8217; what it meant. But you
      tell me that ain&#8217;t so; you do realize. So all I can say is that I&#8217;m
      awful glad for you. God bless you, my dear! I hope you&#8217;ll be as
      happy as the day is long.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His niece gazed at him, bewildered and incredulous. This she had <i>not</i>
      expected.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you,&#8221; she stammered. &#8220;I did not know&mdash;I
      thought&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Of course you did&mdash;of course. Well, then, Caroline, I guess
      that&#8217;s all. I won&#8217;t trouble you any longer. Good-by.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned toward the door, but stopped, hesitated, and turned back again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There is just one thing more,&#8221; he said solemnly. &#8220;I don&#8217;t
      know&#8217;s I ought to speak, but&mdash;I want to&mdash;and I&#8217;m
      goin&#8217; to. And I want you to believe it! I do want you to!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was so earnest, and the look he gave her was so strange, that she began
      to be alarmed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What is it?&#8221; she demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why&mdash;why, just this, Caroline. This is a tough old world we
      live in. Things don&#8217;t always go on in it as we think they&#8217;d
      ought to. Trouble comes to everybody, and when it all looks right
      sometimes it turns out to be all wrong. If&mdash;if there should come a
      time like that to you and Steve, I want you to remember that you&#8217;ve
      got me to turn to. No matter what you think of me, what folks have made
      you think of me, just remember that I&#8217;m waitin&#8217; and ready to
      help you all I can. Any time I&#8217;m ready&mdash;and glad. Just remember
      that, won&#8217;t you, because.... Well, there! Good-by, Good-by!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>He
      hurried away. She stood gazing after him, astonished, a little frightened,
      and not a little disturbed and touched. His emotion was so evident; his
      attitude toward her engagement was so different from that which she had
      anticipated; and there was something in his manner which she could not
      understand. He had acted as if he pitied her. Why? It could not be because
      she was to marry Malcolm Dunn. If it were that, she resented his pity, of
      course. But it could not be that, because he had given her his blessing.
      What was it? Was there something else; something that she did not know and
      he did? Why was he so kind and forbearing and patient?
    </p>
    <p>
      All her old doubts and questionings returned. She had resolutely kept them
      from her thoughts, but they had been there, in the background, always.
      When, after the long siege, she had at last yielded and said yes to
      Malcolm, she felt that that question, at least, was settled. She would
      marry him. He was one whom she had known all her life, the son of the
      dearest friend she had; he and his mother had been faithful at the time
      when she needed friends. As her husband, he would protect her and give her
      the affection and companionship she craved. He might appear careless and
      indifferent at times, but that was merely his manner. Had not Mrs. Dunn
      told her over and over again what a good son he was, and what a kind heart
      he had, and how he worshiped her? Oh, she ought to be a very happy girl!
      Of course she was happy. But why had her uncle looked at her as he did?
      And what did he mean by hinting that when things looked right they
      sometimes were all wrong? She wished Malcolm was with her then; she needed
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      She heard the clang of the elevator door. Then the<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> bell rang furiously. She
      heard Edwards hasten to answer it. Then, to her amazement, she heard her
      brother&#8217;s voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline!&#8221; demanded Stephen. &#8220;Caroline! Where are you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He burst into the room, still wearing his coat and hat, and carrying a
      traveling bag in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, Steve!&#8221; she said, going toward him. &#8220;Why, Steve!
      what&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was very much excited.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh!&#8221; he exclaimed, &#8220;you&#8217;re all right then! You
      are all right, aren&#8217;t you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right? Why shouldn&#8217;t I be all right? What do you mean?
      And why are you here?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He returned her look of surprise with one of great astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why am I here?&#8221; he repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Why did you come from New Haven?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, because I got the telegram, of course! You expected me to
      come, didn&#8217;t you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>I</i> expected you? Telegram? What telegram?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, the&mdash;Good Lord, Caro! what are you talking about? Didn&#8217;t
      you know they telegraphed me to come home at once? I&#8217;ve pretty
      nearly broke my neck, and the taxicab man&#8217;s, getting here from the
      station. I thought you must be very ill, or something worse.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;They telegraphed you to come here? Who.... Edwards, you may take
      Mr. Warren&#8217;s things to his room.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But, Sis&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Just a moment, Steve. Give Edwards your coat and hat. Yes, and your
      bag. That will be all, Edwards. We sha&#8217;n&#8217;t need you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      When they were alone, she turned again to her brother.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>&#8220;Now,
      Steve,&#8221; she said, &#8220;sit down and tell me what you mean. Who
      telegraphed you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, old Sylvester, father&#8217;s lawyer. I&#8217;ve got the
      message here somewhere. No, never mind! I&#8217;ve lost it, I guess. He
      wired me to come home as early as possible this morning. Said it was very
      important. And you didn&#8217;t know anything about it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, not a thing. What can it mean?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>I</i> don&#8217;t know! That&#8217;s the bell, isn&#8217;t it?
      Edwards!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      But the butler was already on his way to the door. A moment later he
      returned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Sylvester,&#8221; he announced.
    </p>
    <hr class="medium" />
    <p>
      Captain Elisha scarcely left his room, except for meals, during the
      remainder of that day and for two days thereafter. He was unusually silent
      at table and avoided conversation even with Pearson, who was depressed and
      gloomy and made no attempt to force his society upon his friend. Once,
      passing the door of the latter&#8217;s room, he heard the captain pacing
      back and forth as if he were walking the quarter-deck of one of his old
      ships. As Pearson stood listening the footsteps ceased; silence, then a
      deep sigh, and they began again. The young man sighed in sympathy and
      wearily climbed to his den. The prospect of chimneys and roofs across the
      way was never more desolate or more pregnant with discouragement.
    </p>
    <p>
      Several times Captain Elisha descended to the closet where the telephone
      was fastened to the wall and held long conversations with someone. Mrs.
      Hepton, who knew that her newest boarder was anxious and disturbed, and
      was very curious to learn the reason, made it a point to be busy near that
      closet while these conversations<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283"
      id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> took place; but, as the captain was
      always careful to close the door, she was disappointed. Once the
      mysterious Mr. Sylvester called up and asked for &#8220;Captain Warren,&#8221;
      and the landlady hastened with the summons.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I hope it&#8217;s nothing serious,&#8221; she observed, feelingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; replied the captain, on his way to the
      stairs. &#8220;Much obliged.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It is the same person who was so very anxious to get you the other
      night,&#8221; she continued, making desperate efforts not to be left
      behind in the descent. &#8220;I declare he quite frightened me! And&mdash;you&#8217;ll
      excuse me, Captain Warren, but I take such a real friendly interest in my
      boarders&mdash;you have seemed to me rather&mdash;rather upset lately, and
      I <i>do</i> hope it isn&#8217;t bad news.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I tell you, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; was the unsatisfactory
      answer, given just before the closet door closed; &#8220;we&#8217;ll do
      the way the poor relation did when he got word his uncle had willed him
      one of his suits of clothes&mdash;we&#8217;ll hope for the best.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester had a report to make.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The other party has been here,&#8221; he said. &#8220;He has just
      gone.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The other party? Why&mdash;you don&#8217;t mean&mdash;<i>him</i>?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Was he alone? Nobody along to look after him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He was alone, for a wonder. He had heard the news, too. Apparently
      had just learned it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He had? I want to know! Who told him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He didn&#8217;t say. He was very much agitated. Wouldn&#8217;t say
      anything except to ask if it was true. I think we can guess who told him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Maybe. Well, what did you say?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Nothing of importance. I refused to discuss my clients&#8217;
      affairs.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>&#8220;Right
      you are! How did he take that?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He went up like a sky-rocket. Said he had a right to know, under
      the circumstances. I admitted it, but said I could tell him nothing&mdash;yet.
      He went away frantic, and I called you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. Well, Mr. Sylvester, suppose you do see him and his boss.
      See &#8217;em and tell &#8217;em some of the truth. Don&#8217;t tell too
      much though; not who was to blame nor how, but just that it looks pretty
      bad so fur as the estate&#8217;s concerned. Then say you want to see
      &#8217;em again and will arrange another interview. Don&#8217;t set any
      time and place for that until you hear from me. Understand?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I think so, partially. But&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Until you hear from me&mdash;that&#8217;s the important part. And,
      if you can, convenient, I&#8217;d have the fust interview right off; this
      afternoon, if it&#8217;s possible.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain, what have you got up your sleeve? Why don&#8217;t you come
      down here and talk it over?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8217;Cause I&#8217;m stickin&#8217; close aboard and waitin&#8217;
      developments. Maybe there won&#8217;t be any, but I&#8217;m goin&#8217; to
      wait a spell and see. There ain&#8217;t much up my sleeve just now but
      goose-flesh; there&#8217;s plenty of that. So long.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      A development came that evening. Mrs. Hepton heralded it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Captain,&#8221; she said, when he answered her knock, &#8220;there&#8217;s
      a young gentleman to see you. I think he must be a relative of yours. His
      name is Warren.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha pulled his beard. &#8220;A young <i>gentleman</i>?&#8221;
      he repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. I showed him into the parlor. There will be no one there but
      you and he, and I thought it would be more comfortable.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. I see. Well, I guess you&#8217;d better send him<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> up.
      This is comfortable enough, and there won&#8217;t be nobody but him and me
      here, either&mdash;and I&#8217;ll be more sartin of it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The landlady, who considered herself snubbed, flounced away. Captain
      Elisha stepped to the head of the stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Come right up, Steve!&#8221; he called.
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen came. His uncle ushered him into the room, closed the door, and
      turned the key.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Stevie,&#8221; he said, kindly, &#8220;I&#8217;m glad to see you.
      Take off your things and set down.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The boy accepted the invitation only to the extent of throwing his hat on
      the table. He did not sit or remove his overcoat. He was pale, his eyes
      were swollen and red, his hair was disarranged, and in all respects he
      looked unlike his usual blas&eacute; and immaculate self. His forehead was
      wet, showing that he had hurried on his way to the boarding house.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain regarded him pityingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Set down, Stevie,&#8221; he urged. &#8220;You&#8217;re all het up
      and worn out.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His nephew paid no attention. Instead he asked a question.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You know about it?&#8221; he demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, Stevie; I know.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You do? I&mdash;I mean about the&mdash;the Akrae Company and&mdash;and
      all?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. I know all about all of it. Do set down!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen struck his closed fist into the palm of his other hand. He wore
      one glove. What had become of the other he could not have told.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You do?&#8221; he shouted. &#8220;You do? By gad! Then do you know
      what it means?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, I know that, too. Now, Stevie, be a good boy and set down and
      keep cool. Yes, I want you to.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>He
      put his hands on his nephew&#8217;s shoulders and forced him into a chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Now, just calm yourself,&#8221; urged the captain. &#8220;There ain&#8217;t
      a mite of use workin&#8217; yourself up this way. I know the whole
      business, and I can&#8217;t tell you&mdash;I can&#8217;t begin to tell you
      how sorry I feel for you. Yet you mustn&#8217;t give up the ship because&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mustn&#8217;t give up!&#8221; Stephen was on his feet again.
      &#8220;Why, what are you talking about? I thought you said you knew! Do
      you think that losing every cent you&#8217;ve got in the world is a <i>joke</i>?
      Do you think that&mdash;See here, do you know who this shareholder is;
      this fellow who&#8217;s going to rob us of all we own? Who is he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Didn&#8217;t Mr. Sylvester tell you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He said that there was such a man and that he had the estate
      cinched. He told us about that note and all the rest. But he wouldn&#8217;t
      tell the man&#8217;s name. Said he had been forbidden to mention it. Do
      you know him? What sort of fellow is he? Don&#8217;t you think he could be
      reasoned with? Hasn&#8217;t he got any decency&mdash;or pity&mdash;or&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He choked, and the tears rushed to his eyes. He wiped them angrily away
      with the back of his glove.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;s a crime!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;Can&#8217;t he be held
      off somehow? Who <i>is</i> he? I want to know his name.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha sadly shook his head. &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid he can&#8217;t,
      Stevie,&#8221; he said. &#8220;He&#8217;s got a legal right to all &#8217;Bije
      left, and more, too. It may be he won&#8217;t be too hard; perhaps he&#8217;ll
      ... but there,&#8221; hastily. &#8220;I mustn&#8217;t say that. We&#8217;ve
      got to face the situation as &#8217;tis. And I can&#8217;t tell you his
      name because he don&#8217;t want it mentioned unless it&#8217;s absolutely
      necessary. And we don&#8217;t, either. We don&#8217;t want&mdash;any of us&mdash;to
      have this get into the papers. We mustn&#8217;t have any disgrace.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>&#8220;Disgrace!
      Good heavens! Isn&#8217;t there disgrace enough already? Isn&#8217;t it
      enough to know father was a crook as well as an idiot? I&#8217;ve always
      thought he was insane ever since that crazy will of his came to light; but
      to steal! and then to leave a paper proving it, so that we&#8217;ve got to
      lose everything! His children! It&#8217;s&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Now hold on, boy! Your dad didn&#8217;t mean to take what didn&#8217;t
      belong to him&mdash;for good, that is; the note proves that. He did do
      wrong and used another man&#8217;s money, but&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Then why didn&#8217;t he keep it? If you&#8217;re going to steal,
      steal like a man, I say!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Steve, Steve! steady now!&#8221; The captain&#8217;s tone was
      sterner. &#8220;Don&#8217;t speak that way. You&#8217;ll be sorry for it
      later. I tell you I don&#8217;t condemn your father ha&#8217;f so much as
      I pity him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, shut up! You make me sick. You talk just as Caro does. I&#8217;ll
      never forgive him, no matter how much she preaches, and I told her so.
      Pity! Pity him! How about pity for <i>me</i>? I&mdash;I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His overwrought nerves gave way, and, throwing himself into the chair, he
      broke down completely and, forgetting the manhood of which he was so fond
      of boasting, cried like a baby. Captain Elisha turned away, to hide his
      own emotion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;s hard,&#8221; he said slowly. &#8220;It&#8217;s awfully
      hard for you, my boy. I hate to see you suffer this way.&#8221; Then, in a
      lower tone, he added doubtfully. &#8220;I wonder if&mdash;if&mdash;I
      wonder&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His nephew heard the word and interrupted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You wonder?&#8221; he demanded, hysterically; &#8220;you wonder
      what? What are you going to do about it? It&#8217;s up to you, isn&#8217;t
      it? You&#8217;re our guardian, aren&#8217;t you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, Stevie, I&#8217;m your guardian.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>&#8220;Yes,
      you are! But no one would guess it. When we didn&#8217;t want you, you
      wouldn&#8217;t leave us for a minute. Now, when we need you, when there
      isn&#8217;t a soul for us to turn to, you stay away. You haven&#8217;t
      been near us. It&#8217;s up to you, I say! and what are you going to do
      about it? What are you going to <i>do</i>?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His uncle held up his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;S-shh!&#8221; he said. &#8220;Don&#8217;t raise your voice like
      that, son! I can hear you without that, and we don&#8217;t want anybody
      else to hear. What am I goin&#8217; to do? Stevie, I don&#8217;t know
      exactly. I ain&#8217;t made up my mind yet.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, it&#8217;s time you did!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, I guess likely &#8217;tis. As for my not comin&#8217; to see
      you, you know the reason for that. I&#8217;d have come quick enough, but I
      wa&#8217;n&#8217;t sure I&#8217;d be welcome. And I told your sister only
      &#8217;tother day that&mdash;by the way, Steve, how is she? How is
      Caroline?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;She&#8217;s a fool!&#8221; The boy sprang up again and shook his
      fist. &#8220;She&#8217;s the one I&#8217;ve come here to speak about. If
      we don&#8217;t stop her she&#8217;ll ruin us altogether. She&mdash;she&#8217;s
      a damned fool, I tell you!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There! there!&#8221; the captain&#8217;s tone was sharp and
      emphatic. &#8220;That&#8217;s enough of that,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I don&#8217;t
      want to hear you call your sister names. What do you mean by it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I mean what I say. She <i>is</i> a fool. Do you know what she&#8217;s
      done? She&#8217;s written Mal Dunn all about it! I&#8217;d have stopped
      her, but I didn&#8217;t know until it was too late. She&#8217;s told him
      the whole thing.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;She has? About &#8217;Bije?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, perhaps she didn&#8217;t tell him father was a thief, but she
      did tell that the estate was gone&mdash;that we were flat broke and worse.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hum!&#8221; Captain Elisha seemed more gratified than<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>
      displeased. &#8220;Hum!... Well, I kind of expected she would. Knowin&#8217;
      her, I kind of expected it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You did?&#8221; Stephen glared in wrathful amazement. &#8220;You
      expected it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. What of it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What <i>of</i> it? Why, everything! Can&#8217;t you see? Mal&#8217;s
      our only chance. If she marries him she&#8217;ll be looked out for and so
      will I. She needn&#8217;t have told him until they were married. The
      wedding could have been hurried along; the Dunns were crazy to have it as
      soon as possible. Now&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hold on, Steve! Belay! What difference does her tellin&#8217; him
      make? Maybe she hasn&#8217;t mentioned it to you, but I had a talk with
      your sister the other mornin&#8217;. She thinks the world of Malcolm, and
      he does of her. She told me so herself. Of <i>course</i> she&#8217;d go to
      him in her trouble. And he&#8217;ll be proud&mdash;yes, and glad to know
      that he can help her. As for the weddin&#8217;, I don&#8217;t see that
      this&#8217;ll have any effect except to hurry it up a little more, maybe.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Steve looked at him suspiciously, but there was no trace of sarcasm in the
      captain&#8217;s face or voice. The boy scowled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ugh!&#8221; he grunted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What&#8217;s the &#8216;ugh&#8217; for? See here, you ain&#8217;t
      hintin&#8217; that young Dunn was cal&#8217;latin&#8217; to marry Caroline
      just for her money, are you? Of course you ain&#8217;t! Why, you and he
      are the thickest sort of chums. You wouldn&#8217;t chum with a feller who
      would play such a trick as that on your own sister.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen&#8217;s scowl deepened. He thrust his hands into his pocket, and
      shifted his feet uneasily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You don&#8217;t understand,&#8221; he said. &#8220;People don&#8217;t
      do things here as they do where you come from.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>&#8220;I
      understand that, all right,&#8221; with dry emphasis. &#8220;I&#8217;ve
      been here long enough to understand that. But maybe I don&#8217;t
      understand <i>you</i>. Heave ahead, and make it plain.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well&mdash;well, then&mdash;I mean this: I don&#8217;t know that
      Mal was after Caro&#8217;s money, but&mdash;but he had a right to expect
      <i>some</i>. If he didn&#8217;t, why, then her not telling him until after
      they were married wouldn&#8217;t have made any difference. And&mdash;and
      if her tellin&#8217; him beforehand <i>should</i> make a difference and he
      wanted to break the engagement, she&#8217;s just romantic fool enough to
      let him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>Well?</i> If she doesn&#8217;t marry him, who&#8217;s going to
      take care of her? What&#8217;s going to become of <i>me</i>? We haven&#8217;t
      a cent. What kind of a guardian are you? Do you want us to starve?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was shouting again. The captain was calm. &#8220;Oh,&#8221; he said,
      &#8220;I guess it won&#8217;t reach to the starvation point. I&#8217;m a
      pretty tough old critter, &#8217;cordin&#8217; to your estimate, but I
      shouldn&#8217;t let my brother&#8217;s children starve. If the wust comes
      to the wust, there&#8217;s always a home and plenty to eat for you both at
      South Denboro.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      This offer did not appear to comfort the young gentleman greatly. His
      disgust was evident.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;South Denboro!&#8221; he repeated, scornfully. &#8220;Gad!... South
      Denboro!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. But we&#8217;ll let South Denboro alone for now and stick to
      New York. What is it you expect me to do? What are you drivin&#8217; at?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen shook a forefinger in his guardian&#8217;s face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I expect you to make her stick to her engagement,&#8221; he cried.
      &#8220;And make her make him stick. She can, can&#8217;t she? It&#8217;s
      been announced, hasn&#8217;t it? Everybody<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> knows of it! She&#8217;s
      got the right&mdash;the legal right to hold him, hasn&#8217;t she?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His uncle regarded him with a quizzical smile. &#8220;Why, ye-es,&#8221;
      he answered, &#8220;I cal&#8217;late she has, maybe. Course, there&#8217;s
      no danger of his wantin&#8217; to do such a thing, but if he should I
      presume likely we could make it uncomfortable for him, anyhow. What are
      you hankerin&#8217; for, Steve&mdash;a breach-of-promise suit? I&#8217;ve
      always understood those sort of cases were kind of unpleasant&mdash;for
      everybody but the newspapers.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The boy was in deadly earnest. &#8220;Pleasant!&#8221; he repeated.
      &#8220;Is any of this business pleasant? You make her act like a sensible
      girl! You&#8217;re her guardian, and you make her! And, after that, if he
      tries to hedge, you tell him a few things. You can hold him! Do it! <i>Do</i>
      it!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha turned on his heel and began pacing up and down the room.
      His nephew watched him eagerly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; he demanded, after a moment, &#8220;what are we going
      to do? Are we going to make him make good?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain paused. &#8220;Steve,&#8221; he answered, deliberately,
      &#8220;I ain&#8217;t sure as we are. And, as I&#8217;ve said, if he&#8217;s
      got a spark of decency, it won&#8217;t be necessary for us to try. If it
      should be&mdash;if it should be&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, <i>if</i> it should be?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Then we can try, that&#8217;s all. Maybe you run a course a little
      different from me, Stevie; you navigate &#8217;cordin&#8217; to your
      ideas, and I do by mine. But in some ways we ain&#8217;t so fur apart.
      Son,&#8221; with a grim nod, &#8220;you rest easy on one thing&mdash;the
      Corcoran Dunn fleet is goin&#8217; to show its colors.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER XIX
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">C</span>aroline
      sat by the library window, her chin in her hand, drearily watching the
      sleet as it beat against the panes, and the tops of the Park trees lashing
      in the wind. Below, in the street, the trolleys passed in their
      never-ending procession, the limousines and cabs whizzed forlornly by, and
      the few pedestrians pushed dripping umbrellas against the gale. A wet,
      depressing afternoon, as hopeless as her thoughts, and growing darker and
      more miserable hourly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen, standing by the fire, kicked the logs together and sent a shower
      of sparks flying.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, say something, Caro, do!&#8221; he snapped testily. &#8220;Don&#8217;t
      sit there glowering; you give me the horrors.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She roused from her reverie, turned, and tried to smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What shall I say?&#8221; she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know. But say something, for heaven&#8217;s sake!
      Talk about the weather, if you can&#8217;t think of anything more
      original.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The weather isn&#8217;t a very bright subject just now.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I didn&#8217;t say it was; but it&#8217;s <i>a</i> subject. I hope
      to goodness it doesn&#8217;t prevent Sylvester&#8217;s keeping his
      appointment. He&#8217;s late, as it is.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Is he?&#8221; wearily. &#8220;I hadn&#8217;t noticed.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Of course you hadn&#8217;t. You don&#8217;t notice anything. It
      doesn&#8217;t help matters to pull a long face and go moping around wiping
      your eyes. You&#8217;ve got to use philosophy in times like this. It&#8217;s
      just as hard for me as it is for you; and I try to make the best of it,
      don&#8217;t I?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>She
      might have reminded him that his philosophy was a very recent acquisition.
      When the news of their poverty first came he was the one who raved and
      sobbed and refused to contemplate anything less direful than slow
      starvation or quick suicide. She had soothed and comforted then. Since the
      previous evening, when he had gone out, in spite of her protestations, and
      left her alone, his manner had changed. He was still nervous and
      irritable, but no longer threatened self-destruction, and seemed, for some
      unexplained reason, more hopeful and less desperate. Sylvester had &#8217;phoned,
      saying that he would call at the apartment at two, and since Stephen had
      received the message he had been in a state of suppressed excitement,
      scarcely keeping still for five minutes at a time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It is just as hard for me as it is for you, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;
      he repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, Steve, I suppose it is.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You suppose? Don&#8217;t you know? Oh, do quit thinking about Mal
      Dunn and pay attention to me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She did not answer. He regarded her with disgust.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You are thinking of Mal, of course,&#8221; he declared. &#8220;What&#8217;s
      the use? You know what <i>I</i> think: you were a fool to write him that
      letter.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t, Steve; please don&#8217;t.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ugh!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t you know he didn&#8217;t get the letter? I was so
      nervous and over-wrought that I misdirected it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Pooh! Has he ever stayed away from you so long before? Or his
      precious mother, either? Why doesn&#8217;t she come to see you? She
      scarcely missed a day before this happened. Nonsense! I guess he got it
      all right.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Steve, stop! stop! Don&#8217;t dare speak like that. Do you realize
      what you are insinuating? You don&#8217;t believe<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> it! You know you don&#8217;t!
      Shame on you! I&#8217;m ashamed of my brother! No! not another word of
      that kind, or I shall leave the room.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She had risen to her feet. He looked at her determined face and turned
      away.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, well,&#8221; he muttered, sullenly, &#8220;maybe you&#8217;re
      right. I don&#8217;t say you&#8217;re not. Perhaps he didn&#8217;t get the
      letter. You sent it to his office, and he may have been called out of
      town. But his mother&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mrs. Dunn was not well when I last saw her. She may be ill.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Perhaps. But if you&#8217;re so sure about them, why not let it go
      at that? What&#8217;s the use of fretting?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I was not thinking of them&mdash;then.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      As a matter of fact, she had been thinking of her uncle, Elisha Warren. As
      the time dragged by, she thought of him more and more&mdash;not as the
      uncouth countryman whose unwelcome presence had been forced into her life;
      nor as the hypocrite whose insult to her father&#8217;s memory she never
      could forgive or whose double-dealing had been, as she thought, revealed;
      but as the man who, with the choke in his voice and the tears in his eyes,
      bade her remember that, whenever she needed help, he was ready and glad to
      give it.
    </p>
    <p>
      She did not doubt Malcolm&#8217;s loyalty. Her brother&#8217;s hints and
      insinuations found no echo in her thoughts. In the note which she had
      written her fianc&eacute; she told of the loss of their fortune, though
      not of her father&#8217;s shame. That she could not tell; nor did she ask
      Malcolm to come to her&mdash;her pride would not permit that. She wrote
      simply of her great trouble and trusted the rest to him. That he had not
      come was due&mdash;so she kept repeating to herself&mdash;solely to the
      fact that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>
      had not received her letter. She knew that was it&mdash;she knew it. And
      yet&mdash;and yet he did not come.
    </p>
    <p>
      So, in her loneliness and misery, her guardian&#8217;s words returned
      again and again to her memory: &#8220;Sometimes when things look all right
      they turn out to be all wrong. If ever there comes a time like that to you
      and Steve, remember you&#8217;ve got me to turn to.&#8221; The time had
      come when she must turn to someone.
    </p>
    <p>
      She would never go to him; she vowed it. She would not accept his help if
      he came to her. But, if he was sincere, if he meant what he said, why did
      he not come again to proffer it? Because he was not sincere, of course.
      That had been proven long before. She despised him. But his face, as she
      last saw it, refused to be banished from her mind. It looked so strong,
      and yet gentle and loving, like the face of a protector, one to be trusted
      through good times and bad. Oh, this wicked, wicked world, and the shams
      and sorrows in it! &#8220;Malcolm, why don&#8217;t you come to me?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen uttered an exclamation. Looking up, she saw him hurrying toward
      the hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Someone&#8217;s at the door,&#8221; he explained. &#8220;It&#8217;s
      Sylvester, of course. I&#8217;ll let him in.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not the lawyer but a messenger boy with a note. Stephen returned to
      the library with the missive in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He couldn&#8217;t get here, Caro,&#8221; he said, excitedly.
      &#8220;Wants us to come right down to his office. Hurry up! Get your
      things on. The cab&#8217;s waiting. Come! Rush! It may be important.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The cab, an electric vehicle, made good time, and they soon reached the
      Pine Street offices, where they were ushered at once into the senior
      partner&#8217;s presence.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>&#8220;Step
      into the other room,&#8221; said Mr. Sylvester, &#8220;and wait there,
      please. I&#8217;ll join you shortly.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The room was the large one where the momentous conference between Captain
      Elisha and the three lawyers had so recently taken place. Caroline seated
      herself in one of the chairs. Stephen walked the floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hope he doesn&#8217;t keep us waiting long,&#8221; he fumed.
      &#8220;I thought of course he was ready or he wouldn&#8217;t have sent for
      us.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Ready?&#8221; his sister looked at him, questioningly. &#8220;Ready
      for what?&#8221; she repeated, with sudden suspicion. &#8220;Steve, do you
      know what Mr. Sylvester wishes to see us about?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Her brother colored and seemed a bit disconcerted. &#8220;How should I
      know?&#8221; he muttered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Is it something new about the estate or that man who owns it? You
      do know something! I can see it in your face. What is it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Nothing. How should I know what it is?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But you do. I believe you do. Look at me! What does Mr. Sylvester
      want of us?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The boy hesitated; then whirled and faced her. &#8220;See here, Caro,&#8221;
      he said, &#8220;maybe I do know something&mdash;or I can guess. Now,
      whatever happens, you&#8217;ve got to be a sensible girl. Certain things
      have to be dealt with in a practical way, and we&#8217;re practical
      people. Sentiment&mdash;and pride&mdash;and all that sort of stuff, are
      well enough, but business is business and an engagement is an engagement.
      Now it&#8217;s right up to you and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Steve, what are you talking about?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s all right. I know what I&#8217;m talking about.
      Somebody in the family must use common sense, and when it comes to holding
      a person to a promise, then&mdash;Confound it, Sis, we can&#8217;t starve,
      can we?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>&#8220;What
      do you mean?&#8221; She rose and advanced toward him. &#8220;What do you
      mean by a promise? What have you been doing?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His confusion increased. He avoided her eyes and moved sullenly toward the
      other side of the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I haven&#8217;t done anything,&#8221; he grumbled, &#8220;that is,
      I&#8217;ve done what any reasonable fellow would do. I&#8217;m not the
      only one who thinks.... Look here! We&#8217;ve got a guardian, haven&#8217;t
      we?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;A guardian! a <i>guardian</i>! Stephen Warren, have you been to
      him? Have you&mdash;Was <i>that</i> where you were last night?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Answer me!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What if I have? Whom else am I to go to? Isn&#8217;t he&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But why did you go to him? What did you say?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I said&mdash;I said&mdash;Never mind what I said. He agrees with
      me, I can tell you that. You&#8217;ll thank your stars I did go, before
      very long. I.... S-sh! Here&#8217;s Sylvester.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The door of the room opened. The person who entered, however, was not the
      lawyer, but the very man of whom they had been speaking, Captain Elisha
      himself. He closed the door behind him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hello, Stevie,&#8221; he said, with a nod to the boy. Then, turning
      to his niece, he stepped forward and held out his hand. &#8220;Caroline,&#8221;
      he began, &#8220;I don&#8217;t doubt you&#8217;re some surprised to see me
      here; but I.... Why, what&#8217;s the matter?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The faces of the pair led him to ask the question. Stephen&#8217;s was red
      and he looked embarrassed and guilty. Caroline&#8217;s was white, and she
      glanced from her brother to her guardian and back again, with flashing
      eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>&#8220;What&#8217;s
      the matter?&#8221; repeated the captain. &#8220;Steve,&#8221; sharply,
      &#8220;have you been making a fool of yourself again? What is it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Nothing,&#8221; was the sulky answer; &#8220;nothing of
      consequence. Caro is&mdash;well, I happened to mention that I called on
      you last night and&mdash;and she doesn&#8217;t seem to like it, that&#8217;s
      all. As I told her, somebody in the family had to use common sense, and
      you were our guardian and naturally, under the circumstances.... Why, I&#8217;ll
      leave it to anyone!&#8221; with a burst of righteous indignation. &#8220;You
      <i>are</i> our guardian.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He proclaimed it as if he expected a denial. Captain Elisha frowned.
      &#8220;Humph!&#8221; he grunted. &#8220;That ain&#8217;t exactly news, is
      it, Steve? Seems to me we&#8217;ve taken up that p&#8217;int afore;
      though, as I remember, you didn&#8217;t used to be sot on all hands knowin&#8217;
      it,&#8221; with dry sarcasm. &#8220;I don&#8217;t need even your common
      sense to remind me of it just at this minute. Caroline, your brother did
      come to see me last night. I was glad he did.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She ignored him. &#8220;Steve,&#8221; she demanded, still facing the young
      man, &#8220;was this, too, a part of your plan? Did you bring me here to
      meet&mdash;him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, I didn&#8217;t. Sylvester was to come to see us. You know that;
      he telephoned. I didn&#8217;t know&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain interrupted. &#8220;There, there, son!&#8221; he exclaimed,
      &#8220;let me say a word. No, Caroline, Stevie didn&#8217;t know I was to
      meet you here. But I thought it was necessary that I should. Set down,
      please. I know you must be worn out, poor girl.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t wish to sit. I want to know what my brother called to
      see you about.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, there was some matters he wanted to talk over.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>&#8220;What
      were they? Concerning the estate?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Partly that.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Partly? What else? Captain Warren, my brother has hinted&mdash;he
      has said&mdash;What does he mean by holding someone to a promise? Answer
      me truthfully.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I shouldn&#8217;t answer you any other way, Caroline. Steve seems
      to be worried about&mdash;now you mustn&#8217;t mind my speakin&#8217;
      plain, Caroline; the time&#8217;s come when I&#8217;ve got to&mdash;Steve
      seems to be worried about the young man you&#8217;re engaged to. He seems
      to cal&#8217;late that Mr. Dunn may want to slip out of that engagement.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His niece looked at him. Then she turned to her brother. &#8220;You went
      to <i>him</i> and.... Oh, how <i>could</i> you!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen would not meet her gaze. &#8220;Well,&#8221; he muttered
      rebelliously, &#8220;why wouldn&#8217;t I? You know yourself that Mal hasn&#8217;t
      been near you since it happened. If he wasn&#8217;t after&mdash;if he was
      straight, he would have come, wouldn&#8217;t he? Mind, I don&#8217;t say
      he isn&#8217;t&mdash;perhaps he doesn&#8217;t know. But, at any rate,
      something must be done. We had to face possibilities, and you wouldn&#8217;t
      listen to me. I tried&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Stop!&#8221; she cut him short, imperiously. &#8220;Don&#8217;t
      make me hate you. And you,&#8221; turning to her uncle, &#8220;did <i>you</i>
      listen and believe such things? Did you encourage him to believe them? Oh,
      I know what you think of my friends! I heard it from your own lips. And I
      know why you think it. Because they know what you are; because they
      exposed you and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There, there! Caroline, you needn&#8217;t go on. I&#8217;ve heard
      your opinion of my character afore. Never mind me for the minute. And, if
      you&#8217;ll remember, <i>I</i> ain&#8217;t said that I doubted your young
      man. You told me that you thought the world and all of him and that he did
      of you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>
      That&#8217;s enough&mdash;or ought to be. But your brother says you wrote
      him two days ago and he ain&#8217;t been near you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I misdirected the letter. He didn&#8217;t receive it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. I see. That would explain.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Of course it would. That <i>must</i> be the reason.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, seem&#8217;s if it must.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It is. What right have you to doubt it? Oh, how can you think such
      things? Can you suppose the man I am to marry is so despicable&mdash;so <i>mean</i>
      as to&mdash;as to&mdash;I&#8217;m ashamed to say it. Why do you presume
      that money has any part in our engagement? Such trouble as mine only makes
      it more binding. Do you suppose if <i>he</i> were poor as&mdash;as I am,
      that I would desert <i>him</i>? You know I wouldn&#8217;t. I should be
      glad&mdash;yes, almost happy, because then I could show him&mdash;could&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Her voice failed her. She put her handkerchief to her eyes for an instant
      and then snatched it away and faced them, her head erect. The pride in her
      face was reflected in Captain Elisha&#8217;s as he regarded her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, no,&#8221; he said gently, &#8220;I never supposed you&#8217;d
      act but in one way, Caroline. I knew <i>you</i>. And, as Steve&#8217;ll
      tell you, I said to him almost the same words you&#8217;ve been sayin&#8217;.
      If Malcolm&#8217;s what he&#8217;d ought to be, I said, he&#8217;ll be
      glad of the chance to prove how much he cares for your sister. But Steve
      appeared to have some misgivin&#8217;s, and so&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused, turned toward the door, and seemed to be listening. Caroline
      flashed an indignant glance at her brother.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And so?&#8221; she asked, scornfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And so,&#8221; continued the captain, with a slight change in his
      tone, &#8220;it seemed to me that his doubts ought to be settled. And,&#8221;
      rising, as there came a tap at the door, &#8220;I cal&#8217;late they&#8217;re
      goin&#8217; to be.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>He
      walked briskly over and opened the door. Sylvester was standing without.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Come, have they?&#8221; inquired Captain Elisha.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Fetch &#8217;em right in here. Steve, stand over nigher that
      corner. This way, Caroline, if you please.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He took his niece by the arm and led her to the side of the room not
      visible from the doorway. She was too astonished to resist, but asked an
      agitated question.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What is it?&#8221; she cried. &#8220;Who is coming?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Some friends of yours,&#8221; was the quiet reply. &#8220;Nothin&#8217;
      to be frightened about. Steve, stay where you are.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The boy was greatly excited. &#8220;Is it they?&#8221; he demanded.
      &#8220;Is it? By gad! Now, Sis, be a sensible girl. If he should try to
      hedge, you hold him. Hold him! Understand?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Steve, be quiet,&#8221; ordered the captain.... &#8220;Ah, Mrs.
      Dunn, good afternoon, ma&#8217;am. Mr. Dunn, good afternoon, sir.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      For the pair who, followed by Sylvester, now entered the room were Mrs.
      Corcoran Dunn and Malcolm.
    </p>
    <p>
      They were past the sill before Captain Elisha&#8217;s greeting caused them
      to turn and see the three already there. Mrs. Dunn, who was in the lead,
      stopped short in her majestic though creaking march of entrance, and her
      florid face turned a brighter crimson. Her son, strolling languidly at her
      heels, started violently and dropped his hat. The lawyer, bringing up in
      the rear, closed the door and remained standing near it. Caroline uttered
      an exclamation of surprise. Her brother drew himself haughtily erect.
      Captain Elisha remained unperturbed and smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good afternoon, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he repeated. &#8220;It&#8217;s
      been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>
      some time since you and I run across each other. I hope you&#8217;re
      feelin&#8217; pretty smart.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn had faced some unpleasant situations in her life and had proved
      equal to them. Usually, however, she had been prepared beforehand. For
      this she had not been prepared&mdash;as yet. She had come to the offices
      of Sylvester, Kuhn, and Graves, at the senior partner&#8217;s request, to
      be told, as she supposed, the full and final details of the financial
      disaster threatening the Warren family. If those details should prove the
      disaster as overwhelming as it appeared, then&mdash;well, then, certain
      disagreeable duties must be performed. But to meet the girl to whom her
      son was engaged, and whom she and he had carefully avoided meeting until
      the lawyers should acquaint them with the whole truth&mdash;to meet this
      girl, and her brother, and her guardian, thus unexpectedly and unprepared,
      was enough to shake the composure and nerve of even such a veteran
      campaigner as Mrs. M. Corcoran Dunn.
    </p>
    <p>
      But of the three to whom the meeting was an absolute surprise,&mdash;Caroline,
      Malcolm and herself&mdash;she was characteristically the first to regain
      outward serenity. For a moment she stood nonplused and speechless, but
      only for a moment. Then she hastened, with outstretched arms, to Caroline
      and clasped her in affectionate embrace.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;My dear child!&#8221; she cried; &#8220;my dear girl! I&#8217;m <i>so</i>
      glad to see you! I&#8217;ve thought of you so much! And I pity you so.
      Poor Malcolm has&mdash;Malcolm,&#8221; sharply, &#8220;come here! Don&#8217;t
      you see Caroline?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm was groping nervously for his hat. He picked it up and obeyed his
      mother&#8217;s summons, though with no great eagerness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;How d&#8217;ye do, Caroline,&#8221; he stammered, confusedly.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>
      &#8220;I&mdash;I&mdash;It&#8217;s a deuce of a surprise to see you down
      here. The mater and I didn&#8217;t expect&mdash;that is, we scarcely hoped
      to meet anyone but Sylvester. He sent for us, you know.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He extended his hand. She did not take it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Did you get my letter?&#8221; she asked, quickly. Mrs. Dunn
      answered for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, dear, he got it,&#8221; she said. &#8220;The poor fellow was
      almost crazy. I began to fear for his sanity; I did, indeed. I did not
      dare trust him out of my sight. Oh, if you could but know how we feel for
      you and pity you!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pity was not what Caroline wanted just then. The word jarred upon her. She
      avoided the lady&#8217;s embrace and once more faced the embarrassed
      Malcolm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You got my letter?&#8221; she cried. &#8220;You <i>did</i>?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes&mdash;er&mdash;yes, I got it, Caroline. I&mdash;by Jove, you
      know&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He hesitated, stammered, and looked thoroughly uncomfortable. His mother
      regarded him wrathfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; she snapped, &#8220;why don&#8217;t you go on?
      Caroline, dear, you really must excuse him. The dear boy is quite
      overcome.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha stepped forward.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Excuse me for interruptin&#8217;, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he said,
      addressing the ruffled matron; &#8220;but I know you&#8217;re sort of
      surprised to see us all here and maybe I&#8217;d better explain. Mr.
      Sylvester told me you and your son had an appointment with him for this
      afternoon. Now there was something we&mdash;or I, anyhow&mdash;wanted to
      talk with you about, so I thought we might as well make one job of it.
      Sylvester&#8217;s a pretty busy man, and I know he has other things to
      attend to; so why not let him go ahead and tell you what you come to hear,
      and then we can take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg
      304]</a></span> up the other part by ourselves. He&#8217;s told me what
      you wanted to see him about, and it&#8217;s somethin&#8217; we&#8217;re
      all interested in, bein&#8217; as we&#8217;re one family&mdash;or goin&#8217;
      to be pretty soon. So suppose he just tells you now. Ain&#8217;t that a
      good idea?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn looked at the speaker, and then at the lawyer, and seemed to
      have caught some of her son&#8217;s embarrassment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&mdash;we did have an appointment with Mr. Sylvester,&#8221; she
      admitted, reluctantly; &#8220;but the business was not important. And,&#8221;
      haughtily, &#8220;I do not care to discuss it here.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain opened his eyes. &#8220;Hey?&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;Not
      important? You surprise me, ma&#8217;am. I judged &#8217;twas mighty
      important. &#8217;Twas about the real size of your father&#8217;s estate,
      Caroline,&#8221; turning to the girl. &#8220;I thought Mrs. Dunn and Mr.
      Malcolm must think &#8217;twas important, for I understand they&#8217;ve
      been telephonin&#8217; and askin&#8217; for appointments for the last two
      days. Why, yes! and they come way down here in all this storm on purpose
      to talk it over with him. Am I wrong? Ain&#8217;t that so, ma&#8217;am?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      It was so, and Mrs. Dunn could not well deny it. Therefore, she took
      refuge in a contemptuous silence. The captain nodded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;As to discussin&#8217; it here,&#8221; he went on with bland
      innocence, &#8220;why, we&#8217;re all family folks, same as I said, and
      there ain&#8217;t any secrets between us on <i>that</i> subject. So
      suppose we all listen while Mr. Sylvester tells just what he&#8217;d have
      told you and Mr. Malcolm. It&#8217;s pretty hard to hear; but bad news is
      soon told. Heave ahead, Mr. Sylvester.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn made one more attempt to avoid the crisis she saw was
      approaching.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>&#8220;Surely,
      Caroline,&#8221; she said testily, &#8220;you don&#8217;t wish your
      private affairs treated in this public manner. Come, let us go.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She laid a hand on the girl&#8217;s arm. Captain Elisha quietly
      interposed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, no,&#8221; he said. &#8220;We&#8217;ll all stay here. There&#8217;s
      nothin&#8217; public about it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline, crimson with mortification, protested indignantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Sylvester,&#8221; she said, &#8220;it is not necessary to&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Excuse me;&#8221; her uncle&#8217;s tone was sharper and more
      stern; &#8220;I think it is. Go on, Sylvester.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer looked far from comfortable, but he spoke at once and to the
      point.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I should have told you and your son just this, Mrs. Dunn,&#8221; he
      said. &#8220;I intimated it before, and Miss Warren had already written
      you the essential facts. A new and unexpected development, the nature of
      which I am not at liberty to disclose now or later, makes Abijah Warren&#8217;s
      estate absolutely bankrupt. Not only that, but many thousand dollars in
      debt. His heirs are left penniless. That is the plain truth, I&#8217;m
      very sorry to say. There is no hope of anything better. You&#8217;ll
      forgive me, Miss Warren, I hope, for putting it so bluntly; but I thought
      it best to avoid every possible misunderstanding.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      It was blunt, beyond doubt. Even Captain Elisha winced at the word &#8220;penniless.&#8221;
      Stephen muttered under his breath and turned his back. Caroline, swaying,
      put a hand on the table to steady herself. The Dunns looked at each other.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you, Mr. Sylvester,&#8221; said the captain, quietly. &#8220;I&#8217;ll
      see you again in a few moments.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer bowed and left the room, evidently glad to escape. Captain
      Elisha turned to Mrs. Dunn.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>&#8220;And
      now, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he observed, &#8220;that part of the business is
      over. The next part&#8217;s even more in the family, so I thought we didn&#8217;t
      need legal advice. You see just how matters stand. My niece is a poor
      girl. She needs somebody to support her and look out for her. She&#8217;s
      got that somebody, we&#8217;re all thankful to say. She&#8217;s engaged to
      Mr. Malcolm here. And, as you&#8217;re his ma, Mrs. Dunn, and I&#8217;m
      Caroline&#8217;s guardian, us old folks&#8217;ll take our affairs in hand;
      they needn&#8217;t listen, if they don&#8217;t want to. I understand from
      Steve that Malcolm&#8217;s been mighty anxious to have the weddin&#8217;
      day hurried along. I can&#8217;t say as I blame him. And <i>I</i> think
      the sooner they&#8217;re married the better. Now, how soon can we make it,
      Mrs. Dunn?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      This unexpected and matter-of-fact query was variously received. Mrs. Dunn
      frowned and flushed. Malcolm frowned, also. Steve nodded emphatic
      approval. As for Caroline, she gazed at her guardian in horrified
      amazement.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;You&mdash;you&mdash;What do you mean
      by such&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t be an idiot, Caro!&#8221; cut in her brother. &#8220;I
      told you to be sensible. Captain Warren&#8217;s dead right.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Stevie, you stay out of this.&#8221; There was no misunderstanding
      the captain&#8217;s tone. &#8220;When I want your opinion I&#8217;ll ask
      for it. And, Caroline, I want you to stay out, too. This is my trick at
      the wheel. Mrs. Dunn, what d&#8217;you say? Never mind the young folks.
      You and me know that marriage is business, same as everything else. How
      soon can we have the weddin&#8217;?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn had, apparently, nothing to say&mdash;to him. She addressed her
      next remark to Caroline.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;My dear,&#8221; she said, in great agitation, &#8220;this is really
      too dreadful. This&mdash;er&mdash;guardian of yours appears<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> to
      think he is in some barbarous country&mdash;ordering the savages about.
      Come! Malcolm, take her away.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; Captain Elisha stepped in front of the door. &#8220;She
      ain&#8217;t goin&#8217;; and I&#8217;d rather you wouldn&#8217;t go yet.
      Let&#8217;s settle this up now. I ain&#8217;t askin&#8217; anything
      unreasonable. Caroline&#8217;s under my charge, and I&#8217;ve got to plan
      for her. Your boy&#8217;s just crazy to marry her; he&#8217;s been beggin&#8217;
      for her to name the day. Let&#8217;s name it. It needn&#8217;t be
      to-morrow. I cal&#8217;late you&#8217;ll want to get out invitations and
      such. It needn&#8217;t be next week. But just say about when it can be;
      then I&#8217;ll know how to plan. That ain&#8217;t much to ask, sartin.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Much or little, neither Mrs. Dunn nor her son appeared ready to answer.
      Malcolm fidgeted with his hat and gloves; his mother fanned herself with
      her handkerchief. Caroline, frantic with humiliation and shame, would have
      protested again, but her guardian&#8217;s stern shake of the head silenced
      her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, Mr. Dunn,&#8221; turning to the groom-to-be; &#8220;you&#8217;re
      one of the interested parties&mdash;what do you say?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm ground his heel into the rug. &#8220;I don&#8217;t consider it
      your business,&#8221; he declared. &#8220;You&#8217;re butting in where&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, no, I ain&#8217;t. It&#8217;s my business, and business is just
      <i>what</i> it is. Your ma knows that. She and I had a real confidential
      up and down talk on love and marriage, and she&#8217;s the one that proved
      to me that marryin&#8217; in high society, like yours and the kind
      Caroline&#8217;s been circulatin&#8217; in, was business and mighty little
      else. There&#8217;s a business contract between you and my niece. We want
      to know how soon it can be carried out, that&#8217;s all.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man looked desperately at the door; but<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> the captain&#8217;s
      broad shoulders blocked the way towards it. He hesitated, scowled, and
      then, with a shrug of his shoulders, surrendered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;How can I marry?&#8221; he demanded sullenly. &#8220;Confound it!
      my salary isn&#8217;t large enough to pay my own way, decently.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Malcolm!&#8221; cried his mother, warningly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, Mater, what the devil&#8217;s the use of all this? You
      know.... By Jove! you <i>ought</i> to!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hold on, young feller! I don&#8217;t understand. Your wages ain&#8217;t
      large enough, you say? What do you mean? You was <i>goin&#8217;</i> to be
      married, wasn&#8217;t you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn plunged to the rescue, a forlorn hope, but desperate, and
      fighting to the end.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;An outrage!&#8221; she blurted. &#8220;Malcolm, I forbid you to
      continue this disgusting conversation. Caroline, my poor child, I don&#8217;t
      blame you for this, but I call on you to stop it at once. My dear, I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She advanced toward the girl with outstretched arms. Caroline recoiled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t! don&#8217;t!&#8221; she gasped. Captain Elisha spoke
      up sharp and stern.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Excuse me, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he said, &#8220;but I&#8217;ll be
      obliged if you&#8217;ll wait a minute. Caroline, don&#8217;t you say a
      word. You say&mdash;you&mdash;&#8221; addressing Malcolm, &#8220;that you
      can&#8217;t support a wife on your wages. You surprise me some, considerin&#8217;
      the swath you&#8217;ve been cuttin&#8217; on &#8217;em&mdash;but never
      mind that. Maybe they won&#8217;t keep automobiles and&mdash;er&mdash;other
      things I&#8217;ve heard you was interested in, but if you cut them out and
      economize a little, same as young married folks I&#8217;ve known have been
      glad to do, you could scrape along, couldn&#8217;t you? Hey? Couldn&#8217;t
      you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Malcolm&#8217;s answer was another scornful shrug. &#8220;You<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>
      belong on Cape Cod,&#8221; he sneered. &#8220;Mater, let&#8217;s get out
      of this.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Wait! Put it plain now. Do I understand that you cal&#8217;late to
      break the engagement because my niece has lost her money? Is that it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Dunn realized that the inevitable was upon them. After all, it might
      as well be faced now as later.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;This is ridiculous,&#8221; she proclaimed. &#8220;Every sane person
      knows&mdash;though <i>barbarians</i> may not&mdash;&#8221; with a venomous
      glare at the captain&mdash;&#8220;that, in engagements of the kind in
      which my son shared, a certain amount of&mdash;er&mdash;financial&mdash;er&mdash;that
      is, the bride is supposed to have some money. It is expected. Of course it
      is! Love in a cottage is&mdash;well&mdash;a bit <i>pass&eacute;</i>. My
      son and I pity your niece from the bottom of our hearts, but&mdash;there!
      under the circumstances the whole affair becomes impossible. Caroline, my
      dear, I&#8217;m dreadfully sorry, dreadfully! I love you like my own
      child. And poor Malcolm will be heartbroken&mdash;but&mdash;you <i>see</i>.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She extended her hand in a gesture of utter helplessness. Stephen, who had
      been fuming and repressing his rage with difficulty during the scene,
      leaped forward with brandished fist.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;By gad!&#8221; he shouted. &#8220;Mal Dunn, you cad&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His uncle pushed him back with a sweep of his arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Steve,&#8221; he ordered, &#8220;I&#8217;m runnin&#8217; this ship.&#8221;
      He gave a quick glance at his niece, and then added, speaking rapidly and
      addressing the head of the Dunn family, &#8220;I see, ma&#8217;am. Yes,
      yes, I see. Well, you&#8217;ve forgot one thing, I guess. Caroline&#8217;s
      lived in high society, too. And I&#8217;ve been in it a spell, myself. And
      Steve&#8217;s a boy, but he&#8217;s got a business head. If there&#8217;s
      nothin&#8217; in marriage but business, then an engagement is what I just
      called it, a business contract, and it can&#8217;t be broke without<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> the
      consent of both sides. You wanted Caroline&#8217;s money; maybe she wants
      yours now. If she does, and there&#8217;s such a thing as law, why,
      perhaps she can get it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s the talk!&#8221; cried Stephen exultingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup; perhaps she can. She may be a business woman, too, you know.
      If money and style and social position&#8217;s what counts and she wants
      to force you to keep your promise, why, I&#8217;m her guardian and she can
      count on me to back her up. What do you say, Caroline? I&#8217;m at your
      service. I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      But Caroline interrupted him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Stop!&#8221; she cried wildly. &#8220;Oh, stop! Do you think&mdash;do
      you suppose I would marry him now? <i>Now</i>, after I&#8217;ve seen what
      he is? Oh,&#8221; with a shudder of disgust, &#8220;when I think what I
      might have done, I.... Thank God that the money has gone! I&#8217;m glad I&#8217;m
      poor! I&#8217;m <i>glad</i>!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caro, you fool!&#8221; shrieked Stephen. She did not heed him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Let me go!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;Let me get away from him; from
      this room! I never want to see him or think of him again. Please! <i>please</i>
      let me go! Oh, take me home! Captain Warren, <i>please</i> let me go home!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Her uncle was at her side in a moment. &#8220;Yes, yes, dearie,&#8221; he
      said, &#8220;I&#8217;ll take you home. Don&#8217;t give way now! I&#8217;ll&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He would have taken her arm, but she shrank from him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not you!&#8221; she begged. &#8220;Steve!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain&#8217;s face clouded, but he answered promptly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Of course&mdash;Steve,&#8221; he agreed. &#8220;Steve, take your
      sister home. Mr. Sylvester&#8217;s got a carriage waitin&#8217;, and he&#8217;ll
      go with you, I don&#8217;t doubt. Do as I tell you, boy&mdash;and behave
      yourself. Don&#8217;t wait; go!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>He
      held the door open until the hysterical girl and her brother had departed.
      Then he turned to the Dunns.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, ma&#8217;am,&#8221; he said, dryly. &#8220;I don&#8217;t know&#8217;s
      there&#8217;s anything more to be said. All the questions seem to be
      settled. Our acquaintance wa&#8217;n&#8217;t so awful long, but it was
      interestin&#8217;. Knowin&#8217; you has been, as the feller said, a
      liberal education. Don&#8217;t let me keep you any longer. Good afternoon.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He stepped away from the door. Malcolm and his mother remained standing,
      for an instant, where they were when Caroline left.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young man looked as if he would enjoy choking someone, the captain
      preferably, but said nothing. Then Mrs. Dunn bethought herself of a way to
      make their exit less awkward and embarrassing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;My heart!&#8221; she said, gasping, and with a clutch at her
      breast. &#8220;My poor heart! I&mdash;I fear I&#8217;m going to have one
      of my attacks. Malcolm, your arm&mdash;quick!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      With an expression of intense but patient suffering, and leaning heavily
      upon her son&#8217;s arm, she moved past Captain Elisha and from the room.
    </p>
    <hr class="medium" />
    <p>
      That evening the captain stood in the lower hall of the apartment house at
      Central Park West, undecided what to do next. He wished more than anything
      else in the world to go to his niece. He would have gone to her before&mdash;had
      been dying to go, to soothe, to comfort, to tell her of his love&mdash;but
      he was afraid. His conscience troubled him. Perhaps he had been too
      brutal. Perhaps he shouldn&#8217;t have acted as he did. Maybe forcing the
      Dunn fleet to show its colors could have been done more diplomatically. He
      had wanted her to see those colors for herself, to actually see them. But
      he might have overdone it. He remembered how she<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> shrank from him and
      turned to her brother. She might hate him more than ever now. If so, then
      the whole scheme under which he was working fell to pieces.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was worried about Steve, too. That young man would, naturally, be
      furious with his sister for what he would consider her romantic
      foolishness. He had been warned to behave himself; but would he? Captain
      Elisha paced up and down the marble floor before the elevator cage and
      wondered whether his visiting the apartment would be a wise move or a
      foolish one.
    </p>
    <p>
      The elevator descended, the door of the cage opened, and Stephen himself
      darted out. His face was red, he was scowling fiercely, and he strode
      toward the street without looking in his guardian&#8217;s direction.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain caught him as he passed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Here, boy!&#8221; he exclaimed; &#8220;where&#8217;s the fire?
      Where are you bound?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His nephew, brought thus unexpectedly to a halt, stared at him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, it&#8217;s you!&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;Humph! I&#8217;m
      bound&mdash;I don&#8217;t know where I&#8217;m bound!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You don&#8217;t, hey? Well, you can cruise a long ways on a v&#8217;yage
      like that. What do you mean?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Aw, let me alone! I&#8217;m going to the club, I guess, or
      somewhere. Anyhow, I won&#8217;t stay with her. I told her so. Silly
      little idiot! By gad, she understands what I think of her conduct. I&#8217;ll
      never speak to her again. I told her so. She&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Here! Belay! Stop! Who are you talking about?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caro, of course. She&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You&#8217;ve run off and left her alone&mdash;to-night? Where is
      she?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Upstairs&mdash;and crying, I suppose. She doesn&#8217;t do<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>
      anything else. It&#8217;s all she&#8217;s good for. Selfish, romantic&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He got no further, for Captain Elisha sent him reeling with a push and ran
      to the elevator.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Eighth floor,&#8221; he commanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      The door of the apartment was not latched. Stephen, in his rage and hurry,
      had neglected such trifles. The captain opened it quietly and walked in.
      He entered the library. Caroline was lying on the couch, her head buried
      in the pillows. She did not hear him cross the room. He leaned over and
      touched her shoulder. She started, looked, and sat up, gazing at him as
      though not certain whether he was a dream or reality.
    </p>
    <p>
      And he looked at her, at her pretty face, now so white and careworn, at
      her eyes, at the tear-stains on her cheeks, and his whole heart went out
      to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline, dearie,&#8221; he faltered, &#8220;forgive me for comin&#8217;
      here, won&#8217;t you? I had to come. I couldn&#8217;t leave you alone; I
      couldn&#8217;t rest, thinkin&#8217; of you alone in your trouble. I know
      you must feel harder than ever towards me for this afternoon&#8217;s doin&#8217;s,
      but I meant it for the best. I <i>had</i> to show you&mdash;don&#8217;t
      you see? Can you forgive me? Won&#8217;t you try to forgive the old feller
      that loves you more&#8217;n all the world? Won&#8217;t you try?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She looked at him, wide-eyed, clasping and unclasping her hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>I</i> forgive <i>you</i>?&#8221; she repeated, incredulously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Try to, dearie. Oh, if you would only believe I meant it for
      your good, and nothin&#8217; else! If you could only just trust me and
      come to me and let me help you. I want you, my girl, I want you!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She leaned forward. &#8220;Do you really mean it?&#8221; she cried.
      &#8220;How can you? after all I&#8217;ve done? after the way I&#8217;ve
      treated you? and the things I&#8217;ve said? You<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> must <i>hate</i> me!
      Everyone does. I hate myself! You can&#8217;t forgive me! You can&#8217;t!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His answer was to hold out his arms. Another moment and she was in them,
      clinging to his wet coat, sobbing, holding him fast, and begging him not
      to leave her, to take her away, that she would work, that she would not be
      a burden to him&mdash;only take her with him and try to forgive her, for
      he was real and honest and the only friend she had.
    </p>
    <p>
      And Captain Elisha, soothing her, stroking her hair, and murmuring words
      of love and tenderness, realized that his labor and sacrifice had not been
      in vain, that here was his recompense; she would never misunderstand him
      again; she was his at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      And yet, in the midst of his joy, his conscience troubled him more than
      ever.
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER XX
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>t
      was April; and May was close at hand. The weather was all that late April
      weather should be, and so often is not. Trees, bushes, and vines were in
      bud; the green of the new grass was showing everywhere above the dead
      brown of the old; a pair of bluebirds were inspecting the hollow of the
      old apple tree, with an eye toward spring housekeeping; the sun was warm
      and bright, and the water of the Sound sparkled in the distance. Caroline,
      sitting by the living-room window, was waiting for her uncle to return
      from the city.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the kitchen Annie Moriarty was preparing dinner. Annie was now cook as
      well as chamber-maid, for, of all the Warren servants, she was the only
      one remaining. Edwards, the &#8220;Commodore,&#8221; had been dismissed,
      had departed, not without reluctance but philosophically, to seek other
      employment. &#8220;Yes, miss,&#8221; observed Edwards, when notified that
      his services were no longer required; &#8220;I understand. I&#8217;ve been
      expecting it. I was in a family before that met with financial
      difficulties, and I know the signs. All I can say is that I hope you and
      Mr. Stephen will get on all right, miss. If there&#8217;s anything I can
      do to help you, by way of friendship, please let me know. I&#8217;d be
      glad, for old times&#8217; sake. And the cook wanted me to tell you that,
      being as she&#8217;s got another job in sight and was paid up to date, she
      wouldn&#8217;t wait for notice, but was leaving immediate. She&#8217;s
      gone already, miss.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>The
      second maid went also. But Annie, Irish and grateful, refused to go. Her
      mother came to back her in the refusal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Indeed she&#8217;ll not leave you, Miss Caroline&mdash;you nor
      Captain Warren neither. Lord love him! Sure, d&#8217;ye think we&#8217;ll
      ever forget what you and him done for me and my Pat and the childer? You&#8217;ve
      got to have somebody, ain&#8217;t you? And Annie&#8217;s cookin&#8217; ain&#8217;t
      so bad that it&#8217;ll kill yez; and I&#8217;ll learn her more. Never
      mind what the wages is, they&#8217;re big enough. She&#8217;ll stay! If
      she didn&#8217;t, I&#8217;d break her back.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      So, when the apartment was given up, and Captain Elisha and his wards
      moved to the little house in Westchester County, Annie came with them. And
      her cooking, though not by any means equal to that at Delmonico&#8217;s,
      had not killed them yet. Mrs. Moriarty came once a week to do the laundry
      work. Caroline acted as a sort of inexperienced but willing supervising
      housekeeper.
    </p>
    <p>
      The house itself had been procured through the kind interest of Sylvester.
      Keeping the apartment was, under the circumstances, out of the question,
      and Caroline hated it and was only too anxious to give it up. She had no
      suggestions to make. She would go anywhere, anywhere that her guardian
      deemed best; but might they not please go at once? She expected that he
      would suggest South Denboro, and she would have gone there without a
      complaint. To get away from the place where she had been so miserable was
      her sole wish. And trusting and believing in her uncle as she now did,
      realizing that he had been right always and had worked for her interest
      throughout, and having been shown the falseness and insincerity of the
      others whom she had once trusted implicitly, she clung to him with an
      appeal almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg
      317]</a></span> piteous. Her pride was, for the time, broken. She was
      humble and grateful. She surrendered to him unconditionally, and hoped
      only for his forgiveness and love.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain did not suggest South Denboro. He did, however, tell Sylvester
      that he believed a little place out of the city would be the better refuge
      for the present.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Poor Caroline&#8217;s switched clear around,&#8221; he said to the
      lawyer, &#8220;and you can&#8217;t blame her much. She cal&#8217;lates New
      York&#8217;s nothin&#8217; but a sham from stern to stern, manned by liars
      and swindlers and hypocrites and officered by thieves. &#8217;Tain&#8217;t
      no use to tell her &#8217;tain&#8217;t, though she might pretend to
      believe it, if <i>I</i> told her, for just now the poor girl thinks I&#8217;m
      Solomon and Saint Peter rolled into one. The way she agrees to whatever I
      say and the way she looks at me and sort of holds on to me, as if I was
      her only anchor in a gale, I declare it makes me feel meaner than
      poorhouse tea&mdash;and that&#8217;s made of blackberry leaves steeped in
      memories of better things, so I&#8217;ve heard say. <i>Am</i> I a low down
      scamp, playin&#8217; a dirty mean trick on a couple of orphans? What do
      you think, Sylvester?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You know what I think, Captain Warren,&#8221; replied the lawyer.
      &#8220;You&#8217;re handling the whole matter better than any other man
      could handle it. No one else would have thought of it, to begin with; and
      the results so far prove that you&#8217;re right.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. Maybe. I wish you was around to say that to me when I wake up
      nights and get to thinkin&#8217;. However, as I said, Caroline believes
      New York is like a sailors&#8217; dance hall, a place for decent folks to
      steer clear of. And when the feller you&#8217;ve been engaged to is shown
      up as a sneak and your own dad as a crook&mdash;well, you can&#8217;t
      blame a green hand for holdin&#8217; prejudice<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> against the town that
      raised &#8217;em. She&#8217;ll get over it; but just now I cal&#8217;late
      some little flat, or, better still, a little home out where the back yards
      ain&#8217;t made of concrete, would be a first-class port for us to make
      for. Don&#8217;t know of such a place at a reasonable rent, do you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I might find one. And you may be right; your niece might like it
      better, though it will be somewhat of a change. But how about your nephew?
      He has no objection to the metropolis, I should judge. What will he say?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Nothin&#8217;, I guess&mdash;unless he says it to himself. Steve&#8217;s
      goin&#8217; back to New Haven with things on his mind. He and I had a
      mornin&#8217; service, and I was the parson. He listened, because when you
      ain&#8217;t got a cent except what the society allows you, it ain&#8217;t
      good orthodoxy to dodge the charity sermon. Steve&#8217;ll behave, and
      what he don&#8217;t like he&#8217;ll lump. If he starts to open his mouth
      his ear&#8217;ll ache, I cal&#8217;late. I talked turkey to that young
      man. Ye-es,&#8221; with a slight smile, &#8220;I&#8217;m sort of afraid I
      lost patience with Stevie.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      When Caroline first saw the little house, with its shingled sides, the
      dead vines over the porch, and the dry stalks of last year&#8217;s flowers
      in the yard, her heart sank. With the wind blowing and the bare branches
      of the old apple tree scraping the roof and whining dolefully, it looked
      bleak and forsaken. It was so different, so unhomelike, and so, to her
      eyes, small and poverty-stricken. She made believe that she liked it,
      exclaimed over the view&mdash;which, on the particular day, was desolate
      enough&mdash;and declared the Dutch front door was &#8220;old-fashioned
      and dear.&#8221; But Captain Elisha, watching her closely, knew that she
      was only waiting to be alone to give way to wretchedness and tears. He
      understood, had expected that she would feel thus, but he<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> was
      disappointed, nevertheless. However, after the front door was passed and
      they were inside the house, Caroline looked about her in delighted
      amazement. The living room was small, but bright and warm and cheery. On
      its walls, hiding the rather vivid paper, were hung some of the best of
      Rodgers Warren&#8217;s pictures&mdash;the Corot, the codfisher, and
      others. The furniture and rugs were those which had been in the library of
      the apartment, those she had been familiar with all her life. The books,
      many of them, were there, also. And the dining room, except for size,
      looked like home. So did the bedrooms; and, in the kitchen, Annie grinned
      a welcome.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But how could you?&#8221; asked Caroline. &#8220;How could you keep
      all these things, Uncle Elisha? I thought, of course, they must all be
      sold. I cried when they took them away that day when we were leaving to go
      to the hotel. I was sure I should never see them again. And here they all
      are! How could you do it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain&#8217;s grin was as wide as Annie&#8217;s. &#8220;Oh,&#8221;
      he explained, &#8220;I couldn&#8217;t let &#8217;em all go. Never intended
      to. That five thousand dollar codder up there seemed like own folks,
      pretty nigh. I&#8217;d have kept <i>him</i>, if we had to live in one room
      and a trunk. And we ain&#8217;t got to that&mdash;yet. I tell you, dearie,
      I thought they&#8217;d make you feel more to home. And they do, don&#8217;t
      they?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The look she gave him was answer sufficient.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But the creditors?&#8221; she asked. &#8220;That man who&mdash;they
      belong to him, don&#8217;t they? I supposed of course they must go with
      the rest.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha winked. &#8220;There&#8217;s times,&#8221; he answered,
      &#8220;when I believe in cheatin&#8217; my creditors. This is one of
      &#8217;em. Never you mind that feller you mentioned. He&#8217;s got
      enough, confound him! He didn&#8217;t<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> have the face to ask for
      any more. Sylvester looked out for that. Five hundred thousand, droppin&#8217;
      in, as you might say, unexpected, ought to soften anybody&#8217;s heart;
      and I judge even that feller&#8217;s got some bowels of mercy.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He changed the subject hastily, but Caroline asked no more questions. She
      never alluded to the lost estate, never expressed any regrets, nor asked
      to know who it was that had seized her all. The captain had expected her
      to ask, had been ready with the same answer he had given Stephen, but when
      he hinted she herself had forbade his continuing. &#8220;Don&#8217;t tell
      me about it,&#8221; she begged. &#8220;I don&#8217;t want to know any
      more. Father did wrong, but&mdash;but I know he did not mean to. He was a
      good, kind father to me, and I loved him. This man whose money he took had
      a right to it, and now it is his. He doesn&#8217;t wish us to know who he
      is, so Steve says, and I&#8217;m glad. I don&#8217;t want to know, because
      if I did I might hate him. And,&#8221; with a shudder, &#8220;I am trying
      so hard not to hate anybody.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Her make-believe liking for the little home became more and more real as
      spring drew near. She began to take an interest in it, in the flower
      garden, in the beds beside the porch, where the peonies and daffodils were
      beginning to show green heads above the loam, and in the household
      affairs. And she had plans of her own, not connected with these. She
      broached them to her uncle, and they surprised and delighted him, although
      he would not give his consent to them entirely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You mustn&#8217;t think,&#8221; she said, &#8220;that, because I
      have been willing to live on your money since mine went, that I mean to
      continue doing it. I don&#8217;t. I&#8217;ve been thinking a great deal,
      and I realize that I must earn my own way just as soon as I can. I&#8217;m
      not fitted for anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321"
      id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> now; but I can be and I shall. I&#8217;ve
      thought perhaps I might learn stenography or&mdash;or something like that.
      Girls do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked at her serious face and choked back his laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, yes,&#8221; he admitted, &#8220;they do, that&#8217;s a fact.
      About four hundred thousand of &#8217;em do, and four hundred thousand
      more try to and then try to make business men think that they have. I
      heard Sylvester sputterin&#8217; about a couple in his office t&#8217;other
      day; said they was no good and not worth the seven dollars a week he paid
      &#8217;em.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Seven dollars a <i>week</i>!&#8221; she repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Course some make three times that and more; but they&#8217;re
      the experienced ones, the good ones. And there&#8217;s heaps that don&#8217;t.
      What makes you so sot on earnin&#8217; a livin&#8217;, Caroline? Ain&#8217;t
      you satisfied with the kind I&#8217;m tryin&#8217; to give you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She regarded him reproachfully. &#8220;Please don&#8217;t say that,&#8221;
      she protested. &#8220;You always treat your kindness as a joke, but to me
      it&mdash;it&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There! there!&#8221; quickly. &#8220;Don&#8217;t let&#8217;s talk
      foolish. I see what you mean, dearie. It ain&#8217;t the livin&#8217; but
      because I&#8217;m givin&#8217; it to you that troubles you. I know. Well,
      <i>I</i> ain&#8217;t complainin&#8217; but I understand your feelin&#8217;s
      and respect &#8217;em. However, I shouldn&#8217;t study type-writin&#8217;,
      if I was you. There&#8217;s too much competition in it to be comfortable,
      as the fat man said about runnin&#8217; races. I&#8217;ve got a
      suggestion, if you want to listen to it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I do, indeed. What is it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, just this. I&#8217;ve been about everythin&#8217; aboard ship,
      but I&#8217;ve never been a steward. Now I&#8217;ll say this much for
      Annie, she tried hard. She tumbled into general housekeepin&#8217; the way
      Asa Foster said he fell into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322"
      id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> the cucumber frame&mdash;with a jolt and
      a jingle; and she&#8217;s doin&#8217; her best accordin&#8217; to her
      lights. But sometimes her lights need ile or trimmin&#8217; or somethin&#8217;.
      I&#8217;ve had the feelin&#8217; that we need a good housekeeper here. If
      Annie&#8217;s intelligence was as broad and liberal as her shoes, we
      wouldn&#8217;t; as &#8217;tis, we do. I&#8217;ll hire you, Caroline, for
      that job, if you say so.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I? Uncle Elisha, you&#8217;re joking!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, I ain&#8217;t. Course I realize you ain&#8217;t had much
      experience in runnin&#8217; a house, and I hope you understand I don&#8217;t
      want to hire you as a cook. But I&#8217;ve had a scheme in the back of my
      head for a fortni&#8217;t or more. Somethin&#8217; Sylvester said about a
      young lady cousin of his made me think of it. Seems over here at the
      female college&mdash;you know where I mean&mdash;they&#8217;re teachin&#8217;
      a new course that they&#8217;ve christened Domestic Science. Nigh&#8217;s
      I can find out it is about what our great gran&#8217;marms larned at home;
      that, with up-to-date trimmin&#8217;s. All about runnin&#8217; a house, it
      is; how to superintend servants, and what kind of things to have to eat,
      and how they ought to be cooked, and takin&#8217; care of children&mdash;Humph!
      we don&#8217;t need that, do we?&mdash;and, well, everything that a home
      woman, rich or poor, ought to know. At least, she ought to &#8217;cordin&#8217;
      to my old-fashioned notions. Sylvester&#8217;s cousin goes there, and
      likes it; and I judge she ain&#8217;t figgerin&#8217; to be anybody&#8217;s
      hired help, either. My idea was about this: If you&#8217;d like to take
      this course, Caroline, you could do it afternoons. Mornin&#8217;s and the
      days you had off, you could apply your science here at home, on Annie.
      Truly it would save me hirin&#8217; somebody else, and&mdash;well, maybe
      you&#8217;d enjoy it, you can&#8217;t tell.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His niece seemed interested.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I know of the Domestic Science course,&#8221; she said.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>
      &#8220;Several of my friends&mdash;my former friends, were studying it.
      But I&#8217;m afraid, Uncle, that I don&#8217;t see where earning my
      living has any part in it. It seems to me that it means your spending more
      money for me, paying my tuition.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No more&#8217;n I&#8217;d spend for a competent housekeeper.
      Honest, Caroline, I&#8217;d like to do it. You think it over a spell.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She did, visiting the University and making inquiries. What she was told
      there decided her. She took up the course and enjoyed it. It occupied her
      mind and prevented her brooding over the past. She might have made many
      friends among the other students, but she was careful to treat them only
      as acquaintances. Her recent experience with &#8220;friends&#8221; was too
      fresh in her mind. She studied hard and applied her knowledge at home. She
      and Annie made some odd and funny mistakes at first, but they were not
      made twice, and Captain Elisha noticed a great improvement in the
      housekeeping. Also, Caroline&#8217;s spirits improved, though more slowly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Most evenings they spent together in the living room. She read aloud to
      her uncle, who smoked his cigar and listened, commenting on the doings of
      the story folk with characteristic originality and aptitude. Each night,
      after the reading was over, he wrote his customary note to Abbie Baker at
      South Denboro. He made one flying trip to that village: &#8220;Just to
      prove to &#8217;em that I&#8217;m still alive,&#8221; as he explained it.
      &#8220;Some of those folks down there at the postoffice must have pretty
      nigh forgot to gossip about me by this time. They&#8217;ve had me eloped
      and married and a millionaire and a pauper long ago, I don&#8217;t doubt.
      And now they&#8217;ve probably forgot me altogether. I&#8217;ll just run
      down and stir &#8217;em up. Good subjects<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> for yarns are scurce at
      that postoffice, and they ought to be thankful.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      On his return he told his niece that he found everything much as usual.
      &#8220;Thoph Kenney&#8217;s raised a beard &#8217;cause shavin&#8217;s so
      expensive; and the Come-Outer minister called the place the other
      denominations are bound for &#8216;Hades,&#8217; and his congregation are
      thinkin&#8217; of firin&#8217; him for turnin&#8217; Free-Thinker. That&#8217;s
      about all the sensations,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I couldn&#8217;t get
      around town much on account of Abbie. She kept me in bed most of the time,
      while she sewed on buttons and mended. Said she never saw a body&#8217;s
      clothes in such a state in <i>her</i> life.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      A few of the neighbors called occasionally. And there were other callers.
      Captain Elisha&#8217;s unexpected departure from Mrs. Hepton&#8217;s
      boarding house had caused a sensation and much regret to that select
      establishment. The landlady, aided and abetted by Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles,
      would have given a farewell tea in his honor, but he declined. &#8220;Don&#8217;t
      you do it,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I like my tea pretty strong, and
      farewells are watery sort of things, the best of &#8217;em. And this ain&#8217;t
      a real farewell, anyhow.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;&#8216;Say <i>au revoir</i>, but not good-by,&#8217;&#8221; sang
      Miss Sherborne sentimentally.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s it. Everybody knows what good-by means. We&#8217;ll
      say the other thing&mdash;as well as we can&mdash;and change it to &#8216;Hello&#8217;
      the very first time any of you come out to see us.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      They were curious to know his reason for leaving. He explained that his
      niece was sort of lonesome and needed country air; he was going to live
      with her, for the present. Consequently Mrs. Ruggles, on the trail of
      aristocracy, was the first to call. Hers was a stately and ceremonious
      visit. They were glad when it was over. Lawton, the bookseller and his
      wife, came and were persuaded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325"
      id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> to remain and dine. Caroline liked them
      at sight. The most impressive call, however, was that of Mr. and Mrs.
      &#8220;C.&#8221; Dickens. The great man made it a point to dress in the
      style of bygone years, and his conversation was a treat. His literary
      labors were fatiguing and confining, he admitted, and the &#8220;little
      breath of rural ozone&#8221; which this trip to Westchester County gave
      him, was like a tonic&mdash;yes, as one might say, a tonic prescribed and
      administered by Dame Nature herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I formerly resided in the country,&#8221; he told Caroline.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; put in his wife, &#8220;we used to live at Bayonne, New
      Jersey. We had such a pretty house there, that is, half a house; you see
      it was a double one, and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Maria,&#8221; her husband waved his hand, &#8220;why trouble our
      friends with unnecessary details.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But it <i>was</i> a pretty house, &#8216;C.,&#8217; dear,&#8221;
      with a pathetic little sigh. &#8220;I&#8217;ve missed it a great deal
      since, Miss Warren. &#8216;C.&#8217; had a joke about it&mdash;he&#8217;s
      such a joker! He used to call it &#8216;Gad&#8217;s Hill, Junior.&#8217;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Named after some of David B.&#8217;s folks?&#8221; asked Captain
      Elisha innocently. The answer, delivered by Mr. Dickens, was condescending
      and explanatory.
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline laughed, actually laughed aloud, when the visit was over. Her
      uncle was immensely pleased.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hooray!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;I&#8217;ll invite &#8217;em up to
      stay a week. That&#8217;s the fust time I&#8217;ve heard you laugh for I
      don&#8217;t know when.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She laughed again. &#8220;I can&#8217;t help it,&#8221; she said; &#8220;they
      are so funny.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain chuckled. &#8220;Yes,&#8221; he said, &#8220;and they don&#8217;t
      know it. I cal&#8217;late a person&#8217;s skull has got room for just
      about so much in it and no more. Cornelius Charles&#8217;s head is so
      jammed with self-satisfaction that his sense of humor was crowded out of
      door long ago.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>One
      boarder at Mrs. Hepton&#8217;s did not call, nor did Captain Elisha allude
      to him. Caroline noticed the latter fact and understood the reason. Also,
      when the captain went to the city, as he frequently did, and remained
      longer than usual, she noticed that his explanations of the way in which
      he spent his time were sometimes vague and hurried. She understood and was
      troubled. Yet she thought a great deal on the subject before she mentioned
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the April afternoon when Caroline sat at the window of the living room
      awaiting her uncle&#8217;s return she was thinking of that subject. But,
      at last, her mind was made up. It was a hard thing to do; it was
      humiliating, in a way; it might&mdash;though she sincerely hoped not&mdash;be
      misconstrued as to motive; but it was right. Captain Elisha had been so
      unselfish, so glad to give up every personal inclination in order to
      please her, that she would no longer permit her pride to stand in the way
      of his gratification, even in little things. At least, she would speak to
      him on the matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      He came on a later than his usual train, and at dinner, when she asked
      where he had been, replied, &#8220;Oh, to see Sylvester, and&mdash;er&mdash;around.&#8221;
      She asked him no more, but, when they were together in the living room,
      she moved her chair over beside his and said without looking at him:
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Uncle Elisha, I know where you&#8217;ve been this afternoon. You&#8217;ve
      been to see Mr. Pearson.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey?&#8221; He started, leaned back and regarded her with
      astonishment and some alarm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You&#8217;ve been to see Mr. Pearson,&#8221; she repeated, &#8220;haven&#8217;t
      you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why&mdash;why, yes, Caroline, I have&mdash;to tell you the truth. I
      don&#8217;t see how you knew, but,&#8221; nervously, &#8220;I<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> hope
      you don&#8217;t feel bad &#8217;cause I did. I go to see him pretty often.
      You see, I think a good deal of him&mdash;a whole lot of him. <i>I</i>
      think he&#8217;s a fine young feller. Course I know you don&#8217;t, and
      so I never mention him to you. But I do hope you ain&#8217;t goin&#8217;
      to ask me not to see him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She shook her head. &#8220;No,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I would have no
      right to ask that, even if I wished to. And I do not wish it. Uncle
      Elisha, if you were alone here, he would come to see you; I know he would.
      Invite him to come, please.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His astonishment was greater than ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Invite him to come <i>here</i>?&#8221; he asked. &#8220;To see you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No,&#8221; hastily; &#8220;to see you. This is your home. I have no
      right to keep your friends from visiting it. I know you would sacrifice
      everything for me, even them; but I will not be so selfish as to allow it.
      Ask him here, please. I really want you to.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He pulled his beard. &#8220;Caroline,&#8221; he answered slowly, &#8220;I&#8217;m
      much obliged to you. I understand why you&#8217;re doin&#8217; this, and I
      thank you. But it ain&#8217;t likely that I&#8217;ll say yes, is it? And
      do you suppose Jim would come if I did ask him? He knows you believe he&#8217;s
      a&mdash;well, all that&#8217;s bad. You told him so, and you sent him
      away. I will give in that I&#8217;d like to have him here. He&#8217;s one
      of the few men friends I&#8217;ve made since I landed in New York. But,
      under the circumstances&mdash;you feelin&#8217; as you do&mdash;I couldn&#8217;t
      ask him, and he wouldn&#8217;t come if I did.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She remained silent for a time. Then she said: &#8220;Uncle, I want you to
      tell me the truth about Mr. Pearson and father&mdash;just why they
      quarreled and the real truth of the whole affair. Don&#8217;t spare my
      feelings; tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg
      328]</a></span> me what you believe is the true story. I know you think
      Mr. Pearson was right, for you said so.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain was much troubled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&mdash;I don&#8217;t know&#8217;s I&#8217;d better, dearie,&#8221;
      he answered. &#8220;I think I do know the truth, but you might think I was
      hard on &#8217;Bije&mdash;on your father. I ain&#8217;t. And I sympathize
      with the way he felt, too. But Jim did right, as I see it. He acted just
      as I&#8217;d want a son of mine to do. And.... Well, I cal&#8217;late we&#8217;d
      better not rake up old times, had we?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I want you to tell me. Please do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know&#8217;s I&#8217;d better. You have been told the
      story different, and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I know I have. That is the reason why I ask you to tell it. Oh,&#8221;
      with a flash of scorn, &#8220;I was told many stories, and I want to
      forget them. And,&#8221; sadly, &#8220;I can bear whatever you may tell
      me, even about father. Since I learned that he was a&mdash;a&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;S-sh, Caroline; don&#8217;t!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;After that, I can bear anything, I think. This cannot be worse.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Worse! No, not! This ain&#8217;t very bad. I will tell you, dearie.
      This is just what happened.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He told her the exact truth concerning the Trolley Combine, his brother&#8217;s
      part in it, and Pearson&#8217;s. She listened without comment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I see,&#8221; she said when he had finished. &#8220;I think I see.
      Mr. Pearson felt that, as a newspaper man, an honest one, he must go on.
      He knew that the thing was wrong and that innocent people might lose money
      in it. It was his duty to expose it, and he did it, even though it meant
      the loss of influence and of father&#8217;s friendship. I see.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That was about it, Caroline. I think the hardest<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> part
      for him was when &#8217;Bije called him ungrateful. &#8217;Bije had been
      mighty kind to him, that&#8217;s a fact.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Father was kind; I know that better than anyone else. But Mr.
      Pearson was right. Yes, he was right, and brave.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So I size it up. And I do sympathize with your father, too. This wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      such an awful lot worse than a good many stock deals. And poor &#8217;Bije
      was perfectly desp&#8217;rate, I guess. If it had gone through he&#8217;d
      have been able to square accounts with the Rubber Company; and just think
      what that would have meant to him. Poor feller! poor feller!&#8221; He
      sighed. She reached for his hand and stroked it gently with her own.
    </p>
    <p>
      After another interval she said: &#8220;How I insulted and wronged him!
      How he must despise me!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Who? Jim? No, no! he don&#8217;t do any such thing. He knows you
      didn&#8217;t understand, and who was responsible. Jim&#8217;s got sense,
      lots of it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But it is my misunderstanding and my insulting treatment of him
      which have kept you two apart&mdash;here, at any rate.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t let that worry you, Caroline. I see him every once in a
      while, up to the city.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It does worry me; and it will, until it is made right. And,&#8221;
      in a lower tone, but with decision, &#8220;it shall be.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She rose and, bending over, kissed him on the forehead. &#8220;Good night,
      Uncle,&#8221; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha was disappointed. &#8220;What!&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;Goin&#8217;
      aloft so soon? We ain&#8217;t had our readin&#8217; yet. Pretty early to
      turn in, seems to me. Stay a little longer, do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not to-night, dear. I&#8217;m going to my room. Please excuse me
      this time.&#8221; She turned to go and then, turning back again, asked a
      final question.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span>&#8220;You&#8217;re
      sure,&#8221; she said, hesitatingly; &#8220;you&#8217;re quite sure he
      will not come here&mdash;to you&mdash;if you tell him I understand, and&mdash;and
      you ask him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, Caroline, I don&#8217;t know. You see, I was responsible for
      his comin&#8217; before. He had some scruples against it then, but I
      talked him down. He&#8217;s sort of proud, Jim is, and he might&mdash;might
      not want to&mdash;to&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I see. Good night, Uncle.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The next morning, after breakfast, she came to him again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Uncle Elisha,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I have written him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What? You&#8217;ve written? Written who?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Pearson. I wrote him, telling him I had learned the true story
      of his disagreement with father and that he was right and I was wrong. I
      apologized for my behavior toward him. Now, I think, perhaps, if you ask
      him, he will come.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain looked at her. He realized the sacrifice of her pride which
      writing that letter must have meant, and that she had done it for him. He
      was touched and almost sorry she had done it. He took both her hands in
      his.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Dearie,&#8221; he said, &#8220;you shouldn&#8217;t have done that.
      I didn&#8217;t expect you to. I know you did it just for my sake. I won&#8217;t
      say I ain&#8217;t glad; I am, in one way. But &#8217;twa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      necessary, and &#8217;twas too much, too hard for you altogether.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t say that,&#8221; she begged. &#8220;Too much! I never
      can do enough. Compared to what you have done for me it&mdash;it.... Oh,
      please let me do what little I can. But, Uncle Elisha, promise me one
      thing; promise that you will not ask me to meet him, if he should come.
      That I couldn&#8217;t do, even for you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER XXI
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">P</span>romises
      of that kind are easier to make than to keep. The captain promised
      promptly enough, but the Fates were against him. He made it his business
      to go to town the very next day and called upon his friend. He found the
      young man in a curiously excited and optimistic frame of mind, radically
      different from that of the past few months. The manuscript of the novel
      was before him on the desk, also plenty of blank paper. His fountain-pen
      was in his hand, although apparently, he had written nothing that morning.
      But he was going to&mdash;oh, yes, he was going to! He was feeling just in
      the mood. He had read his manuscript, and it was not so bad; by George,
      some of the stuff was pretty good! And the end was not so far off. Five or
      six chapters more and the thing would be finished. He would have to secure
      a publisher, of course, but two had already expressed an interest; and so
      on.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha drew his own conclusions. He judged that his niece&#8217;s
      letter had reached its destination. He did not mention it, however, nor
      did Pearson. But when the captain hinted at the latter&#8217;s running out
      to the house to see him some time or other, the invitation was accepted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s fine, Jim,&#8221; declared the visitor. &#8220;Come
      any time. I want you to see what a nice little place I&#8217;ve got out
      there. Don&#8217;t stand on ceremony, come&mdash;er&mdash;next week, say.&#8221;
      Then, mindful of his promise, he added, &#8220;You and I&#8217;ll have it
      all to ourselves. I&#8217;ve been cal&#8217;latin&#8217;<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> to
      hire a sail-boat for the summer; got my eye on a capable little sloop
      belongin&#8217; to a feller on the Sound shore. If all goes well I&#8217;ll
      close the deal in a few days. I&#8217;ll meet you at the depot and we&#8217;ll
      have a sail and get dinner at a hotel or somewheres, and then we&#8217;ll
      come up to the house and take a whack at Cap&#8217;n Jim&#8217;s doin&#8217;s
      in the new chapters. Just you and I together in the settin&#8217; room;
      hey?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson did not seem so enthusiastic over this programme, although he
      admitted that it sounded tip-top.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;How is Miss Warren?&#8221; he asked, mentioning the name with a
      nonchalance remarkable, considering that he had not done so before for
      weeks. &#8220;She is well, I hope?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, she&#8217;s fust-rate, thank you. Very well, everything
      considered. She keeps to herself a good deal. Don&#8217;t care to meet
      many folks, and you can&#8217;t hardly blame her.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson admitted that, and the remainder of the call was largely a
      monologue by Captain Elisha.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, then, Jim,&#8221; said the latter, when he rose to go,
      &#8220;you come up Monday or Tuesday of next week. Will you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. I&mdash;I think so.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t think, do it. Let me know what train you&#8217;re comin&#8217;
      on, and I&#8217;ll meet you at the depot.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      This last remark was what upset calculations. Pearson came on Monday,
      having written the day before. He did not mail the note himself, but
      trusted it to Mrs. Hepton, who was going out to attend evening service.
      She forgot it until the next day. So it happened that when he alighted
      from the train at the suburban station the captain was not there to meet
      him. He waited a while, and then, inquiring the way of the station agent,<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>
      walked up to the house by himself. As he turned in at the front walk,
      Caroline came out of the door. They met, face to face.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a most embarrassing situation, particularly for Caroline; yet, with
      feminine resourcefulness, she dissembled her embarrassment to some extent
      and acknowledged his stammered, &#8220;Good afternoon, Miss Warren,&#8221;
      with a cool, almost cold, &#8220;How do you do, Mr. Pearson?&#8221; which
      chilled his pleasure at seeing her and made him wish devoutly that he had
      not been such a fool as to come. However, there he was, and he hastily
      explained his presence by telling her of the captain&#8217;s invitation
      for that day, how he had expected to meet him at the station, and, not
      meeting him, had walked up to the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Is he in?&#8221; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      No, Captain Elisha was not in. He had gone to see the sail-boat man. Not
      hearing from his friend, he concluded the latter would not come until the
      next day.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He will be so sorry,&#8221; said Caroline.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson was rather thankful than otherwise. The captain&#8217;s absence
      afforded him an opportunity to escape from a place where he was plainly
      unwelcome.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, never mind,&#8221; he said. &#8220;It is not important. I can
      run out another day. Just tell him I called, Miss Warren, please; that I
      wrote yesterday, but my letter must have gone astray. Good afternoon.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was turning to go, but she stopped him. She had fully made up her mind
      that, when he came, she would not meet him&mdash;remembering how she had
      treated him on the evening of her birthday, she would be ashamed to look
      him in the face. Besides, she could not meet him after writing that
      letter; it would be too brazen; he would think&mdash;all sorts of things.
      When he visited her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg
      334]</a></span> uncle she would remain in her room, or go to the city or
      somewhere.
    </p>
    <p>
      But now she had met him. And he had come in response to her uncle&#8217;s
      invitation, given because she herself had pleaded that it should be. To
      let him go away would be rude and ridiculous; and how could she explain to
      the captain?
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You mustn&#8217;t go, Mr. Pearson,&#8221; she said. &#8220;You must
      come in and wait; Captain Warren will be back soon, I&#8217;m sure.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you; but I think I won&#8217;t wait. I can come another time.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But you must wait. I insist. Uncle Elisha will be dreadfully
      disappointed if you don&#8217;t. There isn&#8217;t a train for an hour,
      and he will return before that, I am sure. Please come in.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson was reluctant, but he could think of no reasonable excuse. So he
      entered the house, removed his overcoat and hat, and seated himself in the
      living room to await the captain&#8217;s return. Caroline excused herself,
      saying that she had an errand at the shop in the village. She made that
      errand as long as she could, but when she returned he was still there, and
      Captain Elisha had not appeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      The conversation was forced, for a time. Each felt the embarrassment, and
      Pearson was still resentful of the manner in which she had greeted him on
      his arrival. But, as he looked at her, the resentment vanished, and the
      other feeling, that which he had determined to forget, returned. Captain
      Elisha had told him how brave she had been through it all, and,
      contrasting the little house with the former home, remembering the loss of
      friends and fortune, to say nothing of the unmasking of those whom she
      believed were her nearest and dearest, he<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> wondered and admired
      more than ever. He understood how very hard it must have been for her to
      write that letter to him, a letter in which she justified his course at
      the cost of her own father&#8217;s honor. He longed to tell her that he
      understood and appreciated.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last he could not resist the temptation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Miss Warren,&#8221; he said, &#8220;please excuse my speaking of
      this, but I must; I must thank you for writing me as you did. It was not
      necessary, it was too much to expect, too hard a thing for you to do. It
      makes me feel guilty. I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Please don&#8217;t!&#8221; she interrupted. &#8220;Don&#8217;t
      speak in that way. It was right. It was what I should have done long ago.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But it was not necessary; I understood. I knew you had heard
      another version of the story and that you felt I had been ungrateful and
      mean, to say the least, in my conduct toward your father. I knew that; I
      have never blamed you. And you writing as you did&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I did it for my uncle&#8217;s sake,&#8221; she broke in, quickly.
      &#8220;You are his closest friend.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I know, but I appreciate it, nevertheless. I&mdash;I wish you would
      consider me your friend as well as his. I do, sincerely.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you. I need friends, I know. I have few now, which is not
      strange,&#8221; rather bitterly.
    </p>
    <p>
      He protested earnestly. &#8220;I did not mean it in that way,&#8221; he
      said. &#8220;It is an honor and a great privilege to be one of your
      friends. I had that honor and privilege once. May I have it again?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you, Mr. Pearson.... Now tell me about your novel. I remember
      it all so well. And I am very much interested. You must have it nearly
      completed. Tell me about it, please.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span>They
      were deep in the discussion of the novel when Captain Elisha walked into
      the living room. He was surprised, stating his feelings at their mildest,
      to find them together, but he did not express his astonishment. Instead,
      he hailed Pearson delightedly, demanded to know if they had dared tackle
      Cap&#8217;n Jim without the &#8220;head doctor&#8217;s&#8221; being on the
      scene; and insisted upon the author&#8217;s admitting him to the &#8220;clinic&#8221;
      forthwith. Pearson did not take the next train, nor the next. Instead, he
      stayed for dinner and well into the evening, and when he did go it was
      after a prompt acceptance of the captain&#8217;s invitation to &#8220;come
      again in a mighty little while.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline, when she and her uncle were alone after their visitor&#8217;s
      departure, made no protest against the invitation having been given. She
      did not speak of Pearson at all. Captain Elisha also talked of other
      things, principally about the sail-boat, the summer lease of which he had
      arranged that afternoon. He declared the sloop to be an &#8220;able craft
      of her tonnage&#8221; and that they would have some good times aboard her
      or he missed his guess. In his own room, when ready for bed, he favored
      his reflection in the glass with a broad smile and a satisfied wink, from
      which proceeding it may be surmised that the day had not been a bad one,
      according to his estimate.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson came again a week later, and thereafter frequently. The sessions
      with Cap&#8217;n Jim and his associates were once more regular happenings
      to be looked forward to and enjoyed by the three. As the weather grew
      warmer, the sloop&mdash;Captain Elisha had the name she formerly bore
      painted out and Caroline substituted&mdash;proved to be as great a source
      of pleasure as her new skipper had prophesied. He and his niece&mdash;and
      occasionally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span>
      Pearson&mdash;sailed and picnicked on the Sound, and Caroline&#8217;s
      pallor disappeared under the influence of breeze and sunshine. Her health
      improved, and her spirits, also. She seemed, at times, almost happy, and
      her uncle seldom saw her, as after the removal to the suburb he so
      frequently used, with tears in her eyes and the sadness of bitter memories
      in her expression and manner. Her work at the University grew steadily
      more difficult, but she enjoyed it thoroughly and declared that she would
      not give it up for worlds.
    </p>
    <p>
      In June two very important events took place. The novel was finished, and
      Stephen, his Sophomore year at an end, came home from college. He had been
      invited by some classmates to spend a part of his vacation with them on
      the Maine coast, and his guardian had consented to his doing so; but the
      boy himself had something else to propose. On an evening soon after his
      return, when, his sister having retired, he was alone with the captain, he
      broached the idea.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Say,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I&#8217;ve been thinking a good deal
      while I&#8217;ve been away this last time.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Glad to hear it, I&#8217;m sure,&#8221; replied his uncle, dryly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. I&#8217;ve been thinking&mdash;about a good many things. I&#8217;m
      flat broke; down and out, so far as money is concerned. That&#8217;s so,
      isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha looked at him keenly for an instant. Then:
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It appears that way, I&#8217;m afraid,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;What
      made you ask?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Nothing. I wasn&#8217;t asking, really; I was just stating the
      case. Now, the way I look at it, this college course of mine isn&#8217;t
      worth while. You&#8217;re putting up for it, and I ought to be much
      obliged; I am, of course.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You&#8217;re welcome, Stevie.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>&#8220;I
      know; but what&#8217;s the use of it? I&#8217;ve got to go to work when it&#8217;s
      over. And the kind of work I want to do doesn&#8217;t need university
      training. I&#8217;m just wasting time; that&#8217;s what I&#8217;m doing.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! I ain&#8217;t so sure about that. But what sort of work do
      you want to do?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I want to be down on the Street, as the governor was. If this
      Rubber Company business hadn&#8217;t knocked us out, I intended, as soon
      as I was of age, to take that seat of his and start in for myself. Well,
      that chance has gone, but I mean to get in some way, though I have to
      start at the foot of the ladder. Now why can&#8217;t I leave college and
      start now? It will be two years gained, won&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha seemed pleased, but he shook his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;How do you know you&#8217;d like it?&#8221; he asked. &#8220;You&#8217;ve
      never tried.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, I never have; but I&#8217;ll like it all right. I know I shall.
      It&#8217;s what I&#8217;ve wanted to do ever since I was old enough to
      think of such things. Just let me start in now, right away, and I&#8217;ll
      show you. I&#8217;ll make good; you see if I don&#8217;t.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was very earnest. The captain deliberated before answering.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Stevie,&#8221; he said, doubtfully, &#8220;I rather like to hear
      you talk that way; I own up it pleases me. But, as to your givin&#8217; up
      college&mdash;that&#8217;s different. Let me think it over for a day or
      two; that is, if you can put off the Maine trip so long as that.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hang the Maine trip! You let me get into business, the business I
      want to get into, and I won&#8217;t ask for a vacation; you can bet on
      that!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right then. I&#8217;ll think, and do some questionin&#8217;
      around, and report soon&#8217;s I&#8217;ve decided what&#8217;s best.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span>He
      laid the stump of his cigar in the ash receiver and rose from his chair.
      But his nephew had not finished.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There was something else I intended to say,&#8221; he announced,
      but with less eagerness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That so? What?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why&mdash;why, just this.&#8221; He fidgeted with his watch chain,
      colored and was evidently uneasy. &#8220;I guess&mdash;&#8221; he
      hesitated&mdash;&#8220;I guess that I haven&#8217;t treated you as I
      ought.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I want to know! You guess that, hey? Why?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, you know why. I&#8217;ve been thinking since I went back to New
      Haven. I&#8217;ve had a chance to think. Some of the fellows in the set I
      used to be thick with up there have learned that I&#8217;m broke, and they&mdash;they
      aren&#8217;t as friendly as they were. Not all of them, of course, but
      some. And I wouldn&#8217;t chase after them; not much! If they wanted to
      drop me they could. You bet I didn&#8217;t try to hang on! I was pretty
      sore for a while and kept to myself and&mdash;well, I did a lot of
      thinking. I guess Caro is right; you&#8217;ve been mighty decent to her
      and me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused, but Captain Elisha made no comment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I guess you have,&#8221; continued Stephen, soberly. &#8220;When
      you first came, you know, Caroline and I couldn&#8217;t understand. We
      thought you were butting in and weren&#8217;t our sort, and&mdash;and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And a hayseed nuisance generally; I know. Heave ahead, son; you
      interest me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, we didn&#8217;t like it. And Mal Dunn and his mother were
      always sympathizing and insinuating, and we believed they were our best
      friends, and all that. So we didn&#8217;t try to understand you or&mdash;or
      even make it livable for you. Then, after the news came that the<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> money
      had gone, I acted like a kid, I guess. That business of making Mal stick
      to the engagement was pretty silly. I was nearly desperate, you see, and&mdash;and&mdash;you
      knew it was silly. You never took any stock in it, did you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain smiled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not a heap,&#8221; he admitted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. All you wanted was to show them up. Well, you did it, and I&#8217;m
      glad you did. But Caro and I have talked it over since I&#8217;ve been
      home, and we agree that you&#8217;ve been a great deal better to us than
      we deserve. You didn&#8217;t <i>have</i> to take care of us at all, any
      more, after the money went. By gad! considering how we treated you, I don&#8217;t
      see why you did. <i>I</i> wouldn&#8217;t. But you did&mdash;and you are.
      You&#8217;ve given us a home, and you&#8217;re putting me through college
      and&mdash;and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s all right, son. Good night.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Just a minute. I&mdash;I&mdash;well, if you let me, I&#8217;d like
      to thank you and&mdash;and ask your pardon.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Granted, my boy. And never mind the thanks, either. Just keep on
      thinkin&#8217; and actin&#8217; as you have to-night, and I&#8217;ll be
      satisfied. I want to see my nephew makin&#8217; a man of himself&mdash;a
      real man; and, Steve, you talk more like a man to-night than I&#8217;ve
      ever heard you. Stick to it, and you&#8217;ll do yet. As for goin&#8217;
      to work, you let me chew on that for a few days.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The next morning he called on Sylvester, who in turn took him to a friend
      of his, a broker&mdash;employing a good-sized staff of clerks. The three
      had a consultation, followed, the day after, by another. That evening the
      captain made a definite proposal to Stephen. It was, briefly, that, while
      not consenting to the latter&#8217;s leaving college, he did consider that
      a trial of the work in a broker&#8217;s office might be a good thing.
      Therefore, if the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg
      341]</a></span> young man wished, he could enter the employ of Sylvester&#8217;s
      friend and remain during July and August.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You&#8217;ll leave about the first of September, Steve,&#8221; he
      said, &#8220;and that&#8217;ll give you time for the two weeks vacation
      that you ought to have. Then you can go back to Yale and pitch in till the
      next summer, when the same job&#8217;ll be ready for you. After you&#8217;re
      through college for good, if what you&#8217;ve learned about brokerin&#8217;
      ain&#8217;t cured you of your likin&#8217; for it&mdash;if you still want
      to go ahead with it for your life job, then&mdash;well, then we&#8217;ll
      see. What do you say?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Stephen had a good deal to say, principally in the line of objection to
      continuing his studies. Finding these objections unavailing, he agreed to
      his guardian&#8217;s proposition.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right,&#8221; said the captain; &#8220;then you can go to work
      next Monday. But you&#8217;ll <i>have</i> to work, and be just the same as
      any other beginner, no better and no worse. There&#8217;ll be no
      favoritism, and, if you&#8217;re really wuth your salt, you won&#8217;t
      want any. Show &#8217;em, and me, that you&#8217;re wuth it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The novel, the wonderful tale which Captain Elisha was certain would make
      its author famous, was finished that very day in June when Stephen came
      back from New Haven. The question of title remained, and the &#8220;clinic,&#8221;
      now re&euml;nforced by Steve&mdash;whose dislike for Pearson had
      apparently vanished with others of his former likes and dislikes&mdash;considered
      that at several sessions. At last &#8220;The Man at the Wheel&#8221; was
      selected, as indicating something of the hero&#8217;s profession and
      implying, perhaps, a hint of his character. Then came the fateful task of
      securing a publisher. And the first to whom it was submitted&mdash;one of
      the two firms which had already expressed a desire to read the manuscript&mdash;accepted<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> it,
      at what, for a first novel, were very fair terms. During the summer there
      was proof to be read and illustrations to be criticized. Captain Elisha
      did not wholly approve of the artist&#8217;s productions.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Jerushy!&#8221; he exclaimed, &#8220;look at that mainmast! Look at
      the rake of it! More like a yacht than a deep-water bark, she is enough
      sight. And the fust mate&#8217;s got a uniform cap on, like a purser on a
      steamboat. Make that artist feller take that cap off him, Jim. He&#8217;s
      got to. I wish he could have seen some of my mates. They wa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      Cunarder dudes, but they could make a crew hop &#8217;round like a
      sand-flea in a clam bake.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Or, when the picture happened to be a shore view:
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What kind of a house is that? Did you ever see a house like that
      Down-East? I&#8217;ll leave it to anybody if it don&#8217;t look like a
      sugar man&#8217;s plantation I used to know down Mobile way. All that
      feller standin&#8217; by the door needs is to have his face blacked; then
      he&#8217;d start singin&#8217; &#8216;S&#8217;wanee River.&#8217; This ain&#8217;t
      &#8216;Uncle Tom&#8217;s Cabin.&#8217; Bah!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The advance copy, the first one, was ready early in September, and the
      author, of course, brought it immediately to his friends. They found the
      dedication especially interesting: &#8220;To C. W. and E. W., consulting
      specialists at the literary clinics, with grateful acknowledgments.&#8221;
      Probably Captain Elisha was never prouder of anything, even his first
      command, than of that dedication.
    </p>
    <p>
      And the story, when at last it appeared for sale, was almost from the
      beginning a success. The reviewers praised it, the reading public&mdash;that
      final court of appeal which makes or unmakes novels&mdash;took kindly to
      it, and discussed and recommended it; and, most important of all, perhaps,
      it sold and continued to sell. There was<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> something in it, its
      humanity, its simplicity, its clearly marked characters, which made a hit.
      Pearson no longer needed to seek publishers; they sought him. His short
      stories were bid for by the magazines, and his prices climbed and climbed.
      He found himself suddenly planted in the middle of the highway to
      prosperity, with a clear road ahead of him, provided he continued to do
      his best.
    </p>
    <p>
      In September Stephen gave up his work at the broker&#8217;s office, spent
      the weeks with his friends in Maine, and then returned to Yale. He gave up
      the position on the Street with reluctance. He was sure he liked it now,
      he declared. It was what he was fitted for, and he meant, more than ever,
      to take it up permanently as soon as he was free. And his employer told
      Captain Elisha that the youngster was bright, clever, and apt. &#8220;A
      little conceited, needs taking down occasionally, but that is the only
      trouble. He has been spoiled, I should imagine,&#8221; he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup,&#8221; replied the captain, with emphasis; &#8220;your
      imagination&#8217;s a good one. It don&#8217;t need cultivatin&#8217; any.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The novel being out of the way, and its successor not yet far enough
      advanced in plot or general plan for much discussion, the &#8220;literary
      clinics&#8221; were no longer as frequent. But Pearson&#8217;s visits to
      the Warren house were not discontinued. All summer long he had been coming
      out, once, and usually twice, a week. Captain Elisha had told him not to
      stand on formality, to come any time, and he did. On most of these
      occasions he found the captain at home; but, if only Caroline was there,
      he seemed quite contented. She did not remark on the frequency of his
      visits. In fact, she mentioned him less and less in conversation with her
      uncle. But,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span>
      as the autumn came and moved towards its prime she seemed, to the captain&#8217;s
      noticing eye, a trifle more grave, a little more desirous of being by
      herself. Sometimes he found her sitting by the open fire&mdash;pleasant in
      the cool October evenings&mdash;and gazing very soberly at the blaze. She
      had been in good spirits, more merry and light-hearted than he had ever
      seen her, during the latter part of the summer; now her old sadness seemed
      to be returning. It would have troubled him, this change in her mood, if
      he had not believed he knew the cause.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was planning a glorious Thanksgiving. At least, it would be glorious to
      him, for he intended spending the day, and several days, at his own home
      in South Denboro. Abbie Baker had made him promise to do it, and he had
      agreed. He would not leave Caroline, of course; she was going with him.
      Steve would be there, though he would not come until Thanksgiving Day
      itself. Sylvester, also, would be of the party; he seemed delighted at the
      opportunity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m curious to see the place where they raise fellows like
      you,&#8221; the lawyer said. &#8220;It must be worth looking at.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Graves don&#8217;t think so,&#8221; chuckled the captain. &#8220;I
      invited him, and he said, &#8216;No, thank you&#8217; so quick that the
      words was all telescoped together. And he shivered, too, when he said it;
      just as if he felt that sou&#8217;west gale whistlin&#8217; between his
      bones even now. I told him I&#8217;d pretty nigh guarantee that no more
      trees would fall on him, but it didn&#8217;t have any effect.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson was asked and had accepted. His going was so far a settled thing
      that he had commissioned Captain Elisha to purchase a stateroom for him on
      the Fall River boat; for of course the captain would not consider their
      traveling the entire distance by train. At an interview<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> in
      the young man&#8217;s room in the boarding house, only three days before
      the date set for the start, he had been almost as enthusiastic as the Cape
      Codder himself. The pair had planned several side excursions, time and
      weather permitting, among them a trip across the Sound to Setuckit Point,
      with the possibility of some late sea-fowl shooting and a long tramp to
      one of the life-saving stations, where Pearson hoped to pick up material
      for his new book. He was all anticipation and enthusiasm when the captain
      left him, and said he would run out to the house the following day, to
      make final arrangements.
    </p>
    <p>
      That day Sylvester &#8217;phoned, asking Captain Elisha to come to his
      office on a matter of business. When, having done so, the captain,
      returning, alighted at his home station, he was surprised to see Pearson
      standing on the platform.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, hello, Jim!&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;What are you doing
      here? Just come, have you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His friend shook his head. &#8220;No, Captain Warren,&#8221; he said;
      &#8220;I&#8217;m just going.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Goin&#8217;? What for? Been up to the house, of course? Caroline
      told you where I&#8217;d gone and that I was cal&#8217;latin&#8217; to
      hurry back, didn&#8217;t she?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, then, course you ain&#8217;t goin&#8217;! You&#8217;re goin&#8217;
      to stay to dinner. I&#8217;ve got some things to tell you about that
      life-savin&#8217; station cruise. I&#8217;ve been thinkin&#8217; that I
      know the cap&#8217;n and most of the crew on the lightship off back of the
      Point. How&#8217;d you like to go aboard of her? You could get some yarns
      from those fellers that might be wuth hearin&#8217;.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I have no doubt I should. But I&#8217;m afraid I can&#8217;t go.
      The fact is, Captain, I&#8217;ve decided not to spend Thanksgiving with
      you, after all.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span>&#8220;Hey?&#8221;
      Captain Elisha could scarcely believe he had heard correctly. &#8220;You
      can&#8217;t go&mdash;to South Denboro?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why not, for the land sakes?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, I&#8217;ve decided&mdash;I&#8217;ve decided not to.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But, Jim! Why, I can&#8217;t have it so! I&#8217;m dreadful
      disappointed. I&#8217;ve counted on your goin&#8217;. So has Abbie. She&#8217;s
      read your book, and she says she&#8217;s crazy to see the feller that
      wrote it. She&#8217;s told the minister and a whole lot more, and they&#8217;re
      all comin&#8217; in to look at you. &#8217;Tain&#8217;t often we have a
      celebrated character in our town. You&#8217;ve <i>got</i> to go.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Thank you, Captain. I appreciate the invitation and your kindness,
      but,&#8221; with decision, &#8220;I can&#8217;t accept.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Can&#8217;t you come later? Say Thanksgivin&#8217; mornin&#8217;?
      Or even the day after?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But why not? What&#8217;s the matter with you all of a sudden? Come
      here! let me look at you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He took the young man by the arm and led him, almost by main strength,
      close to the lighted window of the station. It was late, and the afternoon
      was gloomy. Here, by the lamplight streaming through the window, he could
      see his face more clearly. He looked at it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph!&#8221; he grunted, after a moment&#8217;s scrutiny. &#8220;You&#8217;ve
      made up your mind; I can see that. Have you told Caroline? Does she know?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. You&#8217;ll have to excuse me, Captain Warren; my train is
      coming.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What did she say?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Pearson smiled, but there was little mirth in the smile. &#8220;I think
      she agrees with me that it is best,&#8221; he observed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! She does, hey? I want to know! Look here, Jim! have you and
      she&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span>He
      got no further, for Pearson broke away, and, with a hurried &#8220;Good
      night,&#8221; strode up the platform to meet the city-bound train. Captain
      Elisha watched it go and then walked slowly homeward, his hands in his
      pockets, troubled and wondering.
    </p>
    <p>
      He entered the house by the back door, a remnant of South Denboro habit,
      and found Annie in the kitchen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Where&#8217;s Caroline?&#8221; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;She&#8217;s in the living room, sir, I think. Mr. Pearson has been
      here and just gone.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm. So I heard. Say, Annie, you needn&#8217;t hurry dinner; I
      ain&#8217;t ready for it yet awhile.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He hung his coat and hat in the back hall and quietly entered the living
      room. The lamp was not lighted, and the room was dark, but he saw his
      niece, a shadowy figure, seated by the window. He crossed to her side.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, Caroline,&#8221; he said, cheerfully, &#8220;I&#8217;m home
      again.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She turned. &#8220;I see you are,&#8221; she answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Humph! your eyes must be better than mine then. I can&#8217;t see
      anything in here. It&#8217;s darker than a nigger&#8217;s pocket. Suppose
      we turn on the glim.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He struck a match as he said it. By its light he saw her face. The match
      burned down to his finger tips and then he extinguished it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know but the dark is just as good and more
      economical,&#8221; he observed. &#8220;No use of encouragin&#8217; the
      graspin&#8217; ile trust unless it&#8217;s necessary. Let&#8217;s you and
      me sit here in the dark and talk. No objection to talkin&#8217; to your
      back country relation, have you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s good. Well, Caroline, I&#8217;m goin&#8217; to talk
      plain again. You can order me to close my hatch any time<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> you
      feel like it; that&#8217;s skipper&#8217;s privilege, and you&#8217;re
      boss of this craft, you know. Dearie, I just met Jim Pearson. He tells me
      he&#8217;s decided not to go on this Cape cruise of ours. He said you
      agreed with him &#8217;twas best he shouldn&#8217;t go. Do you mind tellin&#8217;
      me why?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She did not answer. He waited a minute and then continued.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Course, I know I ain&#8217;t got any real right to ask,&#8221; he
      went on; &#8220;but I think more of you and Jim than I do of anybody else,
      and so maybe you&#8217;ll excuse me. Have you and he had a fallin&#8217;
      out?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Still she was silent. He sighed. &#8220;Well,&#8221; he observed, &#8220;I
      see you have, and I don&#8217;t blame you for not wantin&#8217; to talk
      about it. I&#8217;m awful sorry. I&#8217;d begun to hope that.... However,
      we&#8217;ll change the subject. Or we won&#8217;t talk at all, if you&#8217;d
      rather not.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Another pause. Then she laid her hand on his.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Uncle,&#8221; she said, &#8220;you know I always want to talk to
      you. And, as for the right to ask, you have the right to ask anything of
      me at any time. And I should have told you, of my own accord, by and by.
      Mr. Pearson and I have not quarreled; but I think&mdash;I think it best
      that I should not see him again.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You do? Not see him&mdash;any more&mdash;at all? Why, Caroline!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not for a long, long time, at least. It would only make it harder&mdash;for
      him; and it&#8217;s of no use.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha sighed again. &#8220;I guess I understand, Caroline. I
      presume likely I do. He&mdash;he asked somethin&#8217; of you&mdash;and
      you couldn&#8217;t say yes to him. That was it, I suppose. Needn&#8217;t
      tell me unless you really want to, you understand,&#8221; he added,
      hastily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But I do. I ought to tell you. I should have told you before, and
      perhaps, if I had, he would not have<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> ... Uncle Elisha, Mr.
      Pearson asked me to be his wife.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain gave no evidence of surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; he replied, gravely, &#8220;I judged that was it. And
      you told him you couldn&#8217;t, I suppose. Well, dearie, that&#8217;s a
      question nobody ought to answer but the one. She&#8217;s the only one that
      knows what that answer should be, and, when other folks interfere and try
      to influence, it generally means trouble. I&#8217;m kind of disappointed;
      I&#8217;ll own up to that. I think Jim is a fine, honest, able young man,
      and he&#8217;d make a good husband, I&#8217;m sure. And, so far as his
      business, or profession, or whatever you call it, goes, he&#8217;s doin&#8217;
      pretty well and sartin to do better. Of course, &#8217;twa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      that that kept you from&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Uncle Elisha! Am <i>I</i> so rich that I should&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;There! there, my girl! I know &#8217;twa&#8217;n&#8217;t that, of
      course. I was only thinkin&#8217; out loud, that&#8217;s all&mdash;tryin&#8217;
      to find reasons. You didn&#8217;t care for him enough, I suppose.
      Caroline, you don&#8217;t care for anybody else, do you? You don&#8217;t
      still care for that other feller, that&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Uncle!&#8221; she sprang up, hurt and indignant. &#8220;How can
      you?&#8221; she cried. &#8220;How could you ask that? What must you think
      of me?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Please, Caroline,&#8221; he protested; &#8220;please don&#8217;t. I
      beg your pardon. I was a fool! I knew better. Don&#8217;t go. Tell me the
      real reason. Sit down again and let&#8217;s talk this out. Do sit down!
      that&#8217;s it. Now tell me; was it that you couldn&#8217;t care for Jim
      enough?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She hesitated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Was it?&#8221; he repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&mdash;I like Mr. Pearson very much. I respect and admire him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But you don&#8217;t love him. I see. Well,&#8221; sadly,<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span>
      &#8220;there&#8217;s another one of my dreams gone to smash. However, you
      did just right, dearie. Feelin&#8217; that way, you couldn&#8217;t marry
      him, of course.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He would have risen now, and she detained him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That was not the reason,&#8221; she said, in a low tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hey?&#8221; he bent toward her. &#8220;What?&#8221; he cried.
      &#8220;That wa&#8217;n&#8217;t the reason, you say? You do care for him?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She was silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Do you?&#8221; he repeated, gently. &#8220;And yet you sent him
      away. Why?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She faltered, tried to speak, and then turned away. He put his arm about
      her and stroked her hair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t you cry, dearie,&#8221; he begged. &#8220;I won&#8217;t
      bother you any more. You can tell me some other time&mdash;if you want to.
      Or you needn&#8217;t tell me at all. It&#8217;s all right; only don&#8217;t
      cry. &#8217;Cause if you do,&#8221; with sudden determination, &#8220;I
      shall cry, too; and, bein&#8217; as I ain&#8217;t used to the exercise, I
      may raise such a row that Annie&#8217;ll send for the constable. You
      wouldn&#8217;t want that to happen, I know.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      This unexpected announcement had the desired effect; Caroline laughed
      hysterically and freed herself from his arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I mustn&#8217;t be so silly,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I had made up
      my mind to tell you everything, and I shall. My not caring for Mr. Pearson
      was not my reason for refusing him. The reasons were two&mdash;you and
      Steve.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Me and Steve? What in the world have we got to do with it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Everything. He would marry me, poor as I am; and perhaps I&mdash;perhaps
      I should say yes if things were different. Oh, there is no use my
      deceiving you, or trying to deceive myself! I know I should say yes, and<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> be
      very, very happy. But I can&#8217;t! and I won&#8217;t! I <i>won&#8217;t</i>!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But why? And where, for mercy&#8217;s sake, do Steve and I come in?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Uncle Elisha, I suppose you think I have been perfectly satisfied
      to let you take care of me and of my brother, and give us a home and all
      that we needed and more. No doubt you thought me selfish enough to be
      contented with that and go on as I am&mdash;as we are&mdash;living on your
      bounty. You had reason to think so. But I have not been contented with
      that, nor has Steve. He and I have made our plans, and we shall carry them
      out. He will leave college in two years and go to work in earnest. Before
      that time I shall be ready to teach. I have been studying with just that
      idea in view.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Good land! Why, no, you ain&#8217;t! You&#8217;ve been studyin&#8217;
      to help me and Annie run this house.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That was only part of it&mdash;the smallest part. I haven&#8217;t
      told you before, Uncle, but one of the Domestic Science teachers at the
      University is a girl I used to know slightly. She is going to be married
      next year, and, if all goes well, I may be appointed to her position when
      she leaves. I have a conditional promise already. If I am, why, then, you
      see, I shall really be earning my own living; you will not have to give up
      your own home and all your interests there to make me comfortable: you can&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Here! here!&#8221; Captain Elisha put in, desperately; &#8220;don&#8217;t
      talk so ridiculous, Caroline. I ain&#8217;t givin&#8217; up anything. I
      never was more happy than I&#8217;ve been right here with you this summer.
      I&#8217;m satisfied.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I know, but I am not. And neither is Steve. He and I have planned
      it all. His salary at first will be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352"
      id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> small, and so will mine. But together we
      can earn enough to live somehow and, later on, when he earns more, perhaps
      we may be able to repay a little of all that you have given us. We shall
      try. <i>I</i> shall insist upon it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline Warren, is <i>that</i> the reason you sent Jim away? Did
      you tell him that? Did you tell him you wouldn&#8217;t marry him on
      account of me?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, of course I did not,&#8221; indignantly. &#8220;I told him&mdash;I
      said I must not think of marriage; it was impossible. And it is! You <i>know</i>
      it is, Uncle Elisha!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t know any such thing. If you want to make me happy,
      Caroline, you couldn&#8217;t find a better way than to be Jim Pearson&#8217;s
      wife. And you would be happy, too; you said so.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But I am not thinking of happiness. It is my duty&mdash;to you and
      to my own self-respect. And not only that, but to Steve. Someone must
      provide a home for him. Neither he nor I will permit you to do it a day
      longer than is necessary. I am his sister and I shall not leave him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But you won&#8217;t have to leave him. Steve&#8217;s future&#8217;s
      all fixed. I&#8217;ve provided for Steve.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What do you mean?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What I say.&#8221; The captain was very much excited and, for once,
      completely off his guard. &#8220;I&#8217;ve had plans for Steve all along.
      He&#8217;s doin&#8217; fust-rate in that broker&#8217;s office, learnin&#8217;
      the trade. Next summer he&#8217;ll have another whack at it and learn
      more. When he&#8217;s out of college I&#8217;m goin&#8217; to turn over
      your dad&#8217;s seat on the Stock Exchange to him. Not give it to him,
      you know&mdash;not right off&mdash;but let him try; and then, if he makes
      a good fist at it, he&#8217;ll have it permanent. Steve&#8217;s got the
      best chance in the world. He couldn&#8217;t ask much better,<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> seems
      to me. You ain&#8217;t got to fret yourself about Steve.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused, almost out of breath. He had been speaking rapidly so as to
      prevent interruption. Caroline&#8217;s astonishment was too great for
      words, just then. Her uncle anxiously awaited her reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You see, don&#8217;t you?&#8221; he asked. &#8220;You understand.
      Steve&#8217;s goin&#8217; to have the chance to make a good livin&#8217;
      at the very thing he declares he&#8217;s set on doin&#8217;. I ain&#8217;t
      told him, and I don&#8217;t want you to, but it&#8217;s what I&#8217;ve
      planned for him and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Wait! wait, Uncle, please! The Stock Exchange seat? Father&#8217;s
      seat? I don&#8217;t see.... I don&#8217;t understand.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, yes!&#8221; eagerly; &#8220;your pa&#8217;s seat. I&#8217;ve
      meant it for Steve. There&#8217;s been chances enough to sell it, but I
      wouldn&#8217;t do that. &#8217;Twas for him, Caroline; and he&#8217;s goin&#8217;
      to have it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But I don&#8217;t see how.... Why, I thought&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The door of the dining room opened. Annie appeared on the threshold.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Dinner is served,&#8221; she announced.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Be right there, Annie. Now you see that you ain&#8217;t got to
      worry about Steve, don&#8217;t you, Caroline?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His niece did not answer. By the light from the doorway he saw that she
      was gazing at him with a strange expression. She looked as if she was
      about to ask another question. He waited, but she did not ask it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; he said, rising, &#8220;we won&#8217;t talk any more
      just now. Annie&#8217;s soup&#8217;s gettin&#8217; cold, and she&#8217;ll
      be in our wool if we don&#8217;t have dinner. Afterwards we can have
      another session. Come, Caroline.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She also rose, but hesitated. &#8220;Uncle Elisha,&#8221; she said,
      &#8220;will you excuse me if I don&#8217;t talk any more to-night?<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> And,
      if you don&#8217;t mind, I won&#8217;t dine with you. I&#8217;m not hungry
      and&mdash;and my head aches. I&#8217;ll go to my room, I think.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, yes,&#8221; he said, hastily, &#8220;of course. I&#8217;m
      afraid I&#8217;ve talked too much as &#8217;tis. You go up and lie down,
      and Annie can fetch you some toast and tea or somethin&#8217; by and by.
      But do just answer me this, Caroline, if you can: When you told Jim
      marryin&#8217; was out of the question for you, did he take that as final?
      Was he contented with that? Didn&#8217;t he say he was willin&#8217; to
      wait for you, or anything?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, he said he would wait, always. But I told him he must not. And
      I told him he must go and not see me again. I couldn&#8217;t see him as I
      have been doing; Uncle, I couldn&#8217;t!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I know, dearie, I know. But didn&#8217;t you say anything more?
      Didn&#8217;t you give him <i>any</i> hope?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I said,&#8221; she hesitated, and added in a whisper, &#8220;I said
      if I should ever need him or&mdash;or change my mind, I would send for
      him. I shouldn&#8217;t have said it. It was weak and wicked of me, but I
      said it. Please let me go now, Uncle dear. Good night.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She kissed him and hurried away. He ate his lonely dinner absent-mindedly
      and with little appetite. After it was finished he sat in the living room,
      the lamp still unlighted, smoking and thinking.
    </p>
    <p>
      And in her chamber Caroline, too, sat thinking&mdash;not altogether of the
      man she loved and who loved her. She thought of him, of course; but there
      was something else, an idea, a suspicion, which over and over again she
      dismissed as an utter impossibility, but which returned as often.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Stock Exchange seat had been a part of her father&#8217;s estate, a
      part of her own and Steve&#8217;s inheritance.<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> Sylvester had told her
      so, distinctly. And such a seat was valuable; she remembered her brother
      reading in the paper that one had recently sold for ninety thousand
      dollars. How could Captain Warren have retained such a costly part of the
      forfeited estate in his possession? For it was in his possession; he was
      going to give it to her brother when the latter left college. But how
      could he have obtained it? Not by purchase; for, as she knew, he was not
      worth half of ninety thousand dollars. Surely the creditor, the man who
      had, as was his right, seized all Rodgers Warren&#8217;s effects, would
      not have left that and taken the rest. Not unless he was a curiously
      philanthropic and eccentric person. Who was he? Who was this mysterious
      man her father had defrauded? She had never wished to know before; now she
      did. And the more she pondered, the more plausible her suspicion became.
      It was almost incredible, it seemed preposterous; but, as she went back,
      in memory, over the events since her father&#8217;s death and the
      disclosure of his astonishing will, little bits of evidence, little
      happenings and details came to light, trifles in themselves, but all
      fitting in together, like pieces of an inscription in mosaic, to spell the
      truth.
    </p>
    <hr class="large" />
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span>
    </p>
    <h3>
      CHAPTER XXII
    </h3>
    <p class="n">
      <span
      style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">N</span>ovember
      weather on Cape Cod is what Captain Elisha described as &#8220;considerable
      chancey.&#8221; &#8220;The feller that can guess it two days ahead of
      time,&#8221; he declared, &#8220;is wastin&#8217; his talents; he could
      make a livin&#8217; prophesyin&#8217; most anything, even the market price
      of cranberries.&#8221; When Caroline, Sylvester, and the captain reached
      South Denboro after what seemed, to the two unused to the leisurely winter
      schedule of the railroad, an interminable journey from Fall River, the
      girl thought she had never seen a more gloomy sky or a more forbidding
      scene. Gray clouds, gray sea, brown bare fields; the village of white or
      gray-shingled houses set, for the most part, along the winding main
      street; the elms and silver-leaf poplars waving bare branches in the
      cutting wind; a picture of the fag end of loneliness and desolation, so it
      looked to her. She remembered Mr. Graves&#8217;s opinion of the place, as
      jokingly reported by Sylvester, and she sympathized with the dignified
      junior partner.
    </p>
    <p>
      But she kept her feelings hidden on her uncle&#8217;s account. The captain
      was probably the happiest individual in the state of Massachusetts that
      morning. He hailed the train&#8217;s approach to Sandwich as the entrance
      to Ostable County, the promised land, and, from that station on, excitedly
      pointed out familiar landmarks and bits of scenery and buildings with the
      gusto and enthusiasm of a school boy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8217;s Ostable court-house,&#8221; he cried, pointing.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span>
      &#8220;And see&mdash;see that red-roofed house right over there, just past
      that white church? That&#8217;s where Judge Baxter lives; a mighty good
      friend of mine, the Judge is. I stopped to his house to dinner the night
      Graves came.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      A little further on he added, &#8220;&#8217;Twas about here that I spoke
      to Graves fust. I noticed him sittin&#8217; right across the aisle from
      me, with a face on him sour as a sasser of green tamarind preserves, and I
      thought I&#8217;d be sociable. &#8216;Tough night,&#8217; I says. &#8216;Umph,&#8217;
      says he. &#8217;Twa&#8217;n&#8217;t a remark cal&#8217;lated to encourage
      conversation, so I didn&#8217;t try again&mdash;not till his umbrella
      turned inside out on the Denboro platform. Ho! ho! I wish you&#8217;d have
      seen his face <i>then</i>.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      At Denboro he pointed out Pete Shattuck&#8217;s livery stable, where the
      horse and buggy came from which had been the means of transporting Graves
      and himself to South Denboro.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;See!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;See that feller holdin&#8217; up the
      corner of the depot with his back! the one that&#8217;s so broad in the
      beam he has to draw in his breath afore he can button his coat. That&#8217;s
      Pete. You&#8217;d think he was too sleepy to care whether &#8217;twas
      to-day or next week, wouldn&#8217;t you? Well, if you was a summer boarder
      and wanted to hire a team, you&#8217;d find Pete was awake and got up
      early. If a ten-cent piece fell off the shelf in the middle of the night
      he&#8217;d hear it, though I&#8217;ve known him to sleep while the
      minister&#8217;s barn burned down. The parson had been preachin&#8217;
      against horse-tradin&#8217;; maybe that sermon was responsible for some of
      the morphine influence.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester was enjoying himself hugely. Captain Elisha&#8217;s exuberant
      comments were great fun for him. &#8220;This is what I came for,&#8221; he
      confided to Caroline. &#8220;I don&#8217;t care if it rains or snows. I
      could sit and listen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg
      358]</a></span> to your uncle for a year and never tire. He&#8217;s a
      wonder. And I&#8217;m crazy to see that housekeeper of his. If she lives
      up to her reputation there&#8217;ll be no disappointment in my
      Thanksgiving celebration.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Dan, the captain&#8217;s hired man, met them with the carriage at the
      station, and Miss Baker met them at the door of the Warren home. The
      exterior of the big, old-fashioned, rambling house was inviting and
      homelike, in spite of the gloomy weather, and Caroline cheered up a bit
      when they turned in at the gate. Five minutes of Miss Abigail&#8217;s
      society, and all gloom disappeared. One could not be gloomy where Miss
      Abbie was. Her smile of welcome was so broad that, as her employer said,
      &#8220;it took in all outdoor and some of Punkhorn Neck,&#8221; a place
      which, he hastened to add, &#8220;was forgot durin&#8217; creation and has
      sort of happened of itself since.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Abbie conducted Caroline to her room&mdash;old-fashioned, like the rest of
      the house, but cozy, warm, and cheery&mdash;and, after helping in the
      removal of her wraps, seized her by both hands and took a long look at her
      face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You&#8217;ll excuse my bein&#8217; so familiar on short
      acquaintance, dearie,&#8221; she said, &#8220;but I&#8217;ve heard so much
      about you that I feel&#8217;s if I knew you like own folks. And you are
      own folks, ain&#8217;t you? Course you are! Everyone of &#8217;Lisha&#8217;s
      letters have had four pages of you to one of anything else. I begun to
      think New York was nothin&#8217; but you and a whole lot of ten-story
      houses. He thinks so much of you that I&#8217;d be jealous, if I had that
      kind of disposition and the time to spare. So I must have a good look at
      you.... I declare! you&#8217;re almost prettier than he said. May I kiss
      you? I&#8217;d like to.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She did, and they were friends at once.
    </p>
    <div class="figcenter" style="width: 289px;">
      <img src="images/i358.jpg" class="smallgap" width="289" height="500"
      alt="&#8220;&#8216;I declare! you&#8217;re almost prettier than he said. May I kiss you?&#8217;&#8221;"
      title="" /> <span class="caption">&#8220;&#8216;I declare! you&#8217;re
      almost prettier than he said. May I kiss you?&#8217;&#8221;</span>
    </div>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span>The
      rest of that day and evening were busy times. Captain Elisha showed his
      visitors about the place, the barn, the cows, the pigpen&mdash;the pig
      himself had gone to fulfill the unhappy destiny of pigs, but they would
      meet him by sections later on, so the captain assured them. The house and
      buildings were spotless in paint and whitewash; the yard was raked clean
      of every dead leaf and twig; the whole establishment was so neat that
      Caroline remarked upon it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It looks as if it had been scoured,&#8221; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Um-hm,&#8221; observed her uncle, with a gratified nod; &#8220;that&#8217;s
      Abbie. She hates dirt worse than she does laziness, and that ain&#8217;t
      sayin&#8217; a little. I tell her she&#8217;d sand-soap the weather vane
      if she could climb up to it; as &#8217;tis, she stays below and
      superintends Dan while he does it. If godliness wants to stay next to
      cleanliness when she&#8217;s around it has to keep on the jump. I always
      buy shirts two degrees heavier&#8217;n I need, &#8217;cause I know she&#8217;ll
      have &#8217;em scrubbed thin in a fortni&#8217;t. When it comes to <i>real</i>
      Domestic Science, Caroline, Abbie ain&#8217;t in the back row of the
      primer class, now I tell you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Baker had planned that her young guest should sit in state, with
      folded hands, in the parlor. She seemed to consider that the proper
      conduct for a former member of New York&#8217;s best society. She was
      shocked when the girl volunteered to help her about the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Course I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t let you,&#8221; she said. &#8220;The
      idea&mdash;and you company! Got more help than I know what to do with, as
      &#8217;tis. &#8217;Lisha was determined that I should hire a girl to wash
      dishes and things while you was here. Nothin&#8217; would do but that. So
      I got Annabel Haven&#8217;s daughter, Etta G. There&#8217;s fourteen in
      that family, and the land knows &#8217;twas an act of charity takin&#8217;
      one appetite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span>
      out of the house. Pay her fifty cents a day, I do, and she&#8217;s out in
      the kitchen makin&#8217; believe wash windows. They don&#8217;t need
      washin&#8217;, but she was lookin&#8217; out of &#8217;em most of the
      time, so I thought she might as well combine business with pleasure.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      But Caroline refused to sit in the parlor and be &#8220;company.&#8221;
      She insisted upon helping. Miss Baker protested and declared there was
      nothing on earth to be done; but her guest insisted that, if there was
      not, she herself must sit. As Abbie would have as soon thought of
      attending church without wearing her jet earrings as she would of sitting
      down before dinner, she gave in, after a while, and permitted Caroline to
      help in arranging the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why, you do fust-rate!&#8221; she exclaimed, in surprise. &#8220;You
      know where everything ought to go, just as if you&#8217;d been settin&#8217;
      table all your life. And you ain&#8217;t, because &#8217;Lisha wrote you
      used to keep hired help, two or three of &#8217;em, all the time.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline laughed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;ve been studying housekeeping for almost a year,&#8221; she
      said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Studyin&#8217; it! Why, yes, now I remember &#8217;Lisha wrote you&#8217;d
      been studyin&#8217; some kind of science at college. &#8217;Twa&#8217;n&#8217;t
      settin&#8217; table science, I guess, though. Ha! ha!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That was part of it.&#8221; She explained the course briefly.
      Abigail listened in amazement.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And they teach that&mdash;at school?&#8221; she demanded. &#8220;And
      take money for it? And call it <i>science</i>? My land! I guess I was
      brought up in a scientific household, then. I was the only girl in the
      family, and mother died when I was ten years old.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      After dinner she consented to sit for a time, though<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> not until she had donned
      her Sunday best, earrings and all. Captain Elisha and Sylvester sat with
      them, and the big fireplace in the sitting room blazed and roared as it
      had not since its owner left for his long sojourn in the city. In the
      evening callers came, the Congregational minister and his wife, and some
      of the neighbors. The latter were pleasant country people, another retired
      sea captain among them, and they all seemed to have great respect and
      liking for Captain Elisha and to be very glad to welcome him home. The two
      captains spun salt water yarns, and the lawyer again decided that he was
      getting just what he had come for. They left a little after nine, and
      Caroline said good night and went to her room. She was tired, mentally and
      physically.
    </p>
    <p>
      But she did not fall asleep at once. Her mind was still busy with the
      suspicion which her uncle&#8217;s words concerning his future plans for
      Steve had aroused. She had thought of little else since she heard them.
      The captain did not mention the subject again; possibly, on reflection, he
      decided that he had already said too much. And she asked no more
      questions. She determined not to question him&mdash;yet. She must think
      first, and then ask someone else&mdash;Sylvester. He knew the truth and,
      if taken by surprise, might be driven into confession, if there should be
      anything to confess. She was waiting for an opportunity to be alone with
      him, and that opportunity had not yet presented itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain would have spoken further with her concerning James Pearson.
      He was eager to do that. But her mind was made up; she had sent her lover
      away, and it was best for both. She must forget him, if she could. So,
      when her uncle would have spoken on that subject, she begged him not to;
      and he, respecting her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362"
      id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> feelings and believing that to urge
      would be bad policy, refrained.
    </p>
    <p>
      But to forget, she found, was an impossibility. In the excitement of the
      journey and the arrival amid new surroundings, she had managed to keep up
      a show of good spirits, but now alone once more, with the wind singing
      mournfully about the gables and rattling the windows, she was sad and so
      lonely. She thought what her life had once promised to be and what it had
      become. She did not regret the old life, that life she had known before
      her father died; she had been happy in it while he lived, but miserable
      after his death. As for happiness, she had been happy that summer, happy
      with her uncle and with&mdash;him. And with him now, even though they
      would be poor, as she was used to reckoning poverty, she knew she could be
      very happy. She wondered what he was doing then; if he was thinking of
      her. She ought to hope that he was not, because it was useless; but she
      wished that he might be, nevertheless. Then she told herself that all this
      was wicked; she had made up her mind; she must be true to the task she had
      set, duty to her brother and uncle.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her uncle! why had her uncle done all this for her? And why had her father
      made him their guardian? These were old questions, but now she asked them
      with a new significance. If that strange suspicion of hers was true it
      would explain so much; it would explain almost everything. But it could
      not be true; if it was, why had he not told her when the discovery of her
      father&#8217;s dishonesty and of the note forfeiting the estate was made?
      Why had he not told her then? That was what troubled her most. It did not
      seem like him to do such a thing&mdash;not like his character at all.
      Therefore, it could not be true. Yet she must know. She<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span>
      resolved to question Sylvester the next day, if possible. And, so
      resolving, she at last fell asleep.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her opportunity came the following morning, the day before Thanksgiving.
      After breakfast Captain Elisha went downtown to call on some
      acquaintances. He invited Caroline and the lawyer to accompany him, but
      they refused, the latter because he judged his, a stranger&#8217;s,
      presence during the calls would be something of a hindrance to good
      fellowship and the discussion of town affairs which the captain was
      counting on, and Caroline because she saw her chance for the interview she
      so much desired.
    </p>
    <p>
      After the captain had gone, Sylvester sat down before the fire in the
      sitting room to read the Boston <i>Transcript</i>. As he sat there,
      Caroline entered and closed the door behind her. Miss Abigail was in the
      kitchen, busy with preparations for the morrow&#8217;s plum pudding.
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl took the chair next that occupied by the lawyer. He put down his
      paper and turned to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; he asked, &#8220;how does this Cape Cod air effect
      your appetite, Caroline? I&#8217;m ashamed of mine. I&#8217;m rather glad
      to-morrow is Thanksgiving; on that day, I believe, it is permissible, even
      commendable, to eat three times more than a self-respecting person
      ordinarily should.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She smiled, but her answer was in the form of another question, and quite
      irrelevant.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Sylvester,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I wish you would tell me
      something about the value of a seat on the Stock Exchange. What is the
      price of one?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer looked at her in surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The value of a seat on the Stock Exchange?&#8221; he repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes; what does it cost to buy one?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span>He
      hesitated, wondering why she should be interested in that subject. Captain
      Elisha had not told him a word of the interview following Pearson&#8217;s
      last visit. He wondered, and then surmised a reason&mdash;Stephen, of
      course. Steve&#8217;s ambition was to be a broker, and his sister was,
      doubtless, with sisterly solicitude and feminine ignorance of high prices,
      planning for his future.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well,&#8221; he replied, smiling, &#8220;they&#8217;re pretty
      expensive, I&#8217;m afraid, Caroline.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Are they?&#8221; innocently.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. I think the last sale was at a figure between ninety and one
      hundred thousand dollars.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Indeed! Was father&#8217;s seat worth as much as that?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But,&#8221; with a sigh, &#8220;that, I suppose, went with the rest
      of the estate.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Into the hands of the man who took it all?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes; the same hands,&#8221; with a sly smile at his own private
      joke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Then how does it happen that my uncle has it in his possession?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer smiled no more. He turned in his chair and gazed quickly and
      keenly at the young lady beside him. And her gaze was just as keen as his
      own.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What did you say?&#8221; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I asked you how it happened that my uncle now has father&#8217;s
      Stock Exchange seat in his possession.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Why!... Has he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. And I think you know he has, Mr. Sylvester. I know it, because
      he told me so himself. <i>Didn&#8217;t</i> you know it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      This was a line shot from directly in front and a<span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> hard one to dodge. A lie
      was the only guard, and he was not in the habit of lying, even
      professionally.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&mdash;I cannot answer these questions,&#8221; he declared.
      &#8220;They involve professional secrets and&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I don&#8217;t see that this is a secret. My uncle has already told
      me. What I could not understand was how he obtained the seat from the man
      to whom it was given as a part of father&#8217;s debt. Do you know how he
      obtained it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Er&mdash;well&mdash;er&mdash;probably an arrangement was made. I
      cannot go into details, because&mdash;well, for obvious reasons. You must
      excuse me, Caroline.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He rose to go.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;One moment more,&#8221; she said, &#8220;and one more question. Mr.
      Sylvester, who <i>is</i> this mysterious person&mdash;this stockholder
      whom father defrauded, this person who wishes his name kept a secret, but
      who does such queer things? Who is he?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline, I tell you I cannot answer these questions. He does wish
      to remain unknown, as I told you and your brother when we first learned of
      him and his claim. If I were to tell you I should break my faith with
      him.... You must excuse me; you really must.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Mr. Sylvester, perhaps you don&#8217;t need to tell me. Perhaps I
      can guess. Isn&#8217;t he my&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline, I cannot&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;<i>Isn&#8217;t he my uncle, Elisha Warren?</i>&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester was half way to the door, but she was in his path and looking
      him directly in the face. He hesitated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I thought so,&#8221; she said. &#8220;You needn&#8217;t answer, Mr.
      Sylvester; your face is answer enough. He is.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She turned away, and, walking slowly to the chair from which she had
      arisen, sank into it.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span>&#8220;He
      is,&#8221; she repeated. &#8220;I knew it. I wonder that I didn&#8217;t
      know it from the very first. How could I have been so blind!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer, nervous, chagrined, and greatly troubled, remained standing by
      the door. He did not know whether to go or stay. He took his handkerchief
      from his pocket and wiped his forehead.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Whew!&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;Well, by&mdash;<i>George</i>!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She paid no attention to him, but went on, speaking, apparently, to
      herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It explains everything,&#8221; she said. &#8220;He was father&#8217;s
      brother; and father, in some way, took and used his money. But father knew
      what sort of man he was, and so he asked him to be our guardian. Father
      thought he would be kind to us, I suppose. And he has been kind&mdash;he
      has. But why did he keep it a secret? Why did he.... I don&#8217;t
      understand that. Of course the money was his; all we had was his, by
      right. But to say nothing ... and to let us believe.... It does not seem
      like him at all. It....&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester interrupted quickly. &#8220;Caroline! Caroline!&#8221; he said,
      &#8220;don&#8217;t make any mistake. Don&#8217;t misjudge your uncle
      again. He is a good man; one of the best men I ever knew. Yes, and one of
      the wisest. Don&#8217;t say or think anything for which you may be sorry.
      I am speaking as your friend.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She turned toward him once more, the distressed, puzzled look still on her
      face. &#8220;But I don&#8217;t understand,&#8221; she cried. &#8220;He....
      Oh, Mr. Sylvester, please, now that I do know&mdash;now that you have told
      me so much&mdash;won&#8217;t you tell me the rest; the reason and&mdash;all
      of it? Please!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer shook his head, regarding her with an expression of annoyance
      and reluctant admiration.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span>&#8220;Now
      that <i>I&#8217;ve</i> told you!&#8221; he repeated. &#8220;I don&#8217;t
      remember that I&#8217;ve told you anything.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But you have. Not in words, perhaps, but you have told me. I know.
      Please go on and tell me all. If you don&#8217;t,&#8221; with
      determination, &#8220;I shall make Uncle Elisha tell me as soon as he
      comes. I shall!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester sighed. &#8220;Well, by George!&#8221; he repeated, feelingly.
      &#8220;I&#8217;ll tell you one thing, young woman, you&#8217;re wasting
      your talents. You should be a member of the bar. Anyone who can lead a
      battle-scarred veteran of cross-examination like myself into a trap and
      then spring it on him, as you have done, is gifted by Providence.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But will you tell me?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He hesitated, perplexed and doubtful.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I ought not to say another word on the subject,&#8221; he declared,
      emphatically. &#8220;What Captain Warren will say to me when he finds this
      out is unpleasant to consider. But.... But yet, I don&#8217;t know. It may
      be better for you to learn the real truth than to know a part and guess
      wrongly at the rest. I.... What is it you want me to tell you?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Everything. I want you to sit down here by me and tell me the whole
      story, from the beginning. Please.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He hesitated a moment longer and, then, his mind made up, returned to his
      chair, crossed his legs and began. &#8220;Here it is,&#8221; he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline, about twenty years ago, or such matter, your father was a
      comparatively poor man&mdash;poor, I mean, compared to what he afterward
      became. But he was a clever man, an able business man, one who saw
      opportunities and grasped them. At that time he obtained a grant in South
      America for&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span>&#8220;I
      know,&#8221; she interrupted; &#8220;the Akrae Rubber Company was formed.
      You told Steve and me all about that. What I want to know is&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Wait. I did not tell you all about it. I said that another man
      invested ten thousand dollars with your father to form that company. That
      man, so we now know, was your uncle, Captain Elisha Warren.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I guessed that. Of course it must have been he.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It was. The captain was older than your father, had lived
      carefully, and had saved some money. Also, at that time, he idolized his
      brother and believed in his shrewdness and capability. He invested this
      ten thousand on Rodgers Warren&#8217;s word that the investment was likely
      to be a good one. That, and to help the latter in business. For a few
      years the company did nothing; during that time your father and uncle
      disagreed&mdash;concerning another matter, quite unconnected with this one&mdash;and
      they did not see each other again while Rodgers lived. In that long period
      the Akrae Company made millions. But Elisha supposed it to be bankrupt and
      worthless; because&mdash;well, to be frank, because his brother wrote him
      to that effect.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused, fearful of the effect which this announcement might have upon
      the girl. But she had guessed this part of her father&#8217;s dishonor and
      was prepared for it. She made no comment, and he continued.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Now we come to the will. Your father, Caroline, was not a bad man
      at heart. I knew him well, and I believe that may be said truthfully. He
      realized what he had done, how he had defrauded the brother who had been
      so kind to him, and he meant, he kept promising himself, to some day repay
      the money he had taken. To insure that, he put that note with the other
      papers of the Company. If he did repay, it could be destroyed.<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> If he
      did not, if he should die, it would be there to prove&mdash;what it did
      prove. But always in his mind was the thought of you and Steve, the
      children he loved. He had quarreled with his brother it is true; he had
      cheated him, but restitution for that cheat he had provided. But what
      would become of you, left&mdash;in case he died without making restitution&mdash;penniless?
      He knew his brother, as I said; knew his character, respected his honesty,
      and believed in his conscientiousness and his big heart. So he made his
      will, and in it, as you know, he appointed Elisha your guardian. He threw
      his children and their future upon the mercy and generosity of the brother
      he had wronged. That is his reason, as we surmise it, for making that
      will.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He paused again. Caroline did not speak for a moment. Then she asked:
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;And no one knew&mdash;you or my uncle or anyone&mdash;of all this
      until last March?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. Graves had, with his usual care and patience, pieced together
      the evidence and investigated until we were sure that a stockholder in the
      Akrae Company existed and that all of your father&#8217;s estate belonged
      to him. Who that stockholder was we did not know until that day of the
      meeting at our office. Then Captain Warren told us.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But he did not know, either?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Not until then. He supposed his Akrae stock worthless, and had
      practically forgotten it. When we told him of its value, of the note, and
      of the missing shareholder, he knew, of course.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What did he say?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Say? Caroline, he was the most distressed and conscience-stricken
      man in the city. One would have thought he was the wrongdoer and not the
      wronged.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span>
      He would have gone straight to you and asked your pardon, if we would have
      permitted it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But, Mr. Sylvester, now we are coming to the part I cannot
      understand. Of course the estate belonged to him, I know that. It is his.
      But why didn&#8217;t he tell Steve and me the truth then, at once? Why did
      he let us believe, and employ you to lead us to believe, that it was not
      he but someone else? Did he think we would blame him? Why has he&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline! Caroline! don&#8217;t you understand yet? Do you imagine
      for one moment that your uncle intends keeping that money?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She stared at him in utter amazement.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Keeping it?&#8221; she repeated. &#8220;Why not? It is his. It
      belongs to him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline, I&#8217;m afraid you don&#8217;t know him, even yet. He
      was for going to you at once and destroying the note in your presence. He
      would have done it, but we persuaded him to wait and think it over for a
      day or two. He did think and then decided to wait a little longer, for
      your sake.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;For my sake? For mine?&#8221; she passed her hand in a bewildered
      way across her forehead. &#8220;Mr. Sylvester, I don&#8217;t seem to
      understand even now. I&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;For your sake, Caroline. Remember, at that time you were engaged to
      Malcolm Dunn.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Her intent gaze wavered. She drew a long breath. &#8220;I see,&#8221; she
      said, slowly. &#8220;Oh.... I see.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Captain Warren is one of the best judges of character I ever
      met. The Dunns did not deceive him for one moment. He was certain Malcolm
      intended marrying you because of your money; for that matter, so was I.
      But his was the plan entirely which showed them to you as they were. He
      knew you were too honest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371"
      id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> and straightforward to believe such
      things of the man to whom you were engaged if they were told you; you must
      see the proof with your own eyes. And he showed it to you.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But then,&#8221; she begged, distractedly, &#8220;why couldn&#8217;t
      he tell me after that? I&mdash;I am so stupid, I suppose&mdash;but, Mr.
      Sylvester, all this is&mdash;is&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He might have told you then, but he did not think it best.
      Caroline, your uncle has always believed in you. Even when you sent him
      from your home he did not blame you; he said you were deceived, that was
      all. But, too, he has always declared that you had been, as he expressed
      it, &#8216;brought up wrong.&#8217; Your money had, in a way, warped your
      estimate of people and things. He believed that, if you were given the
      opportunity, you would learn that wealth does not, of itself, mean
      happiness. So he decided not to tell you, not to give you back your share
      of your father&#8217;s money&mdash;he refuses to consider it his&mdash;until
      another year, until you were of age, at least. And there was Steve. You
      know, Caroline, that money and what it brought was spoiling Steve. He has
      never been so much a man as during the past year, when he thought himself
      poor. But your uncle has planned for him as well as for you and, when he
      believes the time has come, he&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Please,&#8221; she interrupted, falteringly; &#8220;please don&#8217;t
      say any more. Let me think. Oh, please let me think, Mr. Sylvester.... You
      say that Uncle Elisha intends giving us all that father took from him? All
      of it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, all. He considers himself merely your guardian still and will
      accept only his expenses from the estate.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But&mdash;but it is wonderful!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span>&#8220;Yes,
      it is. But I have learned to think him a wonderful man.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      She shook her head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It is wonderful!&#8221; she repeated, brokenly. &#8220;Even though
      we cannot take it, it is wonderful.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What? Cannot take it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Of course not! Do you suppose that either my brother or I will take
      the fortune that our father stole&mdash;yes, <i>stole</i> from him? After
      he has been living almost in poverty all these years and we in luxury&mdash;on
      <i>his</i> money? Of course we shall not take it!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But, Caroline, I imagine you will have to take it. I understand
      your feelings, but I think he will compel you to take it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I shall <i>not</i>!&#8221; she sprang to her feet. &#8220;Of course
      I shall not! Never! never!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What&#8217;s that you&#8217;re never goin&#8217; to take, Caroline?
      Measles? or another trip down in these parts? I hope &#8217;tain&#8217;t
      the last, &#8217;cause I&#8217;ve been cal&#8217;latin&#8217; you&#8217;d
      like it well enough to come again.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline turned. So did Sylvester. Captain Elisha was standing in the
      doorway, his hand on the knob. He was smiling broadly, but as he looked at
      the two by the fire he ceased to smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What&#8217;s all this?&#8221; he asked, suspiciously. &#8220;Caroline,
      what&mdash;Sylvester, what have you been tellin&#8217; her?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Neither answered at once. The captain looked from one to the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, what&#8217;s up?&#8221; he demanded. &#8220;What&#8217;s the
      matter?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What&#8217;s up?&#8221; he repeated. &#8220;Humph! well, I should
      say the jig was up. The murder&#8217;s out. The cat is no longer in the
      bag. That&#8217;s about the size of it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span>&#8220;Sylvester!&#8221;
      Caroline had never seen her uncle thoroughly angry before; &#8220;Sylvester,&#8221;
      he cried, &#8220;have you&mdash;Have you dast to tell her what you shouldn&#8217;t?
      Didn&#8217;t you promise me? If you told that girl, I&#8217;ll&mdash;I&#8217;ll&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      His niece stepped forward. &#8220;Hush, Uncle Elisha,&#8221; she said.
      &#8220;He didn&#8217;t tell me until I knew already. I guessed it. Then I
      asked for the whole truth, and he told me.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;The whole truth? <i>Caroline!</i>&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He wrung his hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, Uncle, the whole truth. I know you now. I thought I knew you
      before; but I didn&#8217;t&mdash;not half. I do now.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Oh, Caroline!&#8221; he stepped toward her and then stopped,
      frantic and despairing. &#8220;Caroline! Caroline!&#8221; he cried again,
      &#8220;can you ever forgive me? You know&mdash;you must know I ain&#8217;t
      ever meant to keep it. It&#8217;s all yours. I just didn&#8217;t give it
      to you right off because ... because.... Oh, Sylvester, tell her I never
      meant to keep it! Tell her!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer shook his head. &#8220;I did tell her,&#8221; he said, with
      another shrug, &#8220;and she tells me she won&#8217;t accept it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;What?&#8221; the captain&#8217;s eyes were starting from his head.
      &#8220;What? Won&#8217;t take it? Why, it&#8217;s hers&mdash;hers and
      Steve&#8217;s! It always has been! Do you cal&#8217;late I&#8217;d rob my
      own brother&#8217;s children? <i>Don&#8217;t</i> talk so foolish! I won&#8217;t
      hear such talk!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline was close to tears, but she was firm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It isn&#8217;t ours,&#8221; she said. &#8220;It is yours. Our
      father kept it from you all these years. Do you suppose we will keep it
      any longer?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Elisha looked at her determined face; then at <span class="pagenum"><a
      name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span>the lawyer&#8217;s&mdash;but
      he found no help there. His chin thrust forward. He nodded slowly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right! all right!&#8221; he said, grimly. &#8220;Sylvester, is
      your shop goin&#8217; to be open to-morrer?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Guess not, Captain,&#8221; was the puzzled reply. &#8220;It&#8217;s
      Thanksgiving. Why?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;But Graves&#8217;ll be to home, won&#8217;t he? I could find him at
      his house?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I presume you could.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;All right, then! Caroline Warren, you listen to me: I&#8217;ll give
      you till two o&#8217;clock to make up your mind to take the money that
      belongs to you. If you don&#8217;t, I swear to the Lord A&#8217;mighty I&#8217;ll
      take the fust train, go straight to New York, hunt up Graves, make him go
      down to the office and get that note your father made out turnin&#8217;
      all his property over to that Akrae Company. I&#8217;ll get that note and
      I&#8217;ll burn it up. Then&mdash;<i>then</i> you&#8217;ll have to take
      the money, because it&#8217;ll be yours. Every bit of evidence that&#8217;ll
      hold in law is gone, and nobody but you and Steve&#8217;ll have the shadow
      of a claim. I&#8217;ll do it, so sure as I live! There! now you can make
      up your mind.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned, strode to the door and out of the room. A moment later they
      heard a scream from Miss Baker in the kitchen: &#8220;&#8217;Lisha Warren,
      what ails you? Are you crazy?&#8221; There was no answer, but the back
      door closed with a tremendous bang.
    </p>
    <hr class="medium" />
    <p>
      Half an hour after his dramatic exit Captain Elisha was pacing up and down
      the floor of the barn. It was an old refuge of his, a place where he was
      accustomed to go when matters requiring deliberation and thought oppressed
      him. He was alone. Dan had taken the horse to the blacksmith&#8217;s to be
      shod.
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span>The
      captain strode across the floor, turned and strode back again. Every few
      moments he looked at his watch. It was a long way to two o&#8217;clock,
      but each additional moment was another weight piled upon his soul. As he
      turned in his stride he saw a shadow move across the sill of the big, open
      door. He caught his breath and stopped.
    </p>
    <p>
      Caroline entered the barn. She came straight to him and put her hands upon
      the lapels of his coat. Her eyes were wet and shining.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline?&#8221; he faltered, eagerly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You good man!&#8221; she breathed, softly. &#8220;Oh, you <i>good</i>
      man!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline!&#8221; his voice shook, but there was hope in it. &#8220;Caroline,
      you&#8217;re goin&#8217; to take the money?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, Uncle Elisha. Mr. Sylvester has shown me that I must. He says
      you will do something desperate if I refuse.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I sartin would! And you&#8217;ll take it, really?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, Uncle Elisha.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Glory be! And&mdash;and, Caroline, you won&#8217;t hold it against
      me, my makin&#8217; you think you was poor, and makin&#8217; you live in
      that little place, and get along on just so much, and all that? Can you
      forgive me for doin&#8217; that?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Forgive you? Can I ever thank you enough? I know I can&#8217;t; but
      I can try all my life to prove what&mdash;&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;S-s-h-h! s-s-h!... There!&#8221; with a great sigh, almost a sob,
      of relief, &#8220;I guess this&#8217;ll be a real Thanksgivin&#8217;,
      after all.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      But, a few minutes later, another thought came to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Caroline,&#8221; he asked, &#8220;I wonder if, now that things are
      as they are, you couldn&#8217;t do somethin&#8217; else&mdash;somethin&#8217;
      that would please me an awful lot?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span>&#8220;What
      is it, Uncle?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;It&#8217;s somethin&#8217; perhaps I ain&#8217;t got any right to
      ask. You mustn&#8217;t say yes if you don&#8217;t want to. The other day
      you told me you cared for Jim Pearson, but that you sent him away &#8217;cause
      you thought you had to earn a livin&#8217; for you and Steve. Now you know
      that you ain&#8217;t got to do that. And you said you told him if you ever
      changed your mind you&#8217;d send for him. Don&#8217;t you s&#8217;pose
      you could send for him now&mdash;right off&mdash;so he could get here for
      this big Thanksgivin&#8217; of ours? Don&#8217;t you think you could,
      Caroline?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked down into her face, and she looked down at the barn floor. But
      he saw the color creep up over her forehead.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Send for him&mdash;now?&#8221; she asked, in a low tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Now&mdash;right off. In time for to-morrow!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;He could not get here,&#8221; she whispered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, he could. If you send him a telegram with one word in it:
      &#8216;Come&#8217;&mdash;and sign it &#8216;Caroline&#8217;&mdash;he&#8217;ll
      be here on to-morrow mornin&#8217;s train, or I&#8217;ll eat my hat and
      one of Abbie&#8217;s bonnets hove in. Think you could, Caroline?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      A moment; then in a whisper, &#8220;Yes, Uncle Elisha.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hooray! But&mdash;but,&#8221; anxiously, &#8220;hold on, Caroline.
      Tell me truly now. You ain&#8217;t doin&#8217; this just to please me? You
      mustn&#8217;t do that, not for the world and all. You mustn&#8217;t send
      for him on my account. Only just for one reason&mdash;because <i>you</i>
      want him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He waited for his answer. Then she looked up, blushing still, but with a
      smile trembling on her lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes, Uncle Elisha,&#8221; she said, &#8220;because <i>I</i> want
      him.&#8221;
    </p>
    <hr class="medium" />
    <p>
      The clouds blew away that night, and Thanksgiving day dawned clear and
      cold. The gray sea was now blue;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377"
      id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> the white paint of the houses and fences
      glistened in the sun; the groves of pitchpine were brilliant green
      blotches spread like rugs here and there on the brown hills. South Denboro
      had thrown off its gloomy raiment and was &#8220;all dolled up for
      Thanksgivin&#8217;,&#8221; so Captain Elisha said.
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain and Sylvester were leaning on the fence by the gate, looking
      up the road and waiting for Dan and the &#8220;two-seater&#8221; to heave
      in sight around the bend. The hired man had harnessed early and driven to
      the station at least thirty minutes before train time. Captain Elisha was
      responsible for the early start. Steve was coming on that train; possibly
      someone else was coming. The captain did not mean they should find no
      welcome or vehicle at the station.
    </p>
    <p>
      The whistle had sounded ten minutes before. It was time for Dan to appear
      at the bend.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I hope to thunder Jim got that telegram,&#8221; observed the
      captain for the twentieth time, at least, since breakfast.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;So do I,&#8221; replied his friend. &#8220;There&#8217;s no reason
      why he shouldn&#8217;t, is there?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, no sensible one; but I&#8217;ve scared up no less than a couple
      of hundred of the other kind. If he shouldn&#8217;t come&mdash;my, my! she&#8217;d
      be disappointed.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;You wouldn&#8217;t feel any disappointment yourself, of course,&#8221;
      said the lawyer, with sarcasm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Who? Me? Oh, I&#8217;d be sorer&#8217;n a scalded wharf rat in a
      barrel of pepper. But I don&#8217;t count. There&#8217;s the real one up
      there.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He motioned with his head toward the window of Caroline&#8217;s room.
      Sylvester nodded. &#8220;Yes,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I suppose so.
      Captain, I&#8217;m somewhat surprised that you should be willing to trust
      that niece of yours to another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378"
      id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> man. She&#8217;s a pretty precious
      article, according to your estimate.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Well, ain&#8217;t she accordin&#8217; to yours?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes. Pretty precious and precious pretty. Look at her now.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      They turned in time to catch a glimpse of the girl as she parted the
      curtains and looked out on the road. She saw them looking at her, smiled,
      blushed, and disappeared. Both men smoked in silence for a moment. Then
      the captain said:
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Waitin&#8217;. Hi hum! nothin&#8217; like it, when you&#8217;re
      waitin&#8217; for <i>the</i> one, is there?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No, nothing.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yup. Well, for a pair of old single hulks our age, strikes me we&#8217;re
      gettin&#8217; pretty sentimental. You say you wonder I&#8217;d trust
      Caroline to another man; I wouldn&#8217;t to the average one. But Jim
      Pearson&#8217;s all right. You&#8217;ll say so, too, when you know him as
      well as I do.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;ll trust your judgment, any time. So you won&#8217;t tell
      Steve yet awhile that he&#8217;s not broke?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;No. And Caroline won&#8217;t tell him, either. Steve&#8217;s doin&#8217;
      fust-rate as he is. He&#8217;s in the pickle tub and &#8217;twill do him
      good to season a spell longer. But I think he&#8217;s goin&#8217; to be
      all right by and by. Say, Sylvester, this New York cruise of mine turned
      out pretty good, after all, didn&#8217;t it?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Decidedly good. It was the making of your niece and nephew.
      Caroline realizes it now; and so will Steve later on.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Hope so. It didn&#8217;t do <i>me</i> any harm,&#8221; with a
      chuckle. &#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t have missed that little beat up the bay
      with Marm Dunn for a good deal. For a spell there we was bows abreast, and
      &#8217;twas hard to tell who&#8217;d turn the mark first. Heard from the
      Dunns lately?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span>&#8220;No.
      Why, yes, I did hear that they were in a tighter box than ever,
      financially. The smash will come pretty soon.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;I&#8217;m sorry. The old lady&#8217;ll go down with colors nailed
      to the mast, I&#8217;ll bet; and she&#8217;ll leave a lot of suds where
      she sank. Do you know, I never blamed her so much. She was built that way.
      She&#8217;s consider&#8217;ble like old Mrs. Patience Blodgett, who used
      to live up here to the Neck; like her&mdash;only there never was two
      people more different. Pashy was the craziest blue-ribboner you ever saw.
      Her one idea in life was gettin&#8217; folks to sign the pledge. She
      married Tim Blodgett, who was the wust soak in the county&mdash;he&#8217;d
      have figgered out, if you analyzed him, about like a bottle of patent
      medicine, seventy-two per cent alcohol. Well, Pashy married him to reform
      him, and she made her brags that she&#8217;d get him to sign the pledge.
      And she did, but only by puttin&#8217; it in front of him when he was too
      drunk to read it.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The lawyer laughed heartily. &#8220;So you think Mrs. Corcoran Dunn
      resembles her, do you,&#8221; he observed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;In one way&mdash;yes. Both of &#8217;em sacrifice everything else
      to one idea. Pashy&#8217;s was gettin&#8217; that pledge signed, and never
      mind ways and means. Mrs. Dunn&#8217;s is money and position&mdash;never
      mind how they come. See what I&#8217;m drivin&#8217; at?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      Sylvester laughed again. &#8220;I guess so,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Captain
      Warren, I never saw you in better spirits. Do you know what I think? I
      think that, for a chap who has just given away half of a good-sized
      fortune and intends giving away the other half, you&#8217;re the most
      cheerful specimen I ever saw.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain laughed, too. &#8220;I am, ain&#8217;t I,&#8221; he said.
      &#8220;Well, I can say truthful what I never expected to say<span
      class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> in my
      life&mdash;that <i>once</i> I was wuth ha&#8217;f a million dollars. As
      for the rest of it, I&#8217;m like that millionaire&mdash;that.... Hi!
      Look! There comes Dan! See him!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      They peered eagerly over the fence. The Warren &#8220;two-seater&#8221;
      had rounded the bend in the road. Dan was driving. Beside him sat a young
      fellow who waved his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Steve!&#8221; cried the captain, excitedly. &#8220;There&#8217;s
      Steve! And&mdash;and&mdash;yes, there&#8217;s somebody on the back seat.
      It&#8217;s Jim! He&#8217;s come! Hooray!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was darting out of the gate, but his friend seized his coat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Wait,&#8221; he cried. &#8220;I don&#8217;t want to lose the rest
      of that sentence. You said you were like some millionaire. Who?&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Don&#8217;t bother me,&#8221; cried Captain Elisha. &#8220;Who?
      Why, I was goin&#8217; to say I was like that millionaire chap who passes
      out a library every time he wakes up and happens to think of it. You know
      who I mean.... Ahoy there, Jim! Ahoy, Steve!&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      He was waving his hand to the passengers in the approaching vehicle.
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;Yes,&#8221; prompted his friend, hastily, &#8220;I know who you
      mean&mdash;Carnegie.&#8221;
    </p>
    <p>
      &#8220;That&#8216;s the feller. I&#8217;ve come to feel about the way he
      says he does&mdash;that &#8217;twould be a crime for me to die rich.&#8221;
    </p>
    <h3>
      THE END
    </h3>
    <hr class="large" />
    <h3>
      <span class="smcap">Transcriber&#8217;s Note:</span>
    </h3>
    <p>
      The original book did not have a Table of Contents; one has been added to
      this e-text for the reader&#8217;s convenience.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">





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